Cicero: On Ends - Reid

M. TVLLI CICERONIS DE FINIBVS BONORVM ET MALORVM

LIBRI QVINQVE.

THE TEXT REVISED AND EXPLAINE BY JAMES S. REID, M.L,

FELLOW AND ASSISTANT TUTOR OF GONVILLE AND CAIUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE; CLASSICAL EXAMINER IN THE UNIVERSITY OF LONDON.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III Containing the Translation.

Cambridge : AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.

PREFATORY NOTE.

My rendering of Cicero’s De Finibus is primarily designed as an appendage to my forthcoming annotated edition of the text. The translation will enable me to lighten the commentary, since it will sufficiently explain many difficulties which would otherwise have required notes. It has been necessary for my design to follow Cicero’s syntax as closely as the English language permitted, so that the student may not be left in doubt about my way of taking any particular passage. But I have at the same time striven to make the rendering run smoothly, and I hope it will be found not too harsh for the ear of the English reader. In representing technical expressions I have endeavored to choose English phrases which shall be as wide in their meaning as the ancient terms them- selves. I have sometimes seen it urged that in translating ancient philosophical works, and especially those of Cicero, the technical terms of modern philosophy should be employed. But to do so would be to destroy, and not to represent the original — to substitute in fact modern ideas for the ancient. Only a few of the commonest and vaguest modern expressions are in fact applicable. I have, however, tried to avoid paraphrase, and, to help the reader, have sometimes placed in italics words used to represent the technical phrases of the Latin.

There is some inconvenience, but I hope very slight, in issuing the translation in advance of the text and commentary. My text, when actually printed, will not differ very largely from that of Madvig, and a great many of the alterations will be such as to affect the translation but little. My plan required me to complete the translation before writing out the commentary, and I trust the present volume may be useful to some students in the interval that must elapse before the rest of the edition appears.

I hope to publish at some future time a separate edition of the translation for English readers, with an introduction and notes especially intended to show the historical importance of the ancient ethical systems treated in the De Finibus.

I have compared my translation throughout with that of R. Kühner (Stuttgart ), which is scholarly and valuable.

BOOK I - The Epicureans

WHILE I was engaged, Brutus, in transferring to our Latin literature those investigations which in the Greek tongue had been handled by philosophers of consummate ability and profound learning; it did not escape me that this task of mine would meet with censure of different kinds. Some there are indeed (persons, I admit, not entirely without learning) who look with disfavor on the whole pursuit of philosophy. Some again do not so much object to it, if it be laxly carried on, but think that so much devotion and such great energy should not be expended upon it. Some too, men no doubt skilled in the literature of Greece, but indifferent to Latin, will declare that they would rather devote their energy to the perusal of works written in Greek. Finally, I imagine there will be some who will invite me into other paths of literature, affirming that this style of composition, refined though it be, shall not in accord with my character and position. In reply to all these critics I deem it necessary to say a few words, though certainly the depreciators of philosophy have received a sufficient reply in the treatise wherein I championed and eulogized philosophy, while it was attacked and depreciated by Hortensius. Finding that this treatise was manifestly acceptable, not only to yourself, but to all whom I supposed competent to form an opinion, I have taken in hand several other subjects; for I feared it might be thought that I aroused the interest of readers, without the power to sustain it.

Again those who, however much they approve of my design, still desire that it should be executed with some reserve, call for a self-control that is hard to exercise in a matter where, when the rein is once loosened, no check nor curb can be applied; hence we feel that the critics who beckon us entirely away from philosophy treat us almost more fairly than men who try to set a bound to matters which admit of no limitation, and who call for moderation in the treatment of a subject which increases in value precisely as its range is extended. Now if on the one hand it is possible for us to arrive at wisdom, we are not only to acquire it, but to reap enjoyment from it; if on the other hand our task is hard, still not only is discovery the sole limit to the exploration of truth, but when the object of search is the noblest possible, weariness in the search becomes disgraceful. Further, if writing is a pleasure to me, who is so grudging as to drag me away from that occupation? Or if it tasks my energy, who is there that should set a bound to the employments of another? So while the Chremes of Terence shows no unkindly spirit when he wishes that his new neighbor should not dig nor plow nor toil indeed at all (for he tries to withdraw him not from occupation, but from menial toil) these critics are fussy who feel displeasure at exertions which to me are by no means unpleasant.

II. Well then, it is still harder to meet the views of men who say they are indifferent to works written in Latin. With regard to these persons, the first thing I fail to understand is why their mother tongue, when employed upon the most weighty themes, gives them no pleasure, though the same persons are not unwilling to read Latin plays which are translated word for word from Greek. Pray, what man exists so unfriendly, I might almost say, to the name of Roman, that he treats the Medea of Ennius or the Antiopa of Pacuvius with scorn or condemnation, on the plea that he takes pleasure in the same plays as written by Euripides, while he feels a distaste for Latin literature? Am I, says such an one, to read the Young Comrades of Caecilius or the Andrian Woman of Terence in preference to both plays by Menander? I am so far from agreeing with such persons, that though Sophocles composed the Electra with the utmost skill, I still think it my duty to read the bad version of Atilius, of whom Licinus said that he was an iron author, but, as I think, an author for all that, so that he is to be read; since to be altogether unacquainted with the poets of our own country indicates either the most sluggish idleness or the most sickly taste.

For my part I think no man’s education complete, who is unacquainted with our own literature. While we read Would that never in the grove as much as the same piece in Greek, are we not to find pleasure in good Latin expositions of the views maintained by Plato concerning the - good and happy life? How will it be if I do not take upon me the office of translator, but, remaining faithful to the opinions expressed by my authorities, use my own discretion about them and apply to them my own plan of composition? What reason have my critics for preferring Greek treatises to others written in brilliant style and not merely translated from the Greek? Now if they mean to plead that the Greeks have already handled these topics, I answer that they can shew no reason why, of the Greek writers themselves, they should read such a number as are thought needful to be read. I ask, what point in the Stoic system has been overlooked by Chrysippus? Yet we read Diogenes, Antipater, Mnesarchus, Panaetius and many others, and in particular my friend Posidonius. What? Does Theophrastus afford us only a moderate pleasure when he handles topics already handled by Aristotle before him? Again, do Epicureans cease writing to please themselves on the very themes which. were treated by Epicurus and the ancients? Now if the Greeks do study Greek writers who deal with subjects already treated, only following a different arrangement, what reason is there why our own countrymen should not read our native writers?

III. However, if I were to render Plato and Aristotle in every respect as our poets rendered the plays, I suppose I should be doing poor service to my fellow-countrymen, in bringing men of such glorious genius within their ken! But this is what I have not done as yet, though I do not consider myself debarred from doing it. Some passages indeed I shall translate, if it seems advisable, and particularly from the philosophers I have just named, as Ennius often translates from Homer and Afranius from Menander. Nor yet will I make any protest, like our own Lucilius, against one and all reading my works. I only wish the famous Persius were alive, and still more Scipio and Rutilius, from whose criticism the poet shrinks and declares that he writes for the people of Tarentum and Consentia and Sicily. A droll speech, like many of his; but there existed then no class learned enough for him to finish his works to suit their taste, and again his writings are somewhat slight, so that they exhibit extreme wittiness, but only moderate learning. But why should I fear any reader, seeing that I venture to address myself to you, who do not yield in philosophy even to the Greeks? It is true, however, that you yourself, by dedicating to me that most delightful work of yours concerning virtue, challenged me to do what I am now doing. But the reason why some people are led to feel aversion for Latin writers is, I believe, that they have come across certain rude and uncouth treatises, rendered from bad Greek originals into worse Latin. And I agree with these critics if only they admit that on such subjects even the Greeks are not worth reading.

But when the matter is good, and worthily and richly set forth in choice language, who would refuse to read, unless it be one who wants to have himself dubbed a complete Greek, in the style which Scaevola when praetor used in addressing Albucius at Athens? The story has been touched on with much grace and all possible point by the same Lucilius, in whose pages Scaevola makes this splendid speech: You have chosen, Albucius, to be called a Greek; rather than a Roman and a Sabine, and a fellow townsman of Pontius and Tritanus the centurions, splendid men, and chiefs and ensign-bearers; therefore now being praetor I address you at Athens in Greek, according to your wish, whenever you visit me; Xaipe, Titus, say I, and so say my orderlies, my whole squadron and my suite; Xaipe, Titus! From this time is Albucius my foe, from this time my enemy! But Mucius was quite right; though I cannot sufficiently express the curiosity I feel to discover the source of such an arrogant disdain for the products of our country. I quite admit that this is not the place to prove the point, but my opinion is, and I have often expressed it, that the Latin tongue is not only not barren, as the common view is, but is even richer than the Greek. For when did we, or I will rather say, when did good speakers or poets, as soon as models existed for them to imitate, ever feel the lack of any adornments suited either to an abundant or a chaste style?

IV. For myself, however, since, as I believe, amid the occupations, exertions and dangers of the forum, I never deserted the post to which I was appointed by the Roman people, I assuredly am bound also to strive to the best of my power that my fellow-countrymen may become more learned through my diligence, zeal and industry, and while declining all serious contest with those who prefer to read Greek (if only they do read it, and not merely make pretense) it is my duty to give my services to those who either desire to enjoy both literatures, or do not greatly feel the want of the Greek, if they are provided with literature of their own. Now those who prefer that I should write on other subjects are bound to shew me fairness, because I have written many works, so that no countryman of mine has written more, and I shall perhaps write more still, if life last; and putting that aside, anyone who accustoms himself to read carefully the views on philosophy which I now commit to writing, will judge that there is no more profitable reading than these supply. What other question I ask is there in life which we should examine with such energy, as all the problems with which philosophy is concerned, but particularly the inquiry pursued in these books, what is our end, aim and goal, by what principle all our plans for good living and right action are to be guided, what it is that nature pursues as the highest object of desire, what she shuns as the utmost evil? And seeing that there is extreme disagreement among the most learned men on this subject, who would think it derogatory to the position which every man assigns to me, if I investigate what is the best and truest view of every function in life? The first men in the country, Publius Scaevola and Manius Manilius, debated whether the offspring of a female slave is part of her hirer’s profit, and Marcus Brutus disagreed with them (a kind of debate which is subtle and not without advantage to the interests of our burgesses, and I gladly read and will read these writings, and the rest of the same class). Well then, are these other questions with which our whole life is bound up, to be passed by? Indeed, allowing that the former study is more in vogue, the latter is assuredly more fruitful; though that is a point which I will leave readers to decide. For my part, I believe I have in the present work pretty nearly expounded the whole problem concerning the standards of good and evil, and in the course of the work I have, so far as I could, traced out not only my own views, but also the statements made by each separate school of philosophy.

V. To begin with the easiest opinions, let the theory of Epicurus first enter the arena. It is to most people thoroughly familiar, and you will perceive that I have set it forth with an exactness which is not commonly surpassed even by the adherents of the school themselves; for my desire is to find truth and not to confound as it were some opponent. Now the tenets of Epicurus concerning pleasure were once carefully advocated by Lucius Torquatus, a gentleman trained in every department of learning, and I replied to him, while Gaius Triarius, a particularly serious and well instructed youth, was present at the debate. Well, both of them having come to me in my villa at Cumae to pay their respects, we had at first a little conversation about literary matters, in which both took the greatest interest; then Torquatus said, ‘As we have at last found you free, I shall surely learn what is the reason why you do not exactly dislike our teacher Epicurus, as do most of those who disagree with him, but certainly do not approve of him, though I believe that he alone has seen the truth, and has set free the minds of men from the most grievous misconceptions, and has taught all that is essential for the good and happy life; but I judge that your pleasure in him, like that of our friend Triarius, is diminished because he cared little for those graces that adorn the style of a Plato, an Aristotle and a Theophrastus. I can scarcely bring myself to believe that you deem his opinions to be wanting in truth.”

‘Just see, said I, ‘Torquatus, how great is your mistake. It is not the style of your philosopher which displeases me, for he compasses his meaning by the terms he employs, and states clearly things such as I understand; and while I should not feel averse to any philosopher for displaying eloquence, I should still not demand it very loudly if he did not possess it; in his subject-matter he fails to content me in the same measure; and what I say concerns a number of topics. But there are as many opinions as there are men, so I may be wrong. ‘How is it, pray,’ said he, ‘that he does not content you? for I think you an impartial critic, if only you rightly under- stand his drift.’ ‘Unless, said I, ‘you suppose that I heard falsehoods from Phaedrus or Zeno, both of whom were my teachers, and in whom certainly the one thing I approved was their diligence, then all the tenets of Epicurus are quite familiar to me; and I constantly attended the lectures of the philosophers I have just named, in company with my friend Atticus, who on his side felt admiration for both, and for Phaedrus even affection, and we used to discuss with each other every day the lessons we heard, nor did the dispute ever turn on my understanding, but on my approval.’

VI. ‘What is the matter, then?’ said he; ‘for I long to be told what it is that you do not sanction? ‘At the outset, said I, ‘in natural science, which is his chief boast, he is in the first place altogether unoriginal. He states the doctrines of Democritus, with a few changes, but of such a nature that in my opinion he distorts the theories which he desires to amend. Democritus holds that through the limitless void, which has neither highest nor lowest point, nor centre, nor end, nor bound, the atoms, as he calls them, meaning thereby bodies indivisible owing to their impenetrability, sweep along in such a manner that by their collisions they adhere to each other, and produce all objects which exist and are discernible; and that it is fitting to regard this movement of the atoms as having no beginning, but as existent from infinite time. Now Epicurus does not generally stumble where he follows Democritus. Yet there are many points about both with which I do not sympathize, and particularly this, that while in the world of phenomena two problems are set before us, one that of the substance out of which each object is evolved, and the other that of the power which evolves each object, they have discoursed of the substance, and have passed over the power and the efficient force. But this fault is common to both ; the peculiar downfall of Epicurus is this: he pronounces that these same indivisible and impenetrable bodies are carried downward by their own weight in a straight line; this he declares to be the natural movement of all bodies.

Then in a moment it struck this shrewd fellow that if all bodies were carried along perpendicularly and, as I said, in a straight line, no one atom could ever touch another; consequently he introduced an idea purely fictitious; he declared that the atom swerved a very little, the least bit possible; this swerving produced attachments, combinations and unions of atoms one with another, out of which was evolved the universe and all the divisions of the universe and all the things therein. And while this whole theory is a childish imagination, it does not even prove what he desires, For not only is this very ‘swerving a capricious fiction (since he says the atom swerves without a cause, whereas nothing is more discreditable to a natural philosopher than to declare that anything happens without a cause) but further, for no reason whatever, he robs the atoms of the motion natural to all heavy substances, which, as he himself laid down, seek a lower point in a perpendicular line; yet for all that he did not achieve the end: for which he had fabricated these notions. For if all atoms are to swerve, none will ever adhere to each other, and if some: are to swerve, while others are to sweep on in a straight line by their own moment, this will, to begin with, be the same as assigning separate functions, so to ‘say, to the atoms, determining which are to move straight and which at an angle to the line; next, this same disorderly collision of the atoms (which is a weak point of Democritus as well) will never have power to produce this ordered universe. ^50fc15

Nor is it proper in a natural philosopher to believe in a least possible body, a hypothesis he certainly never would have formed, if he had chosen to learn mathematics of his friend Polyaenus rather than to make him actually unlearn what he knew himself. Democritus believes the sun to be of great size, as is to be expected from a man of education and an accomplished mathematician ; this philosopher thinks it a foot broad, perhaps, for he pronounces that its real size is the same as its apparent size, or, it may be, either just a little larger or smaller. So he spoils the doctrines he alters, and those he accepts are entirely the property of Democritus, The atoms, the void, the forms which they call idols, by whose inroad we not only see but even think, the boundless substance itself, __ as they call it, comes entirely from him; further, the countless universes which both rise and perish every day. And though these are matters I by no means accept, still I wish that Democritus, who has been applauded by all others, had not been reviled by this man, who followed him beyond all others.

VII. Further, in the second division of philosophy, which comprises dialectical investigation and is entitled Aoyexn, your philosopher is, it seems to me, utterly defenseless and without weapons. He does away with the process of definition; he has nothing to teach about subdivision or partition; he lays down no method for constructing and shaping an argument; he does not shew by what means fallacies are to be unriddled or the senses of ambiguous terms disentangled; he places his criterion of objective truth in the senses, and thinks that if they once admit any particle of falsehood for truth, all possibility of a criterion of truth and falsehood is destroyed. * * * This position is especially strengthened by what nature herself, as he says, adopts and approves, I mean the distinction between pleasure and pain. By these tests he decides in every case what we are to strive after and what we are to shun. However, though the scheme belongs to Aristippus and is much better and more frankly advocated by the Cyrenaics, it is in my judgment of such a character that I believe no system more unworthy of the human race. Nature has in truth created and shaped us for certain higher aims, in my view at least.. I may indeed be wrong; but that is just what I think, nor do I suppose that the Torquatus, who first won for himself the title, either expected to reap any bodily enjoyment from his action when he wrenched the necklet from his foe, or had pleasure in view when he did battle with the Latins in his third consulship on the banks of the Veseris. Moreover, as regards the beheading of his son, he actually, it is clear, robbed himself of many pleasures, by setting the law of treason and of military obedience higher than nature herself and paternal affection.

Once more, do you suppose that Titus Torquatus, he who held the consulship along with Gnaeus Octavius, gave a thought to his own pleasures when he treated his own son, whom he had given in adoption to Decimus Silanus, with such sternness that, when an embassy from Macedonia charged the son with having taken bribes as praetor in the province, he ordered his son to state his case before him, and after hearing evidence on both sides gave judgment that in his opinion the son in his provincial command had not shewn himself such a man as his ancestors had been, and so forbade him to come into his presence. But to say nothing of the dangers, toils and pain too, which all the best citizens under- go in defense of their country and their own people, not merely ceasing to court, but actually passing by every pleasure, and preferring to incur any pains whatsoever, rather than to prove traitors to a single call of duty, let us I say pass on to considerations which though they seem of less account, still testify no less emphatically to the same facts. What pleasure do you, Torquatus, or what does our friend Triarius here derive from literature, from records and the investigation of historical facts, from conning the poets, from learning by heart so laboriously so many lines? And do not say to me “Why, these very actions bring me pleasure, as theirs did to the Torquati.” Never indeed did Epicurus or Metrodorus or any one possessed of any wisdom or any knowledge of the tenets of your school ever maintain such a position by such arguments.

And when the question is asked, as it often is, why Epicureans are so numerous, I answer that there are no doubt other motives, but the motive which especially fascinates the crowd is this; they believe their chief to declare that all upright and honorable actions are in themselves productive of delight, or rather pleasure. These excellent persons do not perceive that the whole system is overturned supposing the truth were really as they imagine. For if we were to admit that such actions are inherently and absolutely pleasant, even though we judge nothing by the standard of the body, then virtue and knowledge would be things absolutely desirable, a conclusion which your leader is far from favoring. Well, these are the points about Epicurus, said I, ‘with which I have no sympathy. As for the rest, I wish he had either been better equipped with learning himself (he is surely, as you yourself must needs believe, imperfectly cultivated in those accomplishments the possessors of which are styled men of education) or that he had not frightened away others from learned pursuits; though I see that he has by no means frightened you, for one.’

VIII. After I had said this, rather from a wish to draw him out, than to make a speech myself, Triarius said with a slight smile: ‘You on your side have, I may say, banished Epicurus entirely from the company of philosophers. What concession have you made to him but that, whatever his style, you understand his meaning? In natural science his deliverances are unoriginal and in themselves such as you do not accept. Whenever he has tried to make improvements in them, they have turned out to be corruptions. He had no skill in logic. In declaring pleasure to be the supreme good, he betrayed in the first place by that very proceeding narrowness of vision; in the second, he was plagiarist once more, for Aristippus had maintained the same tenets earlier, and better too. You added in conclusion that he was uneducated as well? ‘Triarius, said I, ‘one cannot in any way avoid stating what one does not accept in the system of a philosopher with whom one disagrees, Pray what would hinder me from becoming an Epicurean if I accepted the doctrines of Epicurus? And more especially as to learn them by heart would be mere pastime. So the adverse criticisms passed on each other by men who disagree are not to be censured; it is reviling and insult, and again passionate conflicts and obstinate encounters in debate which always seem to me unworthy of philosophy.’ Then said Torquatus: ‘I am quite of your opinion ; without adverse criticism there can indeed be no debate, nor is proper debate compatible with passion or obstinacy.

But, if you do not object, I have a reply I should like to make to what you have said.’ ‘Do you imagine, I answered, ‘that I should have said what I did, were I not anxious to hear you?’ ‘Do you prefer then that we should run over the whole system of Epicurus, or should confine the inquiry to the one subject of pleasure, on which the whole dispute turns?’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘that must be as you decide? ‘This is what I will do, then,’ said he; ‘I will expound a single topic, and that the most important; natural science I shall leave for another occasion, when certainly I will demonstrate to you not only our philosopher's doctrine of the swerving of the atoms and of the sun’s size, but will shew that very many blunders of Democritus have been criticized and set right by Epicurus. At present I shall speak concerning pleasure, though of course I have nothing new to say; still I am sure you will yourself yield to my arguments such as they are.’ ‘You may be sure, said I, ‘that I shall not be obstinate, and if you convince me of your propositions I will freely give them my assent.’ ‘I shall demonstrate them, he replied, ‘if only you exhibit that impartiality which you promise ; but I would rather deliver an uninterrupted speech than put or answer questions.’ ‘As you please, said I. Then he began to speak.

IX. ‘First, then, said he, ‘I shall plead my case on the lines laid down by the founder of our school himself: I shall define the essence and features of the. problem before us, not because I imagine you to be unacquainted with them, but with a view to the methodical progress of my speech. The problem before us then is, what is the climax and standard of things good, and this in the opinion of all philosophers must needs be such that we are bound to test all things by it, but the standard itself by nothing. Epicurus places this standard in pleasure, which he lays down to be the supreme good, while pain is the supreme evil; and he founds his proof of this on the following considerations. Every creature, as soon as it is born, seeks after pleasure and delights therein as in its supreme good, while it recoils from pain as its supreme evil, and banishes that, so far as it can, from its own presence, and this it does while still uncorrupted, and while nature herself prompts unbiased and unaffected decisions. So he says we need no reasoning or debate to shew why pleasure is matter for desire, pain for aversion. These facts he thinks are simply perceived, just as the fact that fire is hot, snow is white, and honey sweet, no one of which facts are we bound to support by elaborate arguments; it is enough merely to draw attention to the fact; and there is a difference between proof and formal argument on the one hand and a slight hint and direction of the attention on the other; the one process reveals to us mysteries and things under a veil, so to speak; the other enables us to pronounce upon patent and evident facts.

Moreover, seeing that if you deprive a man of his senses there is nothing left to him, it is inevitable that nature herself should be the arbiter of what is in accord with or opposed to nature. Now what facts does she grasp or with what facts is her decision to seek or avoid any particular thing concerned, unless the facts of pleasure and pain? There are however some of our own school, who want to state these principles with greater refinement, and who say that it is not enough to leave the question of good or evil to the decision of sense, but that thought and reasoning also enable us to understand both that pleasure in itself is matter - for desire and that pain is in itself matter for aversion. So they say that there lies in our minds a kind of natural and inbred conception leading us. to feel that the one thing is fit for us to seek, the other to reject. Others again, with whom I agree, finding that many arguments are alleged by philosophers to prove that pleasure is not to be reckoned among things good nor pain among things evil, judge that we ought not to be too confident about our case, and think that we should lead proof and argue carefully and carry on the debate about pleasure and pain by using the most elaborate reasonings.

X. But that I may make plain to you the source of all the mistakes made by those who inveigh against pleasure and eulogize pain, I will unfold the whole system and will set before you the very language held by that great discoverer of truth and that master-builder, if I may style him so, of the life of happiness. Surely no one recoils from or dislikes or avoids pleasure in itself because it is pleasure, but because great pains come upon those who do not know how to follow pleasure rationally. Nor again is there any one who loves or pursues or wishes to win pain on its own account, merely because it is pain, but rather because circumstances sometimes occur which compel him to seek some great pleasure at the cost of exertion and pain. To come down to petty details, who among us ever undertakes any toilsome bodily exercise, except in the hope of gaining some advantage from it? Who again would have any right to reproach either a man who desires to be surrounded by pleasure unaccompanied by any annoyance, or another man who shrinks from any pain which is not productive of pleasure? But in truth we do blame and deem most deserving of righteous hatred the men who, enervated and depraved by the fascination of momentary pleasures, do not foresee the pains and troubles which are sure to befall them, because they are blinded by desire, and in the same error are involved those who prove traitors to their duties through effeminacy of spirit, I mean because they shun exertions and trouble. Now it is easy and simple to mark the difference between these cases. For at our seasons of ease, when we have untrammeled freedom of choice, and when nothing debars us from the power of following the course that pleases us best, then pleasure is wholly a matter for our selection and pain for our rejection. On certain occasions however either through the inevitable call of duty or through stress of circumstances, it will often come to pass that we must put pleasures from us and must make no protest against annoyance. So in such cases the principle of selection adopted by the wise man is that he should either by ‘refusing certain pleasures attain to other and greater pleasures or by enduring pains should ward off pains still more severe. Holding as I do this theory, what reason should I have for fearing that I may not be able to bring our Torquati into accord with it? You a little while ago shewed at once your copious memory and your friendly and kindly feeling for me by quoting their examples; yet you neither perverted me by eulogizing my ancestors nor made me less vigorous in my reply. Now I ask, what interpretation do you put upon the actions of these men? Do you believe that they attacked the armed foe, or practiced such cruelty towards their own children and their own flesh and blood, absolutely without giving a thought to their own interest or their own advantage? Why, even the beasts do not act so as to produce such a tumult and confusion that we cannot see the purpose of their movements and attacks; do you believe that men so exceptional achieved such great exploits from no motive whatever?

What the motive was, I shall examine presently; meanwhile I shall maintain this, that if they per- formed those actions, which are beyond question noble, from some motive, their motive was not virtue apart from all else. He stripped the foe of his necklet. Yes, and he donned it himself to save his own life. But he faced a grave danger. Yes, with the whole army looking on. What did he gain by it ? Applause and affection, which are the strongest guarantees for passing life in freedom from fear. He punished his son with death. If purposelessly, I should be sorry to be descended from one so abominable and so cruel; but if he did it to enforce * by his self-inflicted pain the law of military command, and by fear of punishment to control the army in the midst of a most critical war, then he had in view the preservation of his fellow-countrymen, which he knew to involve his own. And these principles have a wide application. There is one field in which the eloquence of your school has been wont especially to vaunt itself, and your own eloquence in particular, for you are an eager Investigator of the past, I mean the stories of illustrious and heroic men and the applause of their actions viewed as looking not to any reward ‘but to the inherent comeliness of morality. All such arguments are upset when once the principle of choice which I have just described has been established, whereby either pleasures are neglected for the purpose of obtaining pleasures still greater, or pains are incurred for the sake of escaping still greater pains.

XI. But let what has been said on this occasion suffice concerning the brilliant and famous actions of illustrious men. We shall indeed find a fitting opportunity by and by for discoursing about the tendency of all the virtues towards pleasure. At present however I shall shew what is the essence and what are the characteristics of pleasure, so as to remove all confusion caused by ignorant people, and to make it clear how serious, how sober, how austere is that school which is esteemed to be pleasure-seeking, luxurious and effeminate. For the pleasure which we pursue is not that alone which excites the natural constitution itself by a kind of sweetness, and of which the sensual enjoyment is attended by a kind of agreeableness, but we look upon the greatest pleasure as that which is enjoyed when all pain is removed. Now inasmuch as whenever we are released from pain, we rejoice in the mere emancipation and freedom from all annoyance, and everything whereat we rejoice is equivalent to pleasure, just as everything whereat we are troubled is equivalent to pain, therefore the complete release from pain is rightly termed pleasure. For just as the mere removal of annoyance brings with it the realization of pleasure, whenever hunger and thirst have been banished by food and drink, so in every case the banishment of pain ensures its replacement by pleasure. Therefore Epicurus refused to allow that there is any middle term between pain and pleasure; what was thought by some to be a middle term, the absence of all pain, was not only itself pleasure, but the highest pleasure possible. Surely any one who is conscious of his own condition must needs be either in a state of pleasure or in a state of pain.

Epicurus thinks that the highest degree of pleasure is defined by the removal of all pain, so that pleasure may afterwards exhibit diversities and differences but is incapable of increase or extension. But actually at Athens, as my father used to tell me, when he wittily and humorously ridiculed the Stoics, there is in the Ceramicus a statue of Chrysippus, sitting with his hand extended, which hand indicates that he was fond of the following little argument: Does your hand, being in its present condition, feel the lack af anything at all? Certainly of nothing. But if pleasure were the supreme good, it would feel a lack. I agree. Pleasure then is not the supreme good. - My father used to say that even a statue would not talk in that way, if it had power of speech. The inference is shrewd enough as against the Cyrenaics, but does not touch Epicurus. For if the only pleasure were that which, as it were, tickles the senses, if I may say so, and attended by sweetness overflows them and insinuates itself into them, neither the hand nor any other member would be able to rest satisfied with the absence of pain apart from a joyous activity of pleasure. But if it is the highest pleasure, as Epicurus believes, to be in no pain, then the first admission, that the hand in its then existing condition felt no lack, was properly made to you, Chrysippus, but the second improperly, I mean that it would have felt a lack had pleasure been the supreme good. It would certainly feel no lack, and on this ground, that anything which is cut off from the state of pain is in the state of pleasure.

XII. Again, the truth that pleasure is the supreme good can be most easily apprehended from the following consideration. Let us imagine an individual in the enjoyment of pleasures great, numerous and constant, both mental and bodily, with no pain to thwart or threaten them; I ask what circumstances can we describe as more excellent than these or more desirable? A man whose circumstances are such must needs possess, as well as other things, a robust mind subject to no fear of death or pain, because death is apart from sensation, and pain when lasting is usually slight, when oppressive is of short duration, so that its temporariness reconciles us to its intensity, and its slightness to its continuance. When in addition we suppose that such a man is in no awe of the influence of the gods, and does not allow his past pleasures to slip away, but takes delight in constantly recalling them, what circumstance is it possible to add to these, to make his condition better? Imagine on the other hand a man worn by the greatest mental and bodily pains which can befall a human being, with no hope before him that his lot will ever be lighter, and moreover destitute of pleasure either actual or probable; what more pitiable object can be mentioned or imagined? But if a life replete with pains is above all things to be shunned, then assuredly the supreme evil is life accompanied by pain; and from this view it is a consistent inference that the climax of things good is life accompanied by pleasure. Nor indeed can our mind find any other ground whereon to take its stand as though already at the goal; and all its fears and sorrows are comprised under the term pain, nor is there any other thing besides which is able merely by its own character to cause us vexation or pangs. In addition to this the germs of desire and aversion and generally of action originate either in pleasure or in pain.

This being so, it is plain that all right and praiseworthy action has the life of pleasure for its aim. Now inasmuch as the climax or goal or limit of things good (which the Greeks term réàos) is that object which is not a means to the attainment of anything else, while all other things are a means to its attainment, we must allow that the climax of things good is to live agreeably. XIII. Those who find this good in virtue and virtue only, and dazzled by the glory of her name, fail to perceive what it is that nature craves, will be emancipated from heresy of the deepest dye, if they will deign to lend ear to Epicurus. For unless your grand and beautiful virtues were productive of pleasure, who would suppose them to be either meritorious or desirable? Yes, just as we regard with favor the physician’s skill not for his art's sake merely but because we prize sound health, and just as the pilot’s art is praised on utilitarian and not on artistic grounds, because it supplies the principles of good navigation, so wisdom, which we must hold to be the art of living, would be no object of desire, if it were productive of no advantage; but it is in fact desired, because it is to us as an architect that plans and accomplishes pleasure. (You are now aware what kind of pleasure I mean, so the odium of the term must not shake the foundation of my argument.) For seeing that the life of men is most of all troubled by ignorance about the goodness and badness of things, and on account of this blindness men are often robbed of the intensest pleasures and also are racked by the severest mental pains, we must summon to our aid wisdom, that she may remove from us all alarms and passions, and stripping us of our heedless confidence in all false imaginations, may offer herself as our surest guide to pleasure. Wisdom indeed is alone able to drive sadness from our minds, and to prevent us from quaking with fear, and if we sit at her feet we may live in perfect calm, when once the heat of every passion has been cooled.

Verily the passions are unconscionable, and overthrow not merely individual men, but whole families, and often shake the foundations of the entire commonwealth. From passions spring enmities, divisions, strifes, rebellions and wars. Nor do the passions only air their pride abroad; they do not merely attack others than ourselves in their blind onset; but even when imprisoned within our own breasts they are at variance and strife one with another; and the inevitable result of this is life of the bitterest kind, so that the wise man alone, who has cut back and pruned away all vanity and delusion, can live contentedly within the bounds prescribed by nature, emancipated from all sorrow and from all fear. I ask what classification is either more profitable or more suited to the life of happiness than that adopted by Epicurus? He affirmed that there is one class of passions which are both natural and needful; another class which are natural with- out being needful; a third class which are neither natural nor needful; and such are the conditions of these passions that the needful class are satisfied without much trouble or expenditure ; nor is it much that the natural passions crave, since nature herself makes such wealth as will satisfy her both easy of access and moderate in amount; and it is not possible to discover any boundary or limit to false passions.

XIV. But if we see that all human life is agitated by con- fusion and ignorance, and that wisdom alone can redeem us from the violence of our lusts and from the menace of our fears, and alone can teach us to endure humbly even the outrages of fortune, and alone can guide us into every path which leads to peace and calm, why should we hesitate to say that wisdom is desirable in view of pleasures, and unwisdom to be shunned on account of annoyances? And on the same principles we shall assert that even temperance is not desirable for its own sake, but because it brings quiet to our hearts and soothes them and appeases them by a kind of harmony. Temperance is in truth the virtue which warns us to follow reason in dealing with the objects of desire or repugnance. Nor indeed is it enough to resolve what we are to do or omit, but we should also abide by our resolve. Most men, however, being unable to uphold and maintain a determination they have themselves made, are overmastered and enervated when the image of pleasure is thrust before their eyes, and surrender them- selves to be bound by the chain of their lusts, nor do they foresee what the issue will be, and so for the sake of some paltry and needless pleasure, which would be procured by other means if they chose, and with which they might dispense and yet not suffer pain, rush sometimes into grievous diseases, sometimes into ruin, sometimes into disgrace, and often even become subject to the penalties imposed by the statutes and the courts. Men however whose aim is so to enjoy their pleasures that no pains may ensue in consequence of them, and who retain their own judgment, which prevents them from succumbing to pleasure and doing things which they feel should not be done, these achieve the greatest amount of pleasure by neglecting pleasure. Such men actually often suffer pain, fearing that, if they’ do not, they may incur greater pain. From these reflections it is easily understood that intemperance on the one hand is not repugnant in and for itself, and on the other that temperance is an object of desire, not because it flees from pleasures, but because it is followed by greater pleasures.

XV. The same principles will be found to apply to courage ; for neither the performance of work nor the suffering of pain is in itself attractive, nor yet endurance, nor diligence, nor watchings nor much-praised industry itself, no, nor courage either, but we devote ourselves to all such things for the purpose of passing our life in freedom from anxiety and alarm, and of emancipating both mind and body, so far as we can succeed in doing so, from annoyance. As in truth, on the one hand, the entire stability of a peaceful life is shaken by the fear of death, and it is wretched to succumb to pains and to bear them in an abject and feeble spirit, and many have through such weakness of mind brought ruin on their parents, many on their friends and some on their country, so on the other hand a strong and exalted spirit is free from all solicitude and torment, as it thinks lightly of death, which brings those who are subject to it into the same state they were in before they were born, and such a spirit is so disciplined to encounter pains that it recalls how the most severe of them are terminated by death, while the slighter grant many seasons of rest, and those which lie between these two classes are under our control, so that if we find them endurable, we may tolerate them, if otherwise, we may with an unruffled mind make our exit from life, when we find it disagreeable, as we would from a theatre. These facts enable us to see that cowardice and weakness are not blamed, nor courage and endurance applauded, for what they are in themselves, but that the former qualities are spurned, because productive of pain, while the latter are sought, because productive of pleasure.

XVI. Justice still is left to complete our statement concern- ing the whole of virtue, but considerations nearly similar may be urged. Just as I have proved wisdom, temperance and courage to be linked with pleasure, so-that they cannot possibly by any means be sundered or severed from it, so we must deem of justice, which not only never injures any person, but on the contrary always produces some benefit, not solely by reason of its own power and constitution, whereby it calms our minds, but also by inspiring hope that we shall lack none of the objects which nature when uncorrupted craves. And as recklessness and caprice and cowardice always torture the mind and always bring unrest and tumult, so if wickedness has established itself in a man’s mind, the mere fact of its presence causes tumult; if moreover it has carried out any deed, however secretly it may have acted, yet it will never feel a trust that the action will always remain concealed. In most cases the acts of wicked men are at first dogged by suspicion, then by talk and rumor, then by the prosecutor, then by the judge; many have actually informed against themselves, as in your own consulship. But if there are any who seem to themselves to be sufficiently barri- caded and fortified against all privity on the part of their fellow men, still they tremble before the privity of the gods, and imagine that the very cares by which their minds are devoured night and day are imposed upon them, with a view to their punishment, by the eternal gods. Again, from wicked acts what new influence can accrue tending to the diminution of annoyances, equal to that which tends to their increase, not only from consciousness of the actions themselves, but also from legal penalties and the hatred of the community? And yet some men exhibit no moderation in money-making, or office, or military command, or wantonness, or gluttony, or the remaining passions, which are not lessened but rather intensified by the trophies of wickedness, so that such persons seem fit to be repressed rather than to be taught their error.

True reason beckons men of properly sound mind to pursue justice, fairness and honour; nor are acts of injustice advantageous to a man without eloquence or influence, who cannot easily succeed in what he attempts, nor maintain his success if he wins it, and large resources either of wealth or of talent suit better with a generous spirit, for those who exhibit this spirit attract to themselves goodwill and affection, which s very well calculated to ensure a peaceful life; and this is the truer in that men have no reason for sinning. For the passions which proceed from nature are easily satisfied without committing any wrong; while we must not succumb to those which are groundless, since they yearn for nothing worthy of our craving, and more loss is involved in the mere fact of wrong doing, than profit in the results which are produced by the wrong doing. So one would not be right in describing even justice as a thing to be wished for on its own account, but rather because it brings with it a very large amount of agreeableness. For to be the object of esteem and affection is agreeable just because it renders life safer and more replete with pleasures. Therefore we think that wickedness should be shunned, not alone on account of the disadvantages which fall to the lot of the wicked, but much rather because when it pervades a man’s soul it never permits him to breathe freely or to rest. Butif the encomium passed even on the virtues themselves, over which the eloquence of all other philosophers especially runs riot, can find no vent unless it be referred to pleasure, and pleasure is the only thing which invites us to the pursuit of itself, and attracts us by reason of its own nature, then there can be no doubt that of all things good it is the supreme and ultimate good, and that a life of happiness means nothing else but a life attended by pleasure.

XVII. I will concisely explain what are the corollaries of these sure and well grounded opinions. People make no mis- take about the standards of good and evil themselves, that is about pleasure or pain, but err in these matters through ignorance of the means by which these results are to be brought about. Now we admit that mental pleasures and pains spring from bodily pleasures and pains; so I allow what you alleged just now, that any of our school who differ from this opinion are out of court; and indeed I see there are many such, but unskilled thinkers.

I grant that although mental pleasure brings us joy and mental pain brings us trouble, yet each feeling takes its rise in the body and is dependent on the body, though it does not follow that the pleasures and pains of the mind do not greatly surpass those of the body. With the body indeed we can perceive only what is present to us at the moment, but with the mind the past and future also. For granting that we feel just as great pain when our body is in pain, still mental pain may be very greatly intensified if we imagine some everlasting and unbounded evil to be menacing us. And we may apply the same argument to pleasure, so that it is increased by the absence of such fears. By this time so much at least is plain, that the intensest pleasure or the intensest annoyance felt in the mind exerts more influence on the happiness or wretchedness of life than either feeling, when present for an equal space of time in the body. We refuse to believe, however, that when pleasure is . removed, grief instantly ensues, excepting when perchance pain has taken the place of the pleasure; but we think on the contrary that we experience joy on the passing away of pains, even though none of that kind of pleasure which stirs the senses has taken their place; and from this it may be understood how great a pleasure it is to be without pain. But as we are elated by the blessings to which we look forward, so we delight in those which we call to memory.

Fools however are tormented by the recollection of misfortunes; wise men rejoice in keeping fresh the thankful recollection of their past blessings. Now it is in the power of our wills to bury our adversity in almost unbroken forgetfulness, and to agreeably and sweetly remind ourselves of our prosperity. But when we look with penetration and concentration of thought upon things that are past, then, if those things are bad, grief usually ensues, if good, joy.

XVIII. What a noble and open and plain and straight avenue to a happy life! It being certain that nothing can be better for man than to be relieved of all pain and annoyance, and to have full enjoyment of the greatest pleasures both of mind and of body, do you not see how nothing is neglected which assists our life more easily to attain that which is its aim, the supreme good? Epicurus, the man whom you charge with being an extravagant devotee of pleasures, cries aloud that no one can live agreeably unless he lives a wise, moral and righteous life, and that no one can live a wise, moral and righteous life without living agreeably. It is not possible for a community to be happy when there is rebellion, nor for a house when its masters are at strife; much less can a mind at disaccord and at strife with itself taste any portion of pleasure undefiled and unimpeded. Nay more, if the mind is always beset by desires and designs which are recalcitrant and irreconcilable, it can never see a moment’s rest or a moment’s peace. But if agreeableness of life is thwarted by the more serious bodily diseases, how much more must it inevitably be thwarted by the diseases of the mind! Now the diseases of the mind are the measureless and false passions for riches, fame, power and even for the lustful pleasures.

To these are added griefs, troubles, sorrows, which devour the mind and wear it away with anxiety, because men do not comprehend that no pain should be felt in the mind, which is unconnected with an immediate or impending bodily pain. Nor indeed is there among fools any one who is not sick with some one of these diseases; there is none therefore who is not wretched. There is also death which always hangs over them like the stone over Tantalus, and again superstition, which prevents those who are tinged by it from ever being able to rest. Moreover they have no memories for their past good fortune, and no enjoyment of their present ; they only wait for what is to come, and as this cannot but be uncertain, they are wasted with anguish and alarm; and they are tortured most of all when they become conscious, all too late, that their devotion to wealth or military power, or influence, or fame has been entirely in vain. For they achieve none of the pleasures which they ardently hoped to obtain and so underwent numerous and severe exertions. Turn again to another class of men, trivial and pusillanimous, either always in despair about everything, or ill-willed, spiteful, morose, misanthropic, slanderous, unnatural; others again are slaves to the frivolities of the lover ; others are aggressive, others reckless or impudent, while these same men are uncontrolled and inert, never persevering in their opinion, and for these reasons there never is in their life any intermission of annoyance. `. Therefore neither can any fool be happy, nor any wise man fail to be happy. And we advocate these views far better and with much greater truth than do the Stoics, since they declare that nothing good exists excepting that vague phantom which they call morality, a title imposing rather than real; and that virtue being founded on this morality demands no pleasure and is satisfied with her own resources for the attainment of happiness.

XIX. But these doctrines may be stated in a certain manner so as not merely to disarm our criticism, but actually to secure our sanction. For this is the way in which Epicurus represents the wise man as continually happy; he keeps his passions within bounds; about death he is indifferent; he holds true views concerning the eternal gods apart from all dread; he has no hesitation in crossing the boundary of life, if that be the better course. Furnished with these advantages he is continually in a state of pleasure, and there is in truth no moment at which he does not experience more pleasures than pains. For he remembers the past with thankfulness, and the present is so much his own that he is aware of its importance and its agreeableness, nor is he in dependence on the future, but awaits it while enjoying the present; he is also very far removed from those defects ef character which I quoted a little time ago, -and when he compares the fool’s life with his own, he feels great pleasure. And pains, if any befall him, have never power enough to prevent the wise man from finding more reasons for joy than for vexation. It was indeed excellently said by Epicurus that fortune only in a small degree crosses the wise man’s path, and that his greatest and most important undertakings are executed in accordance with his own design and his own principles, and that no greater pleasure can be reaped from a life which is without end in time, than is reaped from this which we know to have its allotted end.

He judged that the logic of your school possesses no efficacy either for the amelioration of life or for the facilitation of debate. He laid the greatest stress on natural science. That branch of knowledge enables us to realize clearly the force of words and the natural conditions of speech and the theory of consistent and contradictory expressions; and when we have learned the constitution of the universe we are relieved of superstition, are emancipated from the dread of death, are not agitated through ignorance of phenomena, from which ignorance, more than anything else, terrible panics often arise; finally, our characters will also be improved when we have learned what it is that nature craves. Then again if we grasp a firm knowledge of phenomena, and uphold that canon, which almost fell from heaven into human ken, that test to which we are to bring all our judgments concerning things, we shall never succumb to any man’s eloquence and abandon our opinions. Moreover, un- less the constitution of the world is thoroughly understood, we shall by no means be able to justify the verdicts of our ` senses. Further, our mental perceptions all arise from our sensations; and if these are all to be true, as the system of Epicurus proves to us, then only will cognition and perception become possible. Now those who invalidate sensations and say that perception is altogether impossible, cannot even clear the way for this very argument of theirs when they have thrust the senses aside. Moreover, when cognition and knowledge have been invalidated, every principle concerning the conduct of life and the performance of its business becomes in- validated. So from natural science we borrow courage to withstand the fear of death, and firmness to face superstitious dread, and tranquility of mind, through the removal of ignorance concerning the mysteries of the world, and self-control, arising from the elucidation of the nature of the passions and their different classes, and as I shewed just now, our leader again has established the canon and criterion of knowledge and thus has imparted to us a method for marking off falsehood from truth.

XX. One topic remains, which is of prime importance for this discussion, that relating to friendship, which you declare will cease to exist, if pleasure be the supreme good, yet Epicurus makes this declaration concerning it, that of all the aids to happiness procured for us by wisdom, none is greater than friendship, none more fruitful, none more delightful. Nor in fact did he sanction this view by his language alone, but much more by his life and actions and character. And the greatness of friendship is made evident by the imaginary stories of the ancients, in which, numerous and diversified as they are, and reaching back to extreme antiquity, scarce three pairs of friends are mentioned, so that beginning with Theseus you end with Orestes. But in truth within the limits of a single school, and that restricted in numbers, what great flocks of friends did Epicurus secure, and how great was that harmony of affection wherein they all agreed! And his example is followed by the Epicureans in our day also. But let us return to our theme; there is no need to speak of persons. I see then that friendship has been discussed by our school in three ways. Some, denying that the pleasures which affect our friends are in themselves as desirable to us as those we desire for ourselves, a view which certain persons think shakes the foundation of friendship, still defend their position, and in my opinion easily escape from their difficulties. For they affirm that friendship, like the virtues of which we spoke already, cannot be dissociated from pleasure. Now since isolation and a life without friends abound in treacheries and alarms, reason herself advises us to procure friendships, by the acquisition of which the spirit is strengthened, and cannot then be severed from the hope of achieving pleasures. And as enmity, spitefulness, scorn, are opposed to pleasures, so friendships are not only the truest promoters, but are actually efficient causes of pleasures, as well to a man’s friends as to himself; and friends not only have the immediate enjoyment of these pleasures but are elate with hope as regards future and later times. Now because we can by no means apart from friendship preserve the agreeable- ness of life strong and unbroken, nor further can we maintain friendship itself unless we esteem our friends in the same degree as ourselves; on that account this principle is acted on in friend- ship, and so friendship is linked with pleasure. Truly we both rejoice at the joy of our friends as much as at our own joy, and we are equally pained by their vexations.

Therefore the wise man will entertain the same feeling for his friend as for himself, and the very same efforts which he would undergo to procure his own pleasure, these he will undergo to procure that of his friend. And all that we said of the virtues to shew how they always have their root in pleasures, must be said over again about friendship. For it was nobly declared by Epicurus, almost in these words: It is one and the same feeling which strengthens the mind against the fear of eternal or lasting evil, and which clearly sees that in this actual span of life the protection afforded by friendship is the most powerful of all. There are however certain Epicureans who are somewhat more nervous in facing the reproaches of your school, but are still shrewd enough; these are afraid that if we suppose friendship to be desirable with a view to our own pleasure, friendship may appear to be altogether maimed, as it were.

So they say that while the earliest meetings and associations and tendencies towards the establishment of familiarity do arise on account of pleasure, yet when experience has gradually produced intimacy, then affection ripens to such a degree that though no interest be served by the friendship, yet friends are loved in themselves and for their own sake. Again, if by familiarity we get to love localities, shrines, cities, the exercise ground, the park, dogs, horses, and exhibitions either of gymnastics or of combats with beasts, how much more easily and properly may this come about when our familiarity is with human beings? Men are found to say that there is a certain treaty of alliance which binds wise men not to esteem their friends less than they do themselves. Such alliance we not only understand to be possible, but often see it realized, and it is plain that nothing can be found more conducive to pleasantness of life than union of this kind. From all these different views we may conclude that not only are the principles of friendship left unconstrained, if the supreme good be made to reside in pleasure, but that without this view it is entirely impossible to discover a basis for friendship.

XXI. Wherefore, if the doctrines I have stated are more dazzling and luminous than the sun itself, if they are draughts drawn from nature’s spring, if our whole argument establishes its credit entirely by an appeal to our senses, that is to say, to witnesses who are untainted and unblemished, if speechless babes and even dumb beasts almost cry out that with nature for our governor and guide there is no good fortune but pleasure, no adverse fortune but pain, and their verdict upon these matters is neither perverted nor tainted, are we not bound to entertain the greatest gratitude for the man who lending his ear to this voice of nature, as I may call it, grasped it in so strong and serious a spirit that he guided all thoroughly sober-minded men into the track of a peaceful, quiet, restful, happy life? And though you think him ill-educated, the reason is that he held no education of any worth, but such as promoted the ordered life of happiness. Was he the man to spend his time in conning poets as I and Triarius do on your advice, when they afford no substantial benefit, and all the enjoyment they give is childish in kind, or was he the man to waste himself, like Plato, upon music, geometry, mathematics and astronomy, which not only start from false assumptions and so cannot be true, but if they were true would not aid us one whit towards living a more agreeable, that is a better life; was he, I ask, the man to pursue those arts and thrust behind him the art of living, an art of such moment, so laborious too, and correspondingly rich in fruit? Epicurus then is not uneducated, but those persons are uninstructed who think that subjects which it is disgraceful to a boy not to have learned, are to be learned through life into old age. When he had thus spoken, he said, ‘I have expounded my own tenets and just with this purpose, that I might make acquaintance with your opinion, as this is an opportunity for doing so to my satisfaction, which has never been offered me till now.

END OF BOOK I.

BOOK II - Against the Epicureans

I. AT this point, finding that both were looking towards me and making signs that they were ready to listen, I began : ‘In the first place I entreat you not to suppose that I am going to expound to you some thesis after the fashion of a philosopher, for that is a practice which, even when adopted by the philosophers themselves, I have never much liked. When, I ask, did Socrates, who may as of right be entitled the father of philosophy, proceed in any such manner? It was a custom distinctive of those who in his day were styled sophists; and Gorgias of Leontini was the first of their number who ventured in a meeting to demand a theme, I mean to request some one to propose a subject on which he desired to hear a lecture. A bold undertaking; I should call it shameless, but that the plan afterwards became the property of my own school of philosophy.

Still, as can be seen from Plato’s writings, we find that the sophist I just named and the rest too were made ridiculous by Socrates. He by probing and questioning used to bring out the ideas of those with whom he conversed, so that he might criticize their answers if he thought fit. This custom was not observed by his successors, but Arcesilas revived it, and such persons as desired to listen to him he taught not to put questions to him but themselves to declare their thoughts, and when they had done so, he replied. But his audience maintained their own views so far as they could; in the other schools of philosophy, he who has once proposed a question holds his peace; as indeed is now usual even in the Academy. For when he who desires to be instructed has said, I hold pleasure to be the supreme good, then the discussion on the opposite side consists of a continuous speech, so that it may easily be under- stood that the men who declare themselves to hold some view are not personally of that opinion, but desire to hear the opposite side. We proceed in a more convenient way; Torquatus has not only told us what he thinks, but also why he thinks it. But, though I was exceedingly pleased with the continuous speech he made, yet I imagine it to be a more convenient method, by pausing at each step, and understanding what concessions each is prepared to make and what he refuses to make, to draw from the admissions the inferences we desire, and so arrive at a conclusion. For when a speech sweeps on- ward like a flood, although it carries along with it many things of every kind, still you would never seize on or grasp any statement, or restrain at any point the swift course of the speech. Now in investigations any discourse which is in some sense methodically and rationally conducted is bound at the outset to lay down what we find in certain legal forms: This shall be the point at issue; so that the disputants may be agreed what the matter in dispute is.

II. To this rule, as laid down by Plato in the Phaedrus, Epicurus gave his sanction, and declared that this proceeding should be ob- served in every debate. But the next step he did not see; for he pronounces against any definition of a subject being given, though, without such, it is impossible sometimes to secure an understanding concerning the nature of the point at issue between those who take part in the discussion; as for instance in the case of the very matter we are now debating. Our inquiry touches the ultimate good; can we learn what its nature is, without agreeing among ourselves, when we use the phrase ultimate good, what we mean by ultimate and what also we mean by good itself? But this disclosure of matters which were, so to say, veiled, by which we reveal the essence of each thing, its definition; and you actually adopted it occasionally unawares; for instance you defined this very ultimate or final or supreme good to be that standard whereby all right actions are judged, which is itself judged by no standard anywhere.

Excellent, so far. Perhaps if you had had occasion, you would have defined the good itself as the object of natural desire, or that which is beneficial, or that which is pleasing, or that which strikes the fancy merely. Now too, if you have no objection, as you do not altogether reject definition, and practice it when you please, I should like you to define what pleasure is, for our whole inquiry deals with that.’ ‘Pray,’ said he, ‘who is there that does not know what pleasure is, or requires some definition to make it plainer?’ ‘I should proclaim myself to be such a person,’ said I, ‘but that I believe myself to have a thorough notion of pleasure, and a quite stable idea and conception of it in my mind. As it is, however, I allege that Epicurus himself is in the dark about it and uncertain in his idea of it, and that the very man who often asserts that the meaning which our terms denote ought to be accurately represented, sometimes does not see what this term pleasure indicates, I mean what the thing is which is denoted by the term.’

III. Then he said with a smile, ‘this is truly an excellent thought, that he who declares pleasure to be supreme among objects of desire, and the final and ultimate good, knows no- thing of the essence and attributes of the thing itself!’ ‘Nay, said I, ‘either Epicurus is ignorant or else all human beings who are to be found anywhere are ignorant what pleasure is.’ ‘How so?’ he said. ‘Because all pronounce that thing to be pleasure, by the reception of which sense is excited and is pervaded by a certain agreeable feeling.’ ‘Well then,’ said he, ‘is Epicurus unfamiliar with this kind of pleasure?’

‘Not always, I replied, ‘for he is now and then too familiar with it, since he avers that he cannot even understand where any good exists, or what is its nature, unless such good as is experienced from food and drink and the gratification of the ears and from impure pleasures. Is this not in fact what he says?’ ‘As if, said he, ‘I were ashamed of the words you quote, or unable to explain in what sense they are used!’ ‘I assure you,’ said I, ‘I do not question your ability to do that easily, nor have you any cause to be ashamed of repeating things said by a wise man, who is the only one, so far as I know, that ever ventured to announce himself as a wise man. I do not suppose that Metrodorus announced himself as such, but rather that when Epicurus gave him the title, he did not like to thrust from him so great a favor. The well-known seven again obtained the title not by their own vote, but by that of all nations. However, I take it for granted at this point that when he holds such language Epicurus certainly understands the word pleasure to bear the same sense that the rest of the world give it. All men in fact describe by the term _ἡδονὴ in Greek and the term voluptas in Latin an agreeable excitement by which the sense is cheered.’

‘Then,’ said he, ‘what else should you want?’ ‘I will tell you, said I, ‘and that rather in the hope of being instructed, than from a desire to find fault with you or Epicurus.’ ‘I too, he replied, ‘would be better pleased to learn anything you have to bring forward, than to find fault with you.’ ‘Do you understand, then, I continued, ‘ what Hieronymus of Rhodes declares to be the supreme good, by the standard of which he thinks all things should be judged?’ ‘I understand,’ he answered, ‘that he holds freedom from pain to be the final good. ‘Well, I asked, ‘what view does this same philosopher hold of pleasure?’ ‘He asserts, said he, ‘that it is not essentially an object of desire.” ‘So he is of opinion that joy is one thing, absence of pain another.’ ‘Yes,’ was the answer, ‘and he is grossly mistaken, for, as I proved a little while ago, the limit to the increase of pleasure consists in the removal of all pain.’ ‘I shall examine afterwards, I said, ‘what is the sense of your expression absence of pain, but that pleasure means one thing, absence of pain another, you must grant me, unless you prove very obstinate.’ ‘Oh but,’ said he, ‘you will find me obstinate in this matter, for no doctrine can be more truly stated.’ ‘Pray,’ said I, ‘does a man when thirsty find pleasure in drinking?’ ‘Who could say no to that?’ he answered. ‘The same pleasure that he feels when the thirst has been quenched?’ ‘No, a pleasure different in kind. For the quenching of the thirst brings with it a steady pleasure, whereas the pleasure which accompanies the process of quenching itself consists in agitation. ‘Why then,’ said I, ‘do you describe two things so different by the same name ?’ ‘Do you not recollect, he answered, ‘what I said a little while since, that when once all pain has been removed pleasure admits of varieties but not of increase?’ ‘I do indeed remember,’ said I, ‘but though your statement is in good Latin, it is far from clear. For variety is a Latin word, and is in its strict sense applied to differences of color, but is metaphorically used to denote many differences; we speak of a varied poem, varied speech, varied manners, varied fortune, pleasure too is usually called varied when it is derived from many unlike objects which produce pleasures that are unlike. If you intended this by the term variety, I should understand it, as indeed I do understand the word when you are not the speaker; I am far from clear what the variety is of which you speak, when you say that we experience the highest pleasure as often as we are without pain, when however we are eating things which rouse a pleasurable agitation in our senses, then the pleasure consists in the agitation, which produces a variety in our pleasures, but that the pleasure felt in absence of pain is not thereby in- creased; and why you should call that feeling pleasure, I cannot understand.’

IV. ‘Can then,’ my friend said, ‘anything be sweeter than to feel no pain?’ ‘Nay, I said, ‘be it granted that there is nothing better, for I am not yet investigating that question; does it therefore follow that painlessness, so to call it, is identical with pleasure?’ ‘It is quite identical, and is the greatest possible, and no pleasure can be greater. ‘Why then, I answered, ‘when once you have so defined your supreme good as to make it consist entirely in absence of pain, do you shrink from embracing, maintaining, and championing this exclusively? I ask what need there is for you to introduce pleasure into the assembly of the virtues, like some harlot into a company of matrons? The name of pleasure is odious, disreputable, open to suspicion. So you are in the habit of telling us this, very often, that we do not understand what kind of pleasure Epicurus means. Now whenever I have been told this (and I have been told it not unfrequently) I have the habit of getting now and then a little angry, though I usually bear myself with tolerable calmness in discussion. Do I not understand what ἡδονὴ means in Greek and voluptas in Latin? Which, pray, of the two languages is it that I do not know?

Next, how comes it that I do not know this, though all those are aware of it, whoever they be, that have chosen to become Epicureans? And this is a point argued by your school most admirably, that a man who is to become a philosopher has no need to be acquainted with literature. Thus just as our ancestors brought old Cincinnatus from his plough to make him dictator, so you gather from every village men who are indeed worthies, but surely not very well educated. They then understand what Epicurus means, and I do not? To let you know that I do understand, I first declare that by voluptas I mean what he means by ἡδονὴ. Now though we often search for a Latin word equivalent to a Greek word and conveying the same sense, in this case there was no need to search. No word can possibly be discovered which more exactly represents in Latin the sense of a Greek word than voluptas. All men everywhere who know Latin denote by this word two things, delight existing in the mind and a sweet agreeable agitation in the body. In fact the character in Trabea’s play describes delight as excessive pleasure in the mind, just like the character in Caecilius, who gives out that he is delighted with all delights. But there is this distinction, that voluptas is applied also to the mind (an immoral feeling, as the Stoics think, who define it as an irrational elevation of the mind when it fancies itself in the enjoyment of some great blessing) while laetitia and gaudium are not used in connection with the body. But according to the usage of all who speak Latin, pleasure consists in feeling that kind of agreeableness which agitates some one of the senses. This agreeableness too you may apply metaphorically if you please to the mind; for we use the phrase to affect agreeably in both cases, and in connection with it the word agreeable; if only you understand that midway between the man who says I am enriched with such delight that I am unsteadied and the man who cries Now at last is my heart on fire, one of whom is transported with delight, while the other is racked by pain, comes this man’s speech Though this our acquaintance is quite recent, for he is neither in a state of delight nor of torture; and also that between him who is master of exquisite bodily pleasures and him who is tormented by the intensest pains comes he who is removed from both states.

V. Do you think then that I sufficiently grasp the force of expressions, or am I even at my age to be taught to speak either Greek or Latin? And, putting that aside, even granting that I do not clearly comprehend what Epicurus means, though I have, I believe, a clear knowledge of Greek, look to it that there be not some fault in him who uses such language that he is not understood. This happens in two ways without reproof, when it is done intentionally, as by Heraclitus, who is styled by the surname σκοτεινός, because he talked about physical science an very dark language, or when the darkness of the subject-matter, not the language, makes the style difficult to understand, as is the case with the Timaeus of Plato. But Epicurus, I imagine, neither lacks the desire to express himself lucidly and plainly, if he can, nor deals with dark subjects, as do the physical writers, nor with technical matters, like the mathematicians, but speaks on a doctrine which is perspicuous and easy and which has already spread itself abroad. Still you do not declare that we fail to understand what pleasure is, but what he says of it, whence it results not that we fail to under- stand the force of the word in question, but that he speaks after a fashion of his own and gives no heed to ours. If indeed his statement is identical with that of Hieronymus, who pronounces that supreme good consists in a life apart from all annoyance, why does he prefer to talk of pleasure rather than of freedom from pain, as Hieronymus does, who well understands what he is describing? And if he thinks he must add to this the pleasure which depends on agitation (for he thus speaks of this sweet kind of pleasure, as consisting in agitation, and of the other, felt by a man free from pain, as consisting in steadiness) why does he fight? He cannot bring it about that any man who knows him- self, I mean who has thoroughly examined his own constitution and his own senses, should think that freedom from pain is one and the same thing with pleasure. It is as good as doing violence to the senses, Torquatus, to uproot from our minds those notions of words which are ingrained in us. Why, who can fail to see that there are, in the nature of things, these three states, one when we are in pleasure, another when we are in pain, the third, the state in which I am now, and I suppose you too, when we are neither in pain nor in pleasure; thus he who is feasting is in pleasure, while he who is on the rack is in pain. But do you not see that between these extremes lies a great crowd of men who feel neither delight nor sorrow?’ ‘Not at all” said he; ‘and I affirm that all who are without pain are in pleasure and that the fullest possible.’ ‘Therefore he who, not thirsty himself, mixes mead for another, and he who, being thirsty, drinks the mead, are in just the same state of pleasure?’

VI. Then he replied: ‘Make an end of questioning if you please; and I said at the outset that I preferred to have it so, foreseeing just what has come about, I mean logical quibbles.’ ‘Then, said I, ‘would you rather that we debated in rhetorical than in logical style?’ ‘You speak,’ he answered, ‘as though continuous speech belonged to rhetoricians only and not to philosophers also.’ ‘This,’ I replied, ‘is: what Zeno the Stoic says; that all power of speech has two divisions (so it seemed to Aristotle before him); rhetoric he declared to resemble the open hand, logic the closed fist, because rhetoricians speak in a more extended, and logicians in a more condensed style. I will therefore bow to your wish, and will speak in the rhetorical manner if I can, but using the rhetoric of philosophers, not our rhetoric of the forum, which must needs be sometimes a little more obtuse, because it talks to catch the mob. But while Epicurus disregards logic, Torquatus, which is the sole foundation of all skill both in discovering the essence of every object and in determining its qualities, and also in conducting discussion reasonably and methodically, he makes shipwreck, in my opinion, of his exposition, and uses no art to define the matters he desires to demonstrate, as in the very instance of which we were even now talking.

You declare pleasure to be the supreme good. You have therefore to unfold the nature of pleasure; for otherwise the object of the inquiry cannot be made clear. And if he had made it clear, he would not be in such difficulties; he would either defend the kind of pleasure adopted by Aristippus, to wit, that whereby sense is sweetly and agreeably agitated, which even beasts would call pleasure if they had power to talk, or else, if he decided to speak after a fashion of his own rather than as all men of Argos and Mycenae, and the Attic youth to boot, and the rest of the Greeks who are summoned in these anapaestic lines, he would describe this absence of pain alone by the term pleasure, and would disregard the pleasure of Aristippus, or again, if he accepted both kinds, as he does, he would combine freedom from pain with pleasure, and adopt two kinds of ultimate good. Indeed many great philosophers have thus invented complex views of ultimate good; for example, Aristotle combined the practice of virtue with the good fortune of a life complete in itself; Callipho attached pleasure to morality; Diodorus added to morality again freedom from pain. Epicurus would have acted in the same way, if he had combined the view, which is now the property of Hieronymus, with the old view of Aristippus.

These two philosophers are at variance, therefore each adopts his own view of the ethical standard; and as both use excellent Greek, neither Aristippus, who affirms pleasure to be the supreme good, makes absence of pain a part of pleasure, nor does Hieronymus, who lays down that the supreme good is absence of pain, ever use the term pleasure to denote such painlessness, since he does not reckon pleasure as even having a place among objects of desire.

VII. Lest you should suppose that the words only differ, I say that the things denoted are also two. Freedom from pain is one thing, possession of pleasure another; you attempt not merely to compound out of these two things, diverse as they are, one single term (for I should find that easier to endure) but to roll the two things into one, which cannot possibly be done. Your philosopher, who approves both things, was bound formally to adopt both, as he does in fact, without distinguishing them in words. For when in numerous passages he eulogizes that very kind of pleasure, which all men call by the same name, he makes bold to say that he cannot even imagine any form of good unconnected with that kind of pleasure which Aristippus approves; and he makes this declaration in passages where his whole language refers to the supreme good. But in another book, in which, by putting briefly his most weighty maxims, he is said to have published the oracles, as it were, of wisdom, he writes in these terms, which of course are familiar to you, Torquatus; who indeed of your school has not got by heart the κυρία δόξα, that is, maxims tersely expressed, the most authoritative, so to speak, because they have the most important bearing on happiness ?—Well then, consider whether I translate this maxim properly: 'If the objects which are productive of pleasures to sybarites, freed them from the fear of gods, and of death and of pain, and proved to them what are the proper limits to our passions, we should find nothing to blame, since these men would be enriched with pleasures on all sides and would not experience in any direction anything painful or grievous, which is what we mean by evil.' At this point Triarius could not contain himself. ‘Pray, Torquatus, said he, ‘is this what Epicurus says?’ For my part, I think that though he knew it, he still wanted to hear Torquatus admit it. He, how- ever, did not shrink, but very boldly answered: ‘yes, in those very words; but you here do not see through his meaning.’ ‘If he means one thing and utters another, said I, ‘I shall never under- stand what his meaning is; but whatever he grasps he states clearly. And if what he states is this, that sybarites are not to be blamed, if they be wise men, then he states nonsense, just- as much as if he were to declare that assassins are not to be blamed if they are not passionate and if they fear neither gods nor death nor pain. And yet what propriety is there in allowing any saving clause for sybarites, or in imagining persons, who, though they live like sybarites, are not blamed by the prince of philosophers on that account at least, while they guard against all else ? But for all that would you not, Epicurus, blame sybarites for this very reason, because they so live as to aim at pleasures of every class, and that although the supreme pleasure, as you yourself say, is to feel no pain? But, even so, we shall find profligates who, in the first place, are so destitute of superstition as to dine off the patin, and next are so thoroughly without fear of death, that they have on their lips the line of the Hymnis— For me six months suffice of life, the seventh to death I vow. Further, they will produce, as though from a medicine chest, the Epicurean panacea for their pain: If ts hard, tis short; of tis long, tis light. One thing I do not know, how a man can, if a sybarite, keep his passions within bounds,

VIII. What propriety then is there in saying: I should find nothing to blame, if they kept their passions within bounds? This is as much as to say: I should not blame profligates, if they were not profligates. Nor, on the same method, the unprincipled people if they were good men. At this point the stern fellow declines to think that sybaritism is in itself a thing to blame. And emphatically, Torquatus, to be candid, he is very right in declining, if pleasure is the supreme good. I should be sorry to imagine to myself profligates, as you often do, who are sick at table, and are carried away from banquets, and though dyspeptic gorge themselves again next day, who, as the saying has it, have never caught a glimpse of either the setting or the rising sun, who run through their inheritance and are beggars. There is not a man on our side who thinks that profligates of that kind have an agreeable life. Those who are refined and tasteful, with excellent cooks and confectioners, with fish, fowl and game, and all such things of recherché descriptions, who avoid dyspepsia, whose wine is drawn golden from a full cask, as Lucilius says, which has no harshness, but the strainer has removed it all—who introduce sports and their accompaniments, the things in the absence of which Epicurus (as he noisily tells us) cannot understand what good means ; let handsome youths stand by, to wait; let dress, plate, bronzes, the room itself and the building be all in keeping ;—well then, even such profligates as these I should never declare to live well or happily. From this it results, not that pleasure is not pleasure, but that pleasure is not the supreme good. Nor was the great Laelius, who in his youth had learnt of Diogenes the Stoic, and later of Panaetius, surnamed the wise, because he did not perceive what thing had the best flavour (it does not follow that when a man’s heart has true taste, his palate has none) but because he held such things in low esteem. Oh sorrel, how art thou despised nor ts thy worth truly known! ‘Twas oer thee that Laelius, the great sage, used to utter loud praises, addressing our gourmands one by one.

Finely does Laelius speak, and like a true sage, and this of his is true:

Oh Publius, Oh thou glutton Gallonius, a wretched man art thou, says he. Thou hast never yet dined well in thy life, though thou hast spent it all upon thy lobsters, and thy monstrous sturgeons. This language is used by one who, attaching no importance to pleasure, does not allow that a man dines well, who stakes his all on pleasure ; and yet he does not decline to admit that Gallonius ever dined to his satisfaction (that would indeed be a falsehood) but merely that he ever dined well. So seriously and so strictly did he divorce pleasure from good. From this the inference is drawn that all who dine well, dine to their satisfaction, while not all who dine to their satisfaction, there- by dine well. Laelius always dined well. What do we mean by well? Laelius shall say: on food well cooked, well seasoned; but tell me the pièce de resistance at the dinner: good conversation; what was the result? To our satisfaction, if you want to know. For in coming to dinner he purposed with mind at rest to satisfied the cravings of nature. Rightly then does he refuse to allow that Gallonius had ever dined well; rightly call him wretched, and that though he expended all his thoughts upon the matter; yet no one declines to admit that he dined to his satisfaction. Why not well, then? Because well means rightly, honestly, reputably; he on the contrary dined wrongly, wickedly, flagitiously ; so not well. It was not that Laelius rated the flavor of sorrel above that of sturgeon; but flavor was just what he disregarded ; though he would never do so, if he made the supreme good consist in pleasure.

IX. You must then set pleasure aside, not only if you want to pursue a right course, but if you want it to be seemly for you to speak the language of honest men. Can we then assert that a thing is for the whole of life the supreme good, though we do not think we can say it is so even fora dinner? Yet how does our philosopher talk? There are three kinds of passions, one natural and necessary, another natural but not necessary, a third neither natural nor necessary. In the first place his subdivision lacks neatness; for he has made what were really two classes into three. This is not to subdivide, but to rend asunder. The men who have learned the lessons he sets at nought usually proceed thus: there are two kinds of passions, the natural and the false ; of the natural there are two, the necessary and the unnecessary. The process would have been finished off. It is faulty in subdivision to count a species as a genus, But let us if you please waive this point. He is indifferent to logical neatness ; his talk is disorderly ; we must humor him, if only he thinks aright. To my mind this is exactly what is not very satisfactory (though I just do put up with it) that a philosopher should talk of limiting the passions. Can passion be limited? It is rather a thing to abolish and drag out by the roots. Who is there that cannot, if passion be in him, be rightly called passionate? So we shall have a miser, but within limits, and an adulterer, but he will keep within bounds, and a sybarite in the same way. What sort of philosophy is this, which does not lead to the extinction of depravity, but is satisfied with moderation in sin? Yet in the case of this subdivision, I entirely approve of its purpose, though I feel the absence of neatness. Let him call these feelings the cravings of nature; let him keep the term passion for another use, so that when he comes to speak of miserliness, self-indulgence, and the greatest sins, he may arraign the term (so to speak) on a capital charge. But he states these doctrines with greater freedom not unfrequently. Now I do not blame this; for we must expect a philosopher so great and so famed boldly to maintain his own dogmas; but owing to the fact that he seems often to embrace somewhat ardently that pleasure which all nations denote by the term, he sometimes is involved in great straits, so much so that there is nothing so disreputable that he does not seem likely to do it for the sake of pleasure, if only he were secure from the cognizance of his fellow men. Then blushing (for the force of nature is very great) he makes his escape in this way, by denying that any addition can be made to the pleasure felt by one who is free from pain. But this condition of freedom from pain is not called pleasure. I am not anxious about terms, says he. But how if the thing signified is entirely different? I shall find many persons, or rather persons without number, who are not so pedantic or so troublesome as you are, and such that I may easily win them over to any doctrine I choose. Why then do we hesitate to say, if absence of pain be the highest pleasure, that to be without pleasure is the intensest pain? Why does not this hold good, as I put it? Because pain has for its opposite not pleasure, but the removal of pain.

X. Now not to see that the greatest proof we have with regard to that form of pleasure apart from which he declares himself wholly unable to understand the nature of good (he pursues this pleasure into detail thus, that which we enjoy through the palate, and through the ears; then he adds the rest, things not to be named without an apologetic preface) —very well, this stern and serious philosopher does not see that the only good within his knowledge is a thing not even to be desired, because, on the authority of the same thinker, when- ever we are without pain we do not crave that form of pleasure. How irreconcileable these statements are! If he had been instructed in the processes of definition and subdivision, did he only understand the power of speech, or indeed the familiar usage of words, he would never have strayed into such rough paths; as it is you see what he does. What no one ever called pleasure, he calls so; he rolls two things into one. This active form of pleasure (for thus he describes these sweet and sugared pleasures, so to call them) he sometimes so refines away, that you think Manius Curius is the speaker, while he sometimes so extols it, that he declares himself to be without even an idea of what good is over and above this. When we get to this kind of language, it should be put down, not by some philosopher, but by the censor, for its fault is not a matter of language only but of morality as well. He finds nothing to blame in sybaritism, if only it be free from unbounded passion and fear. At this point I believe he is anxious to get pupils, to the intent that those who want to be profligates may become philosophers first. The beginning of the supreme good, I believe, is looked for in the earliest life of living creatures. As soon as the creature is born, it rejoices in pleasure and yearns for it as being good, and rejects pain as evil. He says however that creatures which are as yet uncorrupted give the best judgment about things evil and things good. You have yourself placed the matter in this light, and the phrases belong to your school. How many faults are here! By which kind of pleasure shall a puling babe determine the supreme good and evil, by the steady pleasure, or the active, since it pleases heaven that we should learn from Epicurus how to talk? If by the steady kind, of course the aim of nature is that her safety should be secured, and this we grant; if by the active, which after all is what you say, then no form of pleasure will be disreputable, so that it should be neglected, while at the same time the creature you imagine as newly born does not start from the supreme form of pleasure, which has been defined by you as consisting in the absence of pain. Yet Epicurus did not look to babes or even to animals, though he thinks them the mirrors of nature, for any proof to shew that they under the guidance of nature do desire this kind of pleasure which consists in absence of pain. Indeed this pleasure cannot stimulate our impulses, nor has this condition of freedom from pain any force whereby it may strike upon the mind; so Hieronymus sins in the same matter; but that condition which charms the sense by the presence of pleasure does strike upon the mind. So it is this condition which Epicurus always employs to prove that pleasure is naturally an object of desire, because it is the pleasure which consists in activity that attracts to itself: babes and animals alike, and not the other pleasure of the steady kind, which comprises only the absence of pain. How then is it consistent to say that nature starts from one kind of pleasure and then to lay down another kind as constituting the supreme good ?

XI. But I believe animals have no power of judging; since though they be uncorrupted, yet they may be corrupt. Just as one stick is bent and twisted intentionally, while another grows in that way, so the nature of beasts is not indeed corrupted by bad training, but is corrupt in its own constitution. Nor, moreover, does nature impel the babe to desire pleasure, but merely to love himself, and to desire himself to remain sound and secure. For every creature, from the moment of its birth, loves itself and all the divisions of itself, and is especially devoted to the two of these which are of most importance, its mind and body, and after them the subdivisions of each. For there are certain characteristics conspicuous both in mind and body, and when the creature has even slightly recognised these, it begins to draw distinctions, and to feel drawn towards the endowments which are primarily assigned to it by nature, and to reject their opposites. Whether pleasure is one of these primary natural endowments or not is a great problem, but to suppose that they comprise nothing but pleasure, putting aside our limbs, our senses, our intellectual activity, soundness of body, health, is in my opinion the extreme of ignorance. Yet this is the source from which must needs flow the whole theory of good and evil. Polemo and Aristotle before him believed the primary endowments to be as I stated them just now. Hence there sprang up the view of the old Academics and Peripatetics, which affirms ultimate good to consist of a life in harmony with nature, or rather the enjoyment of the primary endowments assigned by nature, with the addition of virtue. To virtue Callipho joined nothing but pleasure; Diodorus nothing but freedom from pain. In the case of all that I have mentioned, the theories of absolute good are consistent; Aristippus proposes pleasure unaccompanied, the Stoics agreement with nature, whereby they mean life after the law of virtue or rather of morality, which they expound as a life attended by understanding of the operations which come to pass in the’order of nature, with choice of such objects as accord with nature and rejection of their opposites. There are thus three theories of ultimate good which have nothing to do with morality; one that of Aristippus or of Epicurus, the second that of Hieronymus, the third that of Carneades; three in which we find morality combined with some addition; those of Polemo, Callipho, Diodorus; one view in which morality stands alone, of which Zeno is author; this view wholly em- braces seemliness or rather morality ; Pyrrho, Aristo, Erillus have surely long since dropped out of memory. While the other philosophers have been consistent with themselves, their absolute good agreeing with their first principles, since the absolute good is pleasure in the case of Aristippus, freedom from pain in the case of Hieronymus, in the case of Carneades the enjoyment of primary natural advantages; ...

XII. .... yet Epicurus after speaking of pleasure as the primary attraction, was bound to hold the same form of ultimate good with Aristippus, if he meant the same kind of pleasure; while if he meant by pleasure what Hieronymus held, he would have followed the same course, that of laying down his form of pleasure to be the primary attraction. Now as to his statement that pleasure is decided by the senses themselves to be good, and pain to be evil, he allows more authority to the senses than our laws grant to us when we act as judges in private suits. For we are unable to decide anything, except that which falls within our jurisdiction. In this matter judges often uselessly add, in giving their decision, the words if a thing falls within my jurisdiction; since if the affair was not within their jurisdiction, the decision is none the more valid for the omission of the words. On what do the senses decide? On sweet and bitter, smooth and rough, nearness and distance, rest and motion, the rectangular form and the circular. Reason then will declare an unbiased opinion, aided first by the knowledge of all things human and divine, which may justly be called wisdom, then by the association of the virtues, which reason has appointed to be rulers over all things, you to be the attendants and handmaidens of the pleasures; truly then the opinion of all these will in the first place declare concerning pleasure that there is no chance for her, I will not say to occupy alone the throne of the supreme good, but none even for her to occupy it with morality in the way described. As to freedom from pain their opinion will be the same.

Carneades too will be turned away, nor will any system concerning the supreme good be accepted which has any connection with either pleasure or absence of pain, or is dissociated from morality. So reason will reserve two schemes for her repeated deliberations; for she will either on the one hand decide that there is nothing good which is not moral, and nothing bad which is not immoral, that all other things are either entirely without importance, or have just so much that they are neither objects for our desire nor for our avoidance, but merely for our choice or our rejection; or she will prefer on the other hand that scheme which she sees not only furnished to the fullest extent with morality, but also enriched by those very primary endowments of nature, and by the perfection of life on all its sides. And she will be clearer in her judgment, if she understands whether the difference between these schemes is one of things or of names.

XIII. Attaching myself to her opinion I shall now take the same course. So far as I can I shall narrow the field of the dispute, and shall assume that all the uncomplex schemes of the philosophers, in which virtue is not added, are to be entirely banished from philosophy, first the scheme of Aristippus and all the Cyrenaics, who were not afraid to make their supreme good lie in that form of pleasure which excites sense with the greatest possible sweetness, while they made light of your freedom from pain. These men did not see that just as the horse is created for speed, the ox for ploughing, the dog for hunting, so man is created for two purposes, as Aristotle says, thought and action, being, so to speak a god subject to death, and in opposition to these views they have made up their minds that this godlike creature, like some sluggish and lazy beast, came into being to feed and take pleasure in propagating its kind; though I can imagine no view sillier than this. Well, this is directed against Aristippus, who accounts that pleasure which all of us alone call pleasure, to be not only the highest but the only form of pleasure; while your school holds different doctrine. But he, as I have said, is in fault; since neither the shape of the human body nor reason, preeminent among man’s mental endowments, gives any indication that man came into existence for the sole purpose of enjoying pleasures. Nor indeed must we listen to Hieronymus, whose supreme good is the same as that on which your school sometimes or rather very often insists, absence of pain. For if pain is an evil it does not follow that to be free from that evil suffices to produce the life of happiness. Let Ennius rather speak thus: he has a vast amount of good who has no ill; let us estimate happiness not by the banishment of evil, but by the acquisition of good, and let us not seek this in inactivity, whether of a joyous kind, like that of Aristippus, or marked by absence of pain, like that of our philosopher, but in action of some sort and reflection. Now these arguments may be advanced in the same form against the Carneadean view of the supreme good, though he proposed it not so much with the purpose of securing approval as with the intention of combating the Stoics, against whom he waged war; his supreme good is however of such a nature that when joined to virtue it seems likely to exert influence and to furnish forth abundantly the life of happiness, with which subject our whole inquiry is concerned. Those indeed who join to virtue either pleasure, the thing of all others which virtue holds in least esteem, or the absence of pain, which though it is unassociated with evil, still is not the supreme good, make an addition which is not very plausible, yet I do not under- stand why they should carry out the idea in such a niggardly and narrow manner. For, as though they had to pay for anything which they join with virtue, they in the first place unite with her the cheapest articles, next they would rather add things singly than combine with morality all those objects to which nature had primarily given her sanction. And because these objects were held worthless by Pyrrho and Aristo, so that they said there was absolutely no distinction of value between the best possible health and the most serious illness, people have quite rightly ceased long ago to argue against these philosophers. For by determining that on virtue alone everything so entirely depends, that they robbed her of free selection from among these objects, and allowed her neither starting point nor foothold, they abolished that very virtue of which they were enamored. Erillus again by assigning all importance to know- ledge, kept in view a single kind of good, but not the best kind nor one by whose aid life can possibly be steered. So he too was long ago cast into oblivion, for since the time of Chrysippus there have certainly been no discussions about him.

XIV. Your school then remains; for the struggle with the Academics is dubious, since they wake no assertions, and as if hopeless of sure knowledge, declare themselves to follow whatever appears probable. With Epicurus the contest is the more troublesome on these grounds, that he is a compound of two kinds of pleasure, and that besides himself and his friends, many champions of his system have arisen since his time, and somehow or other the multitude, whose credit is insignificant, but whose power is wast, acts on their side. Now unless we refute this company, we must turn our backs upon all virtue, all honor, all true merit. So setting aside the systems of ail the rest, there remains a contest not between me and Torquatus, but between virtue and pleasure: a contest of which Chrysippus, a man both shrewd and careful, does not think lightly, for he considers that the entire decision about the supreme good is involved in the opposition between these things. It is however my opinion that if I shew there is something moral, which is essentially desirable by reason of its inherent qualities and for its own sake, all the doctrines of your school are over- thrown. So when I have once briefly, as our time requires, determined the nature of this object, I will touch upon all your statements, Torquatus, unless perchance my recollection fails me. Well, by what is moral we understand something of such a nature that, even if absolutely deprived of utility, it may with justice be eulogized for its own qualities, apart from all rewards or advantages. Now the nature of this object cannot be so easily understood from the definition I have adopted (though to a considerable extent it can) as from the general verdict of all mankind, and the inclinations and actions of all the best men, who do very many things for the sole reason that they are seemly, right and moral, though they see that no profit will follow. Men indeed, while differing in many other points from brutes, differ especially in this, that they possess reason as a gift of nature, and a sharp and powerful intellect, which carries on with the utmost speed many operations at the same moment, and is, if I may so speak, keen- scented, for it discerns the causes of phenomena and their results, and abstracts their common features, gets together scattered facts, and links the future with the present, and brings within its ken the entire condition of life in its future course.

And this same reason has given man a yearning for his fellow men, and an agreement with them based on nature and language and intercourse, so that starting from affection for those of his own household and his own kin, he gradually takes wider range and connects himself by fellowship first with his countrymen, then with the whole human race, and, as Plato wrote to Archytas, bears in mind that he was not born for him- self alone, but for his fatherland and his kindred, so that only a slight part of his existence remains for himself. And seeing that nature again has implanted in man a passion for gazing upon the truth, as is seen very clearly when, being free from anxieties, we long to know even what takes place in the sky; so led on by these instincts we love all forms of truth, I mean all things trustworthy, candid and consistent, while we hate things unsound, insincere and deceptive, for instance cheating, perjury, spite, injustice. Reason again brings with it a rich and splendid spirit, suited to command rather than obedience, regarding all that may happen to man as not only endurable, but even inconsiderable, a certain lofty and exalted spirit, which fears nothing, bows to none, and is ever unconquerable. And now that we have marked out these three classes of things moral, there follows a fourth endued with the same loveliness and dependent on the other three; in this is comprised the spirit of orderliness and self-control. When the analogies of this spirit have been recognized in the beauty and grandeur of outward shapes, a man advances to the display of moral beauty in his words and deeds. For in consequence of the three classes of meritorious qualities which I mentioned before, he shrinks from reckless conduct, and does not venture to inflict injury by either a petulant word or action, and dreads to do or utter anything which seems unworthy of a man.

XV. Here you have a picture of morality, Torquatus, finished and complete on all sides, which is wholly comprised in these four virtues, concerning which you also talked. Your friend Epicurus says he is altogether ignorant of the nature and properties assigned to morality by those who make it the measure of the supreme good. For if, he says, they judge all things by the standard of morality and declare that in morality pleasure has no part, they raise a clamor of empty sound (these are the very words he uses) without understanding or seeing what meaning must needs be put on this term morality. For according to the language of custom, those qualities alone are called moral which are vaunted by the talk of the people. And these qualities, he says, although they are often sweeter than certain of the pleasures, are still desired for the sake of pleasure.

Do you not see how extensive is this disagreement? A famous philosopher, by whom not only Greece and Italy, but even all foreign nations have been thrown into excitement, declares that he does not understand what morality means, if it does not lie in pleasure, unless perhaps it be some qualities extolled by the babble of the crowd. But I hold such qualities to be often actually immoral, and if at any time they be not immoral, they are then not immoral when the crowd extols what is essentially in its own nature right and deserves to be extolled; yet it is not called moral for the reason that it is applauded by many men, but because it is of such a nature that even if men knew nothing -about it, or had even been struck with dumbness, it would deserve to be extolled for its inherent loveliness and beauty. So again, yielding to nature, which cannot be with- stood, he makes in another passage the statement which you also put forward a little while ago, that an agreeable life is not possible, unless it be also a moral life. What does he now mean by moral? The same that he means by agreeable? So this is it, that a moral life is not possible, unless it be also a moral life? Or, unless it accord with the talk of the multitude? He declares then that without this he cannot live agreeably? What is more immoral than that the life of a wise man should depend on the conversation of those who are no wise men? What is it then that in this passage he understands by moral? Assuredly nothing but what can with justice be extolled in and for itself. Since if it be extolled for the pleasure it brings, what kind of merit is that which can be bought in the meat- market? Seeing that he assigns such a place to morality as to declare that without it an agreeable life is impossible, he s not the man to adopt the kind of morality which depends on the multitude, and to declare that without that an agreeable life is an impossibility, or to understand anything else to be moral except what is right in itself and worthy of eulogy for its own sake, in its own essence, unaided, and by its own constitution.

XVI. So, Torquatus, when you stated how Epicurus cries aloud that an agreeable life is not possible, unless it be a moral, a wise, and a just life, you yourself seemed to me to be uttering a vaunt. Such energy was breathed into your words by the grandeur of those objects which your words represented, that you seemed to grow taller, and sometimes ceased your walk, and gazing at us almost deposed as a witness that morality and justice are sometimes eulogized by Epicurus. How well it became you to take these words on your lips, for if they were never uttered by philosophers, we should not care to have any philosophy at all! It is from a passion for those phrases which are very seldom employed by Epicurus, wisdom, I mean, courage, justice, temperance, that men of preeminent ability have devoted themselves to the pursuit of philosophy. Our eyesight, says Plato, is the keenest sense we have, yet it does not enable us to descry wisdom. What passionate affection for herself would she inspire in us! Why so? Because she is so crafty that she can build the fabric of the pleasures in the most excellent manner? Why is justice praised, or whence comes this saying so hackneyed from of old, a man you may play with in the dark? This proverb, though pointed at one thing only, has this very wide application, that in all transactions we should be influenced by the character of our actions and not by the presence of witnesses. Indeed the arguments you alleged were insignificant and very weak, I mean, that unprincipled men are tortured by their own consciousness within them, and also by the fear of punishment, which they either suffer, or live in dread of suffering at some time. It is not proper to imagine your bad man as a coward or a weakling, torturing himself about any- thing he has done, and frightened at everything, but rather as one who craftily judges of everything by his interests, being keen, shrewd and hardened, so that he readily devises means for cheating without detection, without witnesses, without any accomplice. Do you think I am speaking of Lucius Tubulus ? He, having presided as praetor over the court for trying murderers, took bribes in view of trials with such openness, that in the following year Publius Scaevola, the tribune of the commons, carried a bill in the popular assembly directing an inquiry to be made into the matter. Under this bill the senate voted that the inquiry should be conducted by Gnaeus Caepio the consul; Tubulus went into exile at once, and did not venture to defend himself; the facts were indeed evident.

XVII. We are inquiring then not merely about an unprincipled man but about one who is both crafty and unprincipled, as Quintus Pompeius shewed himself when he disowned the treaty with Numantia, one moreover who is not afraid of everything, but, to begin with, sets at nought the consciousness that is within him, which it costs him no effort to suppress. The man whom we call secret and deep, so far from informing against himself, will actually produce the impression that he is grieved by another person’s unprincipled action; for what does shrewdness mean, if not this? I recollect acting as adviser to Publius Sextilius Rufus when he laid before his friends this difficulty, that he was heir to Quintus Fadius Gallus, in whose will there was a statement that he had requested Rufus to see that the whole property passed to the daughter. This statement Sextilius said was untrue, and he might say so without fear, for who was to refute him? None of us believed him, and it was more probable that the falsehood lay with the man to whom it brought advantage than with him who had written that he had made the very request which it was his duty to make. The man said further that having sworn to observe the Voconian law he could not venture, unless his friends thought otherwise, to contravene it. I was quite young when I assisted at this conference, but there were many men of high distinction, not one of whom pronounced that any more money should be handed over to Fadia than might devolve upon her by the Voconian law. Sextilius kept a very large property, of which he would never have touched a single penny if he had accepted the tenets of those who set morality and uprightness above all gains and advantages. Well, do you suppose that his mind was afterwards troubled or disturbed? Nothing could be less true; on the contrary he was enriched by the property and this made him glad. He placed a high value on money gained not merely without breach of the laws, but actually by observance of the laws; and money your school must get in spite of risks, because it is productive of many and great pleasures. Thus, as the men who lay down that everything upright and moral is desirable for its own sake must often face dangers in the interests of seemliness and morality, so your friends, who measure everything by the standard of pleasure, must face dangers in order to make them- selves masters of great pleasures. If great wealth or a great property is at stake, seeing that money purchases very many pleasures, Epicurus must, if he desires to carry out his own view of ultimate good, act in the same manner as Scipio, who saw great fame in store for him, if he succeeded in drawing back Hannibal into Africa. Therefore how great was the danger that he faced! In this entire enterprise of his he was guided by morality and not by pleasure. So your wise man, when urged on by some great gain, will do battle for money’s sake, if occasion requires. Perhaps it may have been possible for a crime to remain concealed; he will be delighted; if caught, he will make light of all punishments, since he will be trained to think lightly of death and banishment and even pain itself. At least you and your friends represent pain as intolerable when you set punishment before the eyes of unprincipled men, but as endurable, when you make out that the wise man has always a preponderance of good.

XVIII. But suppose that a man who does some unprincipled act is not only crafty, but also all-powerful, as was M. Crassus (who nevertheless used to rely on his own form of good) and as at the present time our friend Pompeius is, to whom we must feel obliged for his upright conduct, since he might have been as wicked as he pleased, without fear. Again how many unjust deeds may be committed, which no man is permitted to blame! If a friend of yours on his death-bed asks you to hand over his property to his daughter, and does not record the fact anywhere, as Fadius did, nor mention it to any one, what will you do? You, personally, would hand it over; possibly Epicurus himself would; so Sextus Peducaeus, the son of Sextus, who has left behind him a son, our friend, in whom are mirrored his culture and his integrity; he being not only a scholar, but the best and most just of men, though no one knew that such a request had been made to him by Gaius Plotius, a Roman knight of distinction belonging to Nursia, yet did actually come to the lady, and explained to her the husband’s commission, when she had no suspicion of it, and then handed over to her the property. But, as you assuredly would have acted in the same way, I put the question to you whether you do not see how the power of nature is exalted by the fact that you, who determine all your actions by your own convenience and your own pleasure, as you your- selves declare, do in spite of that so act as to make it plain that you are guided not by pleasure but by duty, and that natural uprightness has more influence with you than your perverted philosophy? If, says Carneades, you know that a snake is concealed somewhere and that some one, by whose death you will gain, is intending to sit down on it unawares, you will do a rascally action, if you do not warn him not to sit down. But still, you would not be punished, for who could prove that you knew? But I am too diffuse, since it is clear that unless equity, faith and justice spring from nature, and if all these virtues be estimated by interest, a good man cannot anywhere be discovered, and enough has been said about this matter by Laelius in my volume about the commonwealth.

XIX. Apply the same remarks to self-restraint or temperance, by which I mean a government of the desires which pays allegiance to reason. Well then, supposing a man to yield to vice, in the absence of witnesses, would he shew suffcient regard for modesty, or is there something which is in itself abominable, though attended by no disgrace? What? Do brave men go to battle and pour out their blood for their country, because they have gone through the arithmetic of pleasures, or because they are carried away by a certain enthusiasm and tide of feeling? Pray do you think, Torquatus, that old Imperiosus, if he were listening to our talk, would find greater pleasure in giving ear to your speech about himself, or to mine, in which I stated that he had done nothing from regard for himself, but everything in the interest of the commonwealth; while on the contrary you said he had done nothing but what he did out of regard to himself? If more- over you had further chosen to make the matter clear, and to state your view more plainly, that he acted entirely with an eye to pleasure, how do you think he would have endured it?

Be it so; suppose, if you like, that Torquatus acted for the sake of his own interests (I would rather use this word than pleasures, particularly in relation to so great a man); did his colleague Publius Decius, who was the first of his family to achieve the consulship, think anything of his own pleasures, when he had offered himself up, and was rushing into the midst of the Latin line, with his horse at full gallop? Where did he expect to catch his pleasure or when, knowing that he must instantly die, and seeking his death with more burning zeal than Epicurus thinks should be given to the search for pleasure? And if this exploit of his had not been justly applauded, never would his son have emulated it in his fourth consulship, nor would this man’s son again have died on the field of battle, while conducting as consul the war with Pyrrhus, thus offering himself for his country as a third sacrifice from the same family in unbroken succession. I refrain from further instances. The Greeks have few in this class, Leonidas, Epaminondas, some three or four others ; if I begin to gather up our own examples, I shall indeed compel pleasure to surrender her- self to virtue as her prisoner, but the day will not be long enough for me, and just as Aulus Varius, who was looked upon as a rather severe judge, used to say to his assessor, when witnesses had been examined, and still others were being summoned: Ether we have got enough witnesses or I do not know what is enough, so I think I have supplied enough witnesses. Why, was it pleasure that led you yourself, a most worthy representative of your ancestors, while quite young, to rob Publius Sulla of the consulship? And when you had conferred this office on that staunchest of gentlemen, your father, what a noble consul he was, and what a noble citizen after his consulship, as always! And it was by his advice that I myself carried out a policy which had regard to the general interest rather than my own.

But how excellently you seemed to me to speak, when you set before us on the one side a man crowned with most numerous and most intense pleasures, free from all pain, either actual or impending, and on the other side one racked with most grievous torments over his whole frame, with no pleasure, either attendant or prospective, and then asked who could be more wretched than the latter man or more happy than the former, and thence inferred that pain is the paramount evil, and pleasure the paramount good!

XX. There was a man of Lanuvium, Lucius Thorius Balbus, whom you cannot remember; he lived in such fashion that no pleasure could be discovered, however rare, in which he did not revel. Not only was he a zealot for pleasures, but he possessed ability and resource in this line of life ; and he was so devoid of superstition, that he cared nothing for those sacrifices and shrines which are so very numerous in his native place, and so free from fear in face of death, that he died for his country on the field of battle. The bounds to his passions were prescribed not by the classification of Epicurus, but by his own sense of repletion. Yet he took care of his health, he availed himself of such exercise as might send him thirsty and hungry to dinner, and of such food as was at once pleasantest and easiest to digest, and of wine sufficient to give pleasure without doing harm. He gave heed to those other matters in the absence of which Epicurus says he fails to under- stand what goad means. All pain kept aloof; but if it had come, he would have endured it without weakness, though he would have resorted to physicians rather than philosophers. He had an admirable complexion, perfect health, extreme popularity, his life in fact was replete with all the divers forms of pleasure. This is the man you pronounce happy; at least your system compels you to it; but I have hardly the courage to say who it is that I prefer to him; virtue herself shall speak for me, and shall without hesitation prefer to your man of happiness her Marcus Regulus; and virtue proclaims that when he had re- turned from his own country to Carthage of his own choice and under no compulsion but that of his honour, which he had pledged to the enemy, he was happier in the very hour at which he was tortured by want of sleep and hunger, than Thorius when drinking on his bed of roses. He had conducted important wars, had been twice elected consul, had enjoyed a triumph, though he did not regard his previous exploits as so important or so splendid as his last sacrifice, which he had taken upon him from motives of honour and consistency: a sacrifice that seems pitiable to us when we hear of it, but was pleasurable to him while he endured it. In truth, happy men are not always in a state of cheerfulness or boisterousness, or mirth, or jesting, which things accompany light characters, but oftentimes even in stern mood are made happy by their staunchness and endurance. When Lucretia was violated by the king’s son, she called her fellow-countrymen to witness and cut short her life by her own hand. The indignation felt at this by the Roman people, with Brutus for their leader and adviser, gave freedom to the community, and in remembrance of the lady both her husband and her father were elected consuls in the first year. Lucius Verginius, a poor man and sprung from the people, in the sixtieth year after freedom had been won, slew his maiden daughter with his own hand rather than let her be sacrificed to the lust of Appius Claudius, who then held supreme authority.

XXI. You must either blame these examples, Torquatus, or must abandon your advocacy of pleasure. But what kind of advocacy is this, or what sort of case can you make out for pleasure, which will never be able to call witnesses either to fact or to character from among men of distinction? While we are wont to summon as our witnesses from the records of the past men whose whole life was spent in noble exertion, who would never be able to listen to the name of pleasure, on the other hand in your debates history is silent. I have never heard that in any discussion carried on by Epicurus the names of Lycurgus, Solon, Miltiades, Themistocles, Epaminondas were mentioned, men who are ever on the lips of all the other philosophers. Now however, seeing that we Romans also have begun to handle these subjects, what fine and great men will Atticus produce for us from his stores! Is it not better to say something of these men than to talk through such ponderous tomes about Themista? Let us allow such things to be characteristic of Greeks; though it is from them that we derive philosophy and all liberal arts; but still there are things which are not permitted to us, though permitted to them.

The Stoics are at war with the Peripatetics. The one school declares that there is nothing good but what is moral; the other that it assigns the highest, aye, infinitely the highest value to morality, but that nevertheless there are some good things connected with our bodies and also some external to us. What a moral debate, what a noble disagreement! In truth, the whole struggle concerns the prestige of virtue. But whenever you discuss with your fellow disciples, you must listen to much that concerns the impure pleasures, of which Epicurus very often speaks. Believe me, then, Torquatus, you cannot maintain your doctrines, if you once gain a clear view of your own nature and your own thoughts and inclinations; you will blush, I say, for that picture which Cleanthes used to paint, certainly very neatly, in his conversation. He bade his audience imagine to themselves pleasure painted in a picture as sitting on a throne, with most lovely raiment and queenly apparel; the virtues near her as her handmaidens, with no other employment, and no thought of other duty, than to wait upon pleasure, and merely to whisper in her ear (if only painting could convey such meaning) to guard against doing anything heedlessly, which might wound men’s feelings, or anything from which some pain might spring. We virtues, indeed, were born to be your thralls; we have no other function.

XXII. Oh, but Epicurus says (this indeed is your strong point) that no one can live agreeably who does not live morally. As though I gave any heed to what he affirms or denies! The question I ask is, what statement is consistent for a man to make, who builds his highest good upon pleasure. What do you allege to shew that Thorius, that Hirrius, that Postumius, and the master of all these men, Orata, did not live very agreeable lives? He himself, as I mentioned already, asserts that the life of sybarites is not worthy of blame, unless they are utterly foolish, that is, unless they are subject to passion and fear. And when he proffers a remedy for both these conditions, he proffers immunity to sybaritism. For if these two conditions are removed, he says that he finds nothing to blame in the life of profligates. You cannot therefore, while guiding all actions by pleasure, either defend or maintain virtue. For a man who refrains from injustice only to avoid evil must not be considered a good and just man; you know of course the saying, no one ts righteous, whose righteousness...; well, never suppose that any saying is truer. He is not indeed a just man, so long as his fear lasts, and assuredly he will not be so if he ceases to fear; while he will cease to fear if he is able either to conceal or by the aid of great resources to secure anything he has done, and will undoubtedly choose to be regarded as a good man, though not really so, rather than to be good, without being considered good. So you most disgracefully enjoin and press upon us in a kind of way a pretense of justice in the place of the true and indubitable justice; you wish us to disregard the firm ground of inner consciousness and to catch at the wandering fancies of other men. And the same statements may be made about the rest of the virtues, whose foundations, in every case, you pitch upon pleasure, as you might upon water. Well, can we call the same old Torquatus a brave man? You see I take delight, although I cannot pervert you, as you call it, I take delight, I repeat, both in your family and your name, and I declare that before my eyes there rises a vision of that most excellent man and very true friend of mine, Aulus Torquatus, whose great and conspicuous zeal for me at that crisis which is familiar to every one, must be well known to both of you; though I myself, while anxious to be and to be considered thankful, should not think such services deserving of gratitude, were it not plain to me that he was my friend for my sake and not for his own; unless by his own sake you hint at the fact that to do what is right brings advantage to all. If you mean this, I have won the victory; for what I desire and am struggling for is that duty should be duty’s own reward. That philosopher of yours will not have it so, but requires pleasure from everything as a kind of fee. But I return to our old. Torquatus; if it was for the sake of pleasure that he fought his combat with the Gaul on the banks of the Anio, when challenged, and if from the spoils of the foe he invested himself at once with the necklet and the title from any other motive than the feeling that such exploits beseem a man, then I do not regard him as brave. Further, if honour, if loyalty, if chastity, if in a word temperance,— if all these are to be governed by dread of retribution or of dis- grace, and are not to sustain themselves by their own inherent purity, what kind of adultery, or impurity, or passion will not take its heedless and headlong course, if either concealment is promised to it, or freedom from punishment, or immunity ? Why, Torquatus, what a state of things does this seem, that you with your name, abilities and distinctions, cannot venture to confess before a public meeting your actions, your thoughts, your aims, your objects, or what that thing is from love of which you desire to carry ‘your undertakings to completion, in fine what it is that you judge to be the best thing in life ? What would you be willing to take, on condition that when once you have entered on your office and risen before the assembly (you know you must announce what rules you intend to follow in your administration of the law, and perhaps too, if you think it good to do so, you will say something about your own ancestry and yourself, after the custom of our forefathers) —well then, what would you take to declare that during your term of office you will do everything with a view to pleasure, and that you have never done anything during life except with a view to pleasure? You say, do you suppose me to be such a madman as to speak before ignorant men in that fashion? But make the same statements in court, or, if you are afraid of the crowd, make them in the senate. You will never do it. Why not, unless it be that such speech is disgraceful? Do you suppose then that I and Triarius are fit persons to listen to your disgraceful talk?

XXIII. But let us grant this: the very name pleasure has no prestige, and we perhaps do not understand it; for you philosophers say over and over again, that we do not under- stand what kind of pleasure you mean. Surely it is a hard and abstruse subject! When you speak of atoms and spaces between universes, which do not and cannot exist, then we understand ; and can we not understand pleasure, which every sparrow knows so well? What if I bring you to admit that I not only know what pleasure is (it is indeed an agreeable activity affecting the sense) but what you intend it to be? At one time you intend it to mean exactly what I just now indicated, and imply by the name that it is something active, and produces a certain variation ; at another time you speak of a certain other supreme pleasure, which is incapable of increase ; this you say is present when all pain is absent; this you call stable pleasure. Let us grant that this is pleasure. State before any public meeting you like that you do everything with a view to avoiding pain. If you think that even this statement cannot be made with proper honour and dignity, say that both during your term of office and your whole life you intend always to act with an eye to your interest, doing nothing but what is profitable, nothing in fine except for your own private sake; what kind of uproar do you think there will be, or what hope will you have of the consulship, which is now very well assured to you? Do you mean then to follow a system such that you adopt it when alone and in the company of your friends but do not venture to proclaim it or make it public? But in reality when you attend the courts or the senate you have always on your lips the language of the Peripatetics and the Stoics. Duty and equity, honour and loyalty, uprightness and morality, everything worthy of the empire and the Roman people, all kind of dangers to be faced for the commonwealth, death due to our country,—when you talk in this strain, we simpletons are overcome, but you I suppose laugh in your sleeve. Verily among these phrases, splendid and noble as they are, no place is found for pleasure, not merely for that pleasure which you philosophers say lies in activity, which all men in town and country, all I say, who speak Latin, call pleasure, but even for this stable pleasure, which no one but you entitles pleasure.

XXIV. Consider then whether you ought not to avoid adopting our language, along with opinions of your own. If you were to disguise your features or your gait in order to make yourself appear more dignified, you would be unlike yourself; are you the man to disguise your language, and say what you do not think? Or to keep one opinion for your home, as you might a suit of clothes, and another for the streets, so that you bear on your brow a mere pretense, while the truth is concealed within? Consider, I pray you, whether this is honest. I believe that those tenets are true which are moral, praiseworthy and noble, which are to be proclaimed in the senate, before the people, and in every public meeting and assembly, for fear that men should feel no shame in thinking what they feel shame in stating. What room can there be for friendship, or who can be a friend to any one whom he does not love for that friend’s sake? What does loving, from which the word friendship comes, mean, unless that a man desires some one to be endowed with the greatest possible blessings, even though no benefit accrues to himself from them? It is advantageous to me, says he, to entertain such feelings, Say rather, perhaps, to be thought to entertain them. For you cannot entertain them, unless you really mean to do so; and how can you do so, unless love itself takes possession of you? And love is not usually brought about by calculating the balance of advantage, but is self-created, and springs into existence unsolicited. Oh, but it is advantage that I look to. Then friendship will last just so long as advantage attends it, and if advantage establishes friendship, it will also remove it. But what will you do, pray, if, as often happens, friendship is deserted by advantage? Will you abandon it? What sort of friendship is that? Will you cleave to it? How is that consistent ? You see what principles you have laid down about friendship being desirable with a view to advantage. I am afraid of incurring unpopularity, if I cease to support my friend. First I ask why such a proceeding deserves to be unpopular, unless because it is disgraceful? But if you refrain from abandoning your friend, from the fear that you may meet with some inconvenience, still you will wish him to die, that you may not be tied to him without any profit. What if he not merely brings you no advantage but you have to make sacrifices of your property, to undergo exertions, to face the risk of your life? Will you not even then glance at yourself and reflect that every man is born to pursue his own interests and his own pleasures? Will you give yourself up to a despot, to suffer death as surety for your friend, even as the Pythagorean of old submitted to the Sicilian despot, or while you are really Pylades, will you assert yourself to be Orestes, from the wish to die in your friend’s stead, or if you were really Orestes, would you try to disprove Pylades’ story, and disclose yourself, and failing to convince, would you refuse to petition against the execution of you both at once?

XXV. You, Torquatus, would do all this; for there is, I think, no action meriting the highest approbation, which I believe you likely to omit through fear either of death or of pain. But the question is not what consists with your disposition, but what consists with your philosophy. The principles which you maintain, the maxims which you have been taught and accept are utterly subversive of friendship, even though Epicurus should laud it to the skies, as indeed he does. Oh, but he himself cultivated friendships. Pray, who denies that he was not only a good man, but a kindly and a gentle man? In these discussions the point at issue concerns his ability, and not his character. Let us leave such aberrations to the light-minded Greeks, who persecute with their abuse those with whom they disagree about the truth. But whatever his kindliness in sup- porting his friends, yet if what you say of him is true (for I make no confident statements) he was deficient in penetration. But he won the assent of many. Perhaps deservedly too, but the evidence of the crowd is not of the highest importance; since in every art or pursuit, or in any kind of knowledge whatever, the highest excellence is always very scarce. And to my mind, the fact that Epicurus was himself a good man and that many Epicureans have been and many are to-day true in their friend- ships and strong and serious in the conduct of their whole life, not governing their plans by pleasure but by duty,—this fact makes the power of morality seem greater and that of pleasure less. Some men indeed so live that their language is refuted by their life. And while the rest of men are supposed to be better in their words than in their deeds, these men’s deeds seem to me better than their words.

XXVI. But this, I allow, is nothing to the purpose; let us look into your assertions about friendship. One of these I thought I recognized as a saying of Epicurus himself, that friendship cannot be divorced from pleasure, and deserves to be cultivated on that account, because our lives cannot be secure or free from apprehension without it, and so cannot be agreeable either. To such arguments I have made a sufficient answer. You have quoted another and more cultured maxim of the modern school, to which he himself never gave utterance, so far as I know, namely that the friend is desired with a view to advantage in the first instance, but that when familiarity has been established, then he is loved for his own sake, even if the expectation of pleasure be disregarded. Although this utterance may be criticized in many ways, I still welcome the concession they make; since it is enough for my purposes, though not for theirs. For they say that right action is sometimes possible without hope of or seeking after pleasure. Others also, as you insisted, maintain that wise men enter into a sort of league with each other, binding them to entertain for their friends the very same feelings that they entertain for themselves; that such a league is not only possible but has often been made, and is of. especial importance for the attainment of pleasures. If they have found it possible to establish this league, let them also establish another, namely to feel regard for equity, temperance, and all the virtues from pure love of them apart from interest. Or if we mean to: cultivate: friendships with ‘an eye to gains and benefits and advantages, if there is to be no feeling of affection which renders friendship inherently from its own nature and its own power, through and for itself desirable, can there really be any: doubt that we shall prefer our estates and our house-rents to our friends? At this point you may quote once more what Epicurus said in most excellent language on the merits of friendship. I am not inquiring what he says, but what it s open to him to say consistently with his own system and doctrines. Friendship has ever been sought for the sake of advantage. Do you imagine then that Triarius here can bring you more advantage than the granaries at Puteoli would if they belonged to you? Bring together all the points common in your school: the protection friends afford. Enough protection is already afforded you by yourself, by the laws, by ordinary friendships; already it will not be possible to treat you with neglect, while you will find it easy to escape from unpopularity and dislike; since it is with reference to such things that Epicurus lays down his maxims. And, apart from this, with such revenues at your command for the display of generosity, you will defend and fortify yourself excellently by means of the goodwill of many, without this friendship of the Pyladean order. But for a friend to share jest and earnest, as the saying is, your secrets, all your hidden thoughts? You may best of all keep them to yourself, next you may share them with a friend of the ordinary stamp. But allowing all these privileges to be far from odious, what are they compared with the advantages of such great wealth? You see then that if you gauge friendship by disinterested. affection there is nothing more excellent, but if by profit, that the closest intimacies are less valuable than the returns from productive property. You ought to love me myself, and not my possessions, if we are to be true friends.

XXVII. But we dwell too long upon very simple matters. When we have once concluded and demonstrated that if every- thing is judged by the standard of pleasure, no room is left for either virtues or friendships, there is nothing besides on which- we need greatly insist. And yet, lest it should be thought that any passage is left without reply, I will now also say a few words in answer to the remainder of your speech. Well then, whereas the whole importance of philosophy lies in its bearing on happiness, and it is from a desire for happiness alone that men have devoted themselves to this pursuit, and whereas some place happiness in one thing, some in another, while you place it in pleasure, and similarly on the other side all wretchedness you place in pain, let us first examine the nature of happiness as you conceive it. Now you will grant me this, I suppose, that happiness, if only it exists at all, ought to lie entirely within the wise man’s own control. For if the life of happiness may cease to be so, then it cannot be really happy. Who indeed has any faith that a thing which is perishable and fleeting will in his own case always continue solid and strong? But he who feels no confidence in the permanence of the blessings he possesses, must needs apprehend that he will some time or other be wretched, if he loses them. Now no one can be happy while in alarm about his most important possessions; no one then can possibly be happy. For happiness is usually spoken of not with reference to some period of time, but to permanence, nor do we talk of the life of happiness at all, unless that life be rounded off and complete, nor can a man be happy at one time, and wretched at another; since any man who judges that he can become wretched will never be happy. For when happiness has been once entered on, it is as durable as wisdom herself, who is the creator of the life of happiness, nor does it await the last days of life, as Herodotus writes that Solon enjoined upon Croesus. But I shall be reminded (as you said yourself) that Epicurus will not admit that continuance of time contributes anything to happiness, or that less pleasure is realized in a short period of time than if the pleasure were eternal. These statements are most inconsistent ; for while he places his supreme good in pleasure, he refuses to allow that pleasure can reach a greater height in a life of boundless extent, than in one limited and moderate in length. He who places good entirely in virtue can say that happiness is consummated by the consummation of virtue, since he denies that time brings additions to his supreme good; but when a man supposes that happiness is caused by pleasure, how are his doctrines to be reconciled, if he means to affirm that pleasure is not heightened by duration? In that case, neither is pain. Or, though all the most enduring pains are also the most wretched, does length of time not render pleasure more enviable? What reason then has Epicurus for calling a god, as he does, both happy and eternal? If you take away his eternity, Jupiter will be not a whit happier than Epicurus, since both of them are in the enjoyment of the supreme good, which is pleasure. Oh, but our philosopher is subject to pain as well. Yes, but he sets it at nought; for he says that, if he were being roasted, he would call out how sweet this is! In what respect then is he inferior to the god, if not in respect of eternity? And what good does eternity bring but the highest form of pleasure, and that prolonged for ever? What boots it then to use high sounding language unless your language be consistent ? On bodily pleasure (I will add mental, if you like, on the understanding that it also springs, as you believe, from the body) depends the life of happiness. Well, who can guarantee the wise man that this pleasure will be permanent? For the circumstances that give rise to pleasures are not within the control of the wise man, since your happiness is not dependent on wisdom herself, but on the objects which wisdom procures with a view to pleasure. Now all such objects are external to us, and what is external is in the power of chance. Thus for- tune becomes lady paramount over happiness, though Epicurus says she to a small extent only crosses the path of the wise man.

XXVIII. Come, you will say to me, these are small matters. The wise man is enriched by nature herself, whose wealth, as Epicurus has taught us, is easily procured. His statements are good, and I do not attack them, but they are inconsistent with each other. He declares that no less pleasure is derived from the poorest sustenance, or rather from the most despicable kinds of food and dink, than from the most recherché dishes of the banquet. If he declared that it made no difference to happiness what kind of food he lived on, I should yield him the point and even applaud him ; for he would be asserting the strict truth, and I listen when Socrates, who holds pleasure in no esteem, affirms that hunger is the proper seasoning for food, and thirst for drink. But to one who, judging of everything by pleasure, lives like Gallonius, but talks like the old Piso Frugi, I do not listen, nor do I believe that he says what he thinks. He announced that nature’s wealth is easily procurable, because nature is satisfied with little. This would be true, if you did not value pleasure so highly. The pleasure, he says, that is obtained from the cheapest things is not inferior to that which is got from the most costly. To say this is to be destitute not merely of intelligence, but even of a palate. Truly those who disregard pleasure itself are free to say that they do not prefer a sturgeon ‘to a sprat; but he who places his supreme good in pleasure must judge of everything by sense and not by reason, and must say that those things are best which are most tasty. But let that pass; let us suppose he acquires the intensest pleasures not merely at small cost, but at no cost at all, so far as I am concerned; let the pleasure given by the cress which the Persians used to eat, as Xenophon writes, be no less than that afforded by the banquets of Syracuse, which are severely blamed by Plato; let the acquisition of pleasure be as easy, I say, as you make it out to be; still what are we to say about pain? Its agonies are so great that a life surrounded by. them cannot be happy, if only pain is the greatest of evils. Why, Metrodorus himself, who is almost a second Epicurus, sketches happiness almost in these words; a well regulated condition of body, accompanied by the assurance that it will continue so. Can any one possibly be assured as to the state of this body of his, I do not say in a year’s time, but by the time evening comes? Pain then, that is to say the greatest of evils, will always be an object of dread, even though it be not present, for it may present itself at any moment. How then can the dread of the greatest possible evil consort with the life of happiness? Someone tells me: Epicurus imparts to us a scheme which will enable us to pay no heed to pain. To begin with, the thing is in itself ridiculous, that no attention should be given to the greatest of evils. But pray what is his scheme? The greatest pain, he says, ts short. First, what do you mean by short? Next, what by the greatest pain? May the greatest pain not continue for some days? Look to it, that it may. not continue some months even! Unless possibly you refer to the kind of pain which is fatal as soon as it seizes any one. Who dreads such pain as that? I wish rather you would alleviate that other sort, under which I saw that most excellent and most cultivated gentleman, my friend Gnaeus Octavius, son of Marcus, wasting away, and not on one occasion only or for a short time, but often and over quite a long period. What tortures did he endure, ye eternal gods, when all his limbs seemed on fire! Yet for all that we did not regard him as wretched, but only as distressed, for pain was not to him the greatest of evils. But he would have been wretched, if he had been immersed in pleasures, while his life was scandalous and wicked.

XXIX. Again when you say that great pain is short, while prolonged pain is light, I do not understand what it is that you mean. For I am acquainted with instances where pains were not only great but also prolonged for a considerable time; and ' yet for enduring them there is another and truer mcthod, of which you who do not love morality for its own sake cannot avail yourselves. There are certain maxims, and I might almost say enactments, concerning courage, which prohibit a man from being womanish in the midst of pain. So we must think it disgraceful, I do not say to feel pain (for that certainly is occasionally inevitable) but to make that old rock of Lemnus ghostly with the roarings of a Philoctetes, which, by echoing back the shriekings, cryings, groanings, sighings, dumb eae ut be, returns the sounds of lamentation.

Let Epicurus ¢ chant his prophecy to such an one, if he can, one whose veins within him, tainted with poison from the serpent’s tooth, bubble with foul torments. Says Epicurus: hush, Philoctetes, your pain is short. But for nearly ten years already he has been lying sick in his cave. If tis long ‘tis light; for it has its pauses, and sometimes slackens. First, it is not often so; next what is this slackening worth, when not only is the recollection of past pain fresh in the mind, but the dread of future and imminent pain causes a torment? Let the man die, says he. Perhaps it is best so, but what becomes of your saying there is always a balance of pleasure? For if that is true, see that you be not committing a crime in advising death. Rather hold language such as this, namely that it is disgraceful, that it is unmanly to be weakened by pain, to be broken by it and conquered. For your maxims if ’tis hard, ’ts short, if ’tis long, ’tis light, are a mere parrot’s lesson. Pain is usually assuaged by the soothing applications of virtue, I mean loftiness of spirit, endurance and courage.

XXX. Not to digress too far, hear what Epicurus says on his death-bed, that you may perceive how his actions are at variance with his maxims: Epicurus wishes health to Hermarchus. I write this letter (he says) while passing a happy day, and the last of my life. Pains in the bladder and intestines are upon me, so severe that their intensity cannot be in- creased. Wretched creature! If pain is the greatest of evils we cannot call him anything else. But let us listen to the man himself. Still all these are outweighed, he says, by elation of mind, arising from the recollection of my theories and discoveries. But do you, as befits the feelings you have entertained from — your youth up for me and for philosophy, remember to protect the children of Metrodorus.

After this I do not admire the death of Epaminondas or of Leonidas more than this man’s death ; though one of these, after winning a victory over the Lacedaemonians at Mantinea, and finding that his life was ebbing away, owing to a serious wound, asked, as soon as he saw how things stood, whether his shield was safe. When his weeping comrades had answered that it was, he asked whether the enemy had been routed. When he heard. that this too was as he desired, he ordered that the spear which had pierced him should be extracted. So he died from the copious flow of blood, in a moment of exultation and victory. Leonidas again, the king of the Lacedaemonians, along with the three hundred men whom he had led from Sparta, when the choice lay between a base retreat and a splendid death, confronted the enemy at Thermopylae. The deaths of generals are celebrated, while philosophers mostly die in their beds. Still it makes a difference how they die. This philosopher thought himself happy at the moment of death. A great credit to him. My intense pains, he says, are outweighed by elation of mind. The voice I hear is indeed that of a true philosopher, Epicurus, but you have forgotten what you ought to say. For, first, if there is truth in those matters which you say it causes you joy to recall, I mean, if your writings and discoveries are true, you cannot feel joy, since you now possess no blessing which you can set down to the account of the body ; whereas you have always told us that no one can feel joy unless on account of the body, nor pain either. JI feel joy in my past joys, he tells me. What past joys? If you say those relating to the body, I read that you set against your pains your philosophical theories, and not any recollection of pleasures enjoyed by the body; if you say those relating to the mind, then your maxim is untrue, that there is no. joy of the mind, which has not a relation to the body. Why after that do you give a commission about the children of Metrodorus? What is there about your admirable goodness and extreme loyalty (for so I judge it to be) that you connect with the body?

XXXI. You and your friends, Torquatus, may twist yourselves this way and that; but you will find nothing in this noble letter from the hand of Epicurus, which harmonizes or accords with his dogmas. So he is refuted out of his own mouth, and his writings are put to shame by his own honesty and character. For from that commission about the children, from the remembrance of and tender feeling for friendship, from the observance of most important duties when at the last gasp, we learn that disinterested honesty was inbred in the man, and was not bribed into existence by pleasures, nor called forth by the wages of rewards. What stronger evidence do we want to prove that morality and uprightness are in themselves desirable, when we see such goodness displayed at the moment of death? But while I regard as creditable the letter which I have just translated almost word for word, though it was by no means in accord with the spirit of his philosophy, yet I am of opinion that this same philosopher's will is at variance not only with the seriousness becoming a true philosopher, but even with his own opinions. He wrote both many times in detail, and also shortly and clearly in the book I have just mentioned, that death is of no importance to us; for anything which has decayed is destitute of feeling; and what is destitute of feeling is of no importance whatever to us. This maxim itself might have been more neatly put and better. For when he puts it thus: what has decayed is without feeling, his statement does not explain sufficiently what it is that has decayed. Still I understand what he means. However, as all feeling is quenched by decay, by which he means death, and as nothing whatever remains which is of any importance to. us, I ask how it is that he provides and lays down with such care and minuteness that his heirs, Amynomachus and Timocrates, should, with the sanction of Hermarchus, give a sum ‘sufficient for the celebration of his birthday every year in the month Gamelion, and also money to provide each month, on the twentieth day after the new moon, a banquet for all those who studied philosophy along with him, that so the memory of himself and of Metrodorus may be reverenced. I am not able to deny that these directions shew us a man as nice and as kindly as you please, but to assume that any man has a birth- day is utterly unworthy of a philosopher, more particularly a natural philosopher (for by this name he desires himself to be called). Why, can the very day that has once been come round again and again? Assuredly it cannot. Or a day just like it? That is not possible either, unless after many thousands of years have intervened, so that there comes to pass a return of all the stars simultaneously to the point from which they set out. No one therefore has a birthday. But it is customary. And I did not know it, I suppose! But if it be, is the custom to be observed even after death? And is provision to be made for it in his will by the man who has uttered to us his almost oracular speech that nothing after death is of any importance to us? Such things do not recall the man who had traversed in thought countless universes and boundless tracts, without shore and without end. Did Democritus ever do anything of the kind? Passing by others, I appeal to the man whom he followed more than all the rest. But if a day was to be signalised, why the day on which he was born, rather than that on which he became a wise man? You will tell me he could not have become a wise man, had he not been born, Nor yet if his grandmother had never been born, if you come to that. The whole notion, Torquatus, of desiring that the recollection of one’s name should be kept fresh after death by a banquet, is entirely for unlearned men. Now I say nothing about the way in which you celebrate such festivals, or the amount of pleasantry you have to face from the wits; there is no need for us to quarrel; I only say thus much, that it was more pardonable for you to observe the birthday of Epicurus than for him to provide by will that it should be observed.

XXXII. But to return to our theme (for we were speaking about pain when we drifted into the consideration of this letter) we may now thus sum up the whole matter: he who is subject to the greatest possible evil is not happy so long as he remains subject to it, whereas the wise man always is happy, though he is at times subject to pain; pain therefore is not the greatest possible evil. Now what kind of statement is this, that past blessings do not fade from the wise man’s memory, but still that he ought not to remember his misfortunes? First, have we power over our recollections? I know that Themistocles, when Simonides, or it may be some one else, offered to teach him the art of remembering, said: Z would rather learn the art of forgetting ; for I remember even the things I do not wish to re- member, while I cannot forget what I wish to forget. He had great gifts; but the truth is really this, that it is too domineering for a philosopher to interdict us from remembering things. Take care that your commands be not those of a Manlius or even stronger; I mean when you lay a command on me which I cannot possibly execute. What if the recollection of past misfortunes is actually agreeable? Some proverbs will thus be truer than your doctrines. It is a common saying: Fast toils are agreeable; and not badly did Euripides say (I shall put it into Latin if I can; you all know the line in Greek): Sweet s the memory of toils that are past. But let us return to the subject of past blessings. If you spoke of such blessings as enabled Gaius Marius, though exiled, starving, and immersed in a swamp, to lighten his pain by re- calling to mind his triumphs, I would listen to you and give you my entire approval. Indeed the happiness of the wise man - can never be perfected, or reach its goal, if his good thoughts and deeds are to be successively effaced by his own forgetfulness,

But in your view life is rendered happy by the remembrance of pleasures already enjoyed, and moreover those enjoyed by the body. For if there are any other pleasures, then it is not true that all mental pleasures are dependent on association with the body. Now if bodily pleasure, even when past, gives satisfaction, I do not see why Aristotle should so utterly ridicule the inscription of Sardanapallus, in which that king of Syria boasts that he has carried away with him all the lustful pleasures. For, says Aristotle, how could he retain after death a thing which, even when he was alive, he could only feel just so long as he actually enjoyed it? Bodily pleasures therefore ebb and fly away one after another, and more often leave behind them reason for regret than for remembrance. Happier then is Africanus when he thus converses with his country : Cease, Rome, thy enemies to fear, with the noble sequel: For my toils have established for thee thy bulwarks. He takes delight in his past toils; you bid him delight in his past pleasures; he turns his thoughts once more to achievements, not one of which he ever connected with the body; you wholly cling to the body.

XXXIII. But how is this very position of your school to be made good, namely that all intellectual pleasures and pains alike are referable to bodily pleasures and pains? Do you never get any gratification (I know the kind of man I am addressing) do you, then, Torquatus, never get any gratification from anything whatever for its own sake? I put on one side nobleness, morality, the mere beauty of the virtues, of which I have already spoken; I will put before you these slighter matters; -when you either write or read a poem or a speech, when you press your inquiries concerning all events, and all countries, when you see a statue, a picture, an attractive spot, games, fights with beasts, the country house of Lucullus (for if I were to mention your own, you would find a loop-hole, you would say that it had to do with your body)—well then, do you connect all the things I have mentioned with the body? Or is there something which gives you gratification for its own sake ? You will either shew yourself very obstinate, if you persist in connecting with the body everything that I have mentioned, or will prove a traitor to the whole of pleasure, as Epicurus conceives it, if you give the opposite opinion. But when you maintain that the mental pleasures and pains are more intense than those of the body, because the mind is associated with time of three kinds, while the body has only consciousness of what is present, how can you accept the result that one who feels some joy on my account, feels more joy than I do myself? But in your anxiety to prove the wise man happy, because the pleasures he experiences in his mind are the greatest, and incomparably greater than those he experiences in his body, you are blind to the difficulty that meets you. For the mental pains he experiences will also be incomparably greater than those of the body. So the very man whom you are anxious to represent as constantly happy must needs be sometimes wretched; nor indeed will you ever prove your point, while you continue to connect everything with pleasure and pain. Hence, Torquatus, we must discover some other form of the highest good for man; let us abandon pleasure to the beasts, whom you are accustomed to summon as witnesses about the supreme good. What if even beasts very often, under the guidance of the peculiar constitution of each, shew some of them kindness, even at the cost of toil, so that when they bear and rear their young it is very patent that they aim at something different from pleasure? Others again, rejoice in wanderings and in journeys; others in their assemblages imitate in a certain way the meetings of burgesses; in some kinds of birds we see certain signs of affection, as well as knowledge and memory; in many also we see regrets; shall we admit then that in beasts there are certain shadows of human virtues, unconnected with pleasure, while in men them- selves virtue cannot exist unless with a view-to pleasure? And shall we say that man, who far excels all other creatures, has received no peculiar gifts from nature ?

XXXIV. We in fact, if everything depends upon pleasure, are very far inferior to the beasts, for whom the earth unbidden, without toil of theirs, pours forth from her breast varied and copious food, while we with difficulty or hardly even with difficulty supply ourselves with ours, winning it by heavy toil. Yet I cannot on any account believe that the supreme good is the same for animals and for man. Pray what use is there in such elaborate preparations for acquiring the best accomplishments, or in such a crowd of the most noble occupations, or in such a train of virtues, if all these things are sought after for no other end but that of pleasure? Just as, supposing Xerxes, with his vast fleets and vast forces of cavalry and infantry, after bridging the Hellespont and piercing Athos, after marching over seas, and sailing over the land, then, when he had attacked Greece with such vehemence, had been asked by some one about the reason for such vast forces and so great a war, and had answered that he wanted to carry off some honey from Hymettus, surely such enormous exertions would have seemed purposeless; so precisely if we say that the wise man, endowed and equipped with the most numerous and important accomplishments and excellences, not traversing seas on foot, like the king, or mountains with fleets, but embracing in his thoughts all the heaven, and the whole earth with the entire sea, is in search of pleasure, then we shall be in effect saying that these vast efforts are for the sake of a drop of honey. Believe me, Torquatus, we are born to a loftier and grander destiny; and this is proved not merely by the endowments of our minds, which possess power to recollect countless experiences (in your case power unlimited) and an insight into the future not far removed from prophecy, and honor the governor of passion, and justice the loyal guardian of human fellowship, and a staunch and unwavering disregard of pain and death when there are toils to be endured or dangers to be faced - well, these are the endowments of our minds; I beg you now also to think even of our limbs and our senses, which will appear to you, like the other divisions of our body, not merely to accompany the virtues, but even to do them service. Now if in the body itself there are many things to be preferred to pleasure, strength for example, health, swiftness, beauty, what I ask do you suppose is the case with our minds? Those most learned men of old thought that mind contained a certain heavenly and godlike element. But if pleasure were equivalent to the supreme good, as you assert, it would be an enviable thing to live day and night without intermission in a state of extreme pleasure, all the senses being agitated by, and so to Say, steeped in sweetness of every kind. Now who is there deserving the name of man, that would choose to continue for one whole day in pleasure of such a kind? The Cyrenaics I admit are not averse to it; your friends treat these matters with greater decency; they perhaps with greater consistency. But let us survey in our thoughts not these very important arts, lacking which some men were called inert by our ancestors; what I ask is whether you suppose, I do not say Homer, Archilochus, or Pindar, but Phidias, Polyclitus, or Zeuxis, to have regulated their arts by pleasure. Will then an artist aim higher in order to secure beauty of form than a preeminent citizen in the hope to achieve beauty of action? Now what other reason is there for so serious a misconception, spread far and wide as it is, but that the philosopher who pronounces pleasure to be the supreme good takes counsel, not with that part of his mind in which thought and reflection reside, but with his passions, that is to say, with the most frivolous part of his soul? If gods exist, as even your school supposes, I ask you how they can be happy, when they cannot realize pleasure with their bodily faculties, or if they are happy without that kind of pleasure, why you refuse to allow that wise man can have similar intellectual enjoyment?

XXXV. Read the eulogies, Torquatus, passed not upon the men who have been extolled by Homer, not upon Cyrus or Agesilaus or Aristides or Themistocles, not upon Philip or Alexander; read those of our own countrymen, of your own family; you will find that no one ever was extolled in such language as to be styled a subtle artist in the acquisition of pleasures. That is not the witness of the inscriptions on the tombs; this for example at the city gate: Many peoples agree that he was a leader of the nation beyond compare. Do we imagine that many peoples agreed concerning Calatinus that he was a leader of the nation, because he far excelled others in the production of pleasures? Are we then to say that those young men give good promise and shew great ability, whom we believe likely to be slaves to their own interests, and to do whatever brings them profit? Do we not see how great a con- fusion is likely to ensue in all affairs, and what great complications? Generosity is at an end; gratitude is at an end, and these are the bonds of peace. Nor, though you lend a thing to a man for your own sake, must it be called generosity, but usury, and no gratitude appears to be due to one who has made a loan for his own purposes. If pleasure is set on a throne, the highest virtues must necessarily take a low place. There are many forms of dishonour concerning which it is not easy to allege a reason why they should not beset the wise man, unless morality possesses by the laws of nature very great power.

And, not to take in too many considerations (they are indeed countless) if virtue is adequately extolled, the approaches to pleasure are inevitably barred. Now do not expect any such eulogy from me; just examine your own mind yourself, and probing it with all possible deliberation question yourself whether you prefer to pass all your life in the thorough enjoyment of uninterrupted pleasures, in that calm of which you were continually talking, untouched by pain, with the proviso which your school are accustomed to add, though it is an impossible one, that fear of pain be absent, or rather, while rendering splendid service to the whole world, and bringing succor and deliverance to those in distress, to suffer even the dolours of Hercules? For in this way our ancestors designated his inevitable toils, using the most melancholy term dolours though he was a god. I should entice from you and even force from you a reply, did I not fear you would say that pleasure was the motive which induced even Hercules to achieve all that he did achieve by intense effort for the health of nations.

When I had thus spoken, Triarius said, ‘I have friends to whom I can refer these questions, and although I might have made some answer myself, still I would rather look to men better equipped than myself.’ ‘I believe you mean our friends Siro and Philodemus, not only excellent men, but men of very great learning. ‘You understand me rightly,’ said he. ‘Agreed, then,’ said I, ‘ but it were fairer that Triarius should give some verdict about our disagreement.’ ‘I reject him on affidavit,’ said Torquatus with a smile, ‘as prejudiced, at all events on this subject, since you handle these topics with some gentleness, while he persecutes us after the fashion of the Stoics? Then Triarius remarked: ‘ At least I shall do so here- after with greater confidence. For I shall be ready with the doctrines I have just listened to; though I shall not attack you ` until I see that you have been primed by the friends you mention.’ This said, we put an end at once to our walk and our debate.

END OF BOOK II.

BOOK III - The Stoics

I THINK, Brutus, that pleasure, for her part, if she conducted her own case, and were not represented by such obstinate advocates, would capitulate to true worth, after the sentence passed in the preceding book. ‘She would indeed be brazen-faced did she any longer fight against virtue, or prefer delights to morals or maintain that bodily gratification, or the exhilaration consequent upon it, is more precious than mental dignity and stability. So let us discharge her with a caution to keep herself within the sphere that is her own, lest her enticements and her wiles interfere with the austerity proper to debate.

We have indeed to inquire where that supreme good resides which we are anxious to discover, seeing that it has now been dissociated from pleasure, and nearly the same arguments may be urged against the philosophers who have decided that the ultimate good is absence of pain, and let us never accept as the supreme good any good which is unconnected with virtue, for nothing can be more excellent than that. Therefore, although in the discourse which we carried on with Torquatus we were not slack, still the struggle with the Stoics that lies before us calls for more vigour. Certainly when assertions are made about pleasure, not much ability and no profundity at all is dis- played in the discussion, since on the one hand, her supporters are unpractised in logic, and on the other her assailants have no strong case to meet; Epicurus himself actually says that there is no need to lead proof on the subject of pleasure, because our judgment concerning ‘it depends on our senses, that it is enough for us to receive a hint, and useless for us to be instructed. Therefore we found the debate a plain affair for both parties. There was in fact nothing involved or intricate in the discourse of Torquatus, and my speech, I believe, was quite clear. But you are not unaware how refined or rather how beset with thorns is the system of logic pursued by the Stoics, and that is not only the case with the Greeks, but still more with us, who have to create a terminology, and to assign to novel matters novel titles. And this will surprise no one who has even a slight tincture of learning, when he reflects that with every art, the practice of which is not ordinary and general, there arise many novel expressions, whenever names are assigned to the matters with which each art is concerned. So logicians and natural philosophers use such terms as are not familiar to the Greeks themselves; certainly the mathematicians and musicians, and the grammarians too, talk after a fashion of their own; even the systems of the rhetoricians, which look entirely to the courts and the public, nevertheless use for purposes of instruc- tion terms which are almost their property and peculiar to themselves. II. Now to pass by these refined and liberal arts, even the artisans would not be able to maintain their crafts, did they not use terms which are incomprehensible to us but familiar to themselves. Nay even husbandry, which is incom- patible with all refinement of the smoother sort, has still stamped with new titles the things with which it is conversant. All the more reason for a philosopher to act in the same way, since philosophy is the art of life, and when a man discourses about it he cannot pick up his terms in the street. Yet I must say the Stoics of all philosophers have been the greatest innovators, and Zeno their founder was a discoverer not so much of new ideas as of new terms. But if in a tongue which most think very rich, the most learned men, when treating of matters not generally known, have been permitted to use unfamiliar terms, how much more is the permission due to us, who are now for the first time venturing to set our hands to these subjects? And seeing that I have often declared (with some murmuring, of course, on the part not only of the Greeks, but of those who wish to be taken for Greeks rather than Romans) that not only do we not yieid to the Greeks in richness of vocabulary, but are actually in that respect better off than they, we must take pains to realise this not only in the case of arts that are our own, but also in those that belong to the Greeks themselves, Still, those terms which according to the custom of the ancients we treat as Latin, for instance philosophy itself, also rhetoric, dialectic, grammar, geometry, music, these, though we might have expressed them by Latin terms, let us regard as our own, seeing that by habit we have thoroughly appropriated them. So much for the titles given to the sub- jects, but as to the subjects themselves, Brutus, I am often afraid that I may be blamed for addressing my book to you, who have made such great progress not merely in philosophy, but in a most excellent system of philosophy. Now if I did this by way of schooling you, so to say, I should deserve the blame.. But am very far from doing so, and I dedicate the book to you not that I may bring to your knowledge things you know thoroughly well already, but rather because I dwell on your name with the greatest satisfaction, and find in you the most impartial connoisseur and critic of those pursuits which I follow in common with you. You will give me then, as you always do, your careful attention and will arbitrate in the dispute which I had with that marvellous and unique man, your uncle. Now being at my house at Tusculum, and desiring to consult some books in the library of young Lucullus, I went to his mansion to bring away the books myself, as my custom was. On arriving there I saw Marcus Cato, whom I had not expected to find there, seated in the library, in the midst of a great flood of Stoic literature. He had, as you know, a boundless passion for reading, which it was impossible to satisfy; so much so that it was his frequent custom, not shrinking from the carpings of the crowd, vain as they were, to read even in the senate house, while waiting for the members to assemble, as he was not depriving the state of his services; so still more on that occasion, with plenty of leisure and abundant supplies, he seemed almost to enjoy a literary debauch, if I may use this phrase about so splendid an occupation. When it came about that we suddenly caught sight of each other, he rose to his feet at once. 'When came the first speeches, such as we always make when we meet. ‘What has brought you here?’ he said, ‘for I suppose you come from your own house;’ then ‘if I had known you were there, I would have come myself to see you.’ ‘Yesterday,’ said I, ‘when the races began I left the city and arrived towards evening. My motive for coming here was to take away some books from the house. And in truth, Cato, it will be fitting for our young Lucullus to make acquaintance by and by with the whole of this rich store; for I would rather see him take pleasure in these books than in everything else with which the mansion is furnished. I feel great eagerness (though this is a duty that is peculiarly yours) to get him so educated that he may be worthy of his father and of our friend Caepio and of yourself who are so closely related to him. Now my anxiety is not without reason, for I am influenced by my recollection of his grandfather (you know of course how highly I valued Caepio, who in my opinion would now be among the first men in the country were he alive): and a vision of Lucullus is present to me, a man preeminent in all respects and withal united to me by friendship and by every tie of feeling and opinion. ‘You act admirably, said he, ‘in keep- ing fresh your recollection of these friends, both of whom in their wills bespoke your favour for their children, and also in shewing affection for the boy. When however you speak of my duty, I make no objection, but I associate you with me as my colleague. This too I will say, that the boy already affords me many indications of a sense of honour and also of ability; but you see how young he is.’ ‘Indeed I see,’ said I, ‘but for all that he must even now receive a tincture of those acquirements which, if they are instilled into him while he is of tender years, will enable him to proceed very well equipped to higher tasks.’ ‘Just so; and we will talk over the matter between ourselves very carefully and very often, and will take action in common. But,’ said he, ‘let us seat ourselves, if you please.’ And we did so. III. Then he said, ‘But what books are you looking for here, pray, when you have such a quantity of books yourself ?’ ‘I came, said I, ‘to carry off some treatises of Aristotle, which I knew were here, intending to read them while I had leisure; and that is a thing which does not often fall to my lot.’ ‘How I wish, said he, ‘that you had felt a bent towards the Stoic school! It was surely to be expected of you, if of any one, that you would place in the category of good nothing but virtue.’ ‘Look well to it, said I; ‘perhaps it was rather to be expected of you, inasmuch as your views substantially agreed with mine, that you would not force upon the doctrines new titles. Our principles are at one, and only our language is at variance.’ ‘Our principles are very far from being at one,’ said he, ‘for whatever that thing may be over and above morality, which you declare to be desirable, and reckon among things good, you thereby quench morality itself, which we may liken to the light cast by virtue, and virtue too you utterly overthrow.’ ‘ Your words, Cato,’ said I, ‘are grandiose; but do you not see that you share your high- sounding phraseology with Pyrrho and Aristo, who are thorough- going levellers? I should like to know what you think of them.’ ‘Do you ask what I think of them?’ said he. ‘I think that all the good staunch upright soberminded statesmen of whom we have been told, or whom we have ourselves seen, who without any learning and merely following nature’s guidance, have performed many meritorious exploits, were better trained by nature than they could possibly have been trained by philosophy, if they had accepted any other doctrine than that which regards nothing save morality as belonging to the category of good, and as belonging to the category of evil nothing save baseness; as to the remaining philosophical systems which, no doubt in different degrees, but still all of them to some extent count as good or as evil some object unconnected with virtue, they, as I think, not only fail to aid us or strengthen us in the struggle to become better, but actually corrupt nature. Indeed were we not to hold fast to this, that the only good is morality, it could not possibly by any method be shewn that happiness is the outcome of virtue; and if the fact were so, I am at a loss to see why we should devote our energy to philosophy. If some wise man might be wretched, verily I should not consider that vaunting and much bruited virtue to have any great value.'

IV. ‘Cato,’ said I, ‘all that you have said up to this point you might say in the same words, if you were a partisan of Pyrrho or Aristo. You surely are not unaware that they believe the morality of which you speak to be not merely the chief, but actually, as you maintain it to be, the only good; and if this is so, the very conclusion follows, which I see you maintain, that all wise men are always happy. Do you then applaud these philosophers,’ I said, ‘and do you pronounce that it behoves us to accept this opinion of theirs?’ ‘Not their opinion by any means, said he, ‘for’ inasmuch as the charac- teristic of virtue is to make choice of those objects which are in harmony with nature, the philosophers who have reduced all objects to the same level, making their importance so entirely equal in both directions that they practised no choice at all, these philosophers, I say, have actually swept virtue out of existence.’ ‘What you say is excellent,’ said I, ‘but I ask whether you yourself must not commit the same crime, since, while asserting that nothing is good but uprightness and morality, you sweep away every distinction between the values of all other objects.’ ‘True, he said, ‘if I did sweep the distinction away, but I leave it untouched.’ ‘How so?’ said I. ‘If virtue alone, that unique thing which you describe as morality, uprightness, meritoriousness, seemliness (we shall better understand its nature if it be stamped with several names having the same import) if then, I say, that is the only. good thing, what will you find besides, worthy of effort ? Or if there is nothing evil but baseness, immorality, unseemliness, — corruption, infamy, disgrace (this too we must render con- spicuous by several titles) what besides will you declare to be an object of avoidance?’ ‘As,’ said he, ‘you are not unaware. of the doctrine I am going to state, but, l fancy, are eager to snatch some advantage from a brief answer on my side, I shall not reply to your questions one by one; I shall prefer, as we are at leisure, to expound (unless you think it out of place) the entire scheme of Zeno and the Stoics.’ ‘It is by no means out of place, said I, ‘and your exposition will contribute much to the settlement of the question under discussion.’ ‘Let us make the attempt then,’ said he, ‘though our Stoic system has something in it which is uncommonly hard and dark. Now at the time when these very terms applied to new subjects were new to the Greek language, they were thought intolerable, yet daily habit has worn them smooth; what do you suppose will happen in the case of Latin?’ ‘Thé matter is very simple indeed, said I, ‘for if Zeno was free, when he had discovered some un- familiar doctrine, to assign to it a phrase equally unknown, why should Cato not have that freedom? But there will be no need to represent every sitigle term by a new term, as trans- lators without style generdlly do, if there already exists a more familiar term which conveys the same meaning; I am actually in the habit of explaining by several terms, if I can find no other way, what the Gteeks represent by means of one. For all that, however, I think we ought to be allowed to adopt a Greek phrase, if it proves difficult to meet with a Latin one; nor should this licence be permitted to ephippia and acrato- phora any more than to proegmena and apoproegmena. Yet for these terms it will be permissible to substitute praeposita and reiecta (‘objects preferred’ and ‘objects rejected’). ‘I am much obliged to you,’ said he, ‘for your assistance, and I shall prefer to adopt as Latin the terms you just now mentioned ; in what rémains you will come to my rescue if you see me in difficulties.’ ‘I will be careful to do so,’ said I,‘ but fortune favours the brave, so pray make the effort. What occupation indeed can we find more splendid than this ?’

V. ‘It is the belief,’ said he, ‘of those whose system I follow, that immediately upon the birth of a sentient creature (for this must be our starting point) the creature is attracted to its own being and is impelled to maintain its own existence and to feel affection for its own constitution, and for all that tends to maintain that constitution, while it recoils from death, and from all that seems to induce death. That this is the case they shew by this consideration, that children, before pleasure or pain has touched them, yearn after what is wholesome, and refuse the opposite things; this would by no means take place, unless they felt affection for their own constitution and shrank from death. They could by no means yearn after anything, unless they had consciousness of their own personality and so felt affection for themselves. From this we are bound to understand that the earliest impulse proceeds from love of self. Moreover, among the elementary endowments of nature most Stoics think pleasure has no place. To these I give my emphatic approval; otherwise, if it were believed that nature introduced pleasure among those objects for which the earliest yearnings are felt, many abominable consequences will ensue. It is thought, however, that there is sufficient proof of the reason we have for attachment to the objects which are the earliest we embrace on nature’s prompting, in the fact that there is no one who having both alternatives open to him would not prefer that all parts of his body should be symmetrical and sound, rather than dwarfed and warped, even if their useful- ness remained the same. Now our perceptions of external objects (which we may call either acts of apprehension or acts of sensa- tion, or if these phrases are distasteful or not very comprehensible, we may use the word xaradnWes) we imagine deserve to be embraced for their inherent worth; because they comprise some- thing which, so to speak, encircles and holds within it the truth, This can be clearly seen in children, whom we see to be overjoyed, if they have discovered something by their unaided reason, even though they gain no advantage thereby. The sciences too we think are to be chosen for their own sake; not only because they contain within them something worthy of our choice, but because they are built up from perceptions; and comprise certain conclusions established by methodical reasoning. These philosophers suppose that men recoil more from the ren- dering of assent to falsehoods than from all other circum- stances which are out of harmony with nature. Further, of the limbs, or I should rather say, of the parts of the body, some seem to have been bestowed upon us by nature on account of their utility, hands for example, legs, feet and the internal bodily organs, the extent of whose usefulness is debated even by physicians; while others have been given not because of use but in some sense with a view to adorn- ment; thus the peacock has his tail, the pigeon plumage of changing colours, men the breasts and the beard. All these matters are perhaps dry, as stated ; they are indeed, so to speak, the ‘beggarly elements’ of nature, upon which a copious style can scarce be exercised; though to be sure style is not what I design to keep in view; but still whenever you treat of the more sublime themes, the themes themselves carry the utterance with them ; so the style acquires not only greater dignity but also greater brilliance.’ ‘True,’ said I; ‘yet every transparent utterance on an excellent subject is to my mind admirable. _Now the wish to ex- pound a subject like yours in rich language is childish, while the desire tu have the power of giving a clear and lucid explanation well beseems a learned and thinking man.’ VI. ‘Let us proceed then, said he, ‘ since we have left behind us those first natural en- dowments, with which all that follows must harmonise. We have next this fundamental distinction: they call valuable (this is the right word for us to use, I think) anything which is either itself in harmony with nature, or gives rise to something of that character, so that it is worthy of our choice because it has some import- ance which entitles it to a eertain value, which the Stoics call a&ia: on the other hand what is opposite to this is, they say, value- less. As then we have so established our first principles that all things in harmony with nature are worthy of choice on their own account, while their opposites are in the same way worthy of re- jection, the earliest of appropriate actions (I thus render xa@nxov) is that the ereature should maintain itself in its natural constitu- tion; next that it should cleave to all that is in harmony with nature and spurn all that is not; and when once this principle of - choice and also of rejection has been arrived at, there follows next in order choice characterised by appropriateness of action, next such a choice exercised continuously, then finally such a choice rendered unwavering and in thorough agreement with nature ; and it is in this state that we first begin to possess within us and to understand what it is that may truly be called good. Now the earliest attraction of a human being is to those things which are conformable to nature; but as soon as he has laid hold of general ideas or rather conceptions (this is what they call cvvora) and has seen the method and, if I may say so, the harmony of conduct, he then values that harmony far higher than all the objects for which he had felt the earliest affection, and he reaches such conclusions by inquiry and reasoning, as make him decide that in this state lies that supreme human good which is in itself praiseworthy and desirable ; and seeing that this good depends on what the Stoics name opo- Aoyia and we may term harmony, if you please—well then, seeing that on this depends that good by which all things must be judged, it follows that all moral actions and morality generally, which is the only matter regarded as belonging to the category of things good, although it arises at a late stage, yet is alone desirable for its inherent value and worth, while of the objects which constitute the first endowments given by nature, no one is for its own sake desirable. Inasmuch however as those actions, to which I have given the name appropriate, spring from those primary gifts of nature, it must be these gifts that the actions have for their aim, so we may rightly declare that all appropriate actions have for their aim the acquisition of the primary endowments of nature, yet that this acquisition is not the crowning good, because among those matters to which nature first attracts us moral action is not included; it is of course posterior and arises at a late stage, as I have said. Yet it is conformable to nature, and far more than all those earlier objects inspires us with desire to attain it. But from this statement we must first remove a possibility of mistake, lest some one should suppose the conclusion to follow that there are two forms of the highest good. For just as if one were to set himself the task of taking aim with spear or arrow at some mark, so we speak of the supreme good. The man, in the comparison we have made, would be bound to do all he could to take right aim, and yet while it would he a sort of supreme end for such a man to take every step conducing to the attainment of his design, similar to the supreme good of which we speak in the case of conduct, still the actual hitting of the mark would be something preferable, so to speak, and not something desirable. VII. Now seeing that the starting point for all appropriate action lies in the primary endowments of nature, there too must lie the starting point for wisdom herself. But just as it often happens that a man who has a letter of introduction to another, values more highly the man to whom he is introduced than the man who gives him the introduction, so it is by no means strange that at the outset we are introduced to wisdom by the elementary instincts of nature, while at a later time wisdom herself becomes more precious to us than those instincts by which we were led up to her. And just as our limbs were given us on such conditions as make it plain that they were given us with a view to a particular method of life, so mental impulse, which in Greek is called óp}, was clearly given with a view not to any chance mode of living, but to some particular scheme of life, and so too were reason and especially reason in its perfect form. Just as the actor has assigned to him gestures and the dancer movements which are not casual but definite; so we must conduct our life on a plan which is definite and not arbitrary: and to do this is the kind of thing we call harmonious and consistent. Nor do we suppose that wisdom is like pilotage or medicine, but rather like those gestures I have just mentioned and like the art of dancing, so that its aim, which is the production of an artistic result, lies in its own being, and is | not looked for outside that. Yet for all that there is on the other hand a want of resemblance between these very arts and wisdom, because in them individual right actions do not imply right action in all the spheres which the arts comprise; while (in wisdom) the actions which we may call right or rightly done, if you please (they call them xatop@wuara) imply every quality of virtue. For wisdom alone has her glance entirely directed | to herself; a characteristic not found in the rest of the arts. It shews ignorance to compare the aim of medicine or pilotage with the aim of wisdom. Wisdom embraces highminded- ness and justice and the power whereby a man considers beneath him all that befalls humanity ; and this is not the case with the other arts. But no one will be able to lay hold on the very virtues to which I have just made allusion unless he has determined that there is no essential distinction or difference between any two things, excepting between morality and vice. Let us see how strikingly the statements which follow agree with those that I have already made. Inasmuch as this is the end (you understand, I suppose, that for some time I have been denoting what the Greeks call rédos by the terms end, aim, goal; we may also say mark for end or aim) well then, inasmuch as this is our end, to Hve in con- formity and harmony with nature, it follows of necessity that all wise men always live fortunately, perfectly, prosperously, without obstacles, without restriction, without want. One doctrine which is not more essential to the system concerning which I am now speaking, than to our lives and possessions, the doctrine that morality is alone good, may be enlarged upon and tricked out in rhetorical fashion by the use of extended and abundant discourse and all the choicest phrases and most imposing maxims; but the short methods of the Stoics please me by their terseness and cleverness. VIJI. Their proofs then are put into this shape: all that is good deserves praise; all that deserves praise is moral; therefore all that is good is moral. Does this argument seem to you pretty cogent? Surely it does; for you see the result of the two premisses is expressed in the conclusion. Of the two pre- misses on which the. conclusion is based, the first is generally met by the assertion that not everything good deserves praise, for it is granted that everything which deserves praise is moral. It is further very ridiculous to say this, that there is some good thing which is not desirable; or something desirable, which is not satisfactory, or if satisfactory, not also worthy of choice : so it must be also worthy of adoption; so also deserving of praise and therefore moral. Thus we conclude that what is good is also moral, Next I ask who can glory either in a wretched life or in a life which is not happy. We can only then glory in a happy life. It results from this that glorification, if I may so call it, is the due of happiness, and this due can only of right belong to a moral life; hence it comes about that a happy life is a moral life. And seeing that he whose lot it is to claim praise with justice, has a certain privilege which marks him out for distinction and renown, so that he may on the strength of such great advantages justly be styled happy, it will be perfectly right to make a similar statement about the life of such a man. So if morality is the criterion of a life of happiness we must consider what is moral to be alone good. Well then, would it be possible in any way to contradict the statement that the character of the man whom we call strong-minded, the man of unmoved and powerful and high spirit, cannot be produced unless it be a settled point that pain is no real evil? Just as he who places death in the category of things evil cannot help dreading it, so no one under any cir- cumstances can disregard or neglect what he has pronounced to be an evil; and when this assertion has been made and allowed by common consent, the further assumption is made that the man of high and strong spirit scorns and counts as nought everything that can befall humanity. This being so, the conclusion follows that there is no evil but vice. Now that man of lofty and towering spirit, of high soul, and truly strong, who reckons as far beneath him all human chances, that man, I say, whom we wish to bring to light, of whom we are in search, must surely have faith in himself and in all his own life both past and future, and must pass a favourable judgment on him- self, being convinced that no ill can happen to the man of wis- dom. From this once more we perceive that what is moral is alone good, and that to live happily is to live morally, that is virtuously.

IX. I am not indeed unaware that there has been a divi- sion of opinion among philosophers, I mean among those who place the supreme good, which I call our aim, in the mind. Now although some have pushed these opinions to wrong conclusions, yet I prefer those philosophers whatever their opinions, who have placed the supreme good in the mind and in virtue, to all the others, not only to those three who have divorced the supreme good from virtue, while laying down either pleasure or freedom from pain or the primary natural endowments as the supreme good, but also to those other three who have supposed that virtue would be crippled if left without any additions, and so have joined to her one or other of those objects which I have enumerated above. But for all that very ridiculous are the thinkers who have asserted that a life attended by knowledge is the final good, and those others who have declared that no distinctions of value can be drawn between objects and that the man of wisdom is happy on this condition that he finds no turn of the scale to make him prefer any one thing to any other, and again those who say (as some Academics are stated to have pronounced) that the ultimate good of the wise man and his highest function is to offer resistance to his impressions and to resolutely withhold from all phenomena his assent. To each one of these schools we usually find prolix replies are made ; but we must not dwell long on what is self-evident. Now what is plainer than that if no choice be exercised between the things that conform to nature and the things that are hostile to nature, all that prudence which is the object of search and the object of eulogy, would be swept out of existence? If then we prune away those doctrines with which I have been dealing and the others that are like them, we have remaining the theory that the supreme good is to live by the light of a knowledge of nature’s operations, choosing what accords with nature and refusing what is at variance with nature, which is equivalent to a life in harmony and conformity with nature. But in all other arts, when we use the phrase done artistically, we have to think of a characteristic which comes after the act, so to speak, and follows upon it, which the Stoics call ézreyevynuatexor ; when however we speak of an action as done wisely, such an action is most rightly said to have that character from its. very first inception. All that proceeds from the man of wisdom must be from the first moment complete in every respect; for this is the condition which makes us call a thing desirable. Now while it is a sin to be traitor to one’s country, to do violence to one’s parents, to pillage shrines, all of which are sins by reason of an external result, so fear, sorrow and passion are sins even though without external result. But just as these feelings are sins not in their consequence and their issue but from their verv first inception, so acts which: proceed from virtue are to be thought upright from the moment they are undertaken, not from the moment they are completed. X. The term good of which mention has been so often made in this discourse is moreover made explicit by the process of definition. But the definitions given by the Stoics do indeed. disagree with one another just a little, though their general. purport is the same. I agree with Diogenes, who has defined good as that which is naturally perfect. Following up this definition he further declared that which is beneficial (so let us translate wheAnpua) to be a process or condition arising from that which is naturally perfect. And whereas conceptions concerning objects arise in our minds when something has been apprehended by experience or by combination or by com- parison of resemblances or by logical inference; it is by this fourth process, to which I have assigned the last place, that we arrive at our conception of the good. When the mind by the aid of logical inference rises from the contemplation of those objects which conform to nature, then it arrives at a conception of the good. Now this very good we declare and name good not in con- sequence of any process of addition or increase or comparison with the other objects, but on account of its own inherent quali- ties. Just as honey, although it is the sweetest of things, is pro- nounced to be sweet by virtue of its own peculiar kind of taste and not through comparison with other sweet objects, so the good with which we are dealing must indeed be valued more highly than all else, but that value is based on qualitative and not on quantitative considerations. For inasmuch as value, which the Greeks call aia, has been reckoned as belonging neither to things good nor, on the other hand, to things evil, it will remain in its own class, however great additions to it you may have made. There is therefore another kind of value peculiar to virtue, whose worth is based on its nature, not on its quantity.

Moreover, mental emotions, which render wretched and bitter the life of the unwise; these the Greeks name mán and I might have called them diseases, by a literal translation of the word, which however would not suit all its applications ; who indeed is there in the habit of calling pity or even anger a disease? But the Greeks call it wa@os; well then, let us call it emotion, the very name of which seems to make clear its faultiness. All emotions belong to four classes which have a large number of subdivisions, grief, fear, desire, and that which the Stoics denote by the name dov, equally applicable to body and mind; I prefer to call it delight, a pleasurable excitement, so to speak, of the mind in a state of exultation. Now emotions are excited by no natural impulse, and all such feelings are fancies and judgments due to instability of character ; and so the wise man will always be free from emotion.

XI. Now the doctrine that everything moral is in itself desirable, is one which we hold in common with many philo- sophers of other schools. If we except those three systems which cut off virtue from the supreme good, all the other philosophers are bound to maintain this doctrine, but particularly the Stoics, who have laid down that nothing else but what is moral can rank in the class of things good. But this doctrine is one that is very easy and very simple to maintain. Who is there or ever was there, whose greed was so consuming or his passions so un- bridled, that he would not far prefer that the very object which he is determined to achieve by going all lengths in crime, should fall into his power without any criminal act, rather than in the other way, even though impunity were assured him to the fullest extent? What advantage or utility have we in view, when we long to know how those bodies, so mysterious to us, are set in motion and what are the causesof their movements in the heavens? Who guides his life by principles so rude, or has become so insen- sible to the enthusiasm for physical inquiries that he is repelled by matters which deserve to be known, and feels no need of such knowledge and accounts it worthless, unless accompanied by pleasure or advantage? Or who, as he reviews the exploits, the maxims, the designs of our forefathers, either the Africani or my great grandfather, whose name is ever on your lips, and the rest of the heroes who were strong and preeminent for every ex- cellence, is not touched in his thoughts bysome feeling of pleasure? What man, if he has been educated in a virtuous household and gently nurtured, does not recoil from vice for what it is in itself, even although it be not likely to injure him? Who can look un- moved on one whom he supposes to be leading a foul and infamous life? Who does not loathe the mean, the vaunting, the inconstant, the worthless ? If we intend to lay down that vice is not in itself a thing to shun, what reason will it be possible to urge, to pre- vent men from running into every sort of indecency, when once they have the advantage of obscurity and isolation, if vice does not repel them by its own inherent vileness? Countless argu- ments may be advanced in support of this opinion, but they are needless, ‘There is no point on which it is possible to feel less doubt than that things moral are in themselves desirable, and that in the same way things vicious are in themselves repellent. Now that we have established the conclusion mentioned above that what is moral is alone good, it cannot but be seen that what is moral must be more highly valued than the things, in themselves indifferent, which are procured by it. Now whenever we say that unwisdom and cowardice and injustice and intemperance are things to be avoided on account of their consequences, we do not put forward that statement in such a sense as to make our present speech seem at variance with the principle formerly laid down, that vice is the only evil—and for this reason, that the con- sequences mentioned have nothing to do with bodily inconvenience but with vicious courses which spring from vice. I prefer to use the word vice rather than badness to express the Greek xaxiau.

XII. ‘Your language is indeed luminous, Cato,’ said I, ‘and expresses clearly your meaning! So in my eyes you are teach- ing philosophy to speak Latin and are, if I may say so, conferring on her our franchise, for hitherto she was always thought to be a mere foreigner in Rome and to be shy of entering into conversa- tion in our language, and particularly your own form of philoso- phy, because of a certain highly polished subtlety both in matter and in language. I know indeed that there are men who can play the philosopher in any tongue you please, since they use no sub-divisions and no definitions, and themselves assert that they are only securing approval for opinions to which nature assents even if no word be uttered ; and so as they deal with notions that are far from profound they do not toil much over their argument. Thus I give you my earnest attention and learn off by heart any terms you apply to the subject-matter of our conversation, for I shall perhaps have soon to make use of these same terms myself. Now in my opinion you were thoroughly right and in accord with the usages of our native tongue when you laid down that the vices are the opposites of the virtues. What deserves in itself to be vilified was I think for that very reason called vice, or perhaps from the word vice came the phrase to be vilified. But if you had- used the word malitia, Latin usage would at once lead us up to the idea of a single definite vice; as things are, vice is opposed to virtue as a whole, its name implying virtue’s opposite. Then he said ‘now we have thus laid down our prin- ciples, there follows a serious struggle, which has been carried on in a spiritless way by the Peripatetics (you know their cus- `` tomary style is not subtle enough because they are ignorant of logic) and so your friend Carneades has by his very splendid practice in logical discussions and his fine eloquence imperilled the issue to a high degree, because he never ceased to contend that in this whole inquiry which is described as relating to things good and things bad, the dispute between the Stoics and Peri- patetics is not one turning on realities but on words. But to me there seems nothing so self-evident as that these opinions of the philosophers I have named are divided from one another more by reason of their substance than by reason of their expression; I assert that between the Stoics and Peripatetics the divergence is much greater in doctrine than in terms, since the Peripatetics maintain that all the objects which they themselves call good are esséntial to happiness, while our school do not think that a life of happiness is furnished forth with every possession which deserves to have assigned to it a certain value.

XIII. Well, can anything be more sure than this, that on the principles of those who class pain as an evil, the wise man cannot be happy whenever he is tormented on the rack? But those who do not consider pain to be an evil are surely bound by their principles to believe that the happiness of the wise man is kept intact through all tortures. Further, if the same pains are found easier to endure by those who submit to them for their country’s sake than by those who do so on some slighter ground, then it is fancy, and not nature, that increases or diminishes the power of pain. Nor again, supposing that, as there are three classes of things good (this is the belief of the Peripatetics) each man is happy in proportion as he abounds in bodily and external goods, does it accord with our doctrine to hold the same view, so that a man who has more of the objects which are valued in connexion with the body should be happier. For they think that the life of happiness is furnished forth with bodily advantages, while our school are as far as possible from so thinking. Now as we believe that life is not rendered happier. or more desirable or more valuable even by the numerousness of those things which we call really good, the quantity of bodily advantages has certainly small bearing on the happy life.

Moreover, if wisdom and health were both desirable objects, the combination of the two would be more desirable than wisdom alone, yet, supposing the two to deserve to be valued, the com- bination would not be more highly esteemed than wisdom itself taken apart. For we who pronounce that health to a certain extent deserves to be valued, and yet do not give it a place among things good, also declare that it has no value of such im- portance as to cause it to be preferred to virtue; now this is a position the Peripatetics do not maintain, for they are bound to say that a course of action which is moral and at the same time painless is more desirable than the same course of action would be if attended by pain. We think differently, whether rightly or wrongly we shall see by and by; but can there be a greater disagreement in substantial matters?

XIV. Just as the light of a lamp is darkened and drowned in the sun’s beams and just as a drop of honey is lost in the vastness of the Aegean sea, and as in the wealth of Croesus an added farthing is imperceptible and a single step in the distance from here to India, so, if the ultimate good has the nature the Stoics give it, all that value which bodily advantages possess must inevitably be darkened and overwhelmed and lost in the blaze and vastness of virtue. And just as seasonableness (so let us translate evxacpia) does not grow greater by prolongation of time, since things which are called seasonable have assigned to them their proper limit, in the same way right accom-plishment, for so I render xarop@wats, since xatépOwpa is a single right action, well then, right accomplishment and har- mony of conduct also, and in a word the good itself, which depends on agreement with nature, admits of no increase. Just as is the case with that quality of seasonableness, so the things I have mentioned do not grow more important by prolongation of time, and for that reason the Stoics do not consider a life of happiness more an object of wish or desire, though it be long, than if it were brief; and they use an illustration: just as, on the supposition that the one merit of a buskin is exactly to fit the foot, a larger number of buskins would not be preferred to a smaller, nor those of larger size to those of smaller size, so in the case of matters whose whole quality of goodness is defined by their harmony and seasonableness, neither will a greater number of them be preferred to a smaller, nor a longer duration of them to a shorter. Nor do people shew much cleverness when they say that if good health were allowed to deserve a higher value when long continued than when transient, then the most protracted enjoyment of wisdom also would be the most valuable. They do not see that the value of health is tested by its duration, that of virtue by its seasonableness, so that those who make this assertion seem just the men to declare that a good death and a good childbirth would be better if protracted than if they lasted a short time. They do not perceive that some things are assigned a higher value the sooner they pass away, but other things, the longer they last. Thus so far as the principles of those go, who think that the highest good, which we call the ultimate, the supreme good, is capable of increase, it is only consistent with the doctrines already stated for them also to believe that one man is actually wiser than another, and further that one man is a sinner or is virtuous in a higher degree than another, a conclusion which we who refuse to believe that the highest good is capable of increase are not free to maintain. Just as those who are immersed in water cannot breathe more easily when they are so close to the surface, as to be on the very point of finding themselves able to put their heads out, than if at that very moment they lay at a great depth, and just as a puppy which is on the very verge of receiving its sight cannot distinguish objects any more than another which is only just born, so a man who has made considerable progress towards the possession of virtue is not at all less in a condition of wretchedness than another who has made no progress at all. XV. I know that these statements are thought to be para- doxes, but the premisses being assuredly strong and true, and the inferences in harmony and consistent with the premisses, we cannot question the truth of the inferences either. But though the Stoics refuse to allow that either the virtues or the vices are capable of increase, yet they hold that both of them admit of a sort of extension and expansion, so to speak. Diogenes gives it as his opinion that while wealth not only has the power of almost guiding men to pleasure and to good health, but is the essential condition of those states, it does not perform the same function in the case of virtue and the other arts, to which money may act as a guide, but of which it cannot be an indispensable con- comitant; so he holds that if pleasure and good health be placed among things good, wealth must be placed there too; but if wisdom be good, then it does not follow that we should maintain wealth also to be good. Nor can the existence of any- thing which belongs to the class of things good be bound up with the existence of anything which does not belong to that class, and on that account, because the elements of knowledge and our certain perceptions of external objects, out of which the arts are constructed, set in motion our impulses, no art can be indissolubly connected with wealth, seeing that wealth does not belong to the class of things good. But even if we were to admit this supposition concerning the arts, still the same principle would not apply to virtue, because it requires a vast amount of meditation and practice, which is not equally true of the arts, and because virtue involves the sureness, solidity and consistency of life as a whole, and we do not find these accompaniments to the same extent in the case of the arts.

Next in order is given an exposition of the difference of value between things, and if we were to assert that no difference exists, all our life would be made chaotic, as by Aristo, nor would there be found any function or task for wisdom to perform, there being no distinctions of value whatever among the things which concern the conduct of life, and no obligation to exercise any discrimination. So while on the one hand it was sufficiently established that what is moral is alone good, and that what is vicious is alone evil, so on the other these philosophers pronounced that nevertheless distinctions do exist between those things which are without influence upon happi- ness, so that some of them have positive value, some negative,

l and some neither. Of those things which deserve to have as- signed to them a positive value, they say one class consists of those important enough to be preferred to certain others, health for example, soundness of the senses, freedom from pain, fame, wealth and the like things, while another class is not in the same case; and, in the same manner, of those which can only claim a negative value, some supply us with sufficient reason for rejecting them, pain for example, disease, loss of the senses, poverty, disgrace, and the like, while others do not. Hence arose what Zeno termed mponypévov, with its opposite which he called dzromponypévor, for though his native tongue was rich, he adopted artificial and new-fangled terms, which we who speak this poverty-stricken language are not permitted to do, though you oftentimes say that ours is the richer of the two. But with a view to more readily grasping the force of these terms, it is not out of place to explain the principle which Zeno followed when he constructed them. XVI. Just as no one asserts (these are his words) that in a palace the prince himself is, as it were, preferred to honour (for that is what mponypévoy means) but rather that those have been so preferred who have some official rank, and whose station brings them close to the princely dignity, and is only second to it, so in life we must speak not of those things which are in the front rank, but of those which hold a secondary position as mponypeva, that is as preferred; and let us either use this phrase (which will be a literal translation) or speak of things advanced and things degraded or, as we said some time back, leading or important things, the opposite class being things rejected. If facts be clearly understood, we are bound to be complacent as to the adoption of phrases. Now since we say that everything which is good holds a front rank, it follows inevitably that what we denote as a thing preferred or leading thing is neither good nor evil, and we define such a thing as that which is essentially indifferent, yet has a tolerable amount of value; for it has struck me to call indifferent what the Greeks call advagopov. Nor could it by any means have been brought about that nothing either in harmony with or in disagreement with nature should be admitted to fill the class of things indifferent, nor that, such things being admitted, not one of them should be classed as having a tolerable amount of value, nor, when this is once allowed, that there should not be some things which are advanced. This classification then has been laid down with justice; and to make the matter easier to be understood, they offer this illustration; for, say they, just as if we imagine it to be a kind of end or aim to cast a die go that it may stand right side uppermost, any die which is thrown so as to fall with its right side uppermost [yet not so as to stand so] will have about it something which is ad- vanced towards the attainment of the end, and any die thrown otherwise will be in the opposite condition, and yet that advancement of the die will have nothing to do with the actual attainment of the end, in the same way things which are ad- vanced are said to be so with reference to the end; yet they stand in no relation to the end in its essence and nature.

Next comes the distinction whereby things good are divided into those which are closely connected: with the. highest end (I thus describe what the Greeks call teAcxa; for let us establish this practice upon which we have agreed, of denoting by several expressions what we find it impossible to denote by one expression so as to make the sense clear) while others are means, which the Greeks call vrounrixa, and others are both ends and means. Belonging to the class of goods closely connected with the end, there is no good excepting moral eonduct, belonging to the class of means, none but the friend, but these philosophers lay it down that wisdom both directly bears on the end and is also a means. For inasmuch as wisdom is harmony of conduct, it belongs to the class of things which involve the end, of which I have spoken; while in that it brings with it and is the means to moral actions, it may be termed a means.

XVII. The things which we style preferred are in part preferred on their own account, in part on account of some result they produce, in part because of both these reasons; things pre- ferred on their own account are for example a certain style of feature and expression, and also certain attitudes and move- ments, in connexion with which matters there are certain things to be preferred and certain others to be declined ; other things again, money fur example, will acquire the name preferred for the reason that they are productive of some result, others however in both ways, as for instance sound senses and good health. As to fair fame (since it is preferable at this point to represent evdo£ia by fair fame, rather than by glory) Chrysippus, you must know, and Diogenes maintained that, apart from its usefulness, it would not be worth while to put out a finger to take it, and I give these philosophers my emphatic assent. Those however who came after their time, being unable to withstand the onset of Carneades, declared that fair fame was in itself and for its own sake preferred and worthy of choice, and that a man who was free born and generously nurtured naturally desired to be of good report in the eyes of his parents, of his relations, and of good men too, and that for the sake of the thing itself, not on account of its utility, and they assert that just as we desire to secure the interests of children, even though they will be born after we are gone, from our love of them in themselves, so we must take thought for the reputation we are to have even though it be after death, and that on account of the thing itself, even though it is destitute of utility. But although we say that what is moral is alone good, still it is consistent with this doctrine that we should perform all appropriate actions, though we place actions having that character neither in the category of good nor in that of evil. In matters of this kind there is something which is deserving of approval, and of course such that a reasonable account of it can be rendered, and therefore when something has actually been done in a way to deserve ap- proval a reasonable account can be rendered of it; now appro- piate action is anything which has been so done that a reason deserving approval can be assigned to it; this makes it clear that there is a kind of middling action, which is neither classed with things good nor with their opposites. And since those matters which we class neither as virtues nor as vices, neverthe- less include some things which may be of advantage, we must not throw away such things. There is moreover a certain kind of action which concerns this class of things, action such that in these cases reason requires us to perform it and carry it into execution ; and what has been done on reason’s prompting we call appropriate action; appropriate action is therefore of such a kind that we class it neither with things good nor with their opposites.

XVIII. This too is evident, that the wise man has some . actions to perform which concern those indifferent things. When therefore he performs such an action, he delivers his opinion that it s an appropriate action. But since he is never mistaken in his deliverances, there will be appropriate action concerned with indifferent things; and this result is arrived at also by the following proof: inasmuch as we see that there is something to which we give the name of right action, and that is appropriate action carried to perfection, there will be also a form of appro- priate action which is imperfect; for example, if to return trust funds from just motives were placed among right actions, the mere restoration of trust funds would be classed as belonging to appropriate actions; for with the addition of the phrase from just motives the action becomes a right action, though in itself the mere act of restoration is put down as an appropriate action. And as it is unquestionable that among the things which we term indifferent some are worthy of choice, some of rejection, every action which is done or is spoken of in connexion with this principle, is entirely included within the bounds of appro- priate action. From this it is seen that, inasmuch as all men by nature love themselves, the unwise man and the wise man alike will choose those things which accord with nature, and reject their opposites. So there is a certain appropriate action which is the meeting ground of the wise and the unwise man; this shews that it is concerned with the field of things which we call indifferent. But since these indifferent things form the starting point for all appropriate actions, it is not without reason said that they constitute the test for deciding on all our plans, and among them those about departure from life and continuance in life. When the bulk of a man’s cir- cumstances are in accord with nature, it is appropriate for him to remain in life; when the balance is on the other side, or seems likely to be so, it is appropriate for such a man to quit life. ‘This proves that it is sometimes appropriate for the wise man to quit life though he is in possession of happiness, and for the fool to continue in life, though wretched. For that good and that evil of which we have already often spoken are secondary products, while those elementary natural circumstances, whether prosperous or adverse, are submitted to the wise man’s judgment and discrimination, and are, so to say, the subject-matter of wisdom. So any plan for continuing in life or departing from it is entirely to be estimated with reference to those matters of which I have spoken above. For it is not virtue that keeps a man among the living, nor are those who are destitute of virtue bound to seek for death. So it is often an appropriate action for the wisc man to turn his back on life, though enjoying happiness to the full, if he can do it seasonably, that is consistently with a life in harmony with nature, since these philosophers are of opinion that seasonable- ness is the characteristic of happiness. And so wisdom herself enjoins upon the wise man that he should leave her if need re- quire. Thus inasmuch as vice has not the effect of affording a motive for suicide, it is plain that the appropriate course even for fools, who are ipso facto wretched, is to continue in life if they are surrounded by circumstances, the majority of which are, as we phrase it, in accord with nature. And seeing that the fool, whether he quits life or continues in it, is equally wretched, and long duration does not make life any more for him a matter to be avoided, it is not without reason main- tained that men who can enjoy a preponderance of things in accord with nature must continue in life.

XIX. These philosophers believe it to be important for our purpose to understand that nature prompts parents to love their offspring. It is to this principle that we trace the com- mencement of the association of the human race into commu- nities. Now this principle must in the first place become clear from the structure and parts of the body, which themselves shew that nature has designed the continuance of the race; while the two statements that nature desired offspring and yet was indifferent about the love of offspring, could never be made consistent with one another. And so even in brutes the power of nature can be conspicuously seen ; and when we discern the distress they suffer in the production and in the rearing of their young, we believe ourselves to be listening to the cry of nature herself. So while it is plain that nature causes us to recoil from pain, yet it is evident that nature herself instigates us to love those of whose being we are the authors. Hence it arises that men feel a general attraction inspired by nature towards one another, so that a man is bound to think himself no stranger to his fellow man, owing to the mere fact of a common humanity. Just as among our bodily parts some have been as it were created for themselves, the eyes for instance and the ears, while others contribute to the advantage of the remaining parts, the legs for example and the hands, so certain monstrous creatures are born to live for themselves, but that creature which lives in a broad shell and is called a sea-pen, and also the animal which is called the sea-pen’s guardian because it keeps watch over it, that sails out of the shell, and retreats into the shell on its return, so that it seems to have given the sea-pen warning to be on its guard, and in the same way ants, bees, and storks all do some actions for the sake of others. This union between human beings is much closer. And so we -are formed by nature for congress, for combination, and for common life. It is the opinion of these philosophers that the universe is controlled by a divine will and is, if we may say so, a city and community shared by gods and men, and that every individual among us is a member of this universe, from which naturally follows this conclusion, that we should place the general interest before our own. Just as the statutes place the security of the nation before that of individuals, so a man who is good and wise and obedient to the statutes and is not _ unaware of what behoves him as a citizen, takes more thought for the general interest than for that of some definite person, or his own. . Nor is one who is a traitor to his country more reprehensible than he who to assure his own interest and his own security turns his back on the interest or security of the com- monwealth. Hence any one is meritorious who confronts death on behalf of the nation, because it is fitting that our country should be more precious to us than our own lives. And since that speech is regarded as cruel and abominable, wherein men declare that they do not mind if, on their own death, a universal consumption of the world by fire should ensue (an opinion to which expression is usually given in a certain hack- neyed Greek line) the conclusion surely is true that we should take thought for those who are to live after us, for their own sake merely.

XX. This attitude of our minds gives rise to wills and trusts executed by men on the point of death. And whereas no one would choose to pass away his life in absolute loneliness, even if attended by a limitless supply of pleasures, it is easy to see that we came into being in order to combine and associate with our fellow men and to form a society after nature’s law. Nature herself inspires in us the desire to do good to as many men as possible, and particularly by instructing them and imparting to them the principles of wisdom, And so it is not easy to find any one who refuses to impart to another what he knows himself: such a bent have we not only towards receiving but towards imparting instruction. And exactly as by natural instinct cattle fight with the utmost energy and vigour in defence of their young against lions, so nature impels to protect the human race those who are strong in resources, and have the power to do so, as we learn from story in the case of Hercules and Liber. And when we give to Jove the titles best and greatest, and again god of health, god of friend- ship, god of safety, we wish it to be understood that the security of mortals depends on his guardian care. Now it is entirely inconsistent to demand that the eternal gods should hold us dear and love us though we are cheap and unregarded in the eyes of each other. Therefore exactly as we use our bodily parts before we have been taught the useful purpose for which they were given us, so nature has linked and bound us one with another in social fellowship. And if this were not so, there would be no room either for justice or for kindness. And as on the one hand the Stoics believe that men are bound to their fellow men by bonds of law, so on the other they think that no law binds men to the brute creation. Chrysippus well says indeed that for the use of men and gods all other things exist, and these exist for association and fellowship among themselves, so that without wrong men may, to secure advantage to them- selves, employ the services of animals, And inasmuch as the nature of man is so constituted that the individual is connected with the whole race by a sort of civil law, he who supports that law will be just, he who contravenes it unjust. But as, although the theatre belongs to all, it s right to say that the place which each man has taken belongs to him, so in the general city or universe the law docs not forbid that each man should have his own property. Now as we see that the individual man is born for the support and protection of mankind, it is consistent with the purpose of his nature that the wise man should desire to par- ticipate in and conduct public affairs, and that, to enable him to live as nature directs, he should take to himself a wife and desire issue by her. Nor do our philosophers think that the passion of love, if pure, is foreign to the person of the wise man. Some Stoics say that the Cynic principle and their mode of life befit the wise man, if any circumstances like theirs come upon him, others think this is by no means the case.

XXI. With the view of maintaining the communion, fel- lowship and affection which bind every man to every other, the Stoics have laid it down that benefits and injuries (which they call wdeAnuara and BrAappata) are universal in their effect, the one class being beneficial and the other class harm- ful; and they have asserted them all to be not only universal, but also of equal value. Conveniences however and inconveniences (for so I render evypnotnuata and dvaoypnotnpata) they have declared to be universal, but denied to be equal in value. Those actions which are beneficial and those which are harm- ful are in the one case good and in the other evil, and so must inevitably be all of equal value, while conveniences and inconveniences are things of the kind to which we applied the names preferred and rejected, and these things may be of unequal value. Now benefits are asserted to be universal, while right actions and sins are not held to be universal. Friendship, they pronounce, is to be welcomed because it belongs to the class of things which confer benefit. Now though in the case of friend- ship some maintain that the circumstances of the friend are as dear to the wise man as his own, while others hold that each man’s own circumstances must be to him dearer, still the latter class too allow it to be inconsistent with justice, for which we are believed to exist, that any one should strip another man of something in order to appropriate it to his own use. The theory that either justice or friendship is acquired or adopted with a view to profit finds absolutely no favour with the school of which I am speaking. For profit will be strong enough again to undermine and ruin them. Indeed it will be altogether impossible for either justice or friendship to exist, unless they be desired for their own worth. Now law, so far as it can be called and styled by that name, exists, they say, naturally ; and it is abhorrent to the wise man, not merely to do wrong, but even to do harm to any one. Nor is it right to associate or combine with friends or benefactors to commit wrong; and it is maintained with very great dignity and truth, that equity can never be severed from utility and that whatever is equitable and just is also moral, and vice versa whatever is moral will be also just and equitable. And to those virtues of which we have already discoursed, they add also dialectic and natural science, and describe them both by the name virtue, the former because it establishes principles which save us from assenting to any falsity, or from ever being deluded by any deceptive plausibility, and enables us to cling to and uphold the lessons we have learned about matters good and evil, for without this science they think it possible that any man whatever may be seduced from the truth and deluded. With justice then, if a general recklessness and ignorance are vicious, has this science, which does away with them, been entitled a virtue. XXII. The same honour has not without reason been bestowed on natural science, because he who is to live a life in harmony with nature must start from a survey of the universe, and of its government. Nor indeed can any man pass. a fair opinion upon things good and things evil, unless he has discovered the principles that govern nature and govern too the life of the gods, and whether or no the nature of man accords with the nature of the All. And as to the ancient maxims propounded by the wise men, who bid us bow to opportunity and to follow after God, and to know ourselves, and to exceed in nothing, the force of these (and they have very great force) no one can see apart from natural science. And only this branch of inquiry can teach us the power nature exerts in the cultivation of justice, in the main- tenance of friendship, and of the other affections, Nor, unless nature is revealed to us, can we understand the meaning of filial reverence to the gods, nor the extent of the debt which we owe to them. But I now perceive that I have allowed myself to be carried away farther than the plan I laid down required me to go. But I was drawn away by the wonderful orderliness of the system, and the marvellous arrangement of its topics, and I ask you with all solemnity whether you do not admire it? What can you find either in nature, who is unsurpassed for symmetry and exactness, or in the works of men’s hands, which is so well ordered and constructed and fitted together? What minor premiss is there which does not suit its major premiss, or what conclusion which does not follow from the premisses ? At what point are the arguments not so linked together that if you displace a single letter the whole chain falls to ees And yet there is nothing which can be displaced.

But how lofty, how splendid, how unwavering the the wise man is shewn to be! He, inasmuch as true reason has proved to him that what is moral is alone good, must of necessity enjoy perpetual happiness and must in very truth be in possession of all those titles which the ignorant love to deride. He will be styled a king by a fairer right than Tarquin, who was too feeble to govern either himself or his people, and lord of the nation (for such is the dictator) by a fairer claim than Sulla, who was lord of three baneful vices, self-indulgence, greed, and barbarity, rich by a fairer title than Crassus, who but for his wants would never have sought to cross the Euphrates, without reason for declaring war. It will be right to say that all things are his, who alone knows bow to use all things; right to call him beautiful, since the features of the mind are fairer than those of the body; right to name him the only freeman, for he bows to no tyranny nor yields to any passion; right to. declare him invincible, since though his body may be chained no shackles can be cast round his mind. Nor would he ever wait for any period of life, that the question whether he has enjoyed happiness may be decided after he has spent in dying the last day of his existence ; such was the far from wise advice given to Croesus by one of the seven wise men. For if he ever had been happy he would have carried his happiness with him to the funeral pyre built for him by Cyrus. Now if it is true that no one but the good man is happy and all good men are happy, what is there more deserving of worship than philosophy or more divinely glorious than virtue ?’

END OF BOOK III,

BOOK IV - Against The Stoics

With these words he ceased. Then I said, ‘indeed, Cato, you have set forth your argument with great power of memory, if we look to its extent, and luminously, considering its profundity. So let me either abandon altogether any desire to controvert it, or let me take some time for reflection; for it is no easy task to learn thoroughly a system which has not only been grounded but built up with such thoroughness, perhaps not on truths (though I do not yet venture to say so much) but still with painstaking. Then he answered, ‘do you say so ? While I see you reply to the prosecutor’s speech, according to the provisions of this new statute, on the same day on which it was delivered, and wind up your own in the space of three hours, do you expect me to grant you an adjournment in the present case? And in any event you will find it no better to argue than some are which you sometimes win. So address yourself to this case also, with the more confidence, in that it has often already been handled both by others and by yourself, so that you can- not possibly be at a loss what to say. Then I said, ‘in good sooth, I am not fond of lightly attacking the Stoics; not be- cause I agree with them very much; but modesty prevents me; they make so many statements I find it hard to grasp. ‘I ad- mit,’ said he, ‘that certain doctrines are difficult; though they are not purposely made so by the mode of statement; on the contrary the difficulty lies in the subject-matter itself? ‘ How is it then,’ said I, ‘that when the Peripatetics deal with the same subject-matter, I do not find a word that I cannot grasp?’ ‘The same subject-matter?’ said he; ‘why, have I not argued strongly enough that the Stoics do not differ from the Peripatetics in phraseology only, but over the whole field and throughout their entire doctrines?’ ‘But, Cato,’ said I, ‘if you make good your point, you shall carry me over entirely to your side.’ ‘For my part,’ said he, ‘I thought I had said enough. So pray answer my statements on this head first, if you so please, or afterwards, if you prefer another course.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘I shall use my own judgment on that subject unless you think me unreasonable, and shall take each matter as it turns up.’ ‘As you please, said he; ‘though my proposal was more suitable, still it is fair to let each man have his own way.’

II. ‘Well then, Cato, said I, ‘I think that Plato’s pupils of old time, Speusippus, Aristotle and Xenocrates, and their pupils again, Polemo and Theophrastus, possessed a system which was formulated with perfect fulness and exactness, so that there was no reason why Zeno, having been a pupil of Polemo, should dissent from his own master and from those who went before him; now the outlines of their system I am about to describe, and I want you to notice anything you think ought to be altered and not to look for an answer from me to everything you said, since I judge that their scheme as a whole should be pitted against yours as a whole. Now these philosophers, seeing we are so constituted by nature, that we one and all are suited for the cultivation of those virtues which are far famed and conspicuous, I mean justice, temperance and the others of the same description (all of which resemble the other arts, and are separated from them only by their finer subject-matter and treatment) and seeing our yearning after these same virtues to be accompanied by much greatness of soul and enthusiasm, seeing further that we have a deeply rooted or rather inbred passion for knowledge, and exist for association with our fellow men and for union and fellowship with mankind, and that these tendencies are most conspicuous in the highest intellects, distributed the whole of philosophy into three branches, a division which, as we know, Zeno renamed. Now one of these divisions being the art whereby it is deemed that character is moulded, I delay to speak of this division, which forms so to speak, the tap root of our inquiry, for I shall by and by discuss what the ultimate good is; at this point I only say thus much, that the old Peripatetics and Academics, who, though essentially at one, were at vari- ance in their terminology, dealt seriously and fully with the topic which I think we shall be right in describing as that which treats of society (the Greeks call it aroActexov).

III. At what length did they write upon statesmanship, upon legislation! How many maxims they laid down in their trea- tises, and also how many models of eloquence did they bequeath to us in their speeches! In the first place, they stated in re- fined and felicitous terms precisely those doctrines which needed accurate discussion, now using definitions now divisions, as your school also does, but you do it in rougher fashion; you see how bright their style is. In the next place, how loftily, how brilliantly did they discourse on matters which called for a rich and dignified style! What they wrote of justice, temperance, courage, friendship, the conduct of life, philo- sophy, the practice of statesmanship, came from men who were no splitters of hairs like the Stoics, no skinners of flints, but from men who chose to state high arguments in rich, and the lesser doctrines in lucid language. And so how fine are their consolatory writings, their exhortations, the warnings and advice too that they addressed to the most illustrious persons! Their practice in oratory was twofold, as is the nature of the themes themselves. For every matter of inquiry involves either a dispute about a mere general question apart from par- ticular characters or occasions, or, when these are taken into account, a dispute concerning a question of fact or a point of law, or the appellation of the fact. Well then, they were trained in both kinds, and this exercise was the cause of the extraordinary richness of their oratory in both depart- ments. This entire field Zeno and his followers have certainly neglected, either from lack of capacity or lack of inclination. Yet Cleanthes wrote a treatise on rhetoric, and Chrysippus too, but in such fashion that any one who has conceived a desire to become dumb has only to read it. You see, then, in what style they talk. They trump up new words and abandon those that are familiar. But what tasks they set themselves !

The whole universe they say is the township to which we belong. You see what an important business it is; it enables an inhabitant of Circeii to suppose that our whole universe is his own country town. So the hearts of the listeners are set on fire. What? Set on fire? The Stoic is more likely to quench his pupil, if he receives him all aflame. The very theories of which you gave a brief description, that the wise man is the only king, dictator and capitalist, were treated by you in neat and rounded periods; of course, since you get them from the teachers of rhetoric; but how poor are the deliverances of your school about the potency of virtue, which they make out to be so great that it can of itself render its possessor happy! They prick people with tiny cramped arguments like pins: and even the men who give to these their assent are not a whit changed at heart, but go away just as they came; since doc- trines which are perhaps true, and assuredly important, are not handled as they should be, but in a far too petty style.

IV. We now come to the principles of logic and scientific inquiry; for we shall look to the supreme good presently, as I said, and shall direct the whole discussion to its elucidation. Well, in these two branches of philosophy there existed no reason why Zeno should hanker after change; for matters were in a splendid condition, and I say so of both branches alike. What point in that department which bears upon logic was missed by the ancients? They laid down plenty of definitions and left behind them formal treatises on definition; and the division of a class into species, which is closely connected with definition, is not only practised by them, but they impart the proper method for the process ; so too they dealt with the opposite processes, which enabled them to mount upwards to the species and the classes which contain the species. Further they declare the self-evident impressions, as they call them, to be the source of syllogistic proof; then they attend to the arrangement of the premisses: the final conclusion shews what the true inference is in each case. What a number they propose of dif- ferent proofs which arrive at their conclusion by reasoning, and how unlike these are to the sophistical arguments! Think again how in very many passages they give us almost formal warning not to look for truth in the senses apart from reason, nor in the reason apart from the senses, and never to disjoin one of these - things from the other! Why! Were not the rules which logicians now teach and demonstrate, established by them? Though Chrysippus toiled immensely over these, yet they were far less regarded by Zeno than by the ancients, and Chrysippus treated some matters no better than the older men, while some he left untouched altogether. And there being two arts whereby reason and speech receive their full developement, one the art of discovery, the other the art of discourse; the latter has been taught by both Stoics and Peripatetics, while as regards the former the Peripatetics have left us brilliant maxims, but the Stoics have never even dabbled in it. Your friends have never dreamed about the regions from which proofs were to be drawn as though from treasure-houses, while the earlier philosophers bequeathed to us the art and method thereof. It is this art that frees us from the need of always harping upon an old lesson, so to speak, concerning the same themes, and of never getting away from our note-books, For he who knows where each argument lies, and by what road he is to approach it, will be able, even if anything lies below the surface, to disinter it, and always to shew originality in a debate. Although some men who are gifted with extraordinary natural parts do attain to a full style of oratory apart from theory, yet art is‘a more unerring guide than nature. It is one thing to pour out words after the manner of poets, quite another by the aid of theory and practice to use discrimination about your language.

V. The same statements may be made concerning the elucidation of natural phenomena, which your school and the ancients alike undertake, and that not merely for the two reasons which commend themselves to Epicurus, the banishment . of the fear of death and of superstition; but inquiry into the heavenly bodies inspires also a sense of moderation in those who see how great self-control the gods exert, and how vast is their orderliness, while the discernment of the divine functions and achievements produces highmindedness, and justice arises when we thoroughly understand what the will of our supreme ruler and lord is like, what are his plans, what are his feelings; and when reason has been brought into harmony with his nature then philosophers say the true and paramount law exists. In the elucidation of nature again we find a certain inexhaustible pleasure springing from the acquisition of knowledge; and in this pleasure alone, after performing our inevitable duties, when once freed from troubles, can we live a moral and generous life. So in their theories on these matters from first to last the Stoics have followed the ancients upon nearly all the most important points, declaring both that gods exist and that the universe is composed of four elements. And whereas a very difficult matter was under discussion, whether it was to be decided that there is a certain fifth substance, which gives rise to reason and understanding, an inquiry embracing the nature of the soul, Zeno said it consisted of fire; he then made changes in some other points, but very few; on the most important matter of all he gave out identical opinions, that by the divine intellect and divine nature the whole universe and its chief parts are governed. But the store of doctrines and resources pos- sessed by the one school we shall find to be poor, by the other most abundant. How many facts did the ancients observe and record about the family, the origin, the parts, the lives of ani- mals of every kind, how many too about the vegetable world ? How numerous and how manifold in their application are not only the causes they assigned for each phenomenon, but also their proofs of the mode in which it occurs! And out of all this abundance we can take numerous proofs of the highest cer- tainty, which make clear the construction of each individual object. Thus up to this point, so far as I see, we must believe that no reason existed for any change of name, for it does not follow, just because he did not accept every doctrine, that he did not owe his origin to the old school. For my part I think that Epicurus too, in science at least, belongs to Democritus ; he makes a few changes or a large number if you like; but on the majority of subjects he holds the same language, and assuredly on the most important. And while your friends do just the same, they do not bestow upon their founders any very great amount of gratitude.

VI. But enough of this. Now, if you please, with regard to the supreme good, which is the essence of philosophy, let us see what contribution he actually did make, such as justified him in his schism against his own founders, and I might almost say his forefathers. At this point, though you, Cato, have given a careful explanation of the nature of their ethical standard and of the terms applied to it by the Stoics, yet I will give a fresh account of it, that we may clearly understand, if we find that possible, what new contributions were made by Zeno. Now whereas the earlier school, and Polemo most un- mistakeably, had pronounced the supreme good to be life in accordance with nature, the Stoics maintain that this formula is capable of three interpretations, one somewhat thus: life accompanied by a knowledge of the operations of nature; this they say is the very final good indicated by Zeno, being equiva- lent to your doctrine of life in harmony with nature; the second interpretation amounts to putting it thus: life devoted to the performance of all or most of the ordinary appropriate actions. This explanation of the doctrine ditfers from that which pre- cedes it, for the one formerly given implies right action (which you called xarópfwpa) and suits the lot of the wise man alone; while the one now put forward refers to a sort of crude form of duty and not a perfect form, and so can concern some who are not wise men. The third interpretation is this: life in the enjoyment of all or the most important of the things which are in accord with nature. This does not follow on anything we do ourselves; it depends for its fulfilment on that form of life which is attended by the enjoyment of virtue, and on those objects which accord with nature and are not subject to our wills. But the supreme good indicated by the third interpretation, along with the kind of life which is lived as a consequence of that supreme good, falls within the province of the wise man alone, because it is closely connected with virtue, and this is the ultimate good which was set up by Xeno- crates and Aristotle, as we see the Stoics admit in their writings. So that ground plan of nature with which you too started is explained by them almost in the following terms, VII. The constitution of every creature inclines it to self-preservation, to the end that it may be sound and retain its position in the class to which it belongs. For this purpose they say that the sciences too have been invented, to bring aid to nature, and the chief among them is reckoned to be the science of conduct, which helps the creature to maintain whatever nature has bestowed, and to obtain that which is lacking; and further they distin- guished two divisions in the constitution of man, his mind and his body, and having declared each of these two divisions to be in itself the object of our desires, they asserted the excel- lences peculiar to each portion to be also in themselves desir- able; as they preferred mind to body owing to its boundless intrinsic worth, they preferred excellences of mind also to ad- vantages pertaining to the body. But, maintaining that wisdom exercises guardianship and supervision over the whole man, by reason of being the attendant and assistant of nature, they stated that the function of wisdom, as it has for its ward a being composed of mind and body, is to aid that being-and support him in both parts of his nature. And after placing the doctrine before us at first in this plain way, they in the rest of their statements went minutely into detail, and pronounced that the theory of bodily advantages is easy enough; about mental ad- vantages they made a more laborious inquiry, and especially discovered that among them are found the germs of justice, and they were the first of all philosophers to reason out the doctrine that the love which parents have for their offspring is a natural attribute, and (a fact which in order of time comes earlier) that nature ordains the unions of men and women, from which source spring those ties that depend on blood relationship. And starting from these elementary notions they traced the inception and the developement of all the virtues. Hence was derived elevation of soul, rendering it easy for men to resist and repel fortune, for the reason that the most import- ant matters lie within the wise man’s own control. .A life grounded upon the maxims of the old philosophers easily tri- umphed over the fickleness and wrongfulness of fortune. Out of the elements imparted by nature arose a rich harvest of blessings which in part resulted from the consideration of the mysteries of nature, due to the passion for knowledge inbred in the mind, which passion produced the desire for a theory of reason and of discourse ; and as man is the only animal which naturally shares the sense of honour and modesty, and yearns after a common life and social union, and in all his actions and words is anxious that nothing should be done by him unless in a moral and seemly fashion, —wel!, starting from these elements, or, as I called them before, these germs bestowed on us by nature, self-control, moderation, justice, and every form of morality has received its full completion.

VIII. You now understand, Cato’, said I, ‘the scheme put forward by the philosophers of whom I am speaking. Now that I have explained it I want to know what reason Zeno found for abandoning this ancient system, what part of their scheme it was to which he did not give his sanction ; whether because they declared that every creature is impelled to self- preservation, or that every animal feels a love for its own ex- istence and so desires to maintain itself sound. and unharmed in the class to which it belongs, or that inasmuch as the aim of all arts is to find that which nature strongly desires, therefore we must say the same of the art which bears on life as a whole, or that because we are composed of mind and body, these parts of our nature themselves and the excellences pertaining to them are to be chosen for their inherent worth? Or was he annoyed at the vast preeminence which was assigned to the excellences of the mind? Or at the statements they make about prudence, knowledge of phenomena, the association of mankind, and again about self-control, moderation, nobleness of soul, and every form of morality? The Stoics will allow that all these statements are splendidly put, and afforded Zeno no reason for his revolt. I suppose they will lay some other matters to the a charge of the ancients as serious sins, such that Zeno, in his - eagerness for the exploration of the truth, found it impossible to endure them. What could be more wrong-headed, more in- sufferable, more stupid than‘to class good health, freedom from all pains, soundness of the eyes and the remaining senses as things good, instead of saying that between these conditions and those opposite to them there is no difference whatever? All those things, Zeno said, which the ancients called good, are preferable, not good; and in the same way the ancients had been foolish in asserting that all bodily excellences were in themselves desirable, since they are rather chowceworthy than desirable; finally, a whole life based on virtue alone was not surpassed in desirability, but only in choiceworthiness by a life enriched in addition with all the other possessions which are in agreement with nature, and though virtue herself is so en- ‘tirely the cause of happiness that he who possesses her cannot possibly be happier, still the wise men, at the very moment of their highest happiness, yet lack some things, and so make it their business to defend themselves from pain, disease, and weakness.

IX. What splendid intellectual power! How sufficient a reason for the creation of a new system! Proceed a little farther. We next come to those topics over which you shewed such a thorough scientific mastery, how unwisdom, injustice, and other moral defects are in the cases of all persons exactly alike, and how all sins are exactly equal, and how those who by their disposition and acquirements are far advanced on the road to virtue, are supremely wretched unless they have entirely attained to it, how there is not the slightest difference whatever between the lives of such persons and those of the most con- summate scoundrels, so that Plato, great man as he was, supposing him not to have been the man of perfect wisdom, passed a life no better and no happier than any thorough- going rascal you like to name. Here we have, forsooth, a reform and improvement of the old philosophy, though one that can never possibly win its way into the city, the market, or the senate. Pray who could tolerate such speech from one who claimed to be a guide to a life of seriousness and wisdom, and while his views were the same as those of all other men, simply assigned a new terminology to doctrines whose essence he left unchanged, and merely made verbal alterations, without infringing upon the opinions in the least? Would any advocate in a case, while delivering his peroration for the prisoner at the bar, maintain that exile and forfeiture of property were no evils? That they were things to be rejected, not things to be avoided, and that no juryman ought to be merciful? If he were speaking at a public meeting, after Hannibal had marched up to the city gates and had hurled a javelin across the walls, would he declare it no evil to be taken prisoner, to be sold into slavery, to be put to death, to be cut off from one’s native land ? Or would the senate in granting Africanus a triumph be able to base its decree upon his virtue or his fortune, if no one but the wise man can be truly said to possess either virtue or fortune? What kind of philosophy is this, which in the market speaks after the fashion of ordinary men, but in its literature after a fashion of its own? This is all the stranger, as there is nothing new in the meaning which they intend their words to carry, for the doctrines remain the same though their dress is changed. What difference does it make whether you describe wealth, power, health, as things good, or as things preferred, when the man who calls these things good assigns no greater value to them than you who entitle them preferred? So Panaetius, a man of great honour and dignity, and thoroughly worthy of his friendship with Scipio and Laelius, when he addressed a book to Quintus Tubero on the subject of pain, nowhere laid down what ought to have been the fundamental proposition, had it been capable of proof, that pain is no evil, but defined its essence and qualities, and how much it comprised that was repugnant, and then in what way it might be endured; and his view, as he was a Stoic, seems to me to pass a censure on the empty phraseology of which I am speaking.

X. But, to take a closer view of your speech, let us criticise it more rigorously and compare the doctrines you stated with those which I prefer to yours. Any points which you and your school maintain in common with the ancients let us take for granted; let us debate, if you please, the topics which are matters for dispute.’ ‘I certainly agree,’ said he, ‘that we should carry on the discussion in a more refined way and, as you said your- self, more rigorously. All the considerations you have advanced as yet are to please the mob, while I expect from you some- thing in better taste. ‘You expect it from me? said I; ‘well, at all events I will try hard, and if such arguments do not suggest themselves to me in sufficient numbers, I shall not shrink from those which please the mob, as you say. But let it be postulated first that we look with favour on our own existence, and that the earliest impulse nature implants in us is the instinct of self-preservation. On this we are agreed; next w must give our attention to a knowledge of ourselves, that we may maintain ourselves in that condition which beseems us. We are, then, human beings; we are composed of body and mind, which have their own definite constitution, and it is proper for us to feel affection for these endowments, as indeed the earliest natural impulse requires of us, and on these to build up that moral purpose which constitutes the supreme and highest good; and this purpose, if our first principles are true, must be laid down to consist in the attainment of as many as possible from among the most important of those primary endowments which harmonise with nature’s plan. This then is the moral purpose to which the ancients clung; and so they believed the ultimate good to be that which I have explained at length, but which they described more tersely as life in accordance with nature.

XI. Come then, let your school explain to us (or rather you yourself; who indeed could do it better?) how it is that starting from the same fundamental ideas you arrive at the result that a moral life (which is what you mean by life according to virtue or life in harmony with nature) is the supreme good, and how or at what point you suddenly abandoned first the body, then the whole class of things which, though they are n accordance with nature, do not lie within our control, and finally appropriate action itself. I ask then how it is that these matters to which nature introduces us, important as they are, have been suddenly rejected by wisdom. Now if we were not searching for that supreme good which is suited to man, but one adapted for a creature so constituted as to consist entirely of mind (be it permitted to us to imagine some creature of the kind, that we may more easily discover the truth) still this ultimate good of your school would not suffice for the mind I am considering. It would feel the need of sound health and freedom from pain, it would also be impelled to the preservation of its own constitution and to the maintenance of these advantages, and would determine that the proper end for it to pursue is the life accord- ing to nature, which implies as I have said the acquisition of either all or most of the chief among those things which are in agreement with nature. In fact, whatever be the structure you assign to the creature, even if it be destitute of body, as we, are imagining it to be, still there needs must exist in the case of the mind certain circumstances resembling those that exist in the case of the body, so that the ultimate good cannot by any means be.constructed except in the manner I have set forth. Chrysippus again, when he is explaining the dis- tinctions between living creatures, says that some of them are eminent for their bodily powers, some again for power of mind, while some are strong on both sides; he next discusses the end which it is proper to lay down for each class of living creatures. But though he had so classified man as to assign to him in- tellectual preeminence, he established for him a supreme good of such a kind as to make it appear not that. his intellect is preeminent, but that he consists of nothing but intellect. XII. Only in one way would it be right to make the supreme good consist in virtue alone; that is if there were a creature entirely composed of mind, and its mind were of such sort that it had attached to it no natural condition resembling health. But we cannot even conceive the nature of any such creature without falling into inconsistency.

Now if they assert that the importance of certain objects is overshadowed and lost because they are very insignificant, we too grant that, and Epicurus also makes the same statement about pleasure, saying that the trivial pleasures are often over- shadowed and overwhelmed; but we cannot assign to this class of objects the bodily aptitudes, important and enduring and numerous as they are. Thus in cases where this overshadowing takes place, owing to the triviality of the objects, we often find ourselves admitting that it makes no difference to us whether the objects are in existence or not; so in the sunlight, as you kept asserting, we do not care to employ a lamp, nor do we care to add a farthing to the treasure of Croesus; in the case of objects again where so complete an overshadowing does not occur, it still may happen that their importance is not considerable. For instance when a man has lived an agree- able life for ten years, supposing an addition of a month of life equally agreeable were made, it would be a good thing, because the addition has some actual importance in respect of its agreeableness; if however the addition were not granted, it does not at once follow that the man’s happiness is de- stroyed. Now these good things which pertain to the body are more like the instance which I last gave. They bring with them an addition to happiness which is worth an effort to pro- cure; so that I sometimes think the Stoics are jesting when they say that if on the life which is spent in the pursuit of virtue a flask or a flesh-brush were bestowed, the wise man will prefer the life to which these objects have been attached, and yet that he will be not a whit happier on that account. Pray is this an illustration? Does it not deserve to be driven off by laughter rather than by debate? What man would not be most deservedly ridiculed if he vexed himself about the pre- sence or absence of a flask? But surely if one man were to cure another’s distorted limbs or his excruciating torments, he would earn great gratitude; nor would the ideal wise man, if forced by a despot to face the inquisitor’s rack, wear an ex- pression like that he would assume if he had lost a flask, but reflecting that he was entering on a serious and severe struggle, inasmuch as he saw before him a deadly battle with a baneful enemy, pain, he would summon to his aid all principles that Inspire courage and endurance, that under their protection he might proceed as I have said to that severe and serious conflict. Next we are not inquiring what objects are overshadowed or lost to view because they are to the last degree insignificant, but what objects are required to complete the tale of things good. Suppose that in the life of pleasure a single pleasure out of many is so overshadowed; for all that, insignificant though it be, it is a portion of that life which is grounded on pleasure. Amid the wealth of Croesus a single piece is lost to view; for all that it forms a part of that wealth. So let us even suppose that the objects we assert to be in agreement with nature are overshadowed in the midst of the life of happiness; only be it granted that they are parts of that life.

XIII. Further if, as we surely are bound to agree, there is a certain natural instinct which seeks after objects that are in agreement with nature, it must be proper to reckon up the sum of all such objects. If we once decide this, we shall then be free to examine at our leisure such questions as these, what -is the importance of each thing, and how great influence each exerts in producing happiness; what are those things which are lost to view, and on account of their paltriness are scarcely or perhaps not even scarcely observable. What of this: other matter, about which there is no disagreement? Surely no one ever refused to allow that the ultimate standard by which all things are judged, that is, the highest of all objects for which instinct yearns, must in the case of every creature constituted by nature shew analogies; since every nature values its own existence. Indeed what nature is there which ever abandons itself, or any portion of itself, or the natural conditions or faculties assigned to any portion of itself, or the state of change or the state of rest required by any of those objects which are in agreement with that nature? What nature was ever oblivious of the fundamental principles of its con- struction? There is assuredly none which does not preserve its own characteristics from first to last. How then did it come to pass that the nature of man (singular among natures) should disregard the human constitution by becoming oblivious of the body, and should lay down a supreme good which is concerned not with the whole man but with a part of the man? How again shall we save that principle which these philosophers themselves also allow, and which all admit, namely the analogy which that highest good, the subject of our inquiry, preserves in the case of all natures alike? Such analogy would. exist if in the case of the other natures also that faculty, which is most conspicuous in each, constituted for it the supreme good. It was in something of this kind that the supreme good of the Stoics has been held to consist. Why do you delay then to change the fundamental principles of nature? Why indeed do you say that every creature, as soon as it is born, is driven to prize its own existence, and to busy itself with the task of preserving it? Why do you not rather put it in this way, that every creature is drawn towards that which forms the most excellent part of itself, and busies itself with the guardianship of that part alone, and that the other natures carry out no other task but that of preserving what forms the most excellent portion of each? How can you speak of a most excellent portion, if no other portion is good? But if the other portions also attract our desires, why is the highest of things desirable not defined by our desire either for all desirable objects, or for the most nu- merous and the most important of them? Wisdom is like Phi- dias who may plan a statue from the first and complete it, but may also take over one that some other artist has begun, and may finish it; wisdom did not herself create man, but took him over from nature when he already existed in outline; to nature then must wisdom look in completing that statue, so to speak, of which the outlines had been already designed. What con- stitution then did nature mark out for man, and what is the office, what the function of wisdom? What is the form of that work which she must finish and complete? If in the structure which must be brought to completion there is nothing but a cer- tain intellectual activity, by which I mean the reasoning powers, then the highest good for such a being must be to live as virtue directs, for virtue is the perfect state of the reason; if there is nothing but body, the chief matters will be these, health, freedom from pain, beauty and the rest. As it is, we are inquiring what is the ultimate good for man; (XIV) why then do we hesitate to explore what good has been accomplished in connexion with his whole nature? Although it is admitted by all that the whole duty and office of wisdom is concerned with the cultiva- tion of man’s nature, yet some (you must not suppose I am speaking against the Stoics only) put forward such views that they place the supreme good in the class of objects which lie beyond our control, as though they were talking about some soulless creature, while others on the contrary, as though man possessed no body, pay no attention to anything but his mind, and are the more in error because even the mind itself is not some indefinite thing destitute of substance (indeed I cannot understand anything of the sort) but belongs to a particular kind of material substance, so that even it cannot be satisfied with virtue only but longs for freedom from pain. So both these sets of philosophers act as though they were to disregard the left side while taking care of the right, or as if they’ were to ardently accept the knowledge which the mind itself holds, like Erillus, and to neglect its activity. All those who pass by a number of matters with the intention of selecting some one to which they may attach themselves, hold a view which is maimed so to speak; but the really complete and perfect view is that of these philosophers who, as they are seeking after the supreme good for.man, have not refrained from taking under their patronage every endowment he has, whether of mind or of body. You and your friends on the other hand, Cato, because virtue, as we all confess, holds the most lofty and conspicuous position in the nature of man, and because we suppose those who are called wise men to be wholly perfect, dazzle our mental vision by the brilliance of virtue. Now in every being there is some quality which is its highest and best, in the case of the horse for example, or the dog, yet it is needful for these creatures to be free from pain and strong; similarly then in the case of man we bestow the highest praise on the perfection of that in him which is most excellent, namely ` upon his virtue. So, to my mind, you do not properly reflect what is the course of nature and what her method of advance. For when she has led man on to the rational state, she does not deal with him as she does with the corn, neglecting the green stalk and treating it as worthless, when once she has brought the ear out of the stalk. On the contrary, she always confers new gifts without abandoning those which she has bestowed at first. And so she associated reason with the senses, yet did not turn her back on the senses when she had brought reason to completion. So if viniculture, whose office is to bring the vine with all its parts into a condition as ex- cellent as possible—well then, let us so represent the matter in our thoughts, since we may, as is the habit of you and your friends too, imagine something for the sake of instruction—if then this viniculture were a power within the vine itself, it. would desire, I suppose, all those external operations which concern the culture of the vine, just as they went on before, while this power would prefer itself to all the members of the vine, and would be persuaded that the vine comprised nothing better than itself; in the same way, when the senses have been bestowed upon our nature, they protect that nature indeed, but also protect themselves; but when the gift of reason has been added, it is seated on such a throne of empire, that all those early natural endowments are placed beneath its sway. So it does not desert the guardianship of those endowments over which it is placed, and thus is bound to guide every department of life; so that I cannot express my wonderment at the inconsistency of our opponents. For that natural instinct, which they call dpyy, likewise appropriate action and even virtue herself, all these they are persuaded belong to the class of those things which are in agreement with nature. When however they desire to reach the supreme good, they overleap all obstacles, and prefer to leave us with two tasks to complete, instead of one, rather than to include both tasks under one and the same moral purpose; thus we must choose some objects and desire others.

XV. But as you people tell me, you declare that virtue cannot be firmly established, if those objects which are ex- traneous to virtue be allowed any influence upon happiness. The exact opposite is the truth, since virtue can by no means be brought upon the stage, unless all those objects which she is to select and to refuse are made to form parts of one and the same whole. Now if we are altogether careless about our own constitution, we shall fall into the errors and sins of Aristo, and shall forget those first principles which we laid down for the guidance of virtue herself; whereas if without disregarding these principles we nevertheless do not allow them to have any bearing upon the ethical standard, we shall be going astray in a way not much differing from the light-mindedness of Erillus, since we shall have to embrace two sets of maxims suited to two different lives. He in fact sets up two distinct views of the ultimate good; to make his system true, the two ought to have been combined ; now they are so kept apart as to be thoroughly divorced; and nothing can be more preposterous than this. So the case is different from your statement of it; since virtue can by no means be firmly established, unless she is to embrace those primary natural endowments as though they did contribute to the sum of things good. Virtue has been summoned not to abandon our nature but to protect it; but she, in your opinion, protects only a certain portion of it, while the rest she betrays. And if man’s fundamental scheme had itself a voice, it would say that its earliest essays, so to speak, were moved by the impulse to maintain itself in possession of that consti- tution which the man had at birth. But up to now it has not been made sufficiently clear what the most urgent desire of nature is. Let it be made clear then. How else shall we understand it, unless it be that no portion of the natural con- stitution should be disregarded? Now if this constitution comprises nothing but reason, let the final good consist in virtue alone; but if it also comprises body, this clear voice of nature is forsooth to have this result, that we should abandon those objects to which we were clinging before the voice spoke! So to live in harmony with nature means turning our backs on nature. As certain philosophers, starting from a consideration of the senses, abandoned the senses because they afterwards saw certain endowments which were grander and more godlike, so your friends, starting from our instinctive yearnings after objects, spurned from them those endowments; other than virtue herself, which they had discerned, because they had gained a view of the splendour of virtue, forgetting that | the whole natural influence of instinctive impulse has such far reaching effect as to extend from our earliest principles to our ultimate conclusions, nor do they perceive that they are under- mining the bases of those fair and marvellous faculties, of which they speak. |

XVI. And so in my view all those who have laid down that ultimate good means the life of morality, have gone astray, but in different degrees; Pyrrho, I am sure, most of all, who, placing virtue on a firm foundation, leaves no object whatever for which yearning may be felt; next Aristo, who did not venture to leave a mere blank, but produced, as the objects which arouse yearning in the mind of the wise man, such things as chanced to present themselves to his mind and .such things as, so to say, threw themselves in his way. He is in this respect better than Pyrrho, that he allowed impulse of a kind to exist, but is inferior to the rest, because he was entirely disloyal to nature. Now the Stoics are like these philosophers because they declare final good to consist in virtue only; in that however they seek out a starting point for appropriate action they are superior to Pyrrho; because they do not invent those chance presentments, they have the advantage over Aristo ; but in that they do not annex to their ultimate good those objects which they declare to be adapted to nature’s scheme and in their essence worthy of choice, therein they set up a revolt against nature, and in a certain degree are not unlike Aristo. He invented certain vague chance presentments ; these philoso- phers however do indeed assume primary natural endowments, but they dissociate them from nature’s final conclusions and from the sum of things good; now in declaring their preference for these objects, to the end that there may be some choice from among external things, they appear to follow nature’s guidance; in denying however that these things have any bearing what- A ever on happiness, they turn round and desert nature. Further, the plea I have put in as yet is that there was no reason why Zeno should be disloyal to the authority of his predecessors ; now let us look to what remains, unless, Cato, you either want to make some reply to what I have stated, or think that I have already been too prolix.’ ‘By no means, said he; ‘I indeed want you to conclude your discussion, nor can your speech possibly appear to me diffuse.’ ‘Thank you much, said I. ‘What could I desire more than to discuss the virtues with Cato, the patron of every virtue? But first look to this point; your most import- ant doctrine, which rules your whole scheme, that what is moral is alone good and that the final good is a life of morality, will be shared by you along with all those who affirm that the final good is found in virtue alone; and your declaration that no scheme of virtue can be sketched out, if account be taken of anything but morality, will be made in the same terms by the philosophers I have just quoted. It seemed to me the fairer course that Zeno, in his controversy with Polemo, from whom he had taken over his view of the fundamental principles of nature, should in his progress after leaving the elements which were common to the two, mark the point at which he first halted, ahd the source from which the dispute between them first arose, and should not take his stand with men who did not even assert that their views of the supreme good were based on nature, using the same arguments that they used and stating the same opinions.

XVII. I cannot possibly commend your action, in that after proving, as you believe yourselves to have proved, that the only good thing is morality, you turn round and say that - elementary objects must be set before us which are in agree- ment and harmony with nature, from the choice of which objects virtue may ultimately spring. You ought not to have laid down virtue to consist’ in this choice, so that the very thing which you declared to be your ultimate good, takes to itself some other objects; since everything which we ought to choose or adopt or aspire to, must be included in the sum of things good, so that he who has attained to this sum, may feel no lack of anything besides. Do you not see how clear it is what those persons must do or not do whose good is summed up in pleasure? How no one is in doubt as to the aim all their appropriate actions ought to keep in view, the end they ought to pursue, the objects they are bound to avoid? Let the view of the final good which I am now maintaining be accepted, rt at once becomes plain what actions and what undertakings are appropriate. You however, who set before yourselves no aim but righteousness and morality, will not be able to dis- cover what is the source from which flow the first principles of appropriate action or conduct. In the search after this source all men, not only those who declare that they are guided by the notions which occur to their minds or by any chance present- ment, but you yourselves also, will have to return to nature. And nature will with justice give you the answer that it is not right for the standard of happiness to be sought in some- thing extraneous to herself, while from her you seek your first principles of action; that there is a single purpose which embraces the first principles of action and the final views of good, and that exactly as the world had rejected with scorn the theory of Aristo that there was no essential difference in the values of objects, and that no things existed, between which definite distinctions could be drawn, excepting virtue and vice, so in the same way Zeno was wrong in saying that in nothing but in virtue or its opposite was there power to affect the balance in the slightest as regards the attainment of the supreme good, and though all other objects were without importance so far as happiness was concerned, yet so far as instinctive yearning was concerned, these objects did possess various degrees of m- portance ; as though indeed this instinct had no bearing on the attainment of the final good! What statement is more incon- `- sistent than their assertion that when once they have acquired a knowledge of the supreme good they turn back to nature to demand from her a first principle for conduct, that is for appro- priate action? For it is not our view of conduct or appropriate action which drives us to seek the objects that are in agreement with nature, but it is by these objects that all appropriate action and all activity are called into being. | XVIII. Now I pass to your terse arguments, which you called short methods, and I take first this, which is as terse as anything can be; all good is praiseworthy, everything praise- worthy is moral; everything good is therefore moral. What a dagger of lath! Who would ever grant you your first pre- miss? And if that is granted you, you have no need of the second, since if all good is praiseworthy, it is all moral; who then will grant you your first premiss except Pyrrho, Aristo and others who resemble them? And these are men whom you do not favour. Aristotle, Xenocrates, and their whole school will not grant it, since they call health, strength, wealth, fame, and many other things good, but do not call them praiseworthy. Now these philosophers, while they do not sup- pose that the supreme good is limited to virtue alone, never- theless give virtue the precedence over all else; what do you think will be the verdict of those who have altogether severed virtue from their form of ultimate good, Epicurus I mean, Hieronymus and those too who are minded to champion the view of final good proposed by Carneades? Further, how will either Callipho or Diodorus be able to make you the admission you want, when they join with morality something else which does not belong to the same class? Are you determined then, Cato, after making assumptions which no one allows you, to draw from them any conclusion you please? Let us turn to this chain- inference, a kind of argument which you think more faulty than any other; all good is matter for our aspiration; all matter for our aspiration is matter for our desire; all matter for our desire is worthy of our praise; then come the remaining steps. But I oppose you at this point; just as before, no one will grant you that what is matter for our desire is worthy of our praise. Next comes what is by no means a short method but to the last degree stupid; it belongs of course to your school and not to you per- sonally; that happiness is worthy of glorification, whereas it cannot possibly be the case that any one should have a nght to glory unless he possesses morality. Polemo will make Zeno this admission; Polemo’s teacher too and the whole family to which he belongs, and all others who, while they put virtue far above all other possessions, still associate something else with it when they give their definition of the supreme good. If indeed virtue is worthy of glorification, as it is, and excels all other possessions in a degree which can scarce be expressed in words, then a man endowed with virtue only will be able to feel happy, though he lacks all else, without allowing what you ask, that nothing must be regarded as good except virtue. Those whose ultimate good has nothing to do with virtue will perhaps not admit that happiness supplies a just cause for glori- fication, though they indeed sometimes represent the pleasures as subjects for glorification.

XIX. You see then that you either make assumptions which are not admitted, or such that even though they are admitted, they are of no use to you. For my part, in regard to all such arguments, I should imagine the only result worthy of philosophy and of our own characters (and more particularly so when we are seeking after the supreme good) to be the reform of our lives, our designs, and our inclina- tions, not merely of our words. Who can possibly change his opinion because he has listened to those terse and pointed arguments which you say cause you pleasure? Well, when people are eager and desirous to be told the reason why pain is not an evil, these philosophers say to them that to feel pain is troublesome, vexatious, annoying, unnatural, and hard to endure, but is no evil because pain brings with it neither deceit, nor bad principles, nor spite, nor crime, nor infamy. Any one who is told this, supposing him not to feel a desire to mock, will nevertheless depart with no greater strength to bear pain than he had when he came. But you say that no one can be strong who thinks pain an evil. Why should he be any stronger, if he thinks it troublesome and barely endurable, as you allow him to think? Cowardice is created by. facts and not by names. And you say that if a single letter of your scheme be disturbed it will all topple over. Well then, do you think I am now disturbing one letter merely, or whole pages? For even though we find that these philosophers have maintained an or- derly system, and that all their doctrines fit in with one another and hang together (these were your words) still we are not bound to follow the doctrines to their conclusions, because starting from false premisses they are self-consistent and never swerve from their purpose. Well then, in dealing with the fundamental plan of human life, your Zeno abandoned nature, and placing the supreme good in that intellectual excellence which we call virtue, asserting too that nothing else was good but what was. moral, and that virtue could not stand its ground if among all other objects any distinctions of goodness and badness were found, he embraced all the consequences that flow from these axioms. What you say is correct; I can give it no denial; but so untrue are the consequences that the premisses from which they spring cannot possibly be true. The logicians, as you know, prove to us that if the consequences of any proposition be false, the proposition itself from which they flow is false. So arises the following argument, which is not only true, but so evident that logicians do not even feel bound to give any account of it; if this is true, then that is; but this is not true, neither then is that. So by the overthrow of your results, your premisses are also overthrown. What are the results then? That all men who are not wise are alike wretched; that wise men are all supremely happy, that all right actions are of equal excellence, all sins equally heinous; statements which though they seemed splendid on a first hearing, on reflection proved less attractive. For every man’s feelings and the constitution of the world and truth herself cried aloud, if we may say so, that they could not be brought to believe that no differences of value were traceable in those objects which Zeno placed on the same level. | XX. Next that little Phoenician of yours (of course you are aware that your clients, the inhabitants of Citium, emi- grated from Phoenicia) this keen-witted man, then, finding that he was losing his case, since nature was up in arms against him, began to quibble on words, and in the first place those objects which we entitle good he allowed to be considered as valuable and in accord with nature, and began to grant that his wise man, that is to say the supremely happy man, would still be better off, if he possessed those things also which Zeno does not venture to call good, but admits to be in agreement with nature; then he says that Plato, even though he be not a wise man, is still in different circumstances from the despot Dionysius; for the latter it is best to die, because he is hopeless of attain- ing wisdom; for the former it is best to live because he has hope; sins again are partly endurable, partly by no means endurable, because some sins transgress more and some fewer of the points, if we may call them so, of duty; further, un- wise men were in some instances of such a character as to make it impossible for them to arrive at wisdom, while in other cases it was possible for them, if they gave their minds to it, to attain to wisdom. This man talked in a different style from us all; yet his thoughts were the same as those of the rest. Nor indeed did he consider that a smaller value was to be set on those things which he himself denied’ to be good, than those who maintained them to be actually good. What then was his purpose in making those changes? He might at least have made some deduction from the importance of the things in question, and might have valued them at a little lower rate than the Peripatetics, in which case he would be thought to differ in his opinions and not merely in his statements. Well, what do you and your friends say about happiness itself, which is the end of all effort? You deny it to be ‘such that it is furnished forth with all those objects for which nature longs; and so you make it wholly to reside in virtue and in nothing else. And whereas every dispute is usually about either some fact or some term, a dispute of both kinds arises if there is want of knowledge about the fact, or a mistake is made about the term; and even if neither of these accidents occurs we must do all we can to make use of terms which are exceedingly familiar and in the highest degree suitable, that is terms which convey facts clearly. Is there then any doubt that, if the ancients are not in error about the facts themselves, they use their terms in a more suitable way ? Let us glance then at their opinions; after that let us return to the consideration of the terms.

XXI. They say that an impulse is aroused in the mind, when something is presented to it which is in harmony with -nature; and that all things which are in harmony with nature deserve to be credited with a certain value, and that they must be valued in proportion to the importance which each possesses; and that the things which are in accordance with nature have in part no power of arousing that impulse of which we have often already spoken, such things not being called either moral or praiseworthy, while they are in part things which rouse pleasure in every sentient being, and in man an exercise of the reason also; and all things that depend on reason are moral, beautiful and praiseworthy, while the former class of things is called natural, and these when com- bined with things moral render happiness perfect and complete.

Of all those advantages, however, to which those who call them by the name of things good do not assign any higher value than is allowed them by Zeno, who denies that they are good, by far the most excellent class is that which has the characteristic of morality and praiseworthiness; but if two objects of a moral character be set before us, the one accom- panied by good health, the other by disease, there is no doubt to which of these nature herself would recommend us; but still so great is the power of morality, and so far does it overcome and surpass all other objects, that by neither punish- ments nor bribes of any kind can it be driven from the pursuit of that which it has decided to be righteous; and all things which seem cruel, hard and severe, may be trampled under foot by the virtues with which nature has equipped us; not with ease indeed, nor so that the task seems trivial (otherwise where would be the great value of virtue?) but so as to lead us to pronounce that such matters have not the most important share in producing happiness or its opposite. In fine they call those very possessions good which Zeno declared to be valuable and worthy of choice, and fitted for nature’s wants; happiness they said depended on the attainment of those re I have mentioned, either the majority of them or the most important. Zeno, on the other hand, gives the name good only to that which has some peculiar characteristic of its own which renders it desirable, and says happiness is found only in that life which is passed in the company of virtue.

XXII. If we are to debate about facts, Cato, there « can be no disagreement between me and you; there is indeed nothing on which you and I hold different opinions, if only we change the expressions and compare the facts together. Nor did your founder fail to see this, but his heart rejoiced in splendour and pomp of language; for if he understood by his statements what the words point to, what difference would there be be- tween him and either Pyrrho or Aristo? But if he did not look on these philosophers with favour, how did it concern him to set up a verbal disagreement with men to whose opinions he assented? How would it be if those old pupils of Plato and those who in regular succession were their pupils, were to come to life again and to hold with you discourse such as this? “ While we listened to you, Marcus Cato, a most enthusiastic adherent of philosophy, the most upright of men, a most excel- lent judge, a most scrupulous witness, we wondered what reason you could have for preferring the Stoics to us, though they assent to the views about objects good and bad which Zeao had learned from our Polemo, and merely employ phrases which on a first view excite astonishment, but ridicule when their sense is made clear. But if you yourself accepted the old doctrines, why did you not hold them in their own proper forms of expression? If it was authority that influenced you, did you prefer to our whole company and to Plato himself your obscure founder? This is all the stranger, as you desired to be a leading statesman, and might have been with the best effect equipped and armed by us for the maintenance of the state with the highest honour to yourself. It is our school which has explored such subjects and written about them, and observed them, and taught them, and we have described at length the different constitutions, conditions, and revolutions in the history of all governments, the laws too with the prin- ciples and practices of communities. How greatly you would have enriched from the records we have left that eloquence which is the greatest distinction of statesmen and which, as we are told, you wield very powerfully!” After such a speech, pray what answer would you make to such distinguished men?’ ‘I would beg you, said he, ‘after putting that discourse in their mouths, to make a speech for me in turn, or, better still, to give me a little space to reply to them, only I would rather now listen to you, and shall besides give them an answer on another occasion, I mean when I reply to you.’

XXIII. ‘Now, Cato, if you were anxious to give them a truthful answer, you would have to tell them this, that you did not regard with disfavour men of such splendid abilities and such high authority, but that you observed how the Stoics had seen through difficulties of which they, because of their early date, had taken a narrow view, and that the later school had argued more cleverly and had given a grander and stronger verdict on these same difficulties, denying first of all that good health is a thing desirable, but affirming it to be choiceworthy, not because health is a good thing, but because it has some slight value (though indeed it has no higher value in the eyes of those who do not shrink from naming it good); but this was what you could not endure, I mean the belief which these old bearded ancients, so to call them (for thus we are accustomed to speak of our own ancestors) maintained, that the life of a man who lived morally and was also in good health and in good repute and prosperous would be more to be wished for and altogether better and more desirable than the life of another who, though an equally good man, was, like the Alcmaeon of Ennius, on many sides encompassed by sickness, exile, and dis- tress. Those ancients then do not shew much shrewdness in thinking such a life more to be wished for, more excellent, more happy; the Stoics on their part think it should merely have the preference when choice is being made, not because such a life is happier, but because it is more in harmony with nature ; and they believe all men who are not wise to be alike unhappy. This forsooth is what the Stoics saw, and what had escaped the notice of their predecessors, that men polluted by crimes and foul murders were not a whit more wretched than men who, though they lived a pure and stainless life, had not yet reached the perfection of wisdom. Now at this point you quoted those most incongruous illustrations which the Stoics are fond of employing. Pray who fails to see that if several men want to get their heads out of deep water, those will be nearer to drawing a breath who are already approaching the surface of the water, but yet are no better able to breathe than those who are still deep down? So to make advances and gradual steps towards virtue does not help a man to escape from being as wretched as it is possible to be, unless he has actually reached the goal of virtue, because the persons in the water are no better off, and again since the whelps who are on the point of gaining their sight are blind as much as those just born, it needs must follow that Plato, because his eyes were not yet set on wisdom, was just as blind of heart as Phalaris himself.

XXIV. The instances you quote, Cato, are not appropriate, for in them, however great the advance you may have made, yet the evil you wish to escape remains the same until you have actually surmounted it. For the man in the water draws no breath till his head is above it, and the whelps are every bit as blind before they have actually got their sight, as they would be if they were doomed ever to remain so, The follow- ing cases are really in point; suppose some man’s eyesight is dim, and another’s body is weak; and that such men are being daily relieved by treatment; one gets stronger every day; the other sees better every day; such is the case of all who de- vote themselves to virtue ; they get relief from their faults and their mistakes, unless indeed you are of opinion that Tiberius Gracchus the father was no happier than his son, though one made it his aim to strengthen the state, and the other to over- throw it. Yet he was no man of wisdom, for who was ever so, or when or where, or by what means? But because he gave his heart to uprightness and honour, he had made much pro- gress in the pursuit of virtue. Am I to compare your grand- father Drusus with Gaius Gracchus, who was almost his contem- porary? He cured the wounds which the other inflicted on his country. If there is nothing which makes men so wretched as wickedness and crime, although we allow that all men who are not wise are wretched, as they certainly are, yet a man who serves his country’s interest is not on the same level of wretchedness with another who desires her ruin. Those then who can point to a considerable advance towards wisdom are to a great extent relieved from their faults. Your school admit however that the advance towards virtue takes place, while they refuse to allow that the relief from faults takes place. But it is worth while to reflect upon the proof which these shrewd men use to demonstrate their doctrine. In the case of those arts to whose degree of perfection an addition can be made, it will be possible for the degree of imperfection of their opposites to be increased; now to the perfection of virtue no addition can be made; nor therefore will it be possible for vices, which are the opposites of virtues, to increase. Well then, in this case are plain facts used to explain doubtful matters, or are doubtful matters used to destroy plain facts? Now this is a plain fact, that vices differ in degree; the other question, whether any addition can be made to that which you affirm to be the supreme good, is doubtful. But whereas you ought to make plain facts throw light on those which are doubtful, you really try to destroy facts that are plain by means of those which are doubtful. And so you will fall into a difficulty of the kind which I already pointed out. If you deny a difference in the importance of vices, for the reason that the final good which you set up is not capable of extension, then you will have to make a change in your view of final good, since it is plain that vices are not in fact of equal importance in the case of all persons. We are bound to cling to the doctrine that. where some inference is untrue the fact from which it is inferred can- not possibly be true.

XXV. What then is the source of all these difficulties ? Pompous display in determining the supreme good. When in- deed it is asserted that what is moral is alone good, all attention to health is at once abolished, all care of family property, all public service, all system in the conduct of private business, alk duties. of daily life; even that morality on which, as you make out, everything depends, must be abandoned; and all this is most carefully set forth by Chrysippus in his argument against | Aristo. From this dilemma arise those deceitful-tongued chica- neries, as Attius calls them. Whereas upon the abolition of all appropriate actions wisdom found no space for the sole of her foot, and whereas appropriate actions certainly were abolished when all exercise of choice and all distinctions were swept away, and such actions could not exist because all objects had been brought so entirely to the same level that differences ceased to be traceable, consequently from all these difficulties your doc- trines, worse than those of Aristo, were the outcome. His were at all evénts straightforward ; yours are tricky. If you were to ask Aristo whether all these things, absence of pain, riches, health are in his eyes good, he would say no. Well, are their opposites bad? No more than the others are good. Were you to question Zeno, he would give identically the same answer. Let us in our astonishment ask both of them in what way we can conduct our life, if we suppose that it matters not in the least to us whether we are well or ill, whether we are free from pain or tortured by it, whether we find it possible to stave off cold and hunger or not. You will live, says Aristo, in a grand and splendid style; whatever course seems proper at the moment, that you will take; you will never feel vexation, passion or _ alarm. What says Zeno? He says these doctrines are mons- trous, and that no one can possibly live on such principles; his own doctrine however is, he says, that there is a vast, and in some sense measureless interval between morality and vice ; but between all other objects there are no differences whatever. Up to this point the statements are identical; listen to the rest and restrain your laughter if you can. Those intermediate objects, says he, between which no distinctions are to be traced, yet are of such a nature that some of them are to be chosen and others to be refused and others to be altogether dis- regarded, that is to say, you are to wish for some of them, turn against others and treat others with indifference. But you said a little while since that no distinctions existéd among these objects. And I say so now again, he will say, but the absence of distinctions appears when they are compared with the virtues and the vices.

XXVI. Who, pray, was unaware of that? Let us hear nevertheless. Well, says he, the conditions you named, the being well, rich, free from pain, these I do not call good but shall dub them in the Greek tongue zrponypéva, while in Latin they may be called preferred (but I would rather say advanced or leading objects; such a translation would be less harsh and smoother) while the other conditions, sickness, penury, pain, I do not name evils but if you please things refusable. So I do not say that I desire the former class of conditions, but that I choose them, not that I aspire to them but that I adopt them, while their opposites I do not avoid but, so to say, put away from me. What does Aristotle say and the rest of Plato’s pupils? That they name good all conditions which accord with nature, and all conditions bad which are of the opposite character. Do you not see that your friend Zeno is at one with Aristo so far as words go, while he is hostile to him in his opinions; but that he is opposed in his language to Aristotle and the old school, while in his opinions he is in harmony with them? Why, then, inas- much as our opinions agree, do we not prefer to adopt ordinary language? Or else let him prove to me that I shall be more likely to think lightly of money if I class it among objects pre- ferred rather than good, and shall have greater strength to endure pain if I name it severe and hard to bear and unnatural rather than evil. Our friend Marcus Piso, who said many witty — things, jested at the Stoics on this wise. “ Well,” he used to say: “you declare wealth to be no good thing, but assert it to be a thing preferred; how do you help us? Do you weaken avarice? How? To begin with, if we examine the phrase, the word preferred is longer than the word good.” “That has nothing to do with the matter!” “ Possibly not, but the word is certainly more imposing. For I do not know the derivation of the term good, but what is preferred: is so called, I suppose, because it is put before other things. This seems to me a great fact.” So Piso used to say that greater honour was done to wealth by Zeno who classed it among things preferred than by Aristotle, who admitted it to be a good thing, though a good thing of no great consequence, and one which deserved to be disregarded and even scorned in comparison with righteousness and morality, as being an object in no high degree desirable; and Piso dis- cussed in the same way all these terms as a class, upon which Zeno had made innovations, maintaining that Zeno in dealing . With those objects to which he refused the name good and again with those he would not allow to be evil, denoted the one set by more attractive and the other set by gloomier titles than we give them. This then was Piso’s fashion: and he was a man, as you know, of high excellence and your own devoted admirer; as for myself I must at last conclude, after I have said a few words more; it is a tedious task to answer every single statement you advanced.

XXVII. Now it is a consequence of the same juggling with words that you have acquired kingdoms and empires. and riches, and riches so great that you say all property wherever found belongs to the wise man. Moreover he is alone beautiful, alone free; alone possessed of citizenship, while of the fools you say everything that is opposite to this, and even try to make them out to be lunatics. These are what the Stoics call mapadoga; let us call them marvels. But what is there in them to marvel at when once you have taken a close view of them? I will compare notes with you to see what meaning you attach to each expression; in no case shall there be any doubt. You say all sins are equal. I shall not jest with you as I did about these same topics when I was counsel for Lucius Murena, and you were against him. What I said then was said among ignorant people; I had actually to humour the crowd to some extent; now I must plead my case in a more refined manner. Sins are equal. How so? Because no one thing is more moral than another, and no one thing is more vicious than another. Go on; that is indeed the very point about which there is serious disagreement ; let us glance at your pe-culiar proofs which demonstrate that all sins are equal. Well, says my opponent, just as when several harps are played together, if no one of them were to have its strings exactly tuned so as to harmonise with the rest, all of them would be equally out of tune, so sins because they jar, all jar equally; so then they are all equal. Here we have a play on two senses of a word. It indeed equally happens in the case of all the harps that they are out of tune; but it does not at once follow that they are all equally out of tune. Your comparison therefore is useless to you; it will certainly not follow that when we have once- asserted all forms of avarice to be equally avarice, we should call all forms of avarice equal. Next we come to another incongruous comparison. We are told that, just as a captain sins equally whether he capsizes a vessel loaded with straw, or loaded with gold, so he who flogs his parent and he who unjustly flogs his slave both sin equally. Fancy the inability to see that the nature of the cargo which the ship is carrying has nothing to do with the art of the pilot, and so that the question whether she is laden with gold or straw makes no difference to his skill in pilotage ; but any one can and ought to perceive what difference there is between a parent and a poor slave. So in piloting a ship it matters not under what cir- cumstances the offence is committed, but in a case of obligation circumstances are of the utmost importance. And if in the course of actual navigation the ship capsizes through careless handling, the offence is more serious if the cargo be gold than if it be straw. We expect to find the practice of all arts attended by ordinary foresight, as it is called, and this all are bound to possess, whatever be the craft to which they are appointed. So in this way again sins are not equal.

XXVIII. Still they press their case, and do not a whit relax their efforts. Say they, seeing that every sin is a testi- mony of weakness and instability, and these faults are found to an equally serious extent in all fools, it follows that all sins must be equal. You talk as though it were granted that in the case of all fools certain defects exist in equal degree, and that Lucius Tubulus exhibited the same amount of weakness and instability as that man did under whose bill he was convicted, I mean Publius Scaevola ; and as though no differences existed in the circumstances under which sins are committed, so that in proportion as these circumstances are more or less serious, | in that proportion the sins committed in connexion with them are either more or less serious ! ;

So (for now my speech must cease) your friends the Stoics seem to me to labour under this one defect more than any other, that they suppose themselves able to support two contradictory views. What inconsistency is there like that of the man who says that what is moral is alone good, and says again that from nature flows the impulse to seek those objects which are suited to preserve our life? So in their desire to uphold the considerations which suit the former opinion, they fall into the ditch along with Aristo; when they try to avoid that fate, they maintain substantially the same doctrines as the Peripatetics, while they cling tenaciously to their own form of expression. Again, because they refuse to allow this form of expression to be torn out of their system, they become very rough, rugged and hard, both in speech and in manners. Now Panaetius, shrinking from this gloom and severity of theirs, did not sanction either the bitterness of their doctrines or their thorny dialectic, and in the one department shewed himself gentler, in the other more luminous, and always had on his lips the names of Plato Aristotle Xenocrates Theophrastus and Dicaearchus, as his own writings shew. Now I give it as my strong opinion that you ought to thumb these philosophers with earnest and careful attention. But as the evening is closing in, and I have to return to my house, for the present this must be enough; but let us often imitate this precedent.’ ‘That we will,’ said he; ‘what indeed is there better for us to do? And the first favour I shall require of you will be that you should listen to me when I refute the state- ments you have made. But do not forget that you hold all the opinions in which we believe, only you do not like our dif- ferent use of terms, while I cannot sanction any of the dogmas of your school? ‘You prick my conscience as I am going away, said I, ‘but we shall see.’ When we had said this we separated.

END OF BOOK IV.

BOOK V - Middle Platonism - Antiochus of Ascalon - Cicero's Conclusions

I. ONE, Brutus, when as my custom was I had attended, in company with Marcus Piso, a lecture by Antiochus in the place of exercise called the Ptolomaeum, at which time there were present with us my brother Quintus and also Titus Pomponius with Lucius Cicero, by relationship my father’s brother’s son, but by attachment my true brother, we agreed to take our afternoon exercise in the Academia, chiefly because the spot: was at that time of day entirely undis- turbed by the crowd. So we all met in Piso’s house at the appointed hour. On leaving we whiled away with general conversation the six stades outside the Double Gate. When however we arrived at the walks of the Academia, so justly famous, we found the quiet which we had desired. Then said Piso: ‘shall I call it a natural instinct or in some sense a delusion whereby whenever we cast our eyes on the spots at which, as we have been told, men worthy of a place in history passed much of their time, we are then more excited than we are in listening to a description of their achievements, or in reading some of their works? I for instance feel at this moment such excitement. I call to mind Plato, who, so we have been told, was the first to use this place habitually for debate ; and his little garden, which lies quite near us, not only brings him back to my recollection, but seems to place the very man before my eyes. Here stood Speusippus, here Xenocrates, here Polemo his pupil, whose chair was that which we see before us. For my part when I looked at our own senate’s assembly hall (I mean the hall of Hostilius, not the new one, which seems in my eyes smaller, since it was enlarged) I used to picture to myself | Scipio, Cato, Laelius and dbove all my own ancestor; such a power have places to rouse our attention; so that there is good reason why they have been employed in the training of the memory.’ Then Quintus said: ‘your remarks are perfectly true. Indeed, in my own case, as I` came here, I found my thoughts drawn towards the site of Colone, whose citizen Sophocles flitted before my eyes—you know the admiration I feel for him and the pleasure I take in him. A kind of vision too, empty phantom though it was, nevertheless aroused me to consciousness of the still older story of Oedipus, as he came here and begged in that tenderest of strains to know what was the name of that very spot? Then Pomponius inter- posed: ‘but I, against whom you ofien inveigh as a slave of Epicurus, do indeed spend a good deal of my time along with Phaedrus, my dearest friend, as you all know, in the garden of Epicurus, which we just now passed ; but still, as the old saw enjoins, I bear the living in mind ; though of course I cannot forget Epicurus, even though I were to wish it, for my frends of our school preserve his likeness not only in pictures but even on cups and signet rings.

II. Hereupon I remarked: ‘so far as our friend Pomponius is concerned I think he is jesting, and perhaps he has earned the right to do so; since he has so entirely established himself at Athens, that he is almost one of the Athenians and seems likely to bear the title Atticus as his surname; for myself, I agree with you, Piso, that the associations of particular places give greatly increased keenness and vividness to our thoughts ‘about men of fame. You know of course that on a certain occasion I visited Metapontum along with you, and did not seek my host’s house until I had gazed upon the very spot where Pythagoras ended his life, and upon his chair too. At the present moment however, though in every quarter of Athens the mere sites contain many mementoes of the most illustrious men, yet the seat yonder particularly affects me, as it was once occupied by Carneades; and the man seems present to my view (indeed his portrait is familiar) and I fancy that even the chair, since such a mighty genius was taken from it, yearns for his well-known voice. Whereupon Piso said: ‘ well then, as we all have spoken something, what thinks our friend Lucius? Does he feel pleasure in surveying the arena where Demosthenes and Aeschines were accustomed to fight out their battles? Of course every one is especially influenced by his own hobby.’ Then he replied with a blush: ‘don’t ask me: I have been down to the Phaleric strand at the spot where, as the story goes, Demosthenes used to speak ageinst the waves, that he might accustom himself to drown an uproar by his voice. Just now too I turned aside off the main road a little to the right, to go close to Pericles’ tomb. But in this city such memorials are endless ; wherever we tread, our steps bring us upon some historic memory.’ Then Piso remarked: ‘well, Cicero, such enthusiasm, if it tends to the emulation of renowned persons, marks the man of ability, hut if only directed to making ac- quaintance with the memorials of ancient history, it betrays the | inquisitive man. Now we all of us urge you to make up your mind actually to emulate the men you long to know, though, as I hope, you are already set on that course.’ Here I interposed : ‘though our friend here, Piso, is already, as you can see, prac- tising what you preach, still I am pleased with the encourage- ment you give him.’. Then he said, in the kindliest words (such was his fashion) ‘let us all however bestow on our friend’s young years all the gifts we have, and in particular let us bring him to give some of his attention to philosophy also, either from a desire to follow in your steps, for he loves you, or that he may be able to achieve with greater brilliance the purpose he has at heart. But, Lucius,’ said he, ‘must we press this upon you, or are you actually of yourself inclined in this direction? I for my part think you listen very nicely to the lectures of Antiochus, which you are attending.’ Then the youth replied with some nervousness or rather modesty: ‘I do so indeed, but have you heard lately the doctrine of Carneades ? I am strongly drawn to him; while Antiochus tries to reclaim me, and there is no. other teacher for me to hear.’

III. Then Piso spoke: ‘though perhaps my purpose will not be so easily brought to pass, since our friend is close beside us’ (it was me he meant) ‘yet I will venture to summon you away from the new Academy to join the old family, among whom are to be reckoned, as you heard Antiochus say, not only the

men who are called Academics, Speusippus Xenocrates Polemo Crantor and the rest, but also the ancient Peripatetics, whose chief is Aristotle, a man whom I think I may with justice call the chief of all philosophers, with the exception of Plato. Set your face then towards this family, I entreat you. Not only may you derive from their writings and systems all liberal learning, all history, every choice form of style, but accomplish- ments in such variety that no one without such equipment can be properly prepared to approach any task of any distinction. From this school sprang the orators, from this school the generals and the governors of states. To come to less import- ant matters, mathematicians, poets, musicians and, last of all, physicians have been sent forth from this laboratory (if I may so call it) of all accomplishments,” Then I remarked: ‘you know, Piso, that I am of just the same opinion as yourself; but your observations are in good season; for my dear Cicero is anxious to learn what is the opinion of the ancient Academy, about which you are talking, and of the Peripatetics, touching - the various views of ultimate good. Now in our judgment you are best fitted to make this plain, because you entertained Staseas of Naples for many years in your house, and we see that for a good many months you have been seeking from Antiochus an account of these very topics. ‘ Well, well,’ said he with a smile, ‘since you have rather cleverly decided that our discussion should begin with myself, let us give our young friend any explanations we can. Our retirement indeed allows, what I never should have believed had any god foretold it, that I should debate in the Academy in the character of philo- sopher. But I hope I am not troublesome to you all in yield- ing to our friend’s wish.’ ‘To me, said I, ‘when I have just made the request of you? Then Quintus and Pomponius having’ expressed their concurrence, Piso began: and I pray you, Brutus, to give your mind to his speech, to see whether you think it sufficiently represents the doctrine of Antiochus, to which I believe you give your sanction in particular, since you were a frequent listener at the lectures of his brother Aristus,

IV. This then was his speech, ‘A little while ago, I sufficiently made clear in the fewest words I could use what rich culture the Peripatetic system supplies. Now that system, as do most of the rest, proposes a threefold scheme: one portion re- lates to nature, another to discourse, the third to conduct. The men of this school have so thoroughly explored nature that no region in sky sea or earth (to speak in poetic style) has been neglected by them. Moreover, after they had spoken of the elements of things and the universe as a whole, demonstrating many points not merely by probable proofs but also by the in- evitable principles of mathematics, they contributed to the know- ledge of hidden phenomena a vast store of facts examined by themselves. Aristotle traced the origin, habits and forms of all living creatures, while Theophrastus dealt with the structure of vegetables, and the principles and theories concerning almost all objects which spring from the earth, and this knowledge has rendered easier the inquiry into the most mysterious phenomena. And the same philosophers put forth maxims on discourse, suited not only to logicians but to orators also; and Aristotle their chief established the practice of arguing on either side concerning individual questions, not on the principle of always combating, like Arcesilas, all opinions, yet so as to bring out on every question all that can be said on both sides. As it was the function of the third branch to search for the maxims leading to a life of happiness, they moreover brought this branch into connexion not only with the principles that rule the life of indi- viduals, but also with the government of states. We know from Aristotle the customs, principles and institutions of nearly all communities not only in Greece but also outside Greece, and from Theophrastus we know their laws as well. And after each of them had shewn what character a leading statesman ought to possess, and had moreover compiled at length a description of the best form of government, Theophrastus treated the sub- ject more fully still, shewing what turning points and critical occasions are met with in government, which must be controlled as circumstances demand. The plan for the conduct of life which found most favour with them was that peaceful one, devoted to the consideration and investigation of phenomena, which from its great resemblance to the life of the gods was thought most worthy of the man of wisdom. And on these topics their utterances are brilliant and luminous.

V. Now because the works which deal with the supreme good are of two classes, one written in popular style, to which they gave the name exoteric, the other more elaborate, which they left behind them in their notebooks, it follows that they do not always seem consistent in their statements; though so far as essentials are concerned there are no contradictions to be found in the writings of the men whom I have just named, nor did they disagree among themselves, But whenever the ques- tion discussed is the life of happiness, and whenever philoso- phy has to consider exclusively and solve the problem whether happiness is entirely placed within the wise man’s control, or whether it may be either undermined or torn from him by misfortune, then in dealing with this problem there some- times appears among them contradiction and indecision. This is especially shewn by the work of Theophrastus about happi- ness, in which a large influence is allowed to fortune, though if his statements were true wisdom would not have the power to insure happiness. This is in my opinion a softer and, if I may say so, more effeminate scheme than is re- quired by the power and dignity of virtue. Solet us cleave to Aristotle and his son Nicomachus, whose carefully written treatise on morals is indeed reputed to be by Aristotle, but I see nothing to prevent the son from having been like the father. Still let us consult Theophrastus on most points, only let us retain for virtue more solidity and vigour than he retained.

Let us be satisfied then with these, since their successors, though, as I believe, better than the philosophers of other schools, are yet so fallen away as to seem self-taught, First Strato the pupil of Theophrastus gave himself out for a natural philosopher; and notwithstanding that he is great in that field, still he was full of novelties and said very little about ethics. His pupil Lyto was rich in style, but barren in his results; his successor was the choice and dainty Aristo; but he lacked the seriousness which is expected of a great thinker ; his writings, I admit, were both numerous and finished, but his style somehow or other is wanting in dignity. I pass by many, and among them that learned and gentle man Hierony- mus, though, when we get to him, I fail to see why I should call him a Peripatetic, since he set forth for the supreme good the absence of pain, and any one who is heterodox on the sub- ject of the supreme good, is heterodox on the whole scheme of philosophy. Critolaus professed to take the ancients as his models, and in dignity he approaches them, while his style is flowing; yet he no more than others is true to the doctrines of his ancestors. Diodorus his pupil adds to morality the absence of pain. He too is original, and as being heterodox on the subject of the supreme good, cannot truly be called a Peri- patetic. Our friend Antiochus seems to me to follow out most faithfully the views of the ancients, and these views he proves to have been common to Aristotle and Polemo.

VI. Our friend Lucius then is sensible in wishing above all things to be informed about the supreme good, since when once we have established this in philosophy we have established every- thing. Now in all other subjects if any point has been forgotten or has remained unknown, the inconvenience has no greater importance than have in each case those subjects in connexion with which the omission has occurred ; but if the supreme good remains unknown, the guiding principle of life must needs remain unknown; and the result is such aimless wandering that men cannot discover to what haven to betake themselves.. But when once we have learned the limits of things, when we understand what ultimate good is and what ultimate evil is, then we have discovered our path in life and the way to shape all our duties therein, then we perceive how the aim of each action is to be determined; whence we can discover and master the conditions of happiness, the thing that all men desire. But since there is great disagreement on the ques- tion wherein happiness consists, we must avail ourselves of the classification of Carneades, which our friend Antiochus is generally glad to adopt. He, then, saw plainly not merely how many opinions concerning the supreme good had existed among philosophers up to his time, but how many in all could possibly come into existence. So he began by denying that there is any science which finds within itself its own starting point; for the matters which are handled by the science always lie outside it. There is no need to prove this at length by instances; it is indeed evident that no science can be self-contained, but that the science itself s one thing and the object at which it aims is another; since, then, just as medicine is the science of health, and pilotage the science of navigation, so wisdom is the science of conduct, it is inevitable that it too should be based on some- thing and should take something for its point of departure.

Now almost all have admitted that the object with which wisdom is concerned and the purpose it desires to attain should be in conformity and agreement with nature and such that in itself it entices and allures that mental impulse which the Greeks call opyn. But what that object is which exercises this attraction and is in this way sought by nature at the very moment of birth, is not agreed, and on this matter great divergence appears among philosophers during the search for the supreme good. But as concerns the whole inquiry which is carried on about the limits of good and evil, when we debate in regard to them what is their farthest point and end, we must discover some source in which are contained the earliest at- tractions of nature; and when this has been found, the whole discussion about good and evil takes its rise in this as though in a fountain head.

VII. Some think that the attraction earliest felt is towards pleasure and that the earliest aversion is to pain ; others declare that the condition first sought after is freedom from pain, and the condition first avoided is that of pain; others again begin with those objects which they denote as the primary endow- ments in harmony with nature, among which they reckon the security and protection of all the bodily members, health, sound- ness of the senses, freedom from pain, strength, comeliness, and all the remaining things which belong to the same class, and the primary mental endowments are like these; and form so to speak the sparks and the germs of the virtues. Since it must be by one of these three classes of objects that nature is first roused to impulses of attraction or aversion, and there can be no other class in addition to these three, it is by one of these that we must needs determine in general the propriety of avoiding or seeking anything ; thus wisdom, which we have declared to be the science of conduct, is concerned with some one of these three matters, so as to derive from it the first start on the path of life. From that object which wisdom shall have decided to be the first cause of natural im- pulse, there will arise also the principles of uprightness and morality, such that they may harmonise with some one of the three classes of objects already named; thus morality will consist in doing all actions for pleasure’s sake, even though you may not achieve it, or for freedom from pain, even if you cannot attain to it, or for the acquisition of those objects which are in accord with nature, even though you may not acquire one of them. Thus it comes about that according to the variety of view concerning the elementary natural endowments, so is the dis- agreement between the various views concerning the boundaries of good and evil. Others again starting from the same elemen- tary principles will refer all appropriate action to the actual — acquisition either of pleasure or of freedom from pain or of those primary objects which are in accord with nature. Now that we have explained six doctrines concerning the supreme . good, we find these to be the authors of the three last named: Aristippus of the doctrine of pleasure, Hieronymus of the doc- trine of freedom from pain, while of the scheme for enjoying those objects which we have called the earliest that are in accord with nature, Carneades was not indeed the founder, but merely the champion for purposes: of argument. The three doctrines first named were such as might arise; though only one of them has been maintained, and vigorously maintained. Now no one ever said that we do all our actions for pleasure’s sake, meaning that the intention to act so is a thing in itself desirable and moral and alone good, even though we may not succeed. Nor did any one ever imagine that the shunning of pain (unless actual escape be possible) belongs in itself to things desirable. But nevertheless the Stoics declare that the complete effort to acquire those objects which accord with nature, even though we do not attain to them, is moral and alone essentially desirable and alone good.

VIIL We find then these six uncomplex doctrines concerning the essence of things good and things evil, of which doctrines two have not found a defender while four have been maintained. The compound and two-fold systems of expound- ing the supreme good have been three in all, nor indeed could they possibly have been more numerous, if you examine thoroughly the constitution of things; since with morality either pleasure may be combined, which was the view of Cal- lipho and Dinomachus, or freedom from pain, as Diodorus held, or the elementary natural endowments, according to the opinion of the ancients, under which title we rank the Academics and Peripatetics alike. But as we cannot state all the arguments at once, we shall be bound at this present moment to make it known that pleasure must be banished, since we men are born to a certain higher destiny, as shall soon be made plain. Almost the same arguments are usually advanced concerning freedom from pain, as concerning pleasure. Nor is it needful to search for any special refutation of the doctrine of Carneades, for whatever be the form in which the supreme good is stated, if it is divorced from morality, in such a system neither duty, nor virtue, nor friendship can find a place. Now the attach- ment to morality of either pleasure or the absence of pain changes even morality, which it professes to support, into vice. For to determine your course of action by looking to two matters, of which one implies that a man who is free from trouble is in the enjoyment of the highest possible good, while the other is concerned with the most worthless part of the human constitution, this is the same as dimming not to say defiling all the glory of morality. There are still left the Stoics, who having borrowed all their doctrines from the Peripatetics and Academics, expressed the same opinions by a different terminology. The better plan is to argue against these schools one by one, but we must now attend to our present task and speak of the other philosophers whenever we tind it desirable. Now that ease of Democritus, by which is meant peace of mind—he called it ev@vuéa—was plainly to be kept out of this discussion, because peace of mind is itself identical with happiness, and we are seeking not for a defini- tion of happiness, but for the source from which it springs.

Further we were by no means bound to pay any heed to the condemned and banished doctrines of Pyrrho, Aristo and Erillus, because they cannot come within the range which we have marked out for our subject. Indeed whereas this whole investigation of the limits and boundary lines, so to call them, of things good and things evil takes its start from that class of objects which we have declared to be in agreement and conformity with nature, and such as to be for their own sakes the first objects of pursuit, this whole class of objects is abolished not only by those who refuse to allow that when things are un- - connected with virtue or vice we have any reason for preferring any one of them to any other, and who declare that such things are wholly indifferent, but also by Erillus, who, in giving his opinion that nothing is good but knowledge, swept away every motive for deliberation, and every means of ascertaining what actions are appropriate. So seeing that we have rejected the other opinions, and none besides. those enumerated can exist, the system of the ancients must needs win the day. Let us therefore make a beginning as follows, after the example of the old thinkers, which even the Stoics follow.

IX. Every creature feels love for itself, and as soon as it comes into existence directs its efforts towards self-preserva- tion, because the earliest impulse which nature bestows on the creature for the protection of its whole life leads it to maintain its own existence and to secure for itself the best conditions which are possible for it according to nature’s law. Its hold on this first principle is, to begin with, doubtful and unsteady, merely impelling it te protect itself whatever be its nature, but it is not conscious what its being is, nor what its own capaci- ties are, nor what is the form of its own natural constitution. When however it has advanced somewhat, and has begun to possess a clear notion how each thing affects it and what . importance each thing has for it, then it begins to feel its way and to be conscious of its own being, and to comprehend the reason for which that mental instinct of which we have spoken was bestowed on it, and it begins regularly to yearn after those objects which it feels to be in conformity with nature, and to repel the opposites of those objects. So the objects which every creature pursues are determined by the class of things which is suited to the creature’s natural con- stitution, Thus the supreme good proves to be this, namely, to live in harmony with nature under conditions which are the best possible and the best adapted to the natural constitu- ` tion. Now since each creature has a constitution of its own, it follows inevitably that while the supreme good for all consists in the perfection of their nature (for nothing prevents us from assuming that the lower animals have some things in common, and that man has something in common with the animals, since all belong alike to the realm of nature) yet those ultimate and highest aims, which are the subjects of our inquiry, are severally apportioned and distributed among the different spe- cies of living creatures, and are peculiar in the case of each class, and adapted to the objects which the constitution of each class requires. Therefore when we assert that the highest good for all creatures is a life in accordance with nature, the state- ment must not be taken to mean that we declare all creatures to have one and the same highest good; but just as it can with propriety be said to be a common characteristic of all arts that they are concerned with some branch of knowledge, while each art requires its own peculiar knowledge, so it may be said to be a common characteristic of all creatures that they live in accordance with nature, while their natures are distinct, so that one thing is natural for a horse, another for an ox, another for a man, yet good as a whole preserves an analogy not only in the case of living creatures but even in the case of all those things which nature nurtures, rears, and sustains; and herein we see the objects which spring out of the soil produce one may say many results for themselves of their own motion, such as promote | their life and growth, so that they reach the ultimate aim which their class assigns to them. Thus we may now embrace all objects in a single statement and affirm without hesitation that every nature tends to preserve itself, and keeps before itself, as its ultimate and supreme good, the preservation of its being in the best circumstances of which its class admits; so it inevitably follows that for all creatures which draw their life from nature, ultimate good is analogous not identical. Hence we are bound to understand that for man the highest good is a life in harmony with nature, which we explain to mean a life in accordance with man’s constitution when it has been on all its sides brought to completion, and lacks nothing further. This then we must further expound ; but if we do so in great detail you will excuse us. We must bow to the interests of our friend’s youth, who possibly listens to these doctrines for the first time. ‘Quite ‘true,’ said I; ‘though all you have yet stated would be properly addressed to any age in that form.’

X. ‘Well then,’ said he, ‘now that we have made plain the mode of defining the objects of desire, we must next in order, as I said, point out how it is that the conclusions we have stated hold good. So let us begin with the consideration to which I have given the first place, which is first also in point of fact, that we understand every créature to feel love for itself. Now although this principle does not admit of doubt (since it is rooted in nature herself, and is made plain to each man by his own feelings in such a way that if any wanted to speak against it he would not obtain a hearing) still, that our exposi- tion may not be incomplete, I think I must produce arguments also to shew how this is so. Yet how can we comprehend ° or Imagine that there is some sort of creature which hates itself? We shall thus have two opposite things clashing together. For as soon as the mental instinct of which I have spoken has begun in a conscious manner to draw towards itself some external object injurious to it, prompted by hostility to its own existence, since it will therein act from regard for its own interest, it will feel both hatred and love for itself at one and the same time, which is an im- possible result. And it is inevitable that if any one is his own foe, he must look upon things that are actually good as evil, and vice versd, upon things that are actually evil as good, and must shun objects which are in fact attractive, and be attracted by objects which are in fact to be shunned; and this indubitably amounts to turning life upside down. Nor indeed can we regard as enemies to themselves those who are found eager for the noose or other modes of destruction, nor yet the character in Terence who determined that he was lessening the injustice done to his son so long as he made himself wretched (which is the way he puts it himself). But some are influenced by grief, others by their passions; many too are maddened by anger, and when they rush with their eyes open into mischief suppose at the moment that they are doing what is most to their interest. So they say without hesitation Z must have it so; as for you do as you like. If these had really pro- claimed war against themselves, they would desire to be racked by day and tortured by night, while they would not blame themselves on the grourd that they had been careless about their own interests ; such a complaint indicates that they feel love and affection for their own being. -So whenever it is de- clared that any one is doing disservice to himself and is his own enemy and his own open foe and in fine loathes his life, there must be understood to be beneath the surface some reason of such a kind as to shew in itself that each man is dear to himself. Nor however is it sufficient that there should be no one who hates himself, but we must also see this, that there is no one who thinks his own condition a matter of no import- ance to himself. For mental instinct will be swept away if in the case of our own existence we suppose that our own state does not concern us any more than the class of indifferent objects, which do not incline us in one direction more than another. | i XI. Now again it would be utterly ridiculous if any one chose to say that the love of each man for himself implies’ that this faculty of loving looks beyond to some other object than the being of the man himself who feels this love for him- self. When such a doctrine is put forward with regard to friendship, duty and virtue, in . whatever language it is ex- pressed, the purport of it is at least intelligible ; but we cannot even understand with regard to our own persons a statement to the effect that we love ourselves for the sake of some thing other than ourselves, pleasure for instance; since we love it because we love ourselves, and not ourselves because we love l it. Yet what is there plainer than that each man is not merely dear to himself but even intensely dear? Who indeed is there or rather how few are there who when death approaches do not find their blood flow back cravenly, and their colour grow pale with fear! Though indeed it is a fault to shrink so strongly from the extinction of our natural existence (and we have to blame a similar fault in connexion with pain); but the fact that almost all have this feeling is adequate proof that nature dreads destruction ; and the greater the degree to which some persons carry this feeling, incurring thereby justly our censure, the more clearly must we see that these extravagant forms of the sentiment which are found in some would never have existed unless the moderate form in some way were an ordinance of nature. But I am not now speaking of the fear of death felt by those whose reason for shrinking from it is that they imagine themselves about to be robbed of the advantages of life, or that they quake before some terrors to come after death, or are afraid lest the act of dying should be attended by pain, for we often find in the case of children, who have no imaginations of that kind, that when we threaten in sport to fling them down from some height they are alarmed. Nay even the wild beasts which (as says Pacuvius) lack all cleverness of wit for the exercise of forethought, shudder when the dread of death is held before their eyes. Now who has any other notion of the wise man himself but this, that even when he has deter- mined that he must die, he yet is affected by parting with his friends and by merely leaving behind him the light of day? Again the force of nature in such cases is made especially evident when many endure beggary, if only they may live, and men who are tottering with old age feel horror at the approach of death, and endure sorrows like those of Philoctetes which we see upon the stage, who though racked by intolerable anguish, yet protracted his life by catching birds; though slow he pierced the swift and though at rest, those on the wing, as we find in Attius, and he made a covering for his body by weaving together the feathers. What need to talk about the human race or about living creatures at all, seeing that nature produces almost the same effect upon trees and vegetables? For whether it be that, as the wisest men have thought, some power higher and more godlike has implanted this tendency, or that it is due to chance, we do see that the things which the earth produces are kept in health by their bark and their roots, a result which is arrived at in the case of living creatures by the way in which the senses are distributed and by a certain solid union of the limbs. Touching this subject, although I agree with those who believe that all these phenomena are governed by a natural power, and that nature could not exist herself if she disregarded them, yet I allow those who hold a different view of the matter to think as they please, and even to understand that whenever I speak of the nature of man, I mean man; for the expressions do not differ in sense, Now it is easier for each man to escape consciousness of himself than to lose his yearning after those objects which are favourable to his own existence. With justice therefore have the weightiest thinkers sought for the source of the supreme good in nature, and have sup- posed that the instinct which seeks such objects as conform to nature is inbred in all men, because such objects are in- separable from that prompting of nature whereby men love their own being.

XII. Next in order we must see wherein man’s nature consists, since it is sufficiently plain that nature endears to each man his own existence. Here we find our problem. But it is evident that man is composed of body and mind, though the rôle of the mind is superior, and that of the body in- ferior. Next we find this too, that man’s body is so shaped as to be superior to other bodies, and his mind is so formed that it bas the senses for its instruments and possesses tran- scendent intellectual power, to which the whole nature of man yields homage, since it comprises very marvellous faculties for reasoning and inquiry and knowledge and for all the virtues. Now the bodily faculties, while their influence cannot be measured against that of the mental functions, are easier to understand. So let us begin with them. It is easily seen then how agreeable to nature are the members of our body and its whole form and shape and pose, nor can we have any difficulty in understanding what form of the forehead and eyes and ears and of the other members is appropriate to man ; but assuredly he has need that his limbs should be sound and strong and should admit of their natural motions and uses, no one member being either wanting, or infirm, or impaired. These are the conditions which nature requires. There is again a certain form of bodily activity which preserves those movements and attitudes that accord with nature; and if any fault be committed in connexion with these either by reason of some deformity or injury or some movement or attitude which is unseemly, as for example if a man were to walk on his hands or were to walk not forwards but backwards, he would be seen entirely to desert his own constitution, and by stripping his manhood of its humanity, to shew hatred for nature. So also certain postures and certain contorted and cramped movements such as lewd or effeminate men affect, are against nature; thus in spite of the fact that this happens through some defect in the soul, nevertheless the perversion of man’s nature is outwardly exhibited in the body. So on the other hand all well controlled and regulated conditions, states and applications of the body are seen to conform to nature. Again the soul must not only exist but exist with a certain character; it must possess all its faculties unmarred, and no one of its excellences must be wanting. So with the senses ; each has its own excellence, which prevents anything from obstructing each as it exercises its function of making quick and free observations upon the objects which come within the sphere of sense. XIII. The soul however and that part of the soul which is supreme and which bears the name of intel- lect, has numerous excellences, but there are two primary classes; one comprising the faculties which are, as their nature shews, inbred and are styled independent of the will, the other those which, being dependent on the will, usually bear, by a better title than the others, the name of virtue, and their high quality makes them preeminent among the merits of the soul. To the former class belong aptness for learning and memory; almost all such faculties are denoted by the single word gifts, and men who possess these virtues are called gifted. The second class however consists of the great and true virtues which we describe as dependent on the will, prudence for example, temperance, courage, justice and the rest of the same kind. Now it was necessary to make these general statements about the body and the soul, which pretty well define in outline what it is that nature demands. Whence it is evident (inas- much as we love ourselves and desire all the faculties of our souls and bodies to reach perfection) that all our powers are dear to us for their own sake, and that they exercise the greatest influ- ence on the goodness of life. Now when a man aims at pre- serving his whole being it follows inevitably that his several members are dear to him also and are more dear in. proportion as they are more perfect and more admirable each in its own class. The life which is the object of our desires is one which is fully endowed with excellences of soul and body, and we needs must make the supreme good consist in this life, since in it by its very nature all objects of desire must culminate. When this is understood, we cannot doubt (inasmuch as men are essentially and for their own sakes dear to themselves) that the different classes of mental and bodily faculties and of cir- cumstances attendant on the activity or cessation from activity of both, are cherished for their inherent preciousness, and so are desired in and for themselves. Now that we have given this explanation, the inference is easy that of all our possessions those are the most desirable which claim the highest distinc- tion, so that the most desirable things are the excellences of our most valuable endowments, which are in themselves ob- jects of desire. So it will come to pass that the excellence of the soul is preferred to bodily excellence, and that the excellences of the soul which are independent of will are sur- passed by those which depend on will, to which excellences the name virtue peculiarly belongs, and which are vastly superior, because they spring from reason, the most godlike attribute of man. In fact for all those things which nature produces and sustains, so far as they are either without soul, or nearly without soul, the supreme good lies in the body, so that there seems some point in the well-known remark about the pig, that its soul was given to it instead of salt, to keep it from rotting. XIV. Now there are certain animals which possess some semblance of virtue, as is the case with lions and dogs and horses, in which we see certain activities due to the partial possession of a soul, and not merely of a body, like the swine. In man however the whole importance belongs to the soul, and in the soul itself to reason, which is the fount of virtue, this being defined as the perfection of the reason; and philosophers think that of this definition repeated expositions are necessary. | In the case even of the objects which the earth bears we find a certain form of nurture and maturity which does not fail to remind us of living creatures; so we say that a vine lives and dies, and that trees young and old flourish and grow feeble; hence it is not amiss to suppose that these, like living crea- tures, have conditions which are suited to and others which are hostile to their nature, and that a certain form of science and practice, that which belongs to the farmer, superintends their growth and nurture, so that it trims and prunes them, raises, trains, and props them, to allow of their advancing to the goal whither nature impels them; so that the vines themselves, if they had a voice, would admit that this is the treatment and fostering care which they need. And in the present instance, speaking especially of the vine, the power which tends it comes from without, since the vine itself possesses too little strength to secure for itself the best conditions, if no supervision were exercised. But suppose the vine endowed with feeling, so as to possess a certain instinct, and to act on an impulse of its own; what do you imagine it will do? Will it not. unaided see to those results which it formerly attained by aid of the vinegrower? But do you not see that it will now feel anxiety to protect its senses also and all their instincts, and all the limbs which are attached to it? So it will link with the endowments, which it always had, those which have been subsequently added, nor will it propose to itself quite the same supreme good which he who tended it laid down for it, but will desire to live in accordance with that nature which has been subsequently bestowed on it. So its supreme.good will be like that which formerly existed for it but without being the same, since it will no longer seek after the supreme good of a vegetable but of a sentient creature. What if not merely feeling has been given to it but a human soul as well? Is it not inevitable that while the old endowments remain and so must be maintained, the endowments which have been added are far dearer, and that the soul’s most excellent gifts are the dearest of all, and that the supreme good reaches its final limit along with the full perfection of the natural constitution, though thought and reason have an infinite superiority? Thus we have arrived at the limit of the whole class of objects which are sought after, and we have attained to it by a very gradual ascent from the earliest prompting of nature, and the highest object at which we arrive is one which is enriched by faultless bodily faculties along with the perfected reasoning faculties of the mind.

XV. Since nature’s scheme then is such as I have described, if, as I said at the outset, each person at the moment of birth were conscious of his being and capable of judging what faculties his whole nature as well as its several parts possessed, he would at once see the true essence of that thing which is the subject of our inquiry, I mean that good which is ultimate and supreme over all the objects of our desires, nor would it be possible for him to err in any way. The fact is however that at all events in our early days our nature is marvellously hidden from our eyes, and cannot be clearly viewed or comprehended; but as our lives advance we insensibly or rather by slow degrees acquire, I may say, a knowledge of ourselves. Thus that earliest intro- duction of ourselves to ourselves with which nature supplies us is dubious and dim, and our earliest mental impulse only aims at enabling us to continue healthy and strong; when however the light begins to dawn on us and we begin to feel what we are and wherein we differ from the lower animals, then we begin to pursue the destiny to which we were born.

And we observe something like this in animals, which at first do not stir from the place in which they were born, then each is roused by its own peculiar instinct ; we find that young snakes crawl, ducks swim, larks take the wing, oxen use their horns, and hornets their stings, in fine that each creature's nature is its guide in the conduct of life. And similar facts are evident in the case of the human race likewise. For children when first born lie still, as though they were entirely devoid of mind; when however their strength has a little increased, they make use of their minds as well as their senses, and strive to raise themselves up, and bring their hands into use, and recognise those who have charge of their nurture; afterwards they rejoice in their little companions and are delighted to associate with them and give themselves up to play, and eagerly listen to stories, and desire to bestow upon others something out of their own abundance, and examine inquisitively all that happens in their home, and begin to devise things and to learn, and are anxious not to remain ignorant of the names of people they see, and if they are victorious in the contests which they have with their young companions, they are beside themselves with de- light, if defeated, they are depressed and their spirits fall; and we must not suppose that any of these things occur without a reason. Nature indeed has so created the human faculties as to make it plain that they are formed with a view to the ac- quisition of all virtue, and for that reason children are stirred by their little mimic virtues, the seeds of which they possess within themselves—and that quite apart from learning; for these are primary natural gifts, and when these have grown the budding virtues (so to speak) are developed. Now inas- much as we are so born and so constructed that we hold within us the first beginnings of action and affection and generosity and gratitude, and we possess minds which incline to know- ledge, wisdom, and courage, and recoil from the opposites of these, the fact is not fortuitous that we see in children those sparks as it were of virtues, which I have mentioned, which must kindle the flame of philosophic thought, so that by following the guidance of thought, as though of something divine, one may reach the goal to which nature points him. Indeed, as I have often already observed, in the weak period of life, when the intellect is feeble, our natural faculties are seen as though through a mist, but when the mind as it ad- vances becomes robust, it indeed feels conscious of the natural faculties, but in this sense that they are seen to be capable of further progress, though they exist of themselves merely in outline. XVI. We must force our way therefore into nature’s secrets, and thoroughly see what it is that she demands; in no other way can we get a knowledge of ourselves. This maxim, because it was too high to be thought to have proceeded from man, was on that account attributed to a god. The Pythian Apollo then bids us learn to know ourselves; now knowledge of ourselves can only mean this, that we should get to know our bodily and mental powers, and pursue that kind of life which leads to the full enjoyment of those powers. Since however the earliest mental impulse was such as to incline us to acquire those conditions of which I have spoken, in the most fully developed form that nature allows, we must agree that when we have attained to that which our impulse aimed at, nature halts at that point, having reached, as it were, her goal, and there finds the ultimate good; and this good in its entirety must be an object of desire on its own account, and in and for itself, inasmuch as we have before shewn that its individual parts also are in themselves desirable. Now if it occurs to any one that in reckoning .up the bodily advantages we have over- looked pleasure, let the discussion of it be postponed till another occasion. For our present purpose it makes no differ- ence whether pleasure is one of those objects which we have described as the earliest in the order of nature, or not. If as is my opinion, pleasure is not wanted to complete the list of natural advantages, we have been right in neglecting it; but if - pleasure possesses the attributes which some assign to her, that is no objection to the general view of the supreme good which we have put forward, for if pleasure is added to the list of elementary natural objects laid down by us, there will only be one bodily advantage the more, nor will it disturb the settlement of the supreme good which we have put forward.

XVII. As yet, indeed, our system has been so developed as to derive its principles entirely from the first promptings of nature. Now however it is time for us to trace out another form of demonstration, to shew that, not merely because we love our own personality, but because each portion of our nature, whether bodily or mental, has its own faculties, therefore we are in the fullest sense of the words roused to action in respect of these matters because we regard ourselves. And to begin with the body, do you not see how studiously men conceal any distortions or afflictions or deformities of their limbs? They even strive and toil in the hope of being able to render the bodily defect either not noticeable at all, or as little noticeable as possible, and tolerate many tortures to arrive at a remedy, so that the limbs may be brought back to their natural form, even though their utility will thereby be not only not increased, but actually impaired. [Further, inasmuch as all believe that their whole personality is by nature’s ordinance a thing desirable, and that too for their own sake merely, and not from any other motive, it follows inevitably that we must regard as desirable for their own sake the several portions of that whole which we feel to be for its own sake desirable.] Well, is there in the movements or positions of the body, nothing to which nature herself declares we ought to pay heed? How we are to walk and sit, how each one is to compose his features and arrange his expression? Is there nothing connected with all these matters which we account to be worthy or unworthy of a free-born man? Do we not look upon as meriting our dislike many whom we believe to have shewn their disregard of nature’s law and nature’s limits by a certain kind of movement or a certain attitude? And since the body is usually kept free from all such practices, why should it not be right to consider comeliness - also as in itself an object worthy of our desires? For if we suppose bodily deformities and defects to be in themselves matters which we should shun, why should we not feel at- tracted in the same or perhaps in a greater measure by the distinction of beauty, and that for its own sake? And if we shun ugliness as exhibited in movement or repose, why should we not aim at comeliness? And so we shall desire health, strength and freedom from pain, not merely with a view to their uses but also in and for themselves. Inasmuch as nature desires perfection in all her parts, she desires for their own sake such bodily positions as are most in accord with her own laws, and nature is entirely thrown into confusion when the body is either sick, or in pain, or wanting in strength.

XVIII. Let us glance at the mental faculties, for the light in which we view them is more brilliant; and in proportion as they are more lofty, so the information they give us about nature is more lucid. Well then, we have inbred in us so great a passion for inquiry and knowledge, that no one can have any doubt that man’s nature is urged to the pursuit of these objects without the allurement of any utility. Do we not see how children are not frightened away from considering and inquiring into things even by being beaten? How though driven off they return to them? How they delight in the possession of some knowledge? How they hanker to tell the story to others? How intent they are upon processions, races, and other shows of the kind, and how for such an enjoyment they tolerate even hunger and thirst? Again do we not see those whose delight is in liberal pursuits and accomplishments, neglecting health and property alike, and enduring everything because fascinated by inquiry and knowledge in themselves, and always paying for the pleasure which learning brings them, by the most serious anxiety and toil? I believe that Homer had some such idea when he imagined his tale of the Sirens’ music. They indeed do not seem to have been wont to stay the passer by through any sweetness in their voices or any freshness or picturesqueness in their music, but because they proclaimed themselves to know much, so that men were dashed against their crags because they longed to learn. This is how they entice Ulysses (for I have translated that very passage, like others of Homer). Ulysses, pride of the Greeks, why not steer hitherward thy bark, that thy ears may catch our songs? For none has ever sped past these blue deeps, but first he did stay when our sweet notes charmed him, then, his yearning heart full of subtle lore, did he glide on, more knowing far, till he reached the coast of his fatherland. We know about the stern struggle of the war and the doom which Greece by the will divine brought upon Troy, and all that eer befell, the wide earth over. Homer saw that his tale could not please his readers if so mighty a hero were to be snared and spell-bound by a mere ditty; it is knowledge they offer him, and it was no wonder that one eager after wisdom found it more precious than his fatherland. Now to long to know everything of whatever kind, betrays the inquisitive man, but we must think that he who by reflecting on matters of great import is led to an ardent pursuit of science, takes rank with the highest of men.

XIX. What, think you, was the enthusiasm for research by which Archimedes was possessed, who, while drawing some figure with great care on the sand, was unconscious that his native city had fallen into the enemy’s hand? What great gifts did Aristoxenus lavish, as we read, upon music! With what keen zest, as we believe, did Aristophanes pass his life in pursuit of literature! What need to speak of Pytha- goras, of Plato or of Democritus? All these, as we read, wandered to the ends of the earth in their eagerness for in- formation. Now any who do not understand all this have never felt a passion for any subject which is important and worthy of inquiry. And as regards this point, those who say that these pursuits of which I have spoken are followed with an eye to mental pleasures, do not perceive that they are shewn to be in and for themselves desirable by the fact that our minds delight in them even without hope of advantage and take pleasure in the knowledge merely, even with the prospect of inconvenience. But what profits it to seek for more argu- ments concerning facts which are so patent? Let us put the question to ourselves how it is that the movement of the stars and the spectacle of the heavenly bodies and the theories of all phenomena which are veiled in nature’s mystery cause excite- ment in us, and why we are pleased with history and often trace it out in its most remote details; we go back again to points we had overlooked and follow up the clue we have just found. Nor am I unaware that history brings with it use, and not merely pleasure. But how is it when we read with pleasure stories founded on imagination, from which we cannot possibly extract profit? How is it when we desire to become familiar with the names of those who have achieved something great, and their lineage, their country and many other alto- gether unessential details? How about the fact that men of the lowest rank who have no expectation of sharing in the government, and in fact artisans, feel a pleasure in history ? And more than all others we may see men who because age has impaired their strength are cut off from the hope of achieving anything, yet desire to hear and read of what has been achieved in the past. On that account we must needs understand that the subjects themselves which are learned and examined possess certain allurements which incite us to learning and inquiry. Now the old thinkers feign a description of the life that wise men will lead in the islands of the blest; these, as they think, when once freed from all trouble and needing none of the services or preparations indispensable in life, will find nothing to do but to spend all their time in acquiring a knowledge of nature by investigation and study. We however see that such pursuits do not only form the delight of a happy life but are also the mitigation of wretchedness, and therefore many when in the power of their foes, or of despots, many in -prison and many in exile have lightened their grief by devoting themselves to learning. A leading statesman of this city, Demetrius Phalereus, having been unjustly driven from his country, took refuge with king Ptolemy at Alexandria. Being proficient in the very system of philosophy which I am now advising you to adopt, and a pupil of Theophrastus, he wrote during that disastrous leisure many splendid works, not for any practical uses of his own, for he was cut off from all such, but this was for him mental cultivation and a kind of food, so to speak, for his cultured soul. I have often heard Gnaeus Aufidius, the former praetor, a well-informed man but blind, say that he was stirred by a longing rather for the light than for any practical advantage. Moreover we should think that the gift of sleep was unnatural did it not bring with it rest for our bodies, and a kind of remedy for toil; it does indeed deprive us of perception and all activity; so if nature did not demand rest or could gain it by some other method, we would cheerfully bear the loss of it, seeing that we often as it is submit to wakefulness almost in nature’s despite when we wish to do some business or to learn something. |

XX. There are moreover many signs that are more evi- dent, or rather entirely plain and beyond possibility of doubt, by which nature shews, most conspicuously of course in man, but in every living creature as well, how the mind yearns after constant activity, and cannot on any terms endure un- interrupted repose. It is easy to see this in the first tender years of children’s lives. Now although I am afraid of being thought to push on in this line of argument too far, still all the older thinkers, particularly those of our school, go back to the nursery because they think that in childhood they can most readily observe the tendencies of nature. We see then how impossible even babes find it to keep still: when again they have grown a little older, they are pleased even with toil- some amusements, from which they cannot be kept even by flogging. And this passion for occupation matures with the maturing years. So we should decline the boon of Endymion’s sleep even if we believed we should enjoy the most delightful dreams, and if it were bestowed upon us, we should consider it the same as death. Again, we see the laziest men, even if characterised by the most unsurpassable worthlessness, roused nevertheless continually to bodily and mental activity, and when they are not tied down to any compulsory employment, we see them either call for a dice-board or look about for some recreation, or try to find some one to chat with, and though destitute of the liberal pleasures which learning brings, yet eager to join some street groups or cliques at the board. Nay, the beasts which we imprison for our own amusement, though more plentifully fed than if they were free, do not pa- tiently endure their confinement, and feel the loss of those free and capricious movements which nature herself allowed them. So the better a man’s birth and education, the less willing would he be to continue in life, if he were cut off from active business, even though he might revel in the most exquisite pleasures. In.fact, people prefer either to carry on business of their own, or where their spirit s more lofty, by rising to office and com- mands, they take in hand public business; or else they give all their energy to the pursuit of learning; and amid such a life so far are they from havirg pleasure in view, that they actually tolerate vexations, troubles and sleepless nights, and they de- light in the keenness of their talent and understanding, which © is the most excellent part of man, and must be reckoned as a godlike essence dwelling within us, nor do they either seek pleasure or avoid toil, nor again do they flag in their passion for those discoveries which were made by the men of old, or for the tracking out of new ones; as their enthusiasm can never grow weary, they forget all things outside them and put away from them all mean and sordid thoughts; and so great is the hold which these pursuits have upon them that we even see the men who have adopted quite other views of the ultimate good, which they shape by the idea of advantage or pleasure, still pass their lives in investigating and elucidating the realm of nature.

XXI. Hence we see this fact, that we are born to a life of activity. Now activities are of several kinds, so that the less important are thrown into the shade by the more im- portant, the most important being in the first place, as I think, and as those too think with whose system we are now con- cerned, reflection upon and inquiry into the phenomena of the heavens, especially those which nature has studiously con- cealed but whose mysteries reason is competent to explore; next in importance comes the government of commonwealths, or the science of their government, then a method of life based on prudence, temperance, courage, justice and the other virtues, and such actions as accord with the virtues, all of which matters we embrace in a single expression and call morality; and under nature’s own guidance we are led to know and practise them, when once we have reached the age of steadiness. Indeed the first beginnings of all things are small, but when they have put forth their power of improvement, they shew increase, and naturally so; for human beings at birth exhibit a certain frailty and softness, so that they cannot discern or carry out the courses which are best. For the splendour of virtue and happiness, the two objects most worthy of desire, only dawns on them at a late period, and only at a much later period still is their nature fully understood. For Plato nobly said: blessed is he to whom it has been given in old age to be able to arrive at wisdom and right opinion. So inasmuch as we have said enough about the primary endowments of nature, let us now cast a glance at the more important matters which are posterior to them. The body of man then has been so created and moulded by nature, that she brings to completion some of its faculties at birth, and shapes others as life advances, certainly without availing herself much of aids lying outside the body, and accidental to it; the mind she has endowed in nearly all respects as fully as the body; for she equipped it with the senses, which are so well adapted for making observations of external objects, that they need little or no extraneous aid to establish them ; but nature did neglect one thing which is most excellent and most important in man. Although she bestowed upon him a mind capable of grasping all virtue, and, apart from any teaching, implanted in him rudimentary ideas of the most important matters, and began, so to speak, his education, and included among his constitutional endowments the ground-work, as we may call it, of the virtues, yet virtue itself she merely sketched in outline, nothing more. So it is our business (when I say our business I mean it is the business of our science) to draw out from those elements which have been given us their appropriate results, until we have arrived at the end which we propose to ourselves ; which end is considerably more valuable and more inherently desirable than are either our senses or those bodily © faculties of which we have spoken, which are so completely inferior to the preeminent perfection of the mind, that it is scarcely possible to imagine the gap which separates them. _ So every distinction, every form of admiration, every pursuit is judged by a reference to virtue and the actions which accord with it, and all thoughts and actions agreeing with it are denoted by the one expression moral. And what are the ideas pertaining to all moral actions, and what actions are denoted by the various names, and what is the peculiarity and the essence of each, all this we shall examine soon; (XXII) at this point let us merely make this plain, that these moral actions of which I speak are (quite apart from the love which we bear to our own personalities) in their own essential nature inherently desirable. This is seen in children, in whom nature is reflected as in a mirror. What passion they throw into their contests! How serious are the struggles themselves! How they are overpowered by delight when they have won the victory, how disgraced they are by defeat! How they loathe to be blamed; what an appetite they have for praise! What toils do they endure that they may take the first rank among their companions! How strong is their re- membrance of those who are kind to them, how great their eagerness to requite a kindness! And these qualities are most conspicuous in the best dispositions, in which this morality, which is now in our thoughts, is so to speak drawn by nature in outline. But this is the case with children; the outlines are filled in when life has advanced to its period of strength. Who is so unlike a true man, as to be careless about the hatred excited by baseness and the approval secured by virtue? Who does not revolt from a youth spent in lust and wantonness? On the other hand, who would not esteem honour and steadiness in one of that time of life, even if it were not at all to his own advantage? Who does not dislike the traitor Pullus Numitorius of Fregellae, though he did ser- vice to our own country? Who does not greatly extol Codrus the saviour of this city, and the daughters of Erechtheus? Who does not loathe the name of Tubulus? Who does not love Aristides, dead though he be? Do we forget how greatly we are affected when we hear or read the tale of some deed - that bespeaks affection, friendship or greatness of soul? Why do I speak of ourselves, who were born and reared and edu- cated with a view to honesty and good fame? What shouts are raised in the theatre by the mob and all ignorant men, when the passage is spoken I am Orestes; and on the other hand the friend answers No indeed, I am Orestes, I declare. When again, they both actually prompt to a decision the con- fused and troubled king: we both then pray to die together: whenever this is acted, is it ever received except with the most unbounded admiration? There are none then who do not sanction and applaud this attitude of the mind, whereby it not merely aims at the attainment of no advantage, but actually maintains honour in the teeth of all advantage. Not only the fictions of the imagination but also the pages of history and more particularly our own history, are rich in instances of the kind. We indeed selected to take over the sacred rites of Ida a man of the highest character; such men we have dispatched to be guardians to princes; our generals have often sacrificed their lives for their country’s deliverance; our consuls have given to a prince who was their deadly foe and was drawing near to their walls, a warning to beware of poison; in our community one was found who expiated by a self- inflicted death the shame she had suffered through violence; one too who put his own child to death, to save her from shame; and who does not understand that the actors in all these and many like scenes were guided by the brilliant light of honour, and thought nothing of advantage to themselves, and that we too in eulogising them are impelled by nothing but a regard for morality ?

XXIII. Now that we have given these brief explanations (for I have not of course gone through the whole store of examples I might have used, inasmuch as the facts could not be doubtful) but these considerations assuredly prove that all the virtues with morality, which springs from them and is in- herent in them, are in themselves a thing worthy to be desired. In the whole field of morality, which is our present theme, there is nothing so splendid or so far-reaching as the union of men with men and their fellowship (if I may so call it) and their interchange of services, and the mere affection for the human race, which taking its rise in our earliest origin, (inasmuch as the offspring is the object of regard to its pro- genitors, and the family is entirely held together by marriage and community of blood) then extends itself by degrees to those outside, first by means of relationships, then by marriage connexions, then by friendships, then by the tie of neighbour- hood, then by the aid of fellow citizens and all who are on public grounds associated and intimate with us, then by em- bracing in its scope the whole of mankind. This disposition of the mind, because it assigns to each individual: what is his own, and because it. liberally and fairly maintains the bonds of human society, receives the name of justice, and with it are connected reverence, goodness, generosity, kindliness, courtesy, and all virtues of the same class, which while peculiarly con- nected with justice, have yet ties that bind them to the other virtues. Now inasmuch as the constitution of man has been so constructed that it contains within it a certain instinct for what we may term association and common life, which the Greeks call the political instinct, each individual virtue will, whatever its practice, be not averse to that common life and affection for and fellowship with the human race, of which I have given an account, and justice in turn, as she will in practice herself expand into the other virtues, so will feel the need of them. For only a strong man or a wise man can main- tain justice. This whole concord and harmony of the several virtues gives a character to morality itself, since morality is either in itself virtue or something exhibiting virtue in practice; and when a life is in harmony with. such conditions and answers to the call of the virtues it may be pronounced upright and moral and consistent and in agreement with nature. Further, this union and inter-penetration of the virtues is nevertheless by a certain method disentangled by philosophers. For though they are so closely linked and united that each claims a share in every other, and they cannot be disjoined one from another, nevertheless each has its own peculiar office, so that courage is displayed in hardships and hazards, temperance in the rejection of pleasures, prudence in the selection from among things good and things evil, justice in the assignment to each man of that which is his due. Since then every virtue implies a certain anxiety which looks beyond self, so to speak, and seeks out and fosters others, we have this result, that friends, brothers, relations, connexions, fellow countrymen, all men in fine (since we suppose all men to be bound in one association) are objects of regard in and for themselves. Yet none of these objects of regard is of such a nature as to be comprised within the ultimate and supreme good. Thus we discover two kinds of matters which are in and for them- selves desirable, one consisting of those circumstances which go to make up the supreme good, I mean such as are con- nected with the mind and the body ; while these other matters, which are external, by which I mean that they form part neither of mind nor body, friends, for example, parents, children, relations, our country itself, are indeed dear to us for what they are in themselves, but they do not belong to the same class as the rest. Indeed no one would ever be able to attain to the ultimate good, if all the external objects, however desirable they may be, were comprised within the su- preme good. XXIV. How then, you will say, can it possibly be true that the value of all objects is determined by compari- son with the supreme good, if friendships, relationships and all other external circumstances form no part of the supreme good? The principle, you see, is this, that we sustain our external relations by practising those moral actions which spring from the several classes of virtues. For attention bestowed on a friend or a parent benefits the person who does his duty to- wards them, by the mere fact that performance of such duty belongs to the class of moral actions to which the virtues have given rise. And such actions are pursued by men of wisdom under nature’s guidance; but men who have not arrived at perfection, though they possess striking natural powers, are often influenced by fame, which exhibits a likeness and re- semblance to morality. Now if they could see into the inner essence of faultless and perfect morality, which vastly surpasses all things in splendour and merit, what ecstasy would fill their minds, delighted as they are with a dim suggestion of the original! What man is there who, being the slave of pleasure and having his nature all ablaze with the fire of his passions, excited by the enjoyment of the objects which he had with the greatest intensity desired, yet can be supposed to be steeped In joy so vast as that felt either by the elder Africanus on the conquest of Hannibal, or by the younger at the ruin of Carthage? Who ever felt so keen a zest over the voyage down the Tiber on the general holiday, as was experienced by Lucius Paulus when he sailed up the same stream bringing with him the captive king Perses? Well then, dear Lucius, rear in your mind a towering and imposing structure of the vir- tues; you will then have no doubt that men who possess these, who live like men of great and lofty souls, are at all times happy, inasmuch as they know that all the revolutions of fortune and the changes of circumstances and occasions will prove insignificant and feeble if they come into con- flict with virtue. Those good things, in fact, which we classed as bodily advantages, do indeed go to complete the greatest possible happiness, yet happiness may be achieved without them. The addition of these advantages is of such slight and trivial consequence that just as starlight is extinguished by the sun’s beams, so we do not descry these matters amid the brilliant light of the virtues. Again, as it is truly said that the influence exerted upon happiness by those bodily blessings is small, so on the other hand it is too overbearing to say that they have none; and the men who put forward this opinion seem to me to have forgotten even those fundamental natural endowments which they have themselves laid down. We must therefore allow these matters a certain amount of consideration, provided that you clearly understand how much ought to be allowed them. A philosopher who is in search not so much of boastful phrases as of truths must on the one hand not wholly disregard objects which the boastful men them- selves admit to be in agreement with nature, and on the other must see that so great is the power of virtue and so great the prestige, so to speak, of morality, that all else is not indeed actually worthless but so trifling as to appear to us worthless. This language befits a man who while he does not pour con- tempt on everything but virtue, yet lavishes on virtue her- self all the praise that is her due; in fine in this way our exposition of the supreme good receives its full completion on all its sides. The other schools have tried to catch at some elements of this supreme good, and each has desired to get credit for putting forward an original opinion. XXV. Aristotle and Theophrastus have often extolled in a surprising way the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake; fascinated by this be- yond all else, Erillus supported the view that knowledge is the supreme good, and that nothing else is an object intrinsically worthy of our desires. The ancients have spoken much about disregarding and scorning human chances; this was the one consideration to which Aristo clung; he declared that with the exception of vice and virtue there was nothing worth either shunning or desiring. Our school have laid down that free- dom from pain is one of the conditions in accord with nature; Hieronymus affirmed it to be the supreme good. But again Callipho and after him Diodorus, the one having fallen in love with pleasure, the other with freedom from pain, could neither of them dispense with morality, which has been ex- tolled in the highest degree by the men of our school. Nay, even the partisans of pleasure look out for ways of escape and chatter about virtue for whole days together, and say that pleasure is only in the early stages an object of desire, that afterwards habit gives rise to a sort of second nature, whereby men are induced to do many actions without keeping pleasure in view. There only remain the Stoics. These in- deed have not adopted from us one or two points, but have taken to themselves our whole philosophy. And just as the ordinary thieves change the marks of the objects which they have stolen, so these, desiring to pass off our opinions as their own, changed the terms which were so to speak the marks impressed on the doctrines. Thus our system is left as the only one worthy of those who are devoted to the liberal arts, worthy of scholars, of distinguished men, of leading states- men, of princes.’ When he had spoken thus, and had paused a little, he said: ‘how now? Do you not think that I have used sufficiently my privilege of trying your ears with my rehearsal?’ ‘I declare, Piso, said I, ‘that to-day as often before, you have shewn yourself to be so familiar with the subject, that if you would give us more frequent opportunities of hearing you, I should not think it necessary to beg many lessons of the Greeks. And I have been the better pleased with your ex- position, because I recollect that Staseas of Naples, your old instructor, an undoubtedly eminent Peripatetic, used to give a considerably different account of the matter; agreeing with those who attached a good deal of importance to fortune’s smiles and frowns and to bodily advantages and disadvantages,’ ‘What you say is true, said he, ‘but our friend Antiochus gives a better and stronger view of the subject than that which Staseas used to support. Yet I do not ask in what respects I have secured your approval, but rather that of our friend Cicero, whom I am anxious to steal away from your tutelage.’ XXVI. Then said Lucius: ‘indeed I highly approve of your views, and I think my cousin does so too. Then Piso said: ‘well, well, are you going to forgive our young friend? Or would you rather that he learned doctrines which will land him in ignorance when he has thoroughly mastered them?’ ‘So far as Lucius is concerned,’ I answered, ‘I let him go; but do you not remember that I am quite free to express my liking for the statements put forward by you? Who can refrain from expressing his liking for doctrines which seem to him full of . likelihood ? ‘Or rather,’ said he, ‘can any one express a liking for any doctrine which he does not hold as perceived, appre- hended and thoroughly known?’ ‘The difference between us, Piso, is not important, I replied. ‘The only reason I have for thinking perception impossible is that the essential marks of a perception are explained by the Stoics in such terms as to make a perception altogether impossible, unless it wears such an aspect of truth as a deceptive perception cannot possibly present. So my disagreement is with the Stoics; with the Peri- patetics I have certainly none. But let us pass the matter over; it opens up indeed a very long and rather contentious debate ; but there is one statement I think you have made with too much precipitation, namely, that all wise men are at all times happy. Somehow or other your speech flew past this point. Unless formal proof of it is given, I fear that everything Theo- phrastus said may prove true, I mean about prosperity and pain and bodily torments, with which he thought happiness could not co-exist; since it is glaringly inconsistent to say that a man is happy and at the same time weighed down by many miseries. I for my part do not perceive how two such assertions agree with one another. ‘Which doctrine, then, said he, ‘do you deny, the doctrine that virtue is so powerful as to supply happiness out of her own resources, or if you believe this, do you assert it to be impossible that men who are in possession of virtue should be happy even if attacked by certain evils?’ ‘I for my part would like the power of virtue to be as great as possible, but the question of its greatness is for another occasion ; I only ask now whether it can be so great, if anything lying outside virtue is admitted to be good.’ ‘Well but,’ said he, ‘if you grant the Stoics that the mere presence of virtue produces happiness, you grant it to the Peripatetics likewise; since all the objects which they have not the courage to call evils, though they allow them to be hardships and inconveniences, and matters to be declined, and matters at variance with na- ture, all these we call evils, though evils of slight and almost infinitesimal consequence. So if he who is surrounded by cir- cumstances such as are hard and deserve to be declined can be happy, then so can he be happy who is surrounded by trivial evils. Then I said: ‘Piso, if there is a man who is always keen-sighted in detecting the question at issue in a case, you assuredly are the man. So pray give me your attention. For as yet you do not see the drift of my question, though perhaps that is my fault. ‘I am at your service,’ said he, ‘and eager to hear your answer to the question I put to you? XXVII. ‘My answer will be that I am not at this moment asking what nature has the power to bring about, but what statements are consistent and what are at variance with themselves.” ‘How do you mean?’ said he. ‘The matter is thus, I answered; ‘when Zeno pronounces this splendid sentence, as though from the shrine of prophecy: virtue asks no extraneous aid to pro- duce happiness, some one says “why so?” and he replies: because nothing else s good but that which s moral. Iam no longer inquiring whether the doctrine is true, I merely say that these statements of his accord excellently. Suppose Epicurus to have made the same statement that the wise man is always happy; and indeed he is in the habit of blurting it out at times, and declares that the wise man, when he is being worn away by the intensest pains, will cry out How sweet it is/ How indifferent am I/ Ishould not quarrel with the man for having so much good in his disposition; I should press upon him that he does not perceive what he ought to say, after pro- claiming pain to be the supreme evil. My complaint against you is now the same. You describe as good and evil all the things so described by the men who have never even seen a philosopher in a picture, as the proverb goes, health, strength, bearing, beauty, soundness of all the nails you call good, while deformity, disease and weakness you call evil. Further, you on your part dealt reservedly with external advantages: but as these bodily advantages are things good, surely you will account as things good all objects productive of them, friends, children, relations, wealth, distinctions, influence. Understand that I say not a word against this view: but I do say that if the ac- cidents, which may well happen to the wise man, are evils, then to be a wise man is not sufficient to secure happiness.’ ‘Nay, rather, he replied, ‘it is insufficient to secure perfect happiness, but sufficient for happiness. ‘I have observed, said I, ‘that you laid down this position a little while since, and I know that our friend Antiochus usually puts the matter thus: but what is less worthy of assent, than that there is some one who is happy, without being happy enough? More- over, whatever addition is made to what is enough renders - it excessive, and no one is happy to excess; so if a man is happy he cannot be happier.” ‘Consequently,’ he replied, ‘in your eyes Quintus Metellus, who saw three sons receive the consulship, and one of them moreover the censorship and a triumph, while a fourth attained the praetorship, and left them behind him safe and sound, with three daughters married, while he himself had enjoyed the consulship, censorship, au- gurate, and a triumph,—in your eyes, supposing him to have been a wise man, was he no happier than Regulus, supposing him also to have been a wise man, though, when in the enemy's hands, he was put to death by sleeplessness and hunger ?’

XXVIII. ‘Why do you ask me the question?’ I said. ‘Put it to the Stoics? ‘Well; said he, ‘what answer do you suppose they will give?’ ‘That Metellus was no happier than Regulus.’ ‘We must begin at that point, then,’ he rejoined. ‘Oh, but we are straying from our subject, I said. ‘I am not asking what doctrines are true, but what each thinker is bound to state. I only wish they would say that one man is happier than another. You would soon see a disaster. For as good has been made to reside in virtue only and in fact in morality, and as, according to their view, neither virtue nor morality admits of increase, and as that good of theirs is the only thing the possession of which inevitably makes a man happy, how can one man be happier than another, when that thing on which alone happiness depends cannot be increased? Do you see how these statements are to agree? Yet I declare (for I must confess what I think) that the coherence of their doctrines is extraordinary. The conclusion agrees with the major premiss ; the minor premiss with both ; everything agrees with every- thing else; they understand what inference is, what incon- sistency is. Just as in mathematics, if you concede the premisses, you must concede everything. Grant that there is nothing good but what is moral; you must grant that virtue is the one condition of happiness. Look at the doctrines in the reverse order. Concede this and you must concede that. Your own school are not like this. There are three classes of things good; your exposition runs on headlong; it arrives at its conclusion, and finds itself in difficulties ; what it longs to say- is that a wise man can find nothing wanting to his happiness. A doctrine that is moral, Socratic, even Platonic? ‘I am | bold enough to assert it, said he. ‘You cannot, unless you take to pieces your former statements. If poverty is an evil, no beggar can be happy, however wise he be. But Zeno was bold enough to declare him not merely happy but even rich. Pain is an evil; he who is driven to crucifixion cannot be happy. Children are a blessing; childlessness then is unhappiness; your fatherland is a blessing; banishment then is unhappiness; health is a blessing ; disease then is unhappiness ; bodily sound- ness is a blessing; weakness then is unhappiness; unimpaired sight is a blessing; blindness then is unhappiness. . And even if one can soothe these things separately by solaces, how shall one bear up against all combined? Suppose the same man to be blind, weak, worn by a very heavy illness, an exile, childless, a beggar, let him be tortured on the rack; what do you call such a man, Zeno? Happy, he says. Even as happy as possible? Of course, he will say, for I have proved that happiness, no more than virtue, admits of degrees, and in virtue happiness itself lies. You cannot believe this, because of his doctrine that the man is as happy as possible. Well, is yours easy to believe? Indeed, if you appeal against me to the people, you will never persuade them that a man in such cir- cumstances is happy; if to men of sense, they will perhaps. hesitate about the one point, whether virtue has such power _that those who possess it are happy even in the bull of Phalaris ; about the other they will never hesitate, that the Stoic statements are consistent with themselves, and yours Inconsistent.’ ‘Then do you approve,’ he said, ‘the well-known book of Theophrastus about happiness?’ ‘Oh, but we are wandering from our purpose,’ said I, ‘so to cut the matter . short, I quite approve it, if the circumstances we are discussing are evils. ‘Don’t you think them evils, then?’ he rejoined. ‘Your question is such,’ I answered, ‘that whatever my reply, you must needs find yourself in a dilemma. ‘How so? he said. ‘Because if they are evils, the man who is in the midst of them will not be happy; if they are not evils, the whole system of the Peripatetics is overthrown.’ Then he remarked with a smile: ‘I see your purpose; you are afraid I shall withdraw your pupil from you.’ ‘ You may draw him,’ said I; ‘if he will follow you; for he will be on my side, if he is on yours,’ XXIX. ‘Listen then, Lucius, he proceeded, ‘for I must address my speech to you. The whole influence of philosophy, as Theophrastus says, lies in the production of happiness; for we are all fired with the passion for a happy life. On this your cousin and I are agreed. So we must look to this point, whether any scheme of philosophers can give us this boon. They certainly promise it. Unless this was his purpose, why did Plato wander over Egypt, to learn mathematics and astronomy from the foreign priests? Why afterwards did he visit Archytas at Tarentum ? Why did he visit the rest of the Pythagoreans, Echecrates, Timaeus, Arion at Locri, in order that, after he had embodied the doctrines of Socrates, he might add to them the scheme of the Pythagoreans, and might get to know all that Socrates used to reject? Why did Pythagoras himself pass through Egypt and visit the Persian magi? Why did he traverse on foot such vast tracts among barbarians, and cross over so many seas? Why did Democritus do the same ? He is said (whether truly or falsely we shall not ask) to have put out his own eyes; it is certain that he disregarded his family property in order that he might withdraw his mind as little as possible from his speculations; he neglected and left untilled his estate, and what was his object except happiness ? And even if he placed this in knowledge, still he wished to gain, from his inquiries into nature,a cheerful mind. In fact he calls the supreme good by the name ev@uyia and often dgapßia, which means a mind free from dread. But although these statements were remarkable, still they lacked as yet _ thorough finish. He said little about virtue and that little was itself not clearly stated. It was afterwards that Socrates in this city first began these questionings, which were at a later time transferred to this spot, nor was there ever any doubt that on virtue depended all our hope for a good as well as a happy life. And when Zeno had learnt this lesson from our school, he followed the injunction often given in law suits: the same question under other forms. And now you applaud in him this proceeding. He, be it understood, escaped the charge of inconsistency, by changing his terminology, yet we cannot escape it! He says the life of Metellus was not happier than that of Regulus; yet it was preferable; nor was it more de- sirable, but more choiceworthy, and if selection were allowed, the life of Metellus was to be selected, that of Regulus to be rejected ; I describe that life as happier, which he describes as preferable, and more worthy of selection, while I do not assign ‘more value by the faintest turn of the balance to that life than do the Stoics. What difference is there, unless that I denote familiar things by familiar titles, while they search for new terms whereby to express the same meaning? So just as at meetings of the senate there is always some one who requests an interpreter, so we must give him audience in presence of an interpreter. I describe as good whatever accords with nature, and as bad, the opposite ; nor am I alone, but you, Chrysippus, do so as well in the street and at your home; when in the professorial chair you pause. Well then, do you think that men ought to talk one language and philosophers another ? The learned and the unlearned set different values on in- dividual things ; but when the learned are agreed on the value of each object, they would, if they were ordinary men, talk in common language ; but, provided that the substance remains the same, let them invent phrases as they please.

XXX. But, lest you should say I digress too often, I come now to the charge of inconsistency ; and inconsistency you say lies in language, while I thought it lay in subject-matter. If a clear insight has been gained into this doctrine, for which we find in the Stoics admirable supporters, that virtue is powerful enough to eclipse all else, if placed in contrast, then next, as regards all those things which the Stoics undoubtedly describe as advan- tageous and choiceworthy and deserving of selection and pre- ferable (now they define preferable things as those entitled to considerable value)—well then, as regards these matters, which the Stoics denote by so many titles, in part novel and invented, like the phrases things advanced and things degraded, in part bearing the same sense as before (what difference, pray, does it make, whether you desire a thing or choose it? In my eyes at any rate a thing which is chosen and on which discrimination is exercised has even greater importance)—well, when I have named all these matters good, the only question of consequence is how great importance I assign to them; when desirable, what degree of desirability. If however I mean nothing stronger by desirable than you by choiceworthy, and if I who call the things good, set no higher value on them than you who call them things advanced, then all these things must needs be overshadowed and obscured, and must be lost in the rays of virtue, as of the sun’s orb. But it is said that any life into which something of evil enters cannot be happy. Nor can the corn shew fruitful and numerous ears, if you see a stalk of darnel anywhere, nor can a business be profitable, if among enormous yains it incurs some small loss. Or, while my view is true generally, does the opposite hold when we judge of life? And will you not estimate it as a whole by its most important portion? Or is it doubtful that virtue so truly constitutes the most important part of human affairs that it obscures the rest? I will make bold then to call the other things which accord with nature by the name good; and shall prefer not to rob them of their ancient title, rather than to seek out some new phrase, while I shall place the riches of virtue in the opposite scale of the balance, so to speak. That scale, believe me, will weigh down the earth and the seas together. Surely the whole of an object is always named from that constituent of it which comprises the elements of the greatest importance, and has the most far-reaching effect. We say some man lives a jovial life ; does he lose his jovial life if he is for once thrown into sadness ? But it did not happen in the case of that Marcus Crassus, who, as Lucilius says, only smiled once in his life, that he bore any the less on that account the name dyénacros, as the same Lucilius has it. Men used to call Polycrates of Samos fortunate. Nothing contrary to his wishes had occurred to him, except that he had thrown away in the sea a ring of which he was fond. So he was unfortunate owing to this one annoyance, and fortunate once more, when the very ring was discovered in the inside of a fish? But he, if an unwise man (as he certainly was, being a despot) was never happy ; if a wise man, he was not even then unhappy when he was driven to crucifixion by Oroetes, the general of Darius. But he was tried by many mis- fortunes. Who denies it? Yet those misfortunes were ob- scured by the grandeur of virtue.

XXXI. Or do you not even allow the Peripatetics to say that the lives of all good men, meaning thereby wise men, men endowed with all excellences, always possess decidedly more good than ill? Who says this? The Stoics of course. Far from it; do not rather the very men who gauge everything by pleasure and pain, cry aloud that the wise man is always attended by more of the things he wants than of those he does not want? Therefore, as such importance is attached to virtue by those who confess that they would not wave their hands for virtue’s sake, unless she aroused in them pleasure, what ought we to do, who assert that an intellectual excellence, even the least important of all, so far outshines all bodily advantages that these are even lost to view? Who of us would dare to affirm ` that the wise man is capable of putting from him (could he do so) his virtue for ever, in order to free himself from all pain? Who on our side will say (though we are not ashamed to de- scribe as bad those circumstances which the Stoice call hard) that it is better to act viciously, with pleasure for result, than to act morally, with pain? The revolt from the Stoics of the famous Dionysius of Heraclea, on account of a pain in the eyes, was in our view scandalous. To imagine that the lesson given him by Zeno was to feel no pain while he was in pain! What he had heard, without learning it, was that pain was not an evil because it was not disgraceful, and so might be borne by a man. If this philosopher had been a Peripatetic he would have remained of his old opinion, for these thinkers declare pain to be an evil, and lay down the same rules as the Stoics for enduring its severity with courage. And, I must say, your friend Arcesilas, though he was too obstinate as a debater, still was of our school, as he was Polemo’s pupil; and when he was racked by the. pains of gout, and Charmides an Epicurean, his very dear friend, had paid him a visit and was departing with a woeful face, he called out, stay, please, dear Charmides; nothing makes its way from there to here—pointing to his feet and then to his breast. And yet he would have preferred to feel no pain.

XXXII. This is then our scheme, which you think inconsistent, notwithstanding that, looking to the heavenly and godlike preeminence of virtue, which is so great that where virtue exists, with achievements great and supremely meritorious, and won through virtue, there wretchedness and — grief cannot exist, though trouble may and annoyance may, I do not shrink from saying that all wise men are at all times happy, yet that one man may possibly be happier than another.’ ‘Nay, Piso, said I, ‘you must fortify your doctrine again and again, and if you make it good, you may take over not only my dear Cicero, but myself as well. Then Quintus remarked : ‘in my eyes the doctrine has been thoroughly upheld, and I rejoice that the philosophy, whose modest homely furniture I was formerly accustomed to value more highly than the broad acres of the rest (I always thought it rich enough for me to find in it whatever I desired in the course of my pursuits)— well then, I rejoice that this philosophy has proved itself subtler than the rest, though subtlety was just what some declared it to lack.’ ‘Not subtler than my philosophy,’ said Pomponius jesting, ‘but your speech was, I declare, very delightful to me. You have expounded doctrines I never thought capable of being stated in Latin, and that in suitable language, with no less clearness than the doctrines have in Greek. But our time is gone, please; and so come straight to my house.’ When he had said this, and we agreed we had debated enough, we all hurried off to the town to visit Pomponius.

END OF BOOK V AND OF THE TREATISE,

Cicero: On Ends - Yonge

Source: The Academic Questions, Treatise De Finibus, and Tusculan Disputations Of M. T. Cicero With A Sketch of the Greek Philosophers Mentioned by Cicero. Literally Translated by C. D. Yonge, B.A. London: George Bell and Sons; York Street Covent Garden Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Stamford Street and Charing Cross. 1875 Gutenberg Edition

Book One

I. I was not ignorant, Brutus, when I was endeavouring to add to Latin literature the same things which philosophers of the most sublime genius and the most profound and accurate learning had previously handled in the Greek language, that my labours would be found fault with on various grounds. For some, and those too, far from unlearned men, are disinclined to philosophy altogether; some, on the other hand, do not blame a moderate degree of attention being given to it, but do not approve of so much study and labour being devoted to it. There will be others again, learned in Greek literature and despising Latin compositions, who will say that they would rather spend their time in reading Greek; and, lastly, I suspect that there will be some people who will insist upon it that I ought to apply myself to other studies, and will urge that, although this style of writing may be an elegant accomplishment, it is still beneath my character and dignity. And to all these objections I think I ought to make a brief reply; although, indeed, I have already given a sufficient answer to the enemies of philosophy in that book in which philosophy is defended and extolled by me after having been attacked and disparaged by Hortensius.13 And as both you and others whom I considered competent judges approved highly of that book, I have undertaken a larger work, fearing to appear able only to excite the desires of men, but incapable of retaining their attention. But those who, though they have a very good opinion of philosophy, still think it should be followed in a moderate degree only, require a temperance which is very difficult in a thing which, when once it has the reins given it, cannot be checked or repressed; so that I almost think those men more reasonable who altogether forbid us to apply ourselves to philosophy at all, than they who fix a limit to things which are in their [pg 096] nature boundless, and who require mediocrity in a thing which is excellent exactly in proportion to its intensity.

For, if it be possible that men should arrive at wisdom, then it must not only be acquired by us, but even enjoyed. Or if this be difficult, still there is no limit to the way in which one is to seek for truth except one has found it; and it is base to be wearied in seeking a thing, when what we do seek for is the most honourable thing possible. In truth, if we are amused when we are writing, who is so envious as to wish to deny us that pleasure? If it is a labour to us, who will fix a limit to another person's industry? For as the Chremes14 of Terence does not speak from a disregard of what is due to men when he does not wish his new neighbour

To dig, or plough, or any toil endure:

for he is not in this dissuading him from industry, but only from such labour as is beneath a gentleman; so, on the other hand those men are over scrupulous who are offended by my devoting myself to a labour which is far from irksome to myself.

II. It is more difficult to satisfy those men who allege that they despise Latin writings. But, first of all, I may express my wonder at their not being pleased with their native language in matters of the highest importance, when they are fond enough of reading fables in Latin, translated word for word from the Greek. For what man is such an enemy (as I may almost call it) to the Roman name, as to despise or reject the Medea of Ennius, or the Antiope of Pacuvius? and to express a dislike of Latin literature, while at the same time he speaks of being pleased with the plays of Euripides? “What,” says such an one, “shall I rather read the Synephebi of Cæcilius,15 or the Andria of Terence, than either of these plays in the original of Menander?” But I disagree with men of these opinions so entirely, that though [pg 097] Sophocles has composed an Electra in the most admirable manner possible, still I think the indifferent translation of it by Atilius16 worth reading too, though Licinius calls him an iron writer; with much truth in my opinion; still he is a writer whom it is worth while to read. For to be wholly unacquainted with our own poets is a proof either of the laziest indolence, or else of a very superfluous fastidiousness.

My own opinion is, that no one is sufficiently learned who is not well versed in the works written in our own language. Shall we not be as willing to read—

Would that the pine, the pride of Pelion's brow,

as the same idea when expressed in Greek? And is there any objection to having the discussions which have been set out by Plato, on the subject of living well and happily, arrayed in a Latin dress? And if we do not limit ourselves to the office of translators, but maintain those arguments which have been advanced by people with whom we argue, and add to them the exposition of our own sentiments, and clothe the whole in our own language, why then should people prefer the writings of the Greeks to those things which are written by us in an elegant style, without being translated from the works of Greek philosophers? For if they say that these matters have been discussed by those foreign writers, then there surely is no necessity for their reading such a number of those Greeks as they do. For what article of Stoic doctrine has been passed over by Chrysippus? And yet we read also Diogenes,17 Antipater,18 Mnesarchus,19 Panætius,20 and many others, and [pg 098] especially the works of my own personal friend Posidonius.21 What shall we say of Theophrastus? Is it but a moderate pleasure which he imparts to us while he is handling the topics which had been previously dilated on by Aristotle? What shall we say of the Epicureans? Do they pass over the subjects on which Epicurus himself and other ancient writers have previously written, and forbear to deliver their sentiments respecting them? But if Greek authors are read by the Greeks, though discussing the same subjects over and over again, because they deal with them in different manners, why should not the writings of Roman authors be also read by our own countrymen?

III. Although if I were to translate Plato or Aristotle in as bold a manner as our poets have translated the Greek plays, then, I suppose, I should not deserve well at the hands of my fellow-countrymen, for having brought those divine geniuses within their reach. However, that is not what I have hitherto done, though I do not consider myself interdicted from doing so. Some particular passages, if I think it desirable, I shall translate, especially from those authors whom I have just named, when there is an opportunity of doing so with propriety; just as Ennius often translates passages from Homer, and Afranius22 from Menander. Nor will I, like Lucilius, make any objection to everybody reading my writings. I should be glad to have that Persius23 for one of my readers; and still more to have Scipio and Rutilius; [pg 099] men whose criticism he professed to fear, saying that he wrote for the people of Tarentum, and Consentia, and Sicily. That was all very witty of him, and in his usual style; but still, people at that time were not so learned as to give him cause to labour much before he could encounter their judgment, and his writings are of a lightish character, showing indeed, a high degree of good breeding, but only a moderate quantity of learning. But whom can I fear to have read my works when I ventured to address a book to you, who are not inferior to the Greeks themselves in philosophical knowledge? Although I have this excuse for what I am doing, that I have been challenged by you, in that to me most acceptable book which you sent me “On Virtue.”

But I imagine that some people have become accustomed to feel a repugnance to Latin writing because they have fallen in with some unpolished and inelegant treatises translated from bad Greek into worse Latin. And with those men I agree, provided they will not think it worth while to read the Greek books written on the same subject. But who would object to read works on important subjects expressed in well-selected diction, with dignity and elegance; unless, indeed, he wishes to be taken absolutely for a Greek, as Albucius was saluted at Athens by Scævola, when he was prætor? And this topic has been handled by that same Lucilius with great elegance and abundant wit; where he represents Scævola as saying—

You have preferr'd, Albucius, to be call'd

A Greek much rather than a Roman citizen

Or Sabine, countryman of Pontius,

Tritannius, and the brave centurions

And standard-bearers of immortal fame.

So now at Athens, I, the prætor, thus

Salute you as you wish, whene'er I see you,

With Greek address, ὦ χαῖρε noble Titus,

Ye lictors, and attendants χαίρετε.

ὦ χαῖρε noble Titus. From this day

The great Albucius was my enemy.

But surely Scævola was right. However, I can never sufficiently express my wonder whence this arrogant disdain of everything national arose among us. This is not exactly the place for lecturing on the subject; but my own feelings are, and I have constantly urged them, that the Latin language is not only not deficient, so as to deserve to be generally [pg 100] disparaged; but that it is even more copious than the Greek. For when have either we ourselves, or when has any good orator or noble poet, at least after there was any one for him to imitate, found himself at a loss for any richness or ornament of diction with which to set off his sentiments?

IV. And I myself (as I do not think that I can be accused of having, in my forensic exertions, and labours, and dangers, deserted the post in which I was stationed by the Roman people,) am bound, forsooth, to exert myself as much as I can to render my fellow-countrymen more learned by my labours and studies and diligence, and not so much to contend with those men who prefer reading Greek works, provided that they really do read them, and do not only pretend to do so; and to fall in also with the wishes of those men who are desirous either to avail themselves of both languages, or who, as long as they have good works in their own, do not care very much about similar ones in a foreign tongue. But those men who would rather that I would write on other topics should be reasonable, because I have already composed so many works that no one of my countrymen has ever published more, and perhaps I shall write even more if my life is prolonged so as to allow me to do so. And yet, whoever accustoms himself to read with care these things which I am now writing on the subject of philosophy, will come to the conclusion that no works are better worth reading than these. For what is there in life which deserves to be investigated so diligently as every subject which belongs to philosophy, and especially that which is discussed in this treatise, namely, what is the end, the object, the standard to which all the ideas of living well and acting rightly are to be referred? What it is that nature follows as the chief of all desirable things? what she avoids as the principal of all evils?

And as on this subject there is great difference of opinion among the most learned men, who can think it inconsistent with that dignity which every one allows to belong to me, to examine what is in every situation in life the best and truest good? Shall the chief men of the city, Publius Scævola and Marcus Manilius argue whether the offspring of a female slave ought to be considered the gain of the master of the slave; and shall Marcus Brutus express his dissent from their opinion, (and this is a kind of discussion giving great room [pg 101] for the display of acuteness, and one too that is of importance as regards the citizens,) and do we read, and shall we continue to read, with pleasure their writings on this subject, and the others of the same sort, and at the same time neglect these subjects, which embrace the whole of human life? There may, perhaps, be more money affected by discussions on that legal point, but beyond all question, this of ours is the more important subject: that, however, is a point which the readers may be left to decide upon. But we now think that this whole question about the ends of good and evil is, I may almost say, thoroughly explained in this treatise, in which we have endeavoured to set forth as far as we could, not only what our own opinion was, but also everything which has been advanced by each separate school of philosophy.

V. To begin, however, with that which is easiest, we will first of all take the doctrine of Epicurus, which is well known to most people; and you shall see that it is laid down by us in such a way that it cannot be explained more accurately even by the adherents of that sect themselves. For we are desirous of ascertaining the truth; not of convicting some adversary.

But the opinion of Epicurus about pleasure was formerly defended with great precision by Lucius Torquatus, a man accomplished in every kind of learning; and I myself replied to him, while Caius Triarius, a most learned and worthy young man, was present at the discussion. For as it happened that both of them had come to my villa near Cumæ to pay me a visit, first of all we conversed a little about literature, to which they were both of them greatly devoted; and after a while Torquatus said—Since we have found you in some degree at leisure, I should like much to hear from you why it is that you, I will not say hate our master Epicurus—as most men do who differ from him in opinion—but still why you disagree with him whom I consider as the only man who has discerned the real truth, and who I think has delivered the minds of men from the greatest errors, and has handed down every precept which can have any influence on making men live well and happily. But I imagine that you, like my friend Triarius here, like him the less because he neglected the ornaments of diction in which Plato, and Aristotle, and Theophrastus indulged. For I can hardly be persuaded to [pg 102] believe that the opinions which he entertained do not appear to you to be correct. See now, said I, how far you are mistaken, Torquatus. I am not offended with the language of that philosopher; for he expresses his meaning openly and speaks in plain language, so that I can understand him. Not, however, that I should object to eloquence in a philosopher, if he were to think fit to employ it; though if he were not possessed of it I should not require it. But I am not so well satisfied with his matter, and that too on many topics. But there are as many different opinions as there are men; and therefore we may be in error ourselves. What is it, said he, in which you are dissatisfied with him? For I consider you a candid judge; provided only that you are accurately acquainted with what he has really said. Unless, said I, you think that Phædrus or Zeno have spoken falsely (and I have heard them both lecture, though they gave me a high opinion of nothing but their own diligence,) all the doctrines of Epicurus are quite sufficiently known to me. And I have repeatedly, in company with my friend Atticus, attended the lectures of those men whom I have named; as he had a great admiration for both of them, and an especial affection even for Phædrus. And every day we used to talk over what we heard, nor was there ever any dispute between us as to whether I understood the scope of their arguments; but only whether I approved of them.

VI. What is it, then, said he, which you do not approve of in them, for I am very anxious to hear? In the first place, said I, he is utterly wrong in natural philosophy, which is his principal boast. He only makes some additions to the doctrine of Democritus, altering very little, and that in such a way that he seems to me to make those points worse which he endeavours to correct. He believes that atoms, as he calls them, that is to say bodies which by reason of their solidity are indivisible, are borne about in an interminable vacuum, destitute of any highest, or lowest, or middle, or furthest, or nearest boundary, in such a manner that by their concourse they cohere together; by which cohesion everything which exists and which is seen is formed. And he thinks that motion of atoms should be understood never to have had a beginning, but to have subsisted from all eternity.

But in those matters in which Epicurus follows Democritus, he is usually not very wrong. Although there are many [pg 103] assertions of each with which I disagree, and especially with this—that as in the nature of things there are two points which must be inquired into,—one, what the material out of which everything is made, is; the other, what the power is which makes everything,—they discussed only the material, and omitted all consideration of the efficient power and cause. However, that is a fault common to both of them; but these blunders which I am going to mention are Epicurus's own.

For he thinks that those indivisible and solid bodies are borne downwards by their own weight in a straight line; and that this is the natural motion of all bodies. After this assertion, that shrewd man,—as it occurred to him, that if everything were borne downwards in a straight line, as I have just said, it would be quite impossible for one atom ever to touch another,—on this account he introduced another purely imaginary idea, and said that the atoms diverged a little from the straight line, which is the most impossible thing in the world. And he asserted that it is in this way that all those embraces, and conjunctions, and unions of the atoms with one another took place, by which the world was made, and all the parts of the world, and all that is in the world. And not only is all this idea perfectly childish, but it fails in effecting its object. For this very divergence is invented in a most capricious manner, (for he says that each atom diverges without any cause,) though nothing can be more discreditable to a natural philosopher than to say that anything takes place without a cause; and also, without any reason, he deprives atoms of that motion which is natural to every body of any weight (as he himself lays it down) which goes downwards from the upper regions; and at the same time he does not obtain the end for the sake of which he invented all these theories.

For if every atom diverges equally, still none will ever meet with one another so as to cohere; but if some diverge, and others are borne straight down by their natural inclination, in the first place this will be distributing provinces as it were among the atoms, and dividing them so that some are borne down straight, and others obliquely; and in the next place, this turbulent concourse of atoms, which is a blunder of Democritus also, will never be able to produce this beautifully ornamented world which we see around us. Even this, [pg 104] too, is inconsistent with the principles of natural philosophy, to believe that there is such a thing as a minimum; a thing which he indeed never would have fancied, if he had been willing to learn geometry from his friend Polyænus,24 instead of seeking to persuade him to give it up himself.

The sun appears to Democritus to be of vast size, as he is a man of learning and of a profound knowledge of geometry. Epicurus perhaps thinks that it is two feet across, for he thinks it of just that size which it appears to be, or perhaps a little larger or smaller. So what he changes he spoils; what he accepts comes entirely from Democritus,—the atoms, the vacuum, the appearances, which they call εἴδωλα, to the inroads of which it is owing not only that we see, but also that we think; and all that infiniteness, which they call ἀπειρία, is borrowed from Democritus; and also the innumerable worlds which are produced and perish every day. And although I cannot possibly agree myself with all those fancies, still I should not like to see Democritus, who is praised by every one else, blamed by this man who has followed him alone.

VII. And as for the second part of philosophy, which belongs to investigating and discussing, and which is called λογικὴ, there your master as it seems to me is wholly unarmed and defenceless. He abolishes definitions; he lays down no rules for division and partition; he gives no method for drawing conclusions or establishing principles; he does not point out how captious objections may be refuted, or ambiguous terms explained. He places all our judgments of things in our senses; and if they are once led to approve of anything false as if it were true, then he thinks that there is an end to all our power of distinguishing between truth and falsehood.

But in the third part, which relates to life and manners, with respect to establishing the end of our actions, he utters not one single generous or noble sentiment. He lays down above all others the principle, that nature has but two things as objects of adoption and aversion, namely, pleasure and pain: [pg 105] and he refers all our pursuits, and all our desires to avoid anything, to one of these two heads. And although this is the doctrine of Aristippus, and is maintained in a better manner and with more freedom by the Cyrenaics, still I think it a principle of such a kind that nothing can appear more unworthy of a man. For, in my opinion, nature has produced and formed us for greater and higher purposes. It is possible, indeed, that I may be mistaken; but my opinion is decided that that Torquatus, who first acquired that name, did not tear the chain from off his enemy for the purpose of procuring any corporeal pleasure to himself; and that he did not, in his third consulship, fight with the Latins at the foot of Mount Vesuvius for the sake of any personal pleasure. And when he caused his son to be executed, he appears to have even deprived himself of many pleasures, by thus preferring the claims of his dignity and command to nature herself and the dictates of fatherly affection. What need I say more? Take Titus Torquatus, him I mean who was consul with Cnæus Octavius; when he behaved with such severity towards that son whom he had allowed Decimus Silanus to adopt as his own, as to command him, when the ambassadors of the Macedonians accused him of having taken bribes in his province while he was prætor, to plead his cause before his tribunal: and, when he had heard the cause on both sides, to pronounce that he had not in his command behaved after the fashion of his forefathers, and to forbid him ever to appear in his sight again; does he seem to you to have given a thought to his own pleasure?

However, to say nothing of the dangers, and labours, and even of the pain which every virtuous man willingly encounters on behalf of his country, or of his family, to such a degree that he not only does not seek for, but even disregards all pleasures, and prefers even to endure any pain whatever rather than to forsake any part of his duty; let us come to those things which show this equally, but which appear of less importance. What pleasure do you, O Torquatus, what pleasure does this Triarius derive from literature, and history, and the knowledge of events, and the reading of poets, and his wonderful recollection of such numbers of verses? And do not say to me, Why all these things are a pleasure to me. So, too, were those noble actions to the Torquati. [pg 106] Epicurus never asserts this in this manner; nor would you, O Triarius, nor any man who had any wisdom, or who had ever imbibed those principles. And as to the question which is often asked, why there are so many Epicureans—there are several reasons; but this is the one which is most seductive to the multitude, namely, that people imagine that what he asserts is that those things which are right and honourable do of themselves produce joy, that is, pleasure. Those excellent men do not perceive that the whole system is overturned if that is the case. For if it were once granted, even although there were no reference whatever to the body, that these things were naturally and intrinsically pleasant; then virtue and knowledge would be intrinsically desirable. And this is the last thing which he would choose to admit.

These principles, then, of Epicurus, I say, I do not approve of. As for other matters, I wish either that he himself had been a greater master of learning, (for he is, as you yourself cannot help seeing, not sufficiently accomplished in those branches of knowledge which men possess who are accounted learned,) or at all events that he had not deterred others from the study of literature: although I see that you yourself have not been at all deterred from such pursuits by him.

VIII. And when I had said this, more for the purpose of exciting him than of speaking myself, Triarius, smiling gently, said,—You, indeed, have almost entirely expelled Epicurus from the number of philosophers. For what have you left him except the assertion that, whatever his language might he, you understood what he meant? He has in natural philosophy said nothing but what is borrowed from others, and even then nothing which you approved of. If he has tried to amend anything he has made it worse. He had no skill whatever in disputing. When he laid down the rule that pleasure was the chief good, in the first place he was very short-sighted in making such an assertion; and secondly, even this very doctrine was a borrowed one; for Aristippus had said the same thing before, and better too. You added, at last, that he was also destitute of learning.

It is quite impossible, O Triarius, I replied, for a person not to state what he disapproves of in the theory of a man with whom he disagrees. For what could hinder me from being an Epicurean if I approved of what Epicurus says? especially [pg 107] when it would be an amusement to learn his doctrines. Wherefore, a man is not to be blamed for reproving those who differ from one another; but evil speaking, contumely, ill-temper, contention, and pertinacious violence in disputing, generally appear to me quite unworthy of philosophy.

I quite agree with you, said Torquatus; for one cannot dispute at all without finding fault with your antagonist; but on the other hand you cannot dispute properly if you do so with ill-temper or with pertinacity. But, if you have no objection, I have an answer to make to these assertions of yours. Do you suppose, said I, that I should have said what I have said if I did not desire to hear what you had to say too? Would you like then, says he, that I should go through the whole theory of Epicurus, or that we should limit our present inquiry to pleasure by itself; which is what the whole of the present dispute relates to? We will do, said I, whichever you please. That then, said he, shall be my present course. I will explain one matter only, being the most important one. At another time I will discuss the question of natural philosophy; and I will prove to you the theory of the divergence of the atoms, and of the magnitude of the sun, and that Democritus committed many errors which were found fault with and corrected by Epicurus. At present, I will confine myself to pleasure; not that I am saying anything new, but still I will adduce arguments which I feel sure that even you yourself will approve of. Undoubtedly, said I, I will not be obstinate; and I will willingly agree with you if you will only prove your assertions to my satisfaction. I will prove them, said he, provided only that you are as impartial as you profess yourself: but I would rather employ a connected discourse than keep on asking or being asked questions. As you please, said I.

On this he began to speak;—

IX. First of all then, said he, I will proceed in the manner which is sanctioned by the founder of this school: I will lay down what that is which is the subject of our inquiry, and what its character is: not that I imagine that you do not know, but in order that my discourse may proceed in a systematic and orderly manner. We are inquiring, then, what is the end,—what is the extreme point of good, which, in the opinion of all philosophers, ought to be such that everything [pg 108] can be referred to it, but that it itself can be referred to nothing. This Epicurus places in pleasure, which he argues is the chief good, and that pain is the chief evil; and he proceeds to prove his assertion thus. He says that every animal the moment that it is born seeks for pleasure, and rejoices in it as the chief good; and rejects pain as the chief evil, and wards it off from itself as far as it can; and that it acts in this manner, without having been corrupted by anything, under the promptings of nature herself, who forms this uncorrupt and upright judgment. Therefore, he affirms that there is no need of argument or of discussion as to why pleasure is to be sought for, and pain to be avoided. This he thinks a matter of sense, just as much as that fire is hot, snow white, honey sweet; none of which propositions he thinks require to be confirmed by laboriously sought reasons, but that it is sufficient merely to state them. For that there is a difference between arguments and conclusions arrived at by ratiocination, and ordinary observations and statements:—by the first, secret and obscure principles are explained; by the second, matters which are plain and easy are brought to decision. For since, if you take away sense from a man, there is nothing left to him, it follows of necessity that what is contrary to nature, or what agrees with it, must be left to nature herself to decide. Now what does she perceive, or what does she determine on as her guide to seek or to avoid anything, except pleasure and pain? But there are some of our school who seek to carry out this doctrine with more acuteness, and who will not allow that it is sufficient that it should be decided by sense what is good and what is bad, but who assert that these points can be ascertained by intellect and reason also, and that pleasure is to be sought for on its own account, and that pain also is to be avoided for the same reason.

Therefore, they say that this notion is implanted in our minds naturally and instinctively, as it were; so that we feel that the one is to be sought for, and the other to be avoided. Others, however, (and this is my own opinion too,) assert that, as many reasons are alleged by many philosophers why pleasure ought not to be reckoned among goods, nor pain among evils, we ought not to rely too much on the goodness of our cause, but that we should use arguments, and discuss [pg 109] the point with precision, and argue, by the help of carefully collected reasons, about pleasure and about pain.

X. But that you may come to an accurate perception of the source whence all this error originated of those people who attack pleasure and extol pain, I will unfold the whole matter; and I will lay before you the very statements which have been made by that discoverer of the truth, and architect, as it were, of a happy life. For no one either despises, or hates, or avoids pleasure itself merely because it is pleasure, but because great pains overtake those men who do not understand how to pursue pleasure in a reasonable manner. Nor is there any one who loves, or pursues, or wishes to acquire pain because it is pain, but because sometimes such occasions arise that a man attains to some great pleasure through labour and pain. For, to descend to trifles, who of us ever undertakes any laborious exertion of body except in order to gain some advantage by so doing? and who is there who could fairly blame a man who should wish to be in that state of pleasure which no annoyance can interrupt, or one who shuns that pain by which no subsequent pleasure is procured? But we do accuse those men, and think them entirely worthy of the greatest hatred, who, being made effeminate and corrupted by the allurements of present pleasure, are so blinded by passion that they do not foresee what pains and annoyances they will hereafter be subject to; and who are equally guilty with those who, through weakness of mind, that is to say, from eagerness to avoid labour and pain, desert their duty.

And the distinction between these things is quick and easy. For at a time when we are free, when the option of choice is in our own power, and when there is nothing to prevent our being able to do whatever we choose, then every pleasure may be enjoyed, and every pain repelled. But on particular occasions it will often happen, owing either to the obligations of duty or the necessities of business, that pleasures must be declined and annoyances must not be shirked. Therefore the wise man holds to this principle of choice in those matters, that he rejects some pleasures, so as, by the rejection, to obtain others which are greater, and encounters some pains, so as by that means to escape others which are more formidable.

Now, as these are my sentiments, what reason can I have for fearing that I may not be able to accommodate our Torquati to them—men whose examples you just now quoted from memory, with a kind and friendly feeling towards us? However, you have not bribed me by praising my ancestors, nor made me less prompt in replying to you. But I should like to know from you how you interpret their actions? Do you think that they attacked the enemy with such feelings, or that they were so severe to their children and to their own blood as to have no thought of their own advantage, or of what might be useful to themselves? But even wild beasts do not do that, and do not rush about and cause confusion in such a way that we cannot understand what is the object of their motions. And do you think that such illustrious men performed such great actions without a reason? What their reason was I will examine presently; in the meantime I will lay down this rule,—If there was any reason which instigated them to do those things which are undoubtedly splendid exploits, then virtue by herself was not the sole cause of their conduct. One man tore a chain from off his enemy, and at the same time he defended himself from being slain; but he encountered great danger. Yes, but it was before the eyes of the whole army. What did he get by that? Glory, and the affection of his countrymen, which are the surest bulwarks to enable a man to pass his life without fear. He put his son to death by the hand of the executioner. If he did so without any reason, then I should be sorry to be descended from so inhuman and merciless a man. But if his object was to establish military discipline and obedience to command, at the price of his own anguish, and at a time of a most formidable war to restrain his army by the fear of punishment, then he was providing for the safety of his fellow-citizens, which he was well aware embraced his own. And this principle is one of extensive application. For the very point respecting which your whole school, and yourself most especially, who are such a diligent investigator of ancient instances, are in the habit of vaunting yourself and using high-flown language, namely, the mention of brave and illustrious men, and the extolling of their actions, as proceeding not from any regard to advantage, but from pure principles of honour and a love of glory, is entirely upset, when once that [pg 111] rule in the choice of things is established which I mentioned just now,—namely, that pleasures are passed over for the sake of obtaining other greater pleasures, or that pains are encountered with a view to escape greater pains.

XI. But, however, for the present we have said enough about the illustrious and glorious actions of celebrated men; for there will be, hereafter, a very appropriate place for discussing the tendency of all the virtues to procure pleasure.

But, at present, I will explain what pleasure itself is, and what its character is; so as to do away with all the mistakes of ignorant people, and in order that it may be clearly understood how dignified, and temperate, and virtuous that system is, which is often accounted voluptuous, effeminate, and delicate. For we are not at present pursuing that pleasure alone which moves nature itself by a certain sweetness, and which is perceived by the senses with a certain pleasurable feeling; but we consider that the greatest of all pleasures which is felt when all pain is removed. For since, when we are free from pain, we rejoice in that very freedom itself, and in the absence of all annoyance,—but everything which is a cause of our rejoicing is pleasure, just as everything that gives us offence is pain,—accordingly, the absence of all pain is rightly denominated pleasure. For, as when hunger and thirst are driven away by meat and drink, the very removal of the annoyance brings with it the attainment of pleasure, so, in every case, the removal of pain produces the succession of pleasure. And therefore Epicurus would not admit that there was any intermediate state between pleasure and pain; for he insisted that that very state which seems to some people the intermediate one, when a man is free from every sort of pain, is not only pleasure, but the highest sort of pleasure. For whoever feels how he is affected must inevitably be either in a state of pleasure or in a state of pain. But Epicurus thinks that the highest pleasure consists in an absence of all pains; so that pleasure may afterwards be varied, and may be of different kinds, but cannot be increased or amplified.

And even at Athens, as I have heard my father say, when he was jesting in a good-humoured and facetious way upon the Stoics, there is a statue in the Ceramicus of Chrysippus, sitting down with his hand stretched out; and this attitude [pg 112] of the hand intimates that he is amusing himself with this brief question, “Does your hand, while in that condition in which it is at present, want anything?”—Nothing at all. But if pleasure were a good, would it want it? I suppose so. Pleasure, then, is not a good. And my father used to say that even a statue would not say this if it could speak. For the conclusion was drawn as against the Stoics with sufficient acuteness, but it did not concern Epicurus. For if that were the only pleasure which tickled the senses, as it were, if I may say so, and which overflowed and penetrated them with a certain agreeable feeling, then even a hand could not be content with freedom from pain without some pleasing motion of pleasure. But if the highest pleasure is, as Epicurus asserts, to be free from pain, then, O Chrysippus, the first admission was correctly made to you, that the hand, when it was in that condition, was in want of nothing; but the second admission was not equally correct, that if pleasure were a good it would wish for it. For it would not wish for it for this reason, inasmuch as whatever is free from pain is in pleasure.

XII. But that pleasure is the boundary of all good things may be easily seen from this consideration. Let us imagine a person enjoying pleasures great, numerous, and perpetual, both of mind and body, with no pain either interrupting him at present or impending over him; what condition can we call superior to or more desirable than this? For it is inevitable that there must be in a man who is in this condition a firmness of mind which fears neither death nor pain, because death is void of all sensation; and pain, if it is of long duration, is a trifle, while if severe it is usually of brief duration; so that its brevity is a consolation if it is violent, and its trifling nature if it is enduring. And when there is added to these circumstances that such a man has no fear of the deity of the gods, and does not suffer past pleasures to be entirely lost, but delights himself with the continued recollection of them, what can be added to this which will be any improvement to it?

Imagine, on the other hand, any one worn out with the greatest pains of mind and body which can possibly befal a man, without any hope being held out to him that they will hereafter be lighter, when, besides, he has no pleasure whatever [pg 113] either present or expected; what can be spoken of or imagined more miserable than this? But if a life entirely filled with pains is above all things to be avoided, then certainly that is the greatest of evils to live in pain. And akin to this sentiment is the other, that it is the most extreme good to live with pleasure. For our mind has no other point where it can stop as at a boundary; and all fears and distresses are referable to pain: nor is there anything whatever besides, which of its own intrinsic nature can make us anxious or grieve us. Moreover, the beginnings of desiring and avoiding, and indeed altogether of everything which we do, take their rise either in pleasure or pain. And as this is the case, it is plain that everything which is right and laudable has reference to this one object of living with pleasure. And since that is the highest, or extreme, or greatest good, which the Greeks call τέλος, because it is referred to nothing else itself, but everything is referred to it, we must confess that the highest good is to live agreeably.

XIII. And those who place this in virtue alone, and, being caught by the splendour of a name, do not understand what nature requires, will be delivered from the greatest blunder imaginable if they will listen to Epicurus. For unless those excellent and beautiful virtues which your school talks about produced pleasure, who would think them either praiseworthy or desirable? For as we esteem the skill of physicians not for the sake of the art itself, but from our desire for good health,—and as the skill of the pilot, who has the knowledge how to navigate a vessel well, is praised with reference to its utility, and not to his ability,—so wisdom, which should be considered the art of living, would not be sought after if it effected nothing; but at present it is sought after because it is, as it were, the efficient cause of pleasure, which is a legitimate object of desire and acquisition. And now you understand what pleasure I mean, so that what I say may not be brought into odium from my using an unpopular word. For as the chief annoyances to human life proceed from ignorance of what things are good and what bad, and as by reason of that mistake men are often deprived of the greatest pleasures, and tortured by the most bitter grief of mind, we have need to exercise wisdom, which, by removing groundless alarms and vain desires, and by banishing the rashness of all erroneous [pg 114] opinions, offers herself to us as the surest guide to pleasure. For it is wisdom alone which expels sorrow from our minds, and prevents our shuddering with fear: she is the instructress who enables us to live in tranquillity, by extinguishing in us all vehemence of desire. For desires are insatiable, and ruin not only individuals but entire families, and often overturn the whole state. From desires arise hatred, dissensions, quarrels, seditions, wars. Nor is it only out of doors that these passions vent themselves, nor is it only against others that they run with blind violence; but they are often shut up, as it were, in the mind, and throw that into confusion with their disagreements.

And the consequence of this is, to make life thoroughly wretched; so that the wise man is the only one who, having cut away all vanity and error, and removed it from him, can live contented within the boundaries of nature, without melancholy and without fear. For what diversion can be either more useful or more adapted for human life than that which Epicurus employed? For he laid it down that there were three kinds of desires; the first, such as were natural and necessary; the second, such as were natural but not necessary; the third, such as were neither natural nor necessary. And these are all such, that those which are necessary are satisfied without much trouble or expense: even those which are natural and not necessary, do not require a great deal, because nature itself makes the riches, which are sufficient to content it, easy of acquisition and of limited quantity: but as for vain desires, it is impossible to find any limit to, or any moderation in them.

XIV. But if we see that the whole life of man is thrown into disorder by error and ignorance; and that wisdom is the only thing which can relieve us from the sway of the passions and the fear of danger, and which can teach us to bear the injuries of fortune itself with moderation, and which shows us all the ways which lead to tranquillity and peace; what reason is there that we should hesitate to say that wisdom is to be sought for the sake of pleasure, and that folly is to be avoided on account of its annoyances? And on the same principle we shall say that even temperance is not to be sought for its own sake, but because it brings peace to the mind, and soothes and tranquillizes them by what I may call a kind of [pg 115] concord. For temperance is that which warns us to follow reason in desiring or avoiding anything. Nor is it sufficient to decide what ought to be done, and what ought not; but we must adhere to what has been decided. But many men, because they are enfeebled and subdued the moment pleasure comes in sight, and so are unable to keep and adhere to the determination they have formed, give themselves up to be bound hand and foot by their lusts, and do not foresee what will happen to them; and in that way, on account of some pleasure which is trivial and unnecessary, and which might be procured in some other manner, and which they could dispense with without annoyance, incur terrible diseases, and injuries, and disgrace, and are often even involved in the penalties of the legal tribunals of their country.

But these men who wish to enjoy pleasure in such a way that no grief shall ever overtake them in consequence, and who retain their judgment so as never to be overcome by pleasure as to do what they feel ought not to be done; these men, I say, obtain the greatest pleasure by passing pleasure by. They often even endure pain, in order to avoid encountering greater pain hereafter by their shunning it at present. From which consideration it is perceived that intemperance is not to be avoided for its own sake; and that temperance is to be sought for, not because it avoids pleasures, but because it attains to greater ones.

XV. The same principle will be found to hold good with respect to courage. For the discharge of labours and the endurance of pain are neither of them intrinsically tempting; nor is patience, nor diligence, nor watchfulness, nor industry which is so much extolled, nor even courage itself: but we cultivate these habits in order that we may live without care and fear, and may be able, as far as is in our power, to release our minds and bodies from annoyance. For as the whole condition of tranquil life is thrown into confusion by the fear of death, and as it is a miserable thing to yield to pain and to bear it with a humble and imbecile mind; and as on account of that weakness of mind many men have ruined their parents, many men their friends, some their country, and very many indeed have utterly undone themselves; so a vigorous and lofty mind is free from all care and pain, since it despises death, which only places those who encounter it in [pg 116] the same condition as that in which they were before they were born; and it is so prepared for pain that it recollects that the very greatest are terminated by death, and that slight pains have many intervals of rest, and that we can master moderate ones, so as to bear them if they are tolerable, and if not, we can depart with equanimity out of life, just as out of a theatre, when it no longer pleases us. By all which considerations it is understood that cowardice and idleness are not blamed, and that courage and patience are not praised, for their own sakes; but that the one line of conduct is rejected as the parent of pain, and the other desired as the author of pleasure.

XVI. Justice remains to be mentioned, that I may not omit any virtue whatever; but nearly the same things may be said respecting that. For, as I have already shown that wisdom, temperance, and fortitude are connected with pleasure in such a way that they cannot possibly be separated or divided from it, so also we must consider that it is the case with justice. Which not only never injures any one; but on the contrary always nourishes something which tranquillizes the mind, partly by its own power and nature, and partly by the hopes that nothing will be wanting of those things which a nature not depraved may fairly derive.

Since rashness and lust and idleness always torture the mind, always make it anxious, and are of a turbulent character, so too, wherever injustice settles in any man's mind, it is turbulent from the mere fact of its existence and presence there; and if it forms any plan, although it executes it ever so secretly, still it never believes that what has been done will be concealed for ever. For generally, when wicked men do anything, first of all suspicion overtakes their actions; then the common conversation and report of men; then the prosecutor and the judge; and many even, as was the case when you were consul, have given information against themselves. But if any men appear to themselves to be sufficiently fenced round and protected from the consciousness of men, still they dread the knowledge of the Gods, and think that those very anxieties by which their minds are eaten up night and day, are inflicted upon them by the immortal Gods for the sake of punishment. And how is it possible that wicked actions can ever have as much influence towards alleviating [pg 117] the annoyances of life, as they must have towards increasing them from the consciousness of our actions, and also from the punishments inflicted by the laws and the hatred of the citizens? And yet, in some people, there is no moderation in their passion for money and for honour and for command, or in their lusts and greediness and other desires, which acquisitions, however wickedly made, do not at all diminish, but rather inflame, so that it seems we ought rather to restrain such men than to think that we can teach them better. Therefore sound wisdom invites sensible men to justice, equity, and good faith. And unjust actions are not advantageous even to that man who has no abilities or resources; inasmuch as he cannot easily do what he endeavours to do, nor obtain his objects if he does succeed in his endeavours. And the gifts of fortune and of genius are better suited to liberality; and those who practise this virtue gain themselves goodwill, and affection, which is the most powerful of all things to enable a man to live with tranquillity; especially when he has absolutely no motive at all for doing wrong.

For those desires which proceed from nature are easily satisfied without any injustice; but those which are vain ought not to be complied with. For they desire nothing which is really desirable; and there is more disadvantage in the mere fact of injustice than there is advantage in what is acquired by the injustice. Therefore a person would not be right who should pronounce even justice intrinsically desirable for its own sake; but because it brings the greatest amount of what is agreeable. For to be loved and to be dear to others is agreeable because it makes life safer, and pleasure more abundant. Therefore we think dishonesty should be avoided, not only on account of those disadvantages which befall the wicked, but even much more because it never permits the man in whose mind it abides to breathe freely, and never lets him rest.

But if the praise of those identical virtues in which the discourse of all other philosophers so especially exults, cannot find any end unless it be directed towards pleasure, and if pleasure be the only thing which calls and allures us to itself by its own nature; then it cannot be doubtful that that is the highest and greatest of all goods, and that to live happily is nothing else except to live with pleasure.

XVII. And I will now explain in a few words the things which are inseparably connected with this sure and solid opinion.

There is no mistake with respect to the ends themselves of good and evil, that is to say, with respect to pleasure and pain; but men err in these points when they do not know what they are caused by. But we admit that the pleasures and pains of the mind are caused by the pleasures and pains of the body. Therefore I grant what you were saying just now, that if any philosophers of our school think differently (and I see that many men do so, but they are ignorant people) they must be convicted of error. But although pleasure of mind brings us joy, and pain causes us grief, it is still true that each of these feelings originates in the body, and is referred to the body; and it does not follow on that account that both the pleasures and pains of the mind are not much more important than those of the body. For with the body we are unable to feel anything which is not actually existent and present; but with our mind we feel things past and things to come. For although when we are suffering bodily pain, we are equally in pain in our minds, still a very great addition may be made to that if we believe that any endless and boundless evil is impending over us. And we may transfer this assertion to pleasure, so that that will be greater if we have no such fear.

This now is entirely evident, that the very greatest pleasure or annoyance of the mind contributes more to making life happy or miserable than either of these feelings can do if it is in the body for an equal length of time. But we do not agree that, if pleasure be taken away, grief follows immediately, unless by chance it happens that pain has succeeded and taken the place of pleasure; but, on the other hand, we affirm that men do rejoice at getting rid of pain even if no pleasure which can affect the senses succeeds. And from this it may be understood how great a pleasure it is not to be in pain. But as we are roused by those good things which we are in expectation of, so we rejoice at those which we recollect. But foolish men are tortured by the recollection of past evils; wise men are delighted by the memory of past good things, which are thus renewed by the agreeable recollection. But there is a feeling implanted in us by which we [pg 119] bury adversity as it were in a perpetual oblivion, but dwell with pleasure and delight on the recollection of good fortune. But when with eager and attentive minds we dwell on what is past, the consequence is, that melancholy ensues, if the past has been unprosperous; but joy, if it has been fortunate.

XVIII. Oh what a splendid, and manifest, and simple, and plain way of living well! For as certainly nothing could be better for man than to be free from all pain and annoyance, and to enjoy the greatest pleasures of both mind and body, do you not see how nothing is omitted which can aid life, so as to enable men more easily to arrive at that chief good which is their object! Epicurus cries out—the very man whom you pronounce to be too devoted to pleasure—that man cannot live agreeably, unless he lives honourably, justly, and wisely; and that, if he lives wisely, honourably, and justly, it is impossible that he should not live agreeably. For a city in sedition cannot be happy, nor can a house in which the masters are quarrelling. So that a mind which disagrees and quarrels with itself, cannot taste any portion of clear and unrestrained pleasure. And a man who is always giving in to pursuits and plans which are inconsistent with and contrary to one another, can never know any quiet or tranquillity.

But if the pleasure of life is hindered by the graver diseases of the body, how much more must it be so by those of the mind? But the diseases of the mind are boundless and vain desires of riches, or glory, or domination, or even of lustful pleasures. Besides these there are melancholy, annoyance, sorrow, which eat up and destroy with anxiety the minds of those men who do not understand that the mind ought not to grieve about anything which is unconnected with some present or future pain of body. Nor is there any fool who does not suffer under some one of these diseases. Therefore there is no fool who is not miserable. Besides these things there is death, which is always hanging over us as his rock is over Tantalus; and superstition, a feeling which prevents any one who is imbued with it from ever enjoying tranquillity. Besides, such men as they do not recollect their past good fortune, do not enjoy what is present, but do nothing but expect what is to come; and as that cannot be certain, they wear themselves out with grief and apprehension, and are tormented most especially when they find out, after it is too [pg 120] late, that they have devoted themselves to the pursuit of money, or authority, or power, or glory, to no purpose. For they have acquired no pleasures, by the hope of enjoying which it was that they were inflamed to undertake so many great labours. There are others, of little and narrow minds, either always despairing of everything, or else malcontent, envious, ill-tempered, churlish, calumnious, and morose; others devoted to amatory pleasures, others petulant, others audacious, wanton, intemperate, or idle, never continuing in the same opinion; on which account there is never any interruption to the annoyances to which their life is exposed.

Therefore, there is no fool who is happy, and no wise man who is not. And we put this much more forcibly and truly than the Stoics: for they assert that there is no good whatever, but some imaginary shadow which they call τὸ καλὸν, a name showy rather than substantial; and they insist upon it, that virtue relying on this principle of honour stands in need of no pleasure, and is content with its own resources as adequate to secure a happy life.

XIX. However, these assertions may be to a certain extent made not only without our objecting to them, but even with our concurrence and agreement. For in this way the wise man is represented by Epicurus as always happy. He has limited desires; he disregards death; he has a true opinion concerning the immortal Gods without any fear; he does not hesitate, if it is better for him, to depart from life. Being prepared in this manner, and armed with these principles, he is always in the enjoyment of pleasure; nor is there any period when he does not feel more pleasure than pain. For he remembers the past with gratitude, and he enjoys the present so as to notice how important and how delightful the joys which it supplies are; nor does he depend on future good, but he waits for that and enjoys the present; and is as far removed as possible from those vices which I have enumerated; and when he compares the life of fools to his own he feels great pleasure. And pain, if any does attack him, has never such power that the wise man has not more to rejoice at than to be grieved at.

But Epicurus does admirably in saying that fortune has but little power over the wise man, and that the greatest and most important events of such a man's life are managed [pg 121] by his own wisdom and prudence; and that greater pleasure cannot be derived from an eternity of life than such a man enjoys from this life which we see to be limited.

But in your dialectics he thought that there was no power which could contribute either to enable men to live better, or argue more conveniently. To natural philosophy he attributed a great deal of importance. For by the one science it is only the meaning of words and the character of a speech, and the way in which arguments follow from or are inconsistent with one another, that can be seen; but if the nature of all things is known, we are by that knowledge relieved from superstition, released from the fear of death, exempted from being perplexed by our ignorance of things, from which ignorance horrible fears often arise. Lastly, we shall be improved in our morals when we have learnt what nature requires. Moreover, if we have an accurate knowledge of things, preserving that rule which has fallen from heaven as it were for the knowledge of all things, by which all our judgments of things are to be regulated, we shall never abandon our opinions because of being overcome by any one's eloquence.

For unless the nature of things is thoroughly known, we shall have no means by which we can defend the judgments formed by our senses. Moreover, whatever we discern by our intellect, all arises from the senses. And if our senses are all correct, as the theory of Epicurus affirms, then something may be discerned and understood accurately; but as to those men who deny the power of the senses, and say that nothing can be known by them, those very men, if the senses are discarded, will be unable to explain that very point which they are arguing about. Besides, if all knowledge and science is put out of the question, then there is an end also of all settled principles of living and of doing anything.

Thus, by means of natural philosophy, courage is desired to withstand the fear of death, and constancy to put aside the claims engendered by superstition; and by removing ignorance of all secret things, tranquillity of mind is produced; and by explaining the nature of desires and their different kinds, we get moderation: and (as I just now explained) by means of this rule of knowledge, and of the judgment which is established and corrected by it, the power of distinguishing truth from falsehood is put into man's hands.

XX. There remains a topic necessary above all others to this discussion, that of friendship, namely: which you, if pleasure is the chief good, affirm to have no existence at all. Concerning which Epicurus speaks thus: "That of all the things which wisdom has collected to enable man to live happily, nothing is more important, more influential, or more delightful than friendship." Nor did he prove this assertion by words only, but still more by his life, and conduct, and actions. And how important a thing it is, the fables of the ancients abundantly intimate, in which, many and varied as they are, and traced back to the remotest antiquity, scarcely three pairs of friends are found, even if you begin as far back as Theseus, and come down to Orestes. But in one single house, and that a small one, what great crowds of friends did Epicurus collect, and how strong was the bond of affection that held them together! And this is the case even now among the Epicureans. However, let us return to our subject: it is not necessary for us to be discussing men.

I see, then, that the philosophers of our school have treated the question of friendship in three ways. Some, as they denied that those pleasures which concerned our friends were to be sought with as much eagerness for their own sake, as we display in seeking our own, (by pressing which topic some people think that the stability of friendship is endangered,) maintain that doctrine resolutely, and, as I think, easily explain it. For, as in the case of the virtues which I have already mentioned, so too they deny that friendship can ever be separated from pleasure. For, as a life which is solitary and destitute of friends is full of treachery and alarm, reason itself warns us to form friendships. And when such are formed, then our minds are strengthened, and cannot be drawn away from the hope of attaining pleasure. And as hatred, envy, and contempt are all opposed to pleasures, so friendships are not only the most faithful favourers, but also are the efficient causes of pleasures to one's friends as well as to oneself; and men not only enjoy those pleasures at the moment, but are also roused by hopes of subsequent and future time. And as we cannot possibly maintain a lasting and continued happiness of life without friendship, nor maintain friendship itself unless we love our friends and ourselves equally, therefore this very effect is produced in friendship, and friendship is combined with pleasure.

For we rejoice in the joy of our friends as much as we do in our own, and we are equally grieved at their sorrows. Wherefore the wise man will feel towards his friend as he does towards himself, and whatever labour he would encounter with a view to his own pleasure, he will encounter also for the sake of that of his friend. And all that has been said of the virtues as to the way in which they are invariably combined with pleasure, should also be said of friendship. For admirably does Epicurus say, in almost these exact words: “The same science has strengthened the mind so that it should not fear any eternal or long lasting evil, inasmuch as in this very period of human life, it has clearly seen that the surest bulwark against evil is that of friendship.”

There are, however, some Epicureans who are rather intimidated by the reproaches of your school, but still men of sufficient acuteness, and they are afraid lest, if we think that friendship is only to be sought after with a view to our own pleasure, all friendships should, as it were, appear to be crippled. Therefore they admit that the first meetings, and unions, and desires to establish intimacy, do arise from a desire of pleasure; but, they say, that when progressive habit has engendered familiarity, then such great affection is ripened, that friends are loved by one another for their own sake, even without any idea of advantage intermingling with such love. In truth, if we are in the habit of feeling affection for places, and temples, and cities, and gymnasia, and the Campus Martius, and for dogs, and horses, and sports, in consequence of our habit of exercising ourselves, and hunting, and so on, how much more easily and reasonably may such a feeling be produced in us by our intimacy with men!

But some people say that there is a sort of agreement entered into by wise men not to love their friends less than themselves; which we both imagine to be possible, and indeed see to be often the case; and it is evident that nothing can be found having any influence on living agreeably, which is better suited to it than such a union. From all which considerations it may be inferred, not only that the principle of friendship is not hindered by our placing the chief good in pleasure, but that without such a principle it is quite impossible that any friendship should be established.

XXI. Wherefore, if the things which I have been saying [pg 124] are clearer and plainer than the sun itself; if all that I have said is derived from the fountain of nature; if the whole of my discourse forces assent to itself by its accordance with the senses, that is to say, with the most incorruptible and honest of all witnesses; if infant children, and even brute beasts, declare almost in words, under the teaching and guidance of nature, that nothing is prosperous but pleasure, nothing hateful but pain—a matter as to which their decision is neither erroneous nor corrupt—ought we not to feel the greatest gratitude to that man who, having heard this voice of nature, as I may call it, has embraced it with such firmness and steadiness, that he has led all sensible men into the path of a peaceful, tranquil, and happy life? And as for his appearing to you to be a man of but little learning, the reason of that is, that he thought no learning deserving of the name except such as assisted in the attainment of a happy life. Was he a man to waste his time in reading poets, as Triarius and I do at your instigation? men in whose works there is no solid utility, but only a childish sort of amusement; or to devote himself, like Plato, to music, geometry, arithmetic, and astronomy? studies which, starting from erroneous principles, cannot possibly be true; and which, if they were true, would constitute nothing to our living more agreeably, that is to say, better. Should he, then, pursue such occupations as those, and abandon the task of laying down principles of living, laborious, but, at the same time, useful as they are?

Epicurus, then, was not destitute of learning; but those persons are ignorant who think that those studies which it is discreditable for boys not to have learnt, are to be continued till old age.

And when he had spoken thus,—I have now, said he, explained my opinions, and have done so with the design of learning your judgment of them. But the opportunity of doing so, as I wished, has never been offered me before to-day.

Book Two

I. On this, when both of them fixed their eyes on me, and showed that they were ready to listen to me:—In the first place, said I, I intreat you not to fancy that I, like a professed philosopher, am going to explain to you the doctrines of some particular school; a course which I have never much approved of when adopted by philosophers themselves. For when did Socrates, who may fairly be called the parent of philosophy, ever do anything of the sort? That custom was patronized by those who at that time were called Sophists, of which number Georgias of Leontium was the first who ventured in an assembly to demand a question,—that is to say, to desire any one in the company to say what he wished to hear discussed. It was a bold proceeding; I should call it an impudent one, if this fashion had not subsequently been borrowed by our own philosophers. But we see that he whom I have just mentioned, and all the other Sophists, (as may be gathered from Plato,) were all turned into ridicule by Socrates; for he, by questioning and interrogating them, was in the habit of eliciting the opinions of those with whom he was arguing, and then, if he thought it necessary, of replying to the answers which they had given him. And as that custom had not been preserved by those who came after him, Arcesilaus re-introduced it, and established the custom, that those who wished to become his pupils were not to ask him questions, but themselves to state their opinions; and then, when they had stated them, he replied to what they had advanced; but those who came to him for instruction defended their own opinions as well as they could.

But with all the rest of the philosophers the man who asks the question says no more; and this practice prevails in the Academy to this day. For when he who wishes to receive instruction has spoken thus, “Pleasure appears to me to be the [pg 126] chief good,” they argue against this proposition in an uninterrupted discourse; so that it may be easily understood that they who say that they entertain such and such an opinion, do not of necessity really entertain it, but wish to hear the arguments which may be brought against it. We follow a more convenient method, for not only has Torquatus explained what his opinions are, but also why he entertains them: but I myself think, although I was exceedingly delighted with his uninterrupted discourse, that still, when you stop at each point that arises, and come to an understanding what each party grants, and what he denies, you draw the conclusion you desire from what is admitted with more convenience, and come to an end of the discussion more readily. For when a discourse is borne on uninterruptedly, like a torrent, although it hurries along in its course many things of every kind, you still can take hold of nothing, and put your hand on nothing, and can find no means of restraining that rapid discourse.

II. But every discourse which is concerned in the investigation of any matter, and which proceeds on any system and principle, ought first to establish the rule (as is done in lawsuits, where one proceeds according to set formulas), in order that it may be agreed between the parties to the discussion, what the subject of the discussion really is. This rule was approved by Epicurus, as it was laid down by Plato in his “Phædrus,” and he considered that it ought to be adopted in every controversy. But he did not perceive what was the necessary consequence of it, for he asserts that the subject ought not to be defined; but if this be not done, it is sometimes impossible that the disputants should agree what the matter is that is the subject of discussion, as in this very case which we are discussing now, for we are inquiring into the End of Good. How can we know what the character of this is, if, when we have used the expression the End of Good, we do not compare with one another our ideas of what is meant by the End, and of what the Good itself is?

And this laying open of things covered up, as it were, when it is once explained what each thing is, is the definition of it; which you sometimes used without being aware of it; for you defined this very thing, whether it is to be called the End, or the extremity, or the limit, to be that to which everything which was done rightly was referred, and which was itself [pg 127] never referred to anything. So far was very well said; and, perhaps, if it had been necessary, you would also have defined the Good itself, and told us what that was; making it to be that which is desirable by nature, or that which is profitable, or that which is useful, or that which is pleasant: and now, since you have no general objections to giving definitions, and do it when you please, if it is not too much trouble, I should be glad if you would define what is pleasure, for that is what all this discussion relates to.

As if, said he, there were any one who is ignorant what pleasure is, or who is in need of any definition to enable him to understand it better.

I should say, I replied, that I myself am such a man, if I did not seem to myself to have a thorough acquaintance with, and an accurate idea and notion of, pleasure firmly implanted in my mind. But, at present, I say that Epicurus himself does not know, and that he is greatly in error on this subject; and that he who mentions the subject so often ought to explain carefully what the meaning of the words he uses is, but that he sometimes does not understand what the meaning of this word pleasure is, that is to say, what the idea is which is contained under this word.

III. Then he laughed, and said,—This is a capital idea, indeed, that he who says that pleasure is the end of all things which are to be desired, the very extreme point and limit of Good, should be ignorant of what it is, and of what is its character. But, I replied, either Epicurus is ignorant of what pleasure is, or else all the rest of the world are. How so? said he.

Because all men feel that this is pleasure which moves the senses when they receive it, and which has a certain agreeableness pervading it throughout. What then, said he, is Epicurus ignorant of that kind of pleasure? Not always, I replied; for sometimes he is even too well acquainted with it, inasmuch as he declares that he is unable even to understand where it is, or what any good is, except that which is enjoyed by the instrumentality of meat or drink, or the pleasure of the ears, or sensual enjoyment: is not this what he says? As if, said he, I were ashamed of these things, or as if I were unable to explain in what sense these things are said. I do not doubt, I replied, that you can do so easily; nor is there any reason why you need be ashamed of arguing with a wise [pg 128] man, who is the only man, as far as I know, who has ever ventured to profess himself a wise man. For they do not think that Metrodorus himself professed this, but only that, when he was called wise by Epicurus, he was unwilling to reject such an expression of his goodwill. But the Seven had this name given to them, not by themselves, but by the universal suffrage of all nations. However, in this place, I will assume that Epicurus, by these expressions, certainly meant to intimate the same kind of pleasure that the rest do; for all men call that pleasing motion by which the senses are rendered cheerful, ἡδονὴ in Greek, and voluptas in Latin.

What is it, then, that you ask? I will tell you, said I, and that for the sake of learning rather than of finding fault with either you or Epicurus. I too, said he, should be more desirous to learn of you, if you can impart anything worth learning, than to find fault with you.

Well, then, said I, you are aware of what Hieronymus25 of Rhodes says is the chief good, to which he thinks that everything ought to be referred? I know, said he, that he thinks that the great end is freedom from pain. Well, what are his sentiments respecting pleasure? He affirms, he replied, that it is not to be sought for its own sake; for he thinks that rejoicing is one thing, and being free from pain another. And indeed, continued he, he is in this point greatly mistaken, for, as I proved a little while ago, the end of increasing pleasure is the removal of all pain. I will examine, said I, presently, what the meaning of the expression, freedom from pain, is; but unless you are very obstinate, you must admit that pleasure is a perfectly distinct thing from mere freedom from pain. You will, however, said he, find that I am obstinate in this; for nothing can be more real than the identity between the two. Is there, now, said I, any pleasure felt by a thirsty man in drinking? Who can deny it? said he. Is it, asked I, the same pleasure that he feels after his thirst is extinguished? It is, replied he, another kind of pleasure; for the state of extinguished thirst has in it a certain stability of pleasure, but the pleasure of extinguishing it is pleasure in motion. Why, then, said I, do you call things so unlike one another by the same name? Do not [pg 129] you recollect, he rejoined, what I said just now,—that when all pain is banished, pleasure is varied, not extinguished? I recollect, said I; but you spoke in admirable Latin, indeed, but yet not very intelligibly; for varietas is a Latin word, and properly applicable to a difference of colour, but it is applied metaphorically to many differences: we apply the adjective, varias, to poems, orations, manners, and changes of fortune; it is occasionally predicated also of pleasure, when it is derived from many things unlike one another, which cause pleasures which are similarly unlike. Now, if that is the variety you mean, I should understand you, as, in fact, I do understand you, without your saying so: but still, I do not see clearly what that variety is, because you say, that when we are free from pain we are then in the enjoyment of the greatest pleasure; but when we are eating those things which cause a pleasing motion to the senses, then there is a pleasure in the emotion which causes a variety in the pleasure; but still, that that pleasure which arises from the freedom from pain is not increased;—and why you call that pleasure I do not know.

IV. Is it possible, said he, for anything to be more delightful than freedom from pain? Well, said I, but grant that nothing is preferable to that, (for that is not the point which I am inquiring about at present,) does it follow on that account, that pleasure is identical with what I may call painlessness? Undoubtedly it is identical with it, said he; and that painlessness is the greatest of pleasures which no other can possibly exceed. Why, then, said I, do you hesitate, after you have defined the chief good in this manner, to uphold, and defend, and maintain the proposition, that the whole of pleasure consists in freedom from pain? For what necessity for your introducing pleasure among the council of the virtues, any more than for bringing in a courtezan to an assembly of matrons? The very name of pleasure is odious, infamous, and a just object of suspicion: therefore, you are all in the constant habit of saying that we do not understand what Epicurus means when he speaks of pleasure. And whenever such an assertion is made to me,—and I hear it advanced pretty often,—although I am usually a very peaceful arguer, still I do on such occasions get a little angry. Am I to be told that I do not know what that is which the Greeks [pg 130] call ἡδονὴ, and the Latins voluptas? Which language is it, then, that I do not understand? Then, too, how comes it about that I do not understand, though every one else does, who chooses to call himself an Epicurean? when the disciples of your school argue most excellently, that there is no need whatever for a man, who wishes to become a philosopher, to be acquainted with literature. Therefore, just as our ancestors tore Cincinnatus away from his plough to make him Dictator, in like manner you collect from among the Greeks all those men, who may in truth be respectable men enough, but who are certainly not over-learned.

Do they then understand what Epicurus means, and do I not understand it? However, that you may know that I do understand, first of all I tell you that voluptas is the same thing that he calls ἡδονὴ. And, indeed, we often have to seek for a Latin word equivalent to, and exactly equipollent to a Greek one; but here we had nothing to seek for: for no word can be found which will more exactly express in Latin what ἡδονὴ does in Greek, than voluptas. Now every man in the world who understands Latin, comprehends under this word two things,—joy in the mind, and an agreeable emotion of pleasantness in the body. For when the man in Trabea26 calls an excessive pleasure of the mind joy, (lætitia,) he says much the same as the other character in Cæcilius's play, who says that he is joyful with every sort of joy.

However, there is this difference, that pleasure is also spoken of as affecting the mind; which is wrong, as the Stoics think, who define it thus: “An elation of the mind without reason, when the mind has an idea that it is enjoying some great good.” But the words lætitia (gladness), and gaudium (joy), do not properly apply to the body. But the word voluptas (pleasure) is applied to the body by the usage of all people who speak Latin, whenever that pleasantness is felt which moves any one of the senses. Now transfer this pleasantness, if you please, to the mind; for the verb juvo (to please) is applied both to body and mind, and the word jucundus is derived from it; provided you understand that between the man who says,

I am transported with gladness now

That I am scarce myself....

and him who says,

Now then at length my mind's on fire, ...

one of whom is beside himself with joy, and the other is being tormented with anguish, there is this intermediate person, whose language is,

Although this our acquaintance is so new,

who feels neither gladness nor anguish. And, in the same manner, between the man who is in the enjoyment of the pleasures of the body, which he has been wishing for, and him who is being tormented with extreme anguish, there is a third man, who is free alike from pleasure and from pain.

V. Do I not, then, seem to you sufficiently to understand the meaning of words, or must I at this time of life be taught how to speak Greek, and even Latin? And yet I would have you consider, whether if I, who, as I think, understand Greek very fairly, do still not understand what Epicurus means, it it may not be owing to some fault of his for speaking so as not to be intelligible. And this sometimes happens in two ways, without any blame; either if you do so on purpose, as Heraclitus did, who got the surname of σκοτεινὸς,27 because he spoke with too much obscurity about natural philosophy; or when the obscurity of the subject itself, not of the language, prevents what is said from being clearly understood, as is the case in the Timæus of Plato. But Epicurus, as I imagine, is both willing, if it is in his power, to speak intelligibly, and is also speaking, not of an obscure subject like the natural philosophers, nor of one depending on precise rules, as the mathematicians are, but he is discussing a plain and simple matter, which is a subject of common conversation among the common people. Although you do not deny that we understand the usual meaning of the word voluptas, but only what he means by it: from which it follows, not that we do not understand what is the meaning of that word, but that he follows his own fashion, and neglects our usual one; for if he means the same thing that Hieronymus does, who thinks that the chief good is to live without any annoyance, why does he prefer using the term “pleasure” rather than freedom from pain, as Hieronymus does, who is quite aware of the force of the words which he employs? But, if he thinks that he ought to add, that pleasure which consists in [pg 132] motion, (for this is the distinction he draws, that this agreeable pleasure is pleasure in motion, but the pleasure of him who is free from pain is a state of pleasure,) then why does he appear to aim at what is impossible, namely, to make any one who knows himself—that is to say, who has any proper comprehension of his own nature and sensations—think freedom from pain, and pleasure, the same thing?

This, O Torquatus, is doing violence to one's senses; it is wresting out of our minds the understanding of words with which we are imbued; for who can avoid seeing that these three states exist in the nature of things: first, the state of being in pleasure; secondly, that of being in pain; thirdly, that of being in such a condition as we are at this moment, and you too, I imagine, that is to say, neither in pleasure nor in pain; in such pleasure, I mean, as a man who is at a banquet, or in such pain as a man who is being tortured. What! do you not see a vast multitude of men who are neither rejoicing nor suffering, but in an intermediate state between these two conditions? No, indeed, said he; I say that all men who are free from pain are in pleasure, and in the greatest pleasure too. Do you, then, say that the man who, not being thirsty himself, mingles some wine for another, and the thirsty man who drinks it when mixed, are both enjoying the same pleasure?

VI. Then, said he, a truce, if you please, to all your questions; and, indeed, I said at the beginning that I would rather have none of them, for I had a provident dread of these captious dialectics. Would you rather, then, said I, that we should argue rhetorically than dialectically? As if, said he, a continuous discourse belonged solely to orators, and not to philosophers also! I will tell you, said I, what Zeno the Stoic said; he said, as Aristotle had said before him, that all speaking was divided into two kinds, and that rhetoric resembled the open palm, dialectics the closed fist, because orators usually spoke in a rather diffuse, and dialecticians in a somewhat compressed style. I will comply, then, with your desires, and will speak, if I can, in an oratorical style, but still with the oratory of the philosophers, and not that which we use in the forum; which is forced at times, when it is speaking so as to suit the multitude, to submit to a very ordinary style. But while Epicurus, O Torquatus, is [pg 133] expressing his contempt for dialectics, an art which by itself contains the whole science both of perceiving what the real subject is in every question, and also of judging what the character of each thing is, by its system and method of conducting the argument, he goes on too fast, as it seems to me, and does not distinguish with any skill at all the different points which he is intent upon proving, as in this very instance which we were just now speaking of.

Pleasure is pronounced to be the chief good. We must then open the question, What is pleasure? for otherwise, the thing which we are seeking for cannot be explained. But, if he had explained it, he would not hesitate; for either he would maintain that same definition of pleasure which Aristippus did, namely, that it is that feeling by which the senses are agreeably and pleasantly moved, which even cattle, if they could speak, would call pleasure; or else, if he chose rather to speak in his own style, than like

All the Greeks from high Mycenæ,

All Minerva's Attic youth,

and the rest of the Greeks who are spoken of in these anapæsts, then he would call this freedom from pain alone by the name of pleasure, and would despise the definition of Aristippus; or, if he thought both definitions good, as in fact he does, he would combine freedom from pain with pleasure, and would employ the two extremes in his own definition: for many, and they, too, great philosophers, have combined these extremities of goods, as, for instance, Aristotle, who united in his idea the practice of virtue with the prosperity of an entire life. Callipho28 added pleasure to what is honourable. Diodorus, in his definition, added to the same honourableness, freedom from pain. Epicurus would have done so too, if he had combined the opinion which was held by Hieronymus, with the ancient theory of Aristippus. For those two men disagree with one another, and on this account they employ separate definitions; and, while they both write the most beautiful Greek, still, neither does Aristippus, who calls pleasure the chief good, ever speak of freedom from pain as pleasure; nor does Hieronymus, who lays it down that freedom from pain is the chief good, ever use the word “pleasure” [pg 134] for that painlessness, inasmuch as he never even reckons pleasure at all among the things which are desirable.

VII. They are also two distinct things, that you may not think that the difference consists only in words and names. One is to be without pain, the other to be with pleasure. But your school not only attempt to make one name for these two things which are so exceedingly unlike, (for I would not mind that so much,) but you endeavour also to make one thing out of the two, which is utterly impossible. But Epicurus, who admits both things, ought to use both expressions, and in fact he does divide them in reality, but still he does not distinguish between them in words. For though he in many places praises that very pleasure which we all call by the same name, he ventures to say that he does not even suspect that there is any good whatever unconnected with that kind of pleasure which Aristippus means; and he makes this statement in the very place where his whole discourse is about the chief good. But in another book, in which he utters opinions of the greatest weight in a concise form of words, and in which he is said to have delivered oracles of wisdom, he writes in those words which you are well acquainted with, O Torquatus. For who is there of you who has not learnt the κύριαι δόξαι of Epicurus, that is to say, his fundamental maxims? because they are sentiments of the greatest gravity intended to guide men to a happy life, and enunciated with suitable brevity. Consider, therefore, whether I am not translating this maxim of his correctly. “If those things which are the efficient causes of pleasures to luxurious men were to release them from all fear of the gods, and of death, and of pain, and to show them what are the proper limits to their desires, we should have nothing to find fault with; as men would then be filled with pleasures from all quarters, and have on no side anything painful or melancholy, for all such things are evil.”

On this Triarius could restrain himself no longer. I beg of you, Torquatus, said he, to tell me, is this what Epicurus says?—because he appeared to me, although he knew it himself, still to wish to hear Torquatus admit it. But he was not at all put out, and said with great confidence, Indeed, he does, and in these identical words; but you do not perceive what he means. If, said I, he says one thing and means another, then I never shall understand what he means, but [pg 135] he speaks plainly enough for me to see what he says. And if what he says is that luxurious men are not to be blamed if they are wise men, he talks absurdly; just as if he were to say that parricides are not to be found fault with if they are not covetous, and if they fear neither gods, nor death, nor pain. And yet, what is the object of making any exception as to the luxurious, or of supposing any people, who, while living luxuriously, would not be reproved by that consummate philosopher, provided only they guard against all other vices. Still, would not you, Epicurus, blame luxurious men for the mere fact of their living in such a manner as to pursue every sort of pleasure; especially when, as you say, the chief pleasure of all is to be free from pain? But yet we find some debauched men so far from having any religious scruples, that they will eat even out of the sacred vessels; and so far from fearing death that they are constantly repeating that passage out of the Hymnis,29—

Six months of life for me are quite sufficient,

The seventh may be for the shades below,—

and bringing up that Epicurean remedy for pain, as if they were taking it out of a medicine chest: “If it is bitter, it is of short duration; if it lasts a long time, it must be slight in degree.” There is one thing which I do not understand, namely, how a man who is devoted to luxury can possibly have his appetites under restraint.

VIII. What then is the use of saying, I should have nothing to reproach them with if they only set bounds to their appetites? This is the same as saying, I should not blame debauched men if they were not debauched men. In the same way one might say, I should not blame even wicked men if they were virtuous. This man of strict morality does not think luxury of itself a thing to be blamed. And, indeed, O Torquatus, to speak the truth, if pleasure is the chief good, he is quite right not to think so. For I should be sorry to picture to myself, (as you are in the habit of doing,) men so debauched as to vomit over the table and be carried away from banquets, and then the next day, while still suffering from indigestion, gorge themselves again; men who, as they say, have never in their lives seen the sun set or rise, and who, having devoured their patrimony, are reduced to indigence. [pg 136] None of us imagine that debauched men of that sort live pleasantly. You, however, rather mean to speak of refined and elegant bons vivans, men who, by the employment of the most skilful cooks and bakers, and by carefully culling the choicest products of fishermen, fowlers, and hunters, avoid all indigestion—

Men who draw richer wines from foaming casks.

As Lucilius says, men who

So strain, so cool the rosy wine with snow,

That all the flavour still remains uninjured—

and so on—men in the enjoyment of luxuries such that, if they are taken away, Epicurus says that he does not know what there is that can be called good. Let them also have beautiful boys to attend upon them; let their clothes, their plate, their articles of Corinthian vertu, the banqueting-room itself, all correspond, still I should never be induced to say that these men so devoted to luxury were living either well or happily. From which it follows, not indeed that pleasure is not pleasure, but that pleasure is not the chief good. Nor was Lælius, who, when a young man, was a pupil of Diogenes the Stoic, and afterwards of Panætius, called a wise man because he did not understand what was most pleasant to the taste, (for it does not follow that the man who has a discerning heart must necessarily have a palate destitute of discernment,) but because he thought it of but small importance.

O sorrel, how that man may boast himself,

By whom you're known and valued! Proud of you,

That wise man Lælius would loudly shout,

Addressing all our epicures in order.

And it was well said by Lælius, and he may be truly called a wise man,—

You Publius, Gallonius, you whirlpool,

You are a miserable man; you never

In all your life have really feasted well,

Though spending all your substance on those prawns,

And overgrown huge sturgeons.

The man who says this is one who, as he attributes no importance to pleasure himself, denies that the man feasts well who refers everything to pleasure. And yet he does not deny that Gallonius has at times feasted as he wished: for that would [pg 137] be speaking untruly: he only denies that he has ever feasted well. With such dignity and severe principle does he distinguish between pleasure and good. And the natural inference is, that all who feast well feast as they wish, but that it does not follow that all who feast as they wish do therefore feast well. Lælius always feasted well. How so? Lucilius shall tell you—

He feasted on well season'd, well arranged—

what? What was the chief part of his supper?

Converse of prudent men,—

Well, and what else?

with cheerful mind.

For he came to a banquet with a tranquil mind, desirous only of appeasing the wants of nature. Lælius then is quite right to deny that Gallonius had ever feasted well; he is quite right to call him miserable; especially as he devoted the whole of his attention to that point. And yet no one affirms that he did not sup as he wished. Why then did he not feast well? Because feasting well is feasting with propriety, frugality, and good order; but this man was in the habit of feasting badly, that is, in a dissolute, profligate, gluttonous, unseemly manner. Lælius, then, was not preferring the flavour of sorrel to Gallonius's sturgeon, but merely treating the taste of the sturgeon with indifference; which he would not have done if he had placed the chief good in pleasure.

IX. We must then discard pleasure, not only in order to follow what is right, but even to be able to talk becomingly. Can we then call that the chief good in life, which we see cannot possibly be so even in a banquet?

But how is it that this philosopher speaks of three kinds of appetites,—some natural and necessary, some natural but not necessary, and others neither natural nor necessary? In the first place, he has not made a neat division; for out of two kinds he has made three. Now this is not dividing, but breaking in pieces. If he had said that there are two kinds of appetites, natural and superfluous ones, and that the natural appetites might be also subdivided into two kinds, necessary and not necessary, he would have been all right. And those who have learnt what he despises do usually say so. For it is a vicious division to reckon a part as a genus. However, let us pass over this, for he despises elegance in arguing; he [pg 138] speaks confusedly. We must submit to this as long as his sentiments are right. I do not, however, approve, and it is as much as I can do to endure, a philosopher speaking of the necessity of setting bounds to the desires. Is it possible to set bounds to the desires? I say that they must be banished, eradicated by the roots. For what man is there in whom appetites30 dwell, who can deny that he may with propriety be called appetitive? If so, he will be avaricious, though to a limited extent; and an adulterer, but only in moderation; and he will be luxurious in the same manner. Now what sort of a philosophy is that which does not bring with it the destruction of depravity, but is content with a moderate degree of vice? Although in this division I am altogether on his side as to the facts, only I wish he would express himself better. Let him call these feelings the wishes of nature; and let him keep the name of desire for other objects, so as, when speaking of avarice, of intemperance, and of the greatest vices, to be able to indict it as it were on a capital charge. However, all this is said by him with a good deal of freedom, and is often repeated; and I do not blame him, for it is becoming in so great a philosopher, and one of such a great reputation, to defend his own degrees fearlessly.

But still, from the fact of his often appearing to embrace that pleasure, (I mean that which all nations call by this name,) with a good deal of eagerness, he is at times in great difficulties, so that, if he could only pass undetected, there is nothing so shameful that it does not seem likely that he would do it for the sake of pleasure. And then, when he has been put to the blush, (for the power of nature is very great,) he takes refuge in denying that any addition can possibly be made to the pleasure of the man who is free from pain. But that state of freedom from pain is not called pleasure. I do not care, says he, about the name. But what do you say about the thing being utterly different?—I will find you many men, or I may say an innumerable host, not so curious nor so embarrassing as you are, whom I can easily convince of whatever I choose. Why then do we hesitate to say that, [pg 139] if to be free from pain is the highest degree of pleasure, to be destitute of pleasure is the highest degree of pain? Because it is not pleasure which is the contrary to pain, but the absence of pain.

X. But this he does not see, that it is a great proof that at the very moment when he says that if pleasure be once taken away he has no idea at all what remaining thing can be called good, (and he follows up this assertion with the statement that he means such pleasure as is perceptible by the palate and by the ears, and adds other things which decency ought to forbid him to mention,) he is, like a strict and worthy philosopher, aware that this which he calls the chief good is not even a thing which is worth desiring for its own sake, that he himself informs us that we have no reason to wish for pleasure at all, if we are free from pain. How inconsistent are these statements! If he had learnt to make correct divisions or definitions of his subject, if he had a proper regard to the usages of speaking and the common meaning of words, he would never have fallen into such difficulties. But as it is, you see what it is he is doing. That which no one has ever called pleasure at all, and that also which is real active pleasure, which are two distinct things, he makes but one. For he calls them agreeable and, as I may say, sweet-tasted pleasures. At times he speaks so lightly of them that you might fancy you were listening to Marcus Curius. At times he extols them so highly that he says he cannot form even the slightest idea of what else is good—a sentiment which deserves not the reproof of a philosopher, but the brand of the censor. For vice does not confine itself to language, but penetrates also into the manners. He does not find fault with luxury provided it to be free from boundless desires and from fear. While speaking in this way he appears to be fishing for disciples, that men who wish to become debauchees may become philosophers first.

Now, in my opinion, the origin of the chief good is to be sought in the first origin of living animals. As soon as an animal is born it rejoices in pleasure, and seeks it as a good; it shuns pain as an evil. And Epicurus says that excellent decisions on the subject of the good and the evil are come to by those animals which are not yet depraved. You, too, have laid down the same position, and these are your own [pg 140] words. How many errors are there in them! For by reference to which kind of pleasure will a puling infant judge of the chief good; pleasure in stability or pleasure in motion?—since, if the gods so will, we are learning how to speak from Epicurus. If it is from pleasure as a state, then certainly nature desires to be exempt from evil herself; which we grant; if it is from pleasure in motion, which, however, is what you say, then there will be no pleasure so discreditable as to deserve to be passed over. And at the same time that just-born animal you are speaking of does not begin with the highest pleasure; which has been defined by you to consist in not being in pain.

However, Epicurus did not seek to derive this argument from infants, or even from beasts, which he looks upon as mirrors of nature as it were; so as to say that they, under the guidance of nature, seek only this pleasure of being free from pain. For this sort of pleasure cannot excite the desires of the mind; nor has this state of freedom from pain any impulse by which it can act upon the mind. Therefore Hieronymus blunders in this same thing. For that pleasure only acts upon the mind which has the power of alluring the senses. Therefore Epicurus always has recourse to this pleasure when wishing to prove that pleasure is sought for naturally; because that pleasure which consists in motion both allures infants to itself, and beasts; and this is not done by that pleasure which is a state in which there is no other ingredient but freedom from pain. How then can it be proper to say that nature begins with one kind of pleasure, and yet to put the chief good in another?

XI. But as for beasts, I do not consider that they can pronounce any judgment at all. For although they are not depraved, it is still possible for them to be wrong. Just as one stick may be bent and crooked by having been made so on purpose, and another may be so naturally; so the nature of beasts is not indeed depraved by evil education, but is wrong naturally. Nor is it correct to say that nature excites the infant to desire pleasure, but only to love itself and to desire to preserve itself safe and unhurt. For every animal the moment that it is born loves itself, and every part of itself, and above all does it love its two principal parts, namely its mind and body, and afterwards it proceeds to love the separate [pg 141] parts of each. For there are in the mind and also in the body some parts of especial consequence; and as soon as it has got a slight perception of this fact, it then begins to make distinctions, so as to desire those things which are by nature given to it as its principal goods, and to reject the contrary. Now it is a great question whether among these primary natural goods, pleasure has any place or not. But to think that there is nothing beyond pleasure, no limbs, no sensations, no emotions of the mind, no integrity of the body, no health, appears to me to be a token of the greatest ignorance. And on this the whole question of good and evil turns. Now Polemo and also Aristotle thought those things which I mentioned just now the greatest of goods. And from this originated that opinion of the Old Academy and of the Peripatetic School, which led them to say that the greatest good was to live in accordance with nature—that is to say, to enjoy the chief good things which are given by nature, with the accompaniment of virtue. Callipho added nothing to virtue except pleasure; Diodorus nothing except freedom from pain. And all these men attach the idea of the greatest good to some one of these things which I have mentioned. Aristippus thought it was simple pleasure. The Stoics defined it to be agreeing with nature, which they say can only be living virtuously, living honourably. And they interpret it further thus—to live with an understanding of those things which happen naturally, selecting those which are in accordance with nature, and rejecting the contrary. So there are three definitions, all of which exclude honesty:—one, that of Aristippus or Epicurus; the second, that of Hieronymus; the third, that of Carneades: three in which honesty is admitted with some qualifying additions; those, namely, of Polemo, Callipho, and Diodorus: one single one, of which Zeno is the author, which is wholly referred to what is becoming; that is to say, to honesty. For Pyrrho, Aristo, and Herillus, have long since sunk into oblivion. The rest have been consistent with themselves, so as to make their ends agree with their beginnings; so that Aristippus has defined it to be pleasure; Hieronymus, freedom from pain; and Carneades, the enjoyment of what are pointed out by nature as the principal goods.

XII. But when Epicurus had given pleasure the highest [pg 142] rank, if he meant the same pleasure that Aristippus did he ought to have adopted the same thing as the chief good that he did; if he meant the same that Hieronymus did, he would then have been assigning the first rank to Hieronymus's pleasure, and not to that of Aristippus.

For, as to what he says, that it is decided by the senses themselves that pleasure is a good and that pain is an evil, he has attributed more weight to the senses than the laws allow them. We are the judges of private actions, but we cannot decide anything which does not legally come under the cognisance of our tribunal; and, in such a case, it is to no purpose that judges are in the habit, when they pronounce sentence, of adding, “if the question belongs to my jurisdiction;” for, if the matter did not come under their jurisdiction, this additional form of words would not any the more give validity to their decision. Now, what is it that the senses are judges of? Whether a thing is sweet or bitter, soft or hard, near or far off; whether it is standing still or moving; whether it is square or round. What sentence, then, will reason pronounce, having first of all called in the aid of the knowledge of divine and human affairs, which is properly called wisdom; and having, after that, associated to itself the virtues which reason points out as the mistresses of all things, but which you make out to be only the satellites and handmaidens of pleasures? The sentence, however, of all these qualities, will pronounce first of all, respecting pleasure, that there is no room for it; not only no room for its being placed by itself in the rank of the chief good, which is what we are looking for, but no room even for its being placed in connexion even with what is honourable.

The same sentence will be passed upon freedom from pain; Carneades also will be disregarded; nor will any definition of the chief good be approved of, which has any close connexion with pleasure, or freedom from pain, or which is devoid of what is honourable. And so it will leave two, which it will consider over and over again; for it will either lay down the maxim, that nothing is good except what is honourable, nothing evil except what is disgraceful; that everything else is either of no consequence at all, or, at all events, of only so much, that it is neither to be sought after nor avoided, but only selected or rejected; or else, it will prefer that which it [pg 143] shall perceive to be the most richly endowed with what is honourable, and enriched, at the same time, with the primary good things of nature, and with the perfection of the whole life; and it will do so all the more clearly, if it comes to a right understanding whether the controversy between them is one of facts, or only of words.

XIII. I now, following the authority of this man, will do the same as he has done; for, as far as I can, I will diminish the disputes, and will regard all their simple opinions in which there is no association of virtue, as judgments which ought to be utterly removed to a distance from philosophy. First of all, I will discard the principles of Aristippus, and of all the Cyrenaics,—men who were not afraid to place the chief good in that pleasure which especially excited the senses with its sweetness, disregarding that freedom from pain. These men did not perceive that, as a horse is born for galloping, and an ox for ploughing, and a dog for hunting, so man, also, is born for two objects, as Aristotle says, namely, for understanding and for acting as if he were a kind of mortal god. But, on the other hand, as a slow moving and languid sheep is born to feed, and to take pleasure in propagating his species, they fancied also that this divine animal was born for the same purposes; than which nothing can appear to me more absurd; and all this is in opposition to Aristippus, who considers that pleasure not only the highest, but also the only one, which all the rest of us consider as only one of the pleasures.

You, however, think differently; but he, as I have already said, is egregiously wrong,—for neither does the figure of the human body, nor the admirable reasoning powers of the human mind, intimate that man was born for no other end than the mere enjoyment of pleasure; nor must we listen to Hieronymus, whose chief good is the same which you sometimes, or, I might say, too often call so, namely, freedom from pain; for it does not follow, because pain is an evil, that to be free from that evil is sufficient for living well. Ennius speaks more correctly, when he says,—

The man who feels no evil, does

Enjoy too great a good.

Let us define a happy life as consisting, not in the repelling of evil, but in the acquisition of good; and let us seek to procure it, not by doing nothing, whether one is feeling pleasure, [pg 144] as Aristippus says, or feeling no pain, as Hieronymus insists, but by doing something, and giving our mind to thought. And all these same things may be said against that chief good which Carneades calls such; which he, however, brought forward, not so much for the purpose of proving his position, as of contradicting the Stoics, with whom he was at variance: and this good of his is such, that, when added to virtue, it appears likely to have some authority, and to be able to perfect a happy life in a most complete manner, and it is this that the whole of this present discussion is about; for they who add to virtue pleasure, which is the thing which above all others virtue thinks of small importance, or freedom from pain, which, even if it be a freedom from evil, is nevertheless not the chief good, make use of an addition which is not very easily recommended to men in general, and yet I do not understand why they do it in such a niggardly and restricted manner: for, as if they had to bring something to add to virtue, first of all they add things of the least possible value; afterwards they add things one by one, instead of uniting everything which nature had approved of as the highest goods, to pleasure. And as all these things appeared to Aristo and to Pyrrho absolutely of no consequence at all, so that they said that there was literally no difference whatever between being in a most perfect state of health, and in a most terrible condition of disease, people rightly enough have long ago given up arguing against them; for, while they insisted upon it that everything was comprised in virtue alone, to such a degree as to deprive it of all power of making any selection of external circumstances, and while they gave it nothing from which it could originate, or on which it could rely, they in reality destroyed virtue itself, which they were professing to embrace. But Herillus, who sought to refer everything to knowledge, saw, indeed, that there was one good, but what he saw was not the greatest possible good, nor such an one that life could be regulated by it; therefore, he also has been discarded a long time ago, for, indeed, there has been no one who has argued against him since Chrysippus.

XIV. Your school, then, is now the only one remaining to be combated; for the contest with the Academicians is an uncertain one, for they affirm nothing, and, as if they despaired of arriving at any certain knowledge, wish to follow [pg 145] whatever is probable. But we have more trouble with Epicurus, because he combines two kinds of pleasure, and because he and his friends, and many others since, have been advocates of that opinion; and somehow or other, the people, who, though they have the least authority, have nevertheless the greatest power, are on his side; and, unless we refute them, all virtue, and all reputation, and all true glory, must be abandoned. And so, having put aside the opinions of all the rest, there remains a contest, not between Torquatus and me, but between virtue and pleasure; and this contest Chrysippus, a man of great acuteness and great industry, is far from despising; and he thinks that the whole question as to the chief good is at stake in this controversy: but I think, if I show the reality of what is honourable, and that it is a thing to be sought for by reason of its own intrinsic excellence, and for its own sake, that all your arguments are at once overthrown; therefore, when I have once established what its character is, speaking briefly, as the time requires, I shall approach all your arguments, O Torquatus, unless my memory fails me.

We understand, then, that to be honourable which is such that, leaving all advantage out of the question, it can be deservedly praised by itself, without thinking of any reward or profit derived from it. And what its character is may be understood, not so much by the definition which I have employed, (although that may help in some degree,) as by the common sentiments of all men, and by the zeal and conduct of every virtuous man; for such do many things for this sole reason, because they are becoming, because they are right, because they are honourable, even though they do not perceive any advantage likely to result from them: for men differ from beasts in many other things indeed, but especially in this one particular, that they have reason and intellect given to them by nature, and a mind, active, vigorous, revolving many things at the same time with the greatest rapidity, and, if I may so say, sagacious to perceive the causes of things, and their consequences and connexions, and to use metaphors, and to combine things which are unconnected, and to connect the future with the present, and to embrace in its view the whole course of a consistent life. The same reason has also made man desirous of the society of men, and inclined to agree with [pg 146] them by nature, and conversation, and custom; so that, setting out with affection for his friends and relations, he proceeds further, and unites himself in a society, first of all of his fellow-countrymen, and subsequently of all mortals; and as Plato wrote to Archytas, recollects that he has been born, not for himself alone, but for his country and his family; so that there is but a small portion of himself left for himself. And since the same nature has implanted in man a desire of ascertaining the truth, which is most easily visible when, being free from all cares, we wish to know what is taking place, even in the heavens; led on from these beginnings we love everything that is true, that is to say, that is faithful, simple, consistent, and we hate what is vain, false and deceitful, such as fraud, perjury, cunning and injustice.

The same reason has in itself something large and magnificent, suited for command rather than for obedience; thinking all events which can befal a man not only endurable, but insignificant; something lofty and sublime, fearing nothing, yielding to no one, always invincible. And, when these three kinds of the honourable have been noticed, a fourth follows, of the same beauty and suited to the other three, in which order and moderation exist; and when the likeness of it to the others is perceived in the beauty and dignity of all their separate forms, we are transported across to what is honourable in words and actions; for, in consequence of these three virtues which I have already mentioned, a man avoids rashness, and does not venture to injure any one by any wanton word or action, and is afraid either to do or to say anything which may appear at all unsuited to the dignity of a man.

XV. Here, now, O Torquatus, you have a picture of what is honourable completely filled in and finished; and it is contained wholly in these four virtues which you also mentioned. But your master Epicurus says that he knows nothing whatever of it, and does not understand what, or what sort of quality those people assert it to be, who profess to measure the chief good by the standard of what is honourable. For if everything is referred to that, and if they say that pleasure has no part in it, then he says that they are talking idly, (these are his very words,) and do not understand or see what real meaning ought to be conveyed under this word honourable; for, as custom has it, he says that that alone is honourable [pg 147] which is accounted glorious by common report; and that, says he, although it is often more pleasant than some pleasures, still is sought for the sake of pleasure. Do you not see how greatly these two parties differ? A noble philosopher, by whom not only Greece and Italy, but all the countries of the barbarians are influenced, says that he does not understand what honourableness is, if it be not in pleasure, unless, perchance, it is that thing which is praised by the common conversation of the populace. But my opinion is, that this is often even dishonourable, and that real honourableness is not called so from the circumstance of its being praised by the many, but because it is such a thing that even if men were unacquainted with it, or if they said nothing about it, it would still be praiseworthy by reason of its own intrinsic beauty and excellence.

And so he again, being forced to yield to the power of nature, which is always irresistible, says in another place what you also said a little while ago,—that a man cannot live pleasantly unless he also lives honourably. Now then, what is the meaning of honourably? does it mean the same as pleasantly? If so, this statement will come to this, that a man cannot live honourably unless he lives honourably. Is it honourably according to public report? Therefore he affirms that a man cannot live pleasantly without he has public report in his favour. What can be more shameful than for the life of a wise man to depend on the conversation of fools? What is it, then, that in this place he understands by the word honourable? Certainly nothing except what can be deservedly praised for its own sake; for if it be praised for the sake of pleasure, then what sort of praise, I should like to know, is that which can be sought for in the shambles? He is not a man, while he places honourableness in such a rank that he affirms it to be impossible to live pleasantly without it, to think that honourable which is popular, and to affirm that one cannot live pleasantly without popularity; or to understand by the word honourable anything except what is right, and deservedly to be praised by itself and for itself, from a regard to its own power and influence and intrinsic nature.

XVI. Therefore, Torquatus, when you said that Epicurus asserted loudly that a man could not live pleasantly if he did not also live honourably, and wisely, and justly, you [pg 148] appeared to me to be boasting yourself. There was such energy in your words, on account of the dignity of those things which were indicated by those words, that you became taller, that you rose up, and fixed your eyes upon us as if you were giving a solemn testimony that honourableness and justice are sometimes praised by Epicurus. How becoming was it to you to use that language, which is so necessary for philosophers, that if they did not use it we should have no great need of philosophy at all! For it is out of love for those words, which are very seldom employed by Epicurus—I mean wisdom, fortitude, justice, and temperance—that men of the most admirable powers of mind have betaken themselves to the study of philosophy.

“The sense of our eyes,” says Plato, “is most acute in us; but yet we do not see wisdom with them. What a vehement passion for itself would it excite if it could be beheld by the eyes!” Why so? Because it is so ingenious as to be able to devise pleasures in the most skilful manner. Why is justice extolled? or what is it that has given rise to that old and much-worn proverb, “He is a man with whom you may play31 in the dark.” This, though applied to only one thing, has a very extensive application; so that in every case we are influenced by the facts, and not by the witness.

For those things which you were saying were very weak and powerless arguments,—when you urged that the wicked were tormented by their own consciences, and also by fear of punishment, which is either inflicted on them, or keeps them in constant fear that it will be inflicted. One ought not to imagine a man timid, or weak in his mind, nor a good man, who, whatever he has done, keeps tormenting himself, and dreads everything; but rather let us fancy one, who with great shrewdness refers everything to usefulness—an acute, crafty, wary man, able with ease to devise plans for deceiving any one secretly, without any witness, or any one being privy to it. Do you think that I am speaking of Lucius Tubulus?—who, when as prætor he had been sitting as judge upon the [pg 149] trial of some assassins, took money to influence his decision so undisguisedly, that the next year Publius Scævola, being tribune of the people, made a motion before the people, that an inquiry should be made into the case. In accordance with which decree of the people, Cnæus Cæpio, the consul, was ordered by the senate to investigate the affair. Tubulus immediately went into banishment, and did not dare to make any reply to the charge, for the matter was notorious.

XVII. We are not, therefore, inquiring about a man who is merely wicked, but about one who mingles cunning with his wickedness, (as Quintus Pompeius32 did when he repudiated the treaty of Numantia,) and yet who is not afraid of everything, but who has rather no regard for the stings of conscience, which it costs him no trouble at all to stifle; for a man who is called close and secret is so far from informing against himself, that he will even pretend to grieve at what is done wrong by another; for what else is the meaning of the word crafty (versutus)? I recollect on one occasion being present at a consultation held by Publius Sextilius Rufus, when he reported the case on which he asked advice to his friends in this manner: That he had been left heir to Quintus Fadius Gallus; in whose will it had been written that he had entreated Sextilius to take care that what he left behind him should come to his daughter. Sextilius denied that he had done so. He could deny it with impunity, for who was there to convict him? None of us believed him; and it was more likely that he should tell a lie whose interest it was to do so, than he who had set down in his will that he had made the request which he ought to have made. He added, moreover, that having sworn to comply with the Voconian33 law, he did [pg 150] not dare to violate it, unless his friends were of a contrary opinion. I myself was very young when I was present on this occasion, but there were present also many men of the highest character, not one of whom thought that more ought to be given to Fadia than could come to her under the provisions of the Voconian law. Sextilius retained a very large inheritance; of which, if he had followed the opinion of those men who preferred what was right and honourable to all profit and advantage, he would never have touched a single penny. Do you think that he was afterwards anxious and uneasy in his mind on that account? Not a bit of it: on the contrary, he was a rich man, owing to that inheritance, and he rejoiced in his riches, for he set a great value on money which was acquired not only without violating the laws, but even by the law. And money is what you also think worth seeking for, even with great risk, for it is the efficient cause of many and great pleasures. As, therefore, every danger appears fit to be encountered for the sake of what is becoming and honourable, by those who decide that what is right and honourable is to be sought for its own sake; so the men of your school, who measure everything by pleasure, must encounter every danger in order to acquire great pleasures, if any great property or any important inheritance is at stake, since numerous pleasures are procured by money. And your master Epicurus must, if he wishes to pursue what he himself considers the chief of all good things, do the same that Scipio did, who had a prospect of great glory before him if he could compel Hannibal to return into Africa. And with this view, what great dangers did he encounter! for he measured the whole of his enterprise by the standard of honour, not of pleasure. And in like manner, your wise man, being excited by the prospect of some advantage, will fight34 courageously, if it should be necessary. If his exploits [pg 151] are undiscovered, he will rejoice; if he is taken, he will despise every kind of punishment, for he will be thoroughly armed for a contempt of death, banishment, and even of pain, which you indeed represent as intolerable when you hold it out to wicked men as a punishment, but as endurable when you argue that a wise man has always more good than evil in his fortune.

XVIII. But picture to yourself a man not only cunning, so as to be prepared to act dishonestly in any circumstances that may arise, but also exceedingly powerful; as, for instance, Marcus Crassus was, who, however, always exercised his own natural good disposition; or as at this day our friend Pompeius is, to whom we ought to feel grateful for his virtuous conduct; for, although he is inclined to act justly, he could be unjust with perfect impunity. But how many unjust actions can be committed which nevertheless no one could find any ground for attacking! Suppose your friend, when dying, has entreated you to restore his inheritance to his daughter, and yet has never set it down in his will, as Fadius did, and has never mentioned to any one that he has done so, what will you do? You indeed will restore it. Perhaps Epicurus himself would have restored it; just as Sextus Peducæus the son of Sextus did; he who has left behind him a son, our intimate friend, a living image of his own virtue and honesty, a learned person, and the most virtuous and upright of all men; for he, though no one was aware that he had been entreated by Caius Plotius, a Roman knight of high character and great fortune, of the district of Nursia, to do so, came of his own accord to his widow, and, though she had no notion of the fact, detailed to her the commission which he had received from her husband, and made over the inheritance to her. But I ask you (since you would certainly have acted in the same manner yourself), do you not understand that the power of nature is all the greater, inasmuch as you yourselves, who refer everything to your own advantage, and, as you yourselves say, to pleasure, still perform actions from which it is evident that you are guided not by pleasure, but by principles of duty, and that your own upright nature has more influence over you than any vicious reasoning?

If you knew, says Carneades, that a snake was lying hid in any place, and that some one was going ignorantly to sit [pg 152] down upon it whose death would bring you some advantage, you would be acting wickedly if you did not warn him not to sit down there; and yet you could not be punished, for who could possibly convict you? However, I am dwelling too long on this point; for it is evident, unless equity, good faith and justice proceed from nature, and if all these things are referred to advantage, that a good man cannot possibly be found. But on this subject we have put a sufficient number of arguments into the mouth of Lælius, in our books on a Republic.

XIX. Now apply the same arguments to modesty, or temperance, which is a moderation of the appetites, in subordination to reason. Can we say that a man pays sufficient regard to the dictates of modesty, who indulges his lusts in such a manner as to have no witnesses of his conduct? or is there anything which is intrinsically flagitious, even if no loss of reputation ensues? What do brave men do? Do they enter into an exact calculation of pleasure, and so enter the battle, and shed their blood for their country? or are they excited rather by a certain ardour and impetuosity of courage? Do you think, O Torquatus, that that imperious ancestor of yours, if he could hear what we are now saying, would rather listen to your sentiments concerning him, or to mine, when I said that he had done nothing for his own sake, but everything for that of the republic; and you, on the contrary, affirm that he did nothing except with a view to his own advantage? But if you were to wish to explain yourself further, and were to say openly that he did nothing except for the sake of pleasure, how do you think that he would bear such an assertion?

Be it so. Let Torquatus, if you will, have acted solely with a view to his own advantage, for I would rather employ that expression than pleasure, especially when speaking of so eminent a man,—did his colleague too, Publius Decius, the first man who ever was consul in that family, did he, I say, when he was devoting himself, and rushing at the full speed of his horse into the middle of the army of the Latins, think at all of his own pleasures? For where or when was he to find any, when he knew that he should perish immediately, and when he was seeking that death with more eager zeal than Epicurus thinks even pleasure deserving to be sought [pg 153] with? And unless this exploit of his had been deservedly extolled, his son would not have imitated it in his fourth consulship; nor, again, would his son, when fighting against Pyrrhus, have fallen in battle when he was consul, and so offered himself up for the sake of the republic as a third victim in an uninterrupted succession from the same family. I will forbear giving any more examples. I might get a few from the Greeks, such as Leonidas, Epaminondas, and three or four more perhaps. And if I were to begin hunting up our own annals for such instances, I should soon establish my point, and compel Pleasure to give herself up, bound hand and foot, to virtue. But the day would be too short for me. And as Aulus Varius, who was considered a rather severe judge, was in the habit of saying to his colleague, when, after some witnesses had been produced, others were still being summoned, “Either we have had witnesses enough, or I do not know what is enough;” so I think that I have now brought forward witnesses enough.

For, what will you say? Was it pleasure that worked upon you, a man thoroughly worthy of your ancestors, while still a young man, to rob Publius Sylla of the consulship? And when you had succeeded in procuring it for your father, a most gallant man, what a consul did he prove, and what a citizen at all times, and most especially after his consulship! And, indeed, it was by his advice that we ourselves behaved in such a manner as to consult the advantage of the whole body of the citizens rather than our own.

But how admirably did you seem to speak, when on the one side you drew a picture of a man loaded with the most numerous and excessive pleasures, with no pain, either present or future; and on the other, of a man surrounded with the greatest torments affecting his whole body, with no pleasure, either present or hoped for; and asked who could be more miserable than the one, or more happy than the other? and then concluded, that pain was the greatest evil, and pleasure the greatest good.

XX. There was a man of Lanuvium, called Lucius Thorius Balbus, whom you cannot remember; he lived in such a way that no pleasure could be imagined so exquisite, that he had not a superfluity of it. He was greedy of pleasure, a critical judge of every species of it, and very rich. So far removed [pg 154] from all superstition, as to despise the numerous sacrifices which take place, and temples which exist in his country; so far from fearing death, that he was slain in battle fighting for the republic. He bounded his appetites, not according to the division of Epicurus, but by his own feelings of satiety. He took sufficient exercise always to come to supper both thirsty and hungry. He ate such food as was at the same time nicest in taste and most easy of digestion; and selected such wine as gave him pleasure, and was, at the same time, free from hurtful qualities. He had all those other means and appliances which Epicurus thinks so necessary, that he says that if they are denied, he cannot understand what is good. He was free from every sort of pain; and if he had felt any, he would not have borne it impatiently, though he would have been more inclined to consult a physician than a philosopher. He was a man of a beautiful complexion, of perfect health, of the greatest influence, in short, his whole life was one uninterrupted scene of every possible variety of pleasures. Now, you call this man happy. Your principles compel you to do so. But as for me, I will not, indeed, venture to name the man whom I prefer to him—Virtue herself shall speak for me, and she will not hesitate to rank Marcus Regulus before this happy man of yours. For Virtue asserts loudly that this man, when, of his own accord, under no compulsion, except that of the pledge which he had given to the enemy, he had returned to Carthage, was, at the very moment when he was being tortured with sleeplessness and hunger, more happy than Thorius while drinking on a bed of roses.

Regulus had had the conduct of great wars; he had been twice consul; he had had a triumph; and yet he did not think those previous exploits of his so great or so glorious as that last misfortune which he incurred, because of his own good faith and constancy; a misfortune which appears pitiable to us who hear of it, but was actually pleasant to him who endured it. For men are happy, not because of hilarity, or lasciviousness, or laughter, or jesting, the companion of levity, but often even through sorrow endured with firmness and constancy. Lucretia, having been ravished by force by the king's son, called her fellow-citizens to witness, and slew herself. This grief of hers, Brutus being the leader and mover of the Roman people, was the cause of liberty to the [pg 155] whole state. And out of regard for the memory of that woman, her husband and her father were made consuls35 the first year of the republic. Lucius Virginius, a man of small property and one of the people, sixty years after the reestablishment of liberty, slew his virgin daughter with his own hand, rather than allow her to be surrendered to the lust of Appius Claudius, who was at that time invested with the supreme power.

XXI. Now you, O Torquatus, must either blame all these actions, or else you must abandon the defence of pleasure. And what a cause is that, and what a task does the man undertake who comes forward as the advocate of pleasure, who is unable to call any one illustrious man as evidence in her favour or as a witness to her character? For as we have awakened those men from the records of our annals as witnesses, whose whole life has been consumed in glorious labours; men who cannot bear to hear the very name of pleasure: so on your side of the argument history is dumb. I have never heard of Lycurgus, or Solon, Miltiades, or Themistocles, or Epaminondas being mentioned in the school of Epicurus; men whose names are constantly in the mouth of all the other philosophers. But now, since we have begun to deal with this part of the question, our friend Atticus, out of his treasures, will supply us with the names of as many great men as may be sufficient for us to bring forward as witnesses. Is it not better to say a little of these men, than so many volumes about Themista?36 Let these things be confined to the Greeks: although we have derived philosophy and all the liberal sciences from them, still there are things which may be allowable for them to do, but not for us. The Stoics are at variance with the Peripatetics. One sect denies that anything is good which is not also honourable: the other asserts that it allows great weight, indeed, by far the most weight, to what is honourable, but still affirms that there are in the body also, and around the body, certain positive goods. It is an honourable contest and a splendid [pg 156] discussion. For the whole question is about the dignity of virtue.

But when one is arguing with philosophers of your school, one is forced to hear a great deal about even the obscure pleasures which Epicurus himself continually mentions. You cannot then, Torquatus, believe me, you cannot uphold those principles, if you examine into yourself, and your own thoughts and studies. You will, I say, be ashamed of that picture which Cleanthes was in the habit of drawing with such accuracy in his description. He used to desire those who came to him as his pupils, to think of Pleasure painted in a picture, clad in beautiful robes, with royal ornaments, and sitting on a throne. He represented all the Virtues around her, as her handmaidens, doing nothing else, and thinking nothing else their duty, but to minister to Pleasure, and only just to whisper in her ear (if, indeed, that could be made intelligible in a picture) a warning to be on her guard to do nothing imprudent, nothing to offend the minds of men, nothing from which any pain could ensue. We, indeed, they would say, we Virtues are only born to act as your slaves; we have no other business.

XXII. But Epicurus (for this is your great point) denies that any man who does not live honourably can live agreeably; as if I cared what he denies or what he affirms. What I inquire is, what it is consistent for that man to say who places the chief good in pleasure. What reason do you allege why Thorius, why Chius, why Postumius, why the master of all these men, Orata, did not live most agreeably? He himself, as I have already said, asserts that the life of men devoted to luxury is not deserving of blame, unless they are absolute fools, that is to say, unless they abandon themselves to become slaves to their desires or to their fears. And when he promises them a remedy for both these things, he, in so doing, offers them a licence for luxury. For if you take away these things, then he says that he cannot find anything in the life of debauched men which deserves blame. You then, who regulate everything by the standard of pleasure, cannot either defend or maintain virtue. For he does not deserve to be accounted a virtuous or a just man who abstains from injustice in order to avoid suffering evil. You know the line, I suppose—

He's not a pious man whom fear constrains

To acts of piety ... a man—

And nothing can be more true. For a man is not just while he is in a state of alarm. And certainly when he ceases to be in fear, he will not be just. But he will not be afraid if he is able to conceal his actions, or if he is able, by means of his great riches and power, to support what he has done. And he will certainly prefer being regarded as a good man, though he is not one, to being a good man and not being thought one. And so, beyond all question, instead of genuine and active justice, you give us only an effigy of justice, and you teach us, as it were, to disregard our own unvarying conscience, and to go hunting after the fleeting vagabond opinions of others.

And the same may be said of the other virtues also; the foundation of all which you place in pleasure, which is like building on water. For what are we to say? Can we call that same Torquatus a brave man? For I am delighted, though I cannot, as you say, bribe you; I am delighted with your family and with your name. And, in truth, I have before my eyes Aulus Torquatus,37 a most excellent man, and one greatly attached to me; and both of you must certainly be aware how great and how eminent his zeal in my behalf was in those times which are well known to every one. And that conduct of his would not have been delightful to me, who wish both to be, and to be considered, grateful, if I did not see clearly that he was friendly to me for my own sake, not for his own; unless, indeed, you say, it was for his own sake, because it is for the interest of every one to act rightly. If you say that, we have gained our point. For what we are aiming at, what we are contending for, is, that duty itself is the reward of duty. But that master of yours will not admit this, and requires pleasure to result from every action as a sort of wages.

However, I return to him. If it was for the sake of pleasure that Torquatus, when challenged, fought with the Gaul on the Anio, and out of his spoils took his chain and earned his surname, or if it was for any other reason but that he thought such exploits worthy of a man, then I do not [pg 158] account him brave. And, indeed, if modesty, and decency, and chastity, and, in one word, temperance, is only upheld by the fear of punishment or infamy, and not out of regard to their own sanctity, then what lengths will adultery and debauchery and lust shrink from proceeding to, if there is a hope either of escaping detection, or of obtaining impunity or licence?

What shall I say more? What is your idea, O Torquatus, of this?—that you, a man of your name, of your abilities, of your high reputation, should not dare to allege in a public assembly what you do, what you think, what you contend for, the standard to which you refer everything, the object for the sake of which you wish to accomplish what you attempt, and what you think best in life. For what can you claim to deserve, when you have entered upon your magistracy, and come forward to the assembly, (for then you will have to announce what principles you intend to observe in administering the law, and perhaps, too, if you think fit, you will, as is the ancient custom, say something about your ancestors and yourself,)—what, I say, can you claim as your just desert, if you say that in that magistracy you will do everything for the sake of pleasure? and that you have never done anything all your life except with a view to pleasure? Do you think, say you, that I am so mad as to speak in that way before ignorant people? Well, say it then in the court of justice, or if you are afraid of the surrounding audience, say it in the senate: you will never do so. Why not, except that such language is disgraceful? Do you then think Triarius and me fit people for you to speak before in a disgraceful manner?

XXIII. However, be it so. The name of pleasure certainly has no dignity in it, and perhaps we do not exactly understand what is meant by it; for you are constantly saying that we do not understand what you mean by the word pleasure: no doubt it is a very difficult and obscure matter. When you speak of atoms, and spaces between worlds, things which do not exist, and which cannot possibly exist, then we understand you; and cannot we understand what pleasure is, a thing which is known to every sparrow? What will you say if I compel you to confess that I not only do know what pleasure is (for it is a pleasant emotion affecting the senses), but also what you mean by the word? For at one time you [pg 159] mean by the word the very same thing which I have just said, and you give it the description of consisting in motion, and of causing some variety: at another time you speak of some other highest pleasure, which is susceptible of no addition whatever, but that it is present when every sort of pain is absent, and you call it then a state, not a motion: let that, then, be pleasure. Say, in any assembly you please, that you do everything with a view to avoid suffering pain: if you do not think that even this language is sufficiently dignified, or sufficiently honourable, say that you will do everything during your year of office, and during your whole life, for the sake of your own advantage; that you will do nothing except what is profitable to yourself, nothing which is not prompted by a view to your own interest. What an uproar do you not suppose such a declaration would excite in the assembly, and what hope do you think you would have of the consulship which is ready for you? And can you follow these principles, which, when by yourself, or in conversation with your dearest friends, you do not dare to profess and avow openly? But you have those maxims constantly in your mouth which the Peripatetics and Stoics profess. In the courts of justice and in the senate you speak of duty, equity, dignity, good faith, uprightness, honourable actions, conduct worthy of power, worthy of the Roman people; you talk of encountering every imaginable danger in the cause of the republic—of dying for one's country. When you speak in this manner we are all amazed, like a pack of blockheads, and you are laughing in your sleeve: for, among all those high-sounding and admirable expressions, pleasure has no place, not only that pleasure which you say consists in motion, and which all men, whether living in cities or in the country, all men, in short, who speak Latin, call pleasure, but even that stationary pleasure, which no one but your sect calls pleasure at all.

XXIV. Take care lest you find yourselves obliged to use our language, though adhering to your own opinions. But if you were to put on a feigned countenance or gait, with the object of appearing more dignified, you would not then be like yourself; and yet are you to use fictitious language, and to say things which you do not think, or, as you have one dress to wear at home, and another in which you appear in court, [pg 160] are you to disguise your opinions in a similar manner, so as to make a parade with your countenance, while you are keeping the truth hidden within? Consider, I intreat you, whether this is proper. My opinion is that those are genuine sentiments which are honourable, which are praiseworthy, which are creditable; which a man is not ashamed to avow in the senate, before the people, in every company and every assembly, so that he will be ashamed to think what he is ashamed to say.

But what room can there be for friendship, or who can be a friend to any one whom he does not love for his own sake? And what is loving, from which verb (amo) the very name of friendship (amicitia) is derived, but wishing a certain person to enjoy the greatest possible good fortune, even if none of it accrues to oneself? Still, you say, it is a good thing for me to be of such a disposition. Perhaps it may be so; but you cannot be so if it is not really your disposition; and how can you be so unless love itself has seized hold of you? which is not usually generated by any accurate computation of advantage, but is self-produced, and born spontaneously from itself. But, you will say, I am guided by prospects of advantage. Friendship, then, will remain just as long as any advantage ensues from it; and if it be a principle of advantage which is the foundation of friendship, the same will be its destruction. But what will you do, if, as is often the case, advantage takes the opposite side to friendship? Will you abandon it? what sort of friendship is that? Will you preserve it? how will that be expedient for you? For you see what the rules are which you lay down respecting friendship which is desirable only for the sake of one's own advantage:—I must take care that I do not incur odium if I cease to uphold my friend. Now, in the first place, why should such conduct incur odium, except because it is disgraceful? But, if you will not desert your friend lest you should incur any disadvantage from so doing, still you will wish that he was dead, to release you from being bound to a man from whom you get no advantage. But suppose he not only brings you no advantage, but you even incur loss of property for his sake, and have to undertake labours, and to encounter danger of your life; will you not, even then, show some regard for yourself, and recollect that every one is born for himself and for his own pleasures? Will you go bail to a [pg 161] tyrant for your friend in a case which may affect your life, as that Pythagorean38 did when he became surety to the Tyrant of Sicily? or, when you are Pylades, will you affirm that you are Orestes, that you may die for your friend? or, if you were Orestes, would you contradict Pylades, and give yourself up? and, if you could not succeed then, would you intreat that you might be both put to death together?

XXV. You, indeed, O Torquatus, would do all these things. For I do not think that there is anything deserving of great praise, which you would be likely to shrink from out of fear of death or pain: nor is it the question what is consistent with your nature, but with the doctrines of your school—that philosophy which you defend, those precepts which you have learnt, and which you profess to approve of, utterly overthrow friendship—even though Epicurus should, as indeed he does, extol it to the skies. Oh, you will say, but he himself cultivated friendship. As if any one denied that he was a good, and courteous, and kind-hearted man; the question in these discussions turns on his genius, and not on his morals. Grant that there is such perversity in the levity of the Greeks, who attack those men with evil speaking with whom they disagree as to the truth of a proposition. But, although he may have been courteous in maintaining friendships, still, if all this is true, (for I do not affirm anything myself), he was not a very acute arguer. Oh, but he convinced many people. And perhaps it was quite right that he should; still, the testimony of the multitude is not of the greatest possible weight; for in every art, or study, or science, as in virtue itself, whatever is most excellent is also most rare. And to me, indeed, the very fact of he himself having been a good man, and of many Epicureans having also been such, and being to this day faithful in their friendships, and consistent throughout their whole lives, and men of dignified conduct, regulating their lives, not by pleasure, but by their duty, appears to show that the power of what is honourable is greater, and that of pleasure smaller. For some men live in such a manner that their language is refuted by their lives; and as others are considered [pg 162] to speak better than they act, so these men seem to me to act better than they speak.

XXVI. However, all this is nothing to the purpose. Let us just consider those things which have been said by you about friendship, and among them I fancied that I recognized one thing as having been said by Epicurus himself, namely, that friendship cannot be separated from pleasure, and that it ought on that account to be cultivated, because without it men could not live in safety, and without fear, nor even with any kind of pleasantness. Answer enough has been given to this argument. You also brought forward another more humane one, invented by these more modern philosophers, and never, as far as I know, advanced by the master himself, that at first, indeed, a friend is sought out with a view to one's own advantage, but that when intimacy has sprung up, then the man is loved for himself, all hope or idea of pleasure being put out of the question. Now, although this argument is open to attack on many accounts, still I will accept what they grant; for it is enough for me, though not enough for them: for they admit that it is possible for men to act rightly at times, without any expectation of, or desire to acquire pleasure.

You also affirmed that some people say that wise men make a kind of treaty among themselves, that they shall have the same feelings towards their friends that they entertain for themselves, and that that is possible, and is often the case, and that it has especial reference to the enjoyment of pleasures. If they could make this treaty, they at the same time make that other to love equity, moderation, and all the virtues for their own sake, without any consideration of advantage. But if we cultivate friendships for the sake of their profits, emoluments, and advantages which may be derived from them, if there is to be no affection which may make the friendship desirable for its own sake, on its own account, by its own influences, by itself and for itself, is there any doubt at all that in such a case we must prefer our farms and estates to our friends? And here you may again quote those panegyrics which have been uttered in most eloquent language by Epicurus himself, on the subject of friendship. I am not asking what he says, but what he can possibly say which shall be consistent with his own system and sentiments.

Friendship has been sought for the sake of advantage; do you, then, think that my friend Triarius, here, will be more useful to you than your granaries at Puteol? Think of all the circumstances which you are in the habit of recollecting; the protection which friends are to a man. You have sufficient protection in yourself, sufficient in the laws, sufficient also in moderate friendships. As it is, you cannot be looked upon with contempt; but you will easily avoid odium and unpopularity, for precepts on that subject are given by Epicurus. And yet you, by employing such large revenues in purposes of liberality, even without any Pyladean friendship, will admirably defend and protect yourself by the goodwill of numbers. But with whom, then, is a man to share his jests, his serious thoughts, as people say, and all his secrets and hidden wishes? With you, above all men; but if that cannot be, why with some tolerably intimate friend. However, grant that all these circumstances are not unreasonable; what comparison can there be between them and the utility of such large sums of money? You see, then, if you measure friendship by the affection which it engenders, that nothing is more excellent; if by the advantage that is derived from it, then you see that the closest intimacies are surpassed by the value of a productive farm. You must therefore love me, myself, and not my circumstances, if we are to be real friends.

XXVII. But we are getting too prolix in the most self-evident matters; for, as it has been concluded and established that there is no room anywhere for either virtues or friendships if everything is referred to pleasure, there is nothing more which it is of any great importance should be said. And yet, that I may not appear to have passed over any topic without a reply, I will, even now, say a few words on the remainder of your argument.

Since, then, the whole sum of philosophy is directed to ensure living happily, and since men, from a desire of this one thing, have devoted themselves to this study; but different people make happiness of life to consist in different circumstances; you, for instance, place it in pleasure; and, in the same manner you, on the other hand, make all unhappiness to consist in pain: let us consider, in the first place, what sort of thing this happy life of yours is. But you will grant this, I think, that if there is really any such thing as happiness, [pg 164] it ought to be wholly in the power of a wise man to secure it; for, if a happy life can be lost, it cannot be happy. For who can feel confident that a thing will always remain firm and enduring in his case, which is in reality fleeting and perishable? But the man who distrusts the permanence of his good things, must necessarily fear that some day or other, when he has lost them, he will become miserable; and no man can be happy who is in fear about most important matters. No one, then, can be happy; for a happy life is usually called so, not in some part only, but in perpetuity of time; and, in fact, life is not said to be happy at all till it is completed and finished. Nor is it possible for any man to be sometimes happy and sometimes miserable; for he who thinks it possible that he may become miserable, is certainly not happy. For, when a happy life is once attained, it remains as long as the maker of the happy life herself, namely, wisdom; nor does it wait till the last period of a man's existence, as Herodotus says that Crœsus was warned by Solon.

But, as you yourself were saying, Epicurus denies that length of time has any influence on making life happy, and that no less pleasure can be felt in a short time than would be the case if the pleasure were everlasting. Now these statements are most inconsistent. For, when he places the chief good in pleasure, he denies that pleasure can be greater in infinite time, than it can in a finite and moderate period. The man who places all good in virtue, has it in his power to say that a happy life is made so by the perfection of virtue; for he consistently denies that time can bring any increase to his chief good. But he who thinks that life is made happy by pleasure, must surely be inconsistent with himself if he denies that pleasure is increased by length of time: if so, then pain is not either. Shall we, then, say that all pain is most miserable in proportion as it is most lasting, and yet that duration does not make pleasure more desirable? Why, then, is it that Epicurus always speaks of God as happy and eternal? For, if you only take away his eternity, Jupiter is in no respect more happy than Epicurus; for each of them is in the enjoyment of the chief good, namely, pleasure. Oh, but Epicurus is also liable to pain. That does not affect him at all; for he says that if he were being burnt, he would say, “How pleasant it is.” In what respect, then, is he surpassed [pg 165] by the God, if he is not surpassed by him because of his eternity? For what good has the God, except the highest degree of pleasure, and that, too, everlasting! What, then, is the good of speaking so pompously, if one does not speak consistently? Happiness of life is placed in pleasure of body, (I will add of mind also, if you please, as long as that pleasure of the mind is derived from the pleasure of the body.) What? who can secure this pleasure to a wise man in perpetuity? For the circumstances by which pleasures are generated are not in the power of a wise man; for happiness does not consist in wisdom itself, but in those things which wisdom provides for the production of pleasure. And all these circumstances are external; and what is external is liable to accident. And thus fortune is made the mistress of happiness in life,—Fortune, which, Epicurus says, has but little to do with a wise man.

XXVIII. But you will say, Come, these things are trifles. Nature by herself enriches the wise man; and, indeed, Epicurus has taught us that the riches of nature are such as can be acquired. This is well said, and I do not object to it; but still these same assertions are inconsistent with one another. For Epicurus denies there is less pleasure derived from the poorest food, from the most despised kinds of meat and drink, than from feasting on the most delicious dishes. Now if he were to assert that it makes no difference as to the happiness of life what food a man ate, I would grant it, I would even praise him for saying so; for he would be speaking the truth; and I know that Socrates, who ranked pleasure as nothing at all, said the same thing, namely, that hunger was the best seasoning for meat, and thirst for drink. But I do not comprehend how a man who refers everything to pleasure, lives like Gallonius, and yet talks like that great man Frugi Piso; nor, indeed, do I believe that what he says is his real opinion. He has said that natural riches can be acquired, because nature is contented with a little. Certainly, unless you estimate pleasure at a great value. No less pleasure, says he, is derived from the most ordinary things than from the most valuable. Now to say this, is not only not to have a heart, but not to have even a palate. For they who despise pleasure itself, may be allowed to say that they do not prefer a sturgeon to a herring. But the man who places his chief [pg 166] good in pleasure, must judge of everything by his sensations, not by his reason, and must pronounce those things best which are most pleasant.

However, be it so. Let him acquire the greatest possible pleasures, not only at a cheap rate, but, as far as I am concerned, for nothing at all, if he can manage it. Let there be no less pleasure in eating a nasturtium, which Xenophon tells us the Persians used to eat, than in those Syracusan banquets which are so severely blamed by Plato. Let, I say, the acquisition of pleasure be as easy as you say it is. What shall we say of pain? the torments of which are so great that, if at least pain is the greatest of evils, a happy life cannot possibly exist in company with it. For Metrodorus himself, who is almost a second Epicurus, describes a happy man in these words. When his body is in good order, and when he is quite certain that it it will be so for the future. Is it possible for any one to be certain in what condition his body will be, I do not say a year hence, but even this evening? Pain, therefore, which is the greatest of evils, will always be dreaded even if it is not present. For it will always be possible that it may be present. But how can any fear of the greatest possible evil exist in a happy life?

Oh, says he, Epicurus has handed down maxims according to which we may disregard pain. Surely, it is an absurdity to suppose that the greatest possible evil can be disregarded. However, what is the maxim? The greatest pain, says he, is short-lived. Now, first of all, what do you call short-lived? And, secondly, what do you call the greatest pain? For what do you mean? Cannot extreme pain last for many days? Aye, and for many months? Unless, indeed, you intend to assert that you mean such pain as kills a man the moment it seizes on him. Who is afraid of that pain? I would rather you would lessen that pain by which I have seen that most excellent and kind-hearted man, Cnæus Octavius, the son of Marcus Octavius, my own intimate friend, worn out, and that not once, or for a short time, but very often, and for a long period at once. What agonies, O ye immortal gods, did that man use to bear, when all his limbs seemed as if they were on fire. And yet he did not appear to be miserable, (because in truth pain was not the greatest of evils,) but only afflicted. But if he had been immersed in [pg 167] continued pleasure, passing at the same time a vicious and infamous life, then he would have been miserable.

XXIX. But when you say that great pains last but a short time, and that if they last long they are always light, I do not understand the meaning of your assertion. For I see that some pains are very great, and also very durable. And there is a better principle which may enable one to endure them, which however you cannot adopt, who do not love what is honourable for its own sake. There are some precepts for, and I may almost say laws of, fortitude, which forbid a man to behave effeminately in pain. Wherefore it should be accounted disgraceful, I do not say to grieve, (for that is at times unavoidable,) but to make those rocks of Lemnos melancholy with such outcries as those of Philoctetes—

Who utters many a tearful note aloud,

With ceaseless groaning, howling, and complaint.

Now let Epicurus, if he can, put himself in the place of that man—

Whose veins and entrails thus are racked with pain

And horrid agony, while the serpent's bite

Spreads its black venom through his shuddering frame.

Let Epicurus become Philoctetes. If his pain is sharp it is short. But in fact he has been lying in his cave for ten years. If it lasts long it is light, for it grants him intervals of relaxation. In the first place it does not do so often; and in the second place what sort of relaxation is it when the memory of past agony is still fresh, and the fear of further agony coming and impending is constantly tormenting him. Let him die, says he. Perhaps that would be the best thing for him; but then what becomes of the argument, that the wise man has always more pleasure than pain? For if that be the case I would have you think whether you are not recommending him a crime, when you advise him to die. Say to him rather, that it is a disgraceful thing for a man to allow his spirit to be crushed and broken by pain, that it is shameful to yield to it. For as for your maxim, if it is violent it is short, if it lasts long it is slight, that is mere empty verbiage. The only real way to mitigate pain is by the application of virtue, of magnanimity, of patience, of courage.

XXX. Listen, that I may not make too wide a digression, to the words of Epicurus when dying; and take notice how [pg 168] inconsistent his conduct is with his language. “Epicurus to Hermarchus greeting. I write this letter,” says he, “while passing a happy day, which is also the last day of my life. And the pains of my bladder and bowels are so intense that nothing can be added to them which can make them greater.” Here is a man miserable, if pain is the greatest possible evil. It cannot possibly be denied. However, let us see how he proceeds. “But still I have to balance this a joy in my mind, which I derive from the recollection of my philosophical principles and discoveries. But do you, as becomes the goodwill which from your youth upwards you have constantly discovered for me and for philosophy, protect the children of Metrodorus.” After reading this, I do not consider the death of Epaminondas or Leonidas preferable to his. One of whom defeated the Lacedæmonians at Mantinea,39 and finding that he had been rendered insensible by a mortal wound, when he first came to himself, asked whether his shield was safe? When his weeping friends had answered him that it was, he then asked whether the enemy was defeated? And when he received to this question also the answer which he wished, he then ordered the spear which was sticking in him to be pulled out. And so, losing quantities of blood, he died in the hour of joy and victory.

But Leonidas, the king of the Lacedæmonians, put himself and those three hundred men, whom he had led from Sparta, in the way of the enemy of Thermopylæ,40 when the alternative was a base flight, or a glorious death. The deaths of generals are glorious, but philosophers usually die in their beds. But still Epicurus here mentions what, when dying, he considered great credit to himself. “I have,” says he, “a joy to counterbalance these pains.” I recognise in these words, O Epicurus, the sentiments of a philosopher, but still you forgot what you ought to have said. For, in the first place, if those things be true, in the recollection of which you say you rejoice, that is to say, if your writings and discoveries are true, then you cannot rejoice. For you have no pleasure here which you can refer to the body. But you have constantly asserted that no one ever feels joy or pain except with reference to his body. “I rejoice,” says he, “in the past.” In what that is past? If you mean such past things as refer to [pg 169] the body, then I see that you are counterbalancing your agonies with your reason, and not with your recollection of pleasures which you have felt in the body. But if you are referring to your mind, then your denial of there being any joy of the mind which cannot be referred to some pleasure of the body, must be false. Why, then, do you recommend the children of Metrodorus to Hermarchus? In that admirable exercise of duty, in that excellent display of your good faith, for that is how I look upon it, what is there that you refer to the body?

XXXI. You may twist yourself about in every direction as you please, Torquatus, but you will not find in this excellent letter anything written by Epicurus which is in harmony and consistent with the rules he laid down. And so he is convicted by himself, and his writings are upset by his own virtue and goodness. For that recommendation of those children, that recollection of them, and affectionate friendship for them, that attention to the most important duties at the last gasp, indicates that honesty without any thought of personal advantage was innate in the man; that it did not require the invitation of pleasure, or the allurements of mercenary rewards. For what greater evidence can we require that those things which are honourable and right are desirable of themselves for their own sake, than the sight of a dying man so anxious in the discharge of such important duties? But, as I think that letter deserving of all commendation of which I have just given you a literal translation, (although it was in no respect consistent with the general system of that philosopher,) so also I think that his will is inconsistent not only with the dignity of a philosopher, but even with his own sentiments. For he wrote often, and at great length, and sometimes with brevity and suitable language, in that book which I have just named, that death had nothing to do with us; for that whatever was dissolved was void of sensation, and whatever was void of sensation had nothing whatever to do with us. Even this might have been expressed better and more elegantly. For when he lays down the position that what has been dissolved is void of sensation, that is such an expression that it is not very plain what he means by the word dissolved. However, I understand what he really does mean. But still I ask why, when every sensation is extinguished [pg 170] by dissolution, that is to say, by death, and when there is nothing else whatever that has any connexion with us, he should still take such minute and diligent care to enjoin Amynomachus and Timocrates, his heirs, to furnish every year what in the opinion of Hermarchus shall be enough to keep his birthday in the month Gamelion, with all proper solemnity. And also, shall every month, on the twentieth day of the month, supply money enough to furnish a banquet for those men who have studied philosophy with him, in order that his memory, and that of Metrodorus, may be duly honoured. Now I cannot deny that these injunctions are in keeping with the character of a thoroughly accomplished and amiable man; but still I utterly deny that it is inconsistent with the wisdom of a philosopher, especially of a natural philosopher, which is the character he claims for himself, to think that there is such a day as the birthday of any one. What? Can any day which has once passed recur over again frequently. Most indubitably not; or can any day like it recur? Even that is impossible, unless it may happen after an interval of many thousand years, that there may be a return of all the stars at the same moment to the point from which they set out. There is, therefore, no such thing as anybody's birthday. But still it is considered that there is. As if I did not know that. But even if there be, is it to be regarded after a man's death? And is a man to give injunctions in his will that it shall be so, after he has told you all, as if with the voice of an oracle, that there is nothing which concerns us at all after death? These things are very inconsistent in a man who, in his mind, had travelled over innumerable worlds and boundless regions, which were destitute of all limits and boundaries. Did Democritus ever say such a thing as this? I will pass over every one else, and call him only as a witness whom Epicurus himself followed to the exclusion of others.

But if a day did deserve to be kept, which was it more fitting to observe, the day on which a man was born, or that on which he became wise? A man, you will say, could not have become wise unless he had been born. And, on the same principle, he could not if his grandmother had never been born. The whole business, Torquatus, is quite out of character for a learned man to wish to have the recollection [pg 171] of his name celebrated with banquets after his death. I say nothing of the way in which you keep these days, and to how many jokes from witty men you expose yourselves. There is no need of quarrelling. I only say that it would have been more becoming in you to keep Epicurus's birthday, than in him to leave injunctions in his will that it should be kept.

XXXII. However, to return to our subject, (for while we were talking of pain we digressed to that letter of his,) we may now fairly come to this conclusion. The man who is in the greatest evil, while he is in it, is not happy. But the wise man is always happy, and is also occasionally in pain. Therefore, pain is not the greatest evil. What kind of doctrine, then, is this, that goods which are past are not lost to a wise man, but that he ought not to remember past evils. First of all, is it in our power to decide what we will remember. When Simonides, or some one else, offered to Themistocles to teach him the art of memory, “I would rather,” said he, “that you would teach me that of forgetfulness; for I even now recollect what I would rather not; but I cannot forget what I should like to.” This was a very sensible answer. But still the fact is that it is the act of a very arbitrary philosopher to forbid a man to recollect. It seems to me a command very much in the spirit of your ancestor, Manlius, or even worse, to command what it is impossible for me to do. What will you say if the recollection of past evils is even pleasant? For some proverbs are more true than your dogmas. Nor does Euripides speak all when he says, I will give it you in Latin, if I can, but you all know the Greek line—

Sweet is the memory of sorrows past.41

However, let us return to the consideration of past goods. And if you were to utter such maxims as might be capable of consoling Caius Marius, and enabling him when banished, indigent, and up to his neck in a marsh, to relieve his anguish by the recollection of his past trophies, I would listen to you, and approve of all you could say. Nor, indeed, can the happiness of a philosopher be complete or continue to the end, if all the admirable discoveries which he has made, and all his virtuous actions, are to be lost by his own forgetfulness. But, in your case, you assert that the recollection of pleasures which have been felt makes life happy, and of such pleasures too, as affect the body. For if there are any other pleasures, then it is incorrect to say that all the pleasures of the mind originate in its connexion with the body.

But if pleasures felt by the body, even when they are past, can give pleasure, then I do not understand why Aristotle should turn the inscription on the tomb of Sardanapalus into so much ridicule; in which the king of Assyria boasts that he has taken with him all his lascivious pleasures. For, says Aristotle, how could those things which even while he was alive he could not feel a moment longer than while he was actually enjoying them, possibly remain to him after he was dead? The pleasure, then, of the body is lost, and flies away at the first moment, and oftener leaves behind reasons for repenting of it than for recollecting it. Therefore, Africanus is happier when addressing his country in this manner—

Cease, Rome, to dread your foes....

And in the rest of his admirable boast—

For you have trophies by my labour raised.

He is rejoicing here in his labours which are past. But you would bid him exult in past pleasures. He traces back his feelings to things which had never had any reference to his body. You cling to the body to the exclusion of everything else.

XXXIII. But how can that proposition possibly be maintained which you urge, namely, that all the pleasures and pains of the mind are connected inseparably with the pleasures and pains of the body? Is there, then, nothing which ever delights you, (I know whom I am addressing,) is there nothing, O Torquatus, which ever delights you for its own sake? I say nothing about dignity, honourableness, the beauty of virtue, which I have mentioned before. I will put [pg 173] all these things aside as of less consequence. But is there anything when you are writing, or reading a poem, or an oration, when you are investigating the history of exploits or countries, or anything in a statue, or picture, or pleasant place; in sports, in hunting, or in a villa of Lucullus, (for if I were to say of your own, you would have a loophole to escape through, saying that that had connexion with your body,) is there any of all these things, I say, which you can refer to your body, or do they not please you, if they please you at all, for their own sake?

You must either be the most obstinate of men, if you persist in referring these things, which I have just mentioned, to the body, or else you must abandon Epicurus's whole theory of pleasure, if you admit that they have no connexion with it.

But as for your argument, that the pleasures and pains of the mind are greater than those of the body, because the mind is a partaker of three times,42 but nothing but what is present is felt by the body; how can it possibly be allowed that a man who rejoices for my sake rejoices more than I do myself? The pleasure of the mind originates in the pleasure of the body, and the pleasure of the mind is greater than that of the body. The result, then, is, that the party who congratulates the other is more rejoiced than he whom he congratulates. But while you are trying to make out the wise man to be happy, because he is sensible of the greatest pleasures in his mind, and, indeed, of pleasures which are in all their parts greater than those which he is sensible of in his body, you do not see what really happens. For he will also feel the pains of the mind to be in every respect greater than those of the body. And so he must occasionally be miserable, whom you endeavour to represent as being always happy. Nor, indeed, will it be possible for you ever to fill up the idea of perfect and uninterrupted happiness while you refer everything to pleasure and pain.

On which account, O Torquatus, we must find out something else which is the chief good of man. Let us grant pleasure to the beasts, to whom you often appeal as witnesses on the subject of the chief good. What will you say, if even the beasts do many things under the guidance of their various [pg 174] natures, partly out of indulgence to other beasts, and at the cost of their own labour, as, for instance, it is very visible in bringing forth and rearing their young, that they have some other object in view besides their own pleasure? and partly, too, when they rejoice in running about and travelling; and some assemble in herds, in such a manner as to imitate in some degree a human state. In some species of birds we see certain indications of affection, knowledge, and memory; in many we see what even looks like a regular system of action. Shall there, then, be in beasts some images of human virtues, quite unconnected with pleasure, and shall there be no virtue in man except for the sake of pleasure? and though he is as superior as can be to all the other animals, shall we still affirm that he has no peculiar attributes given to him by nature?

XXXIV. But we, if indeed all things depend on pleasure, are greatly surpassed by beasts, for which the earth, of her own accord, produces various sorts of food, in every kind of abundance, without their taking any trouble about it; while the same necessaries are scarcely (sometimes I may even use stronger language still) supplied to us, when we seek them with great labour. Nor is it possible that I should ever think that the chief good was the same in the case of a beast and a man. For what can be the use of having so many means and appliances for the carrying out of the most excellent arts,—what can be the use of such an assemblage of most honourable pursuits, of such a crowd of virtues, if they are all got together for no other end but pleasure? As if, when Xerxes, with such vast fleets, such countless troops of both cavalry and infantry, had bridged over the Hellespont and dug through Mount Athos, had walked across the sea, and sailed43 over the land, if, when he had invaded Greece with such [pg 175] irresistible violence, any one had asked him for the cause of collecting so vast an army, and waging so formidable a war, and he had replied that he wished to get some honey from Hymettus, certainly he would have been thought to have undertaken such an enterprise for an insufficient cause. And in like manner, if we were to say that a wise man, furnished and provided with numerous and important virtues and accomplishments, not, indeed, travelling like him over sea on foot, and over mountains with his fleet, but embracing the whole heaven, all the earth, and the universal sea with his mind, had nothing in view but pleasure, we might say that he, too, was taking a great deal of trouble for a little honey.

Believe me, Torquatus, we were born for more lofty and noble ends; and you may see this, not only by considering the parts of the mind, in which there is the recollection of a countless number of things, (and from thence proceed infinite conjectures as to the consequences of them, not very far differing from divination; there is also in them shame, which is the regulator of desire, and the faithful guardianship of justice, so necessary to human society, and a firm enduring contempt for pain and death, shown in the enduring of labours and the encountering of dangers.) All these things, I say, are in the mind. But I would have you consider also the limbs and the senses, which, like the other parts of the body, will appear to you to be not only the companions of the virtues, but also their slaves. What will you say, if many things in the body itself appear to deserve to be preferred to pleasure? such as strength, health, activity, beauty? And if this is the case, how many qualities of the mind will likewise seem so? For in the mind, the old philosophers—those most learned men—thought that there was something heavenly and divine. But if the chief good consisted in pleasure, as you say, then it would be natural that we should wish to live day and night in the midst of pleasure, without any interval or interruption, while all our senses were, as it were, steeped in and influenced wholly by pleasure. But who is there, who is worthy of the name of a man, who would like to spend even the whole of one day in that kind of pleasure? The Cyrenaic philosophers, indeed, would not object. Your sect is more modest in this respect, though their's is perhaps the more sincere.

However, let us contemplate with our minds, not, indeed, these most important arts, which are so valuable, that those who were ignorant of them were accounted useless by our ancestors; but I ask you whether you think that (I will not say Homer, or Archilochus, or Pindar, but) Phidias, or Polycletus, or Zeuxis directed the whole of their skill to cause more pleasure. Shall, then, an artist propose to himself a higher aim, with reference to the beauty of figures, than a virtuous citizen with reference to the nobleness of action? But what other cause can there be for such a blunder being so widely and extensively diffused, except that he who determines that pleasure is the chief good, deliberates not with that part of his mind in which reason and wisdom dwell, but with his desires, that is to say, with the most trifling portion of his mind. For I put the question to you yourself, if there are gods, as you think that there are, how have they the power of being happy, when they are not able to feel any pleasure in their bodies? or if they are happy, though destitute of that kind of pleasure, why do you refuse to recognize the possibility of a similar exertion of intellect on the part of a wise man?

XXXV. Read, O Torquatus, the panegyrics, not of those men who have been praised by Homer, not the encomiums passed on Cyrus, or Agesilaus, or Aristides, or Themistocles, or Philip, or Alexander; but read the praises of our own fellow-countrymen, of the heroes of your own family. You will not find any one praised on the ground of having been a cunning contriver, or procurer, of pleasure. The eulogies on their monuments signify no such thing; like this one which is at one of our gates, “In whose favour many nations unanimously agree that he was the noblest man of the nation.” Do we think that many nations judged of Calatinus, that he was the noblest man of the nation, because he was the most skilful in the devising of pleasures? Shall we, then, say that there is great hope and an excellent disposition in those young men whom we think likely to consult their own advantage, and to see what will be profitable to themselves? Do we not see what a great confusion of everything would ensue? what great disorder? Such a doctrine puts an end to all beneficence, to all gratitude, which are the great bonds of agreement. For if you do good to any one for your own sake, [pg 177] that is not to be considered a kindness, but only usury; nor does any gratitude appear due to the man who has benefited another for his own sake.

But if pleasure is the dominant power, it is inevitable that all the virtues must be trampled under foot. For there are many kinds of base conduct, which, unless honourableness is naturally to have the most influence, must, or at least it is not easy to explain why they should not, overcome a wise man; and, not to go hunting for too many instances, it is quite clear, that virtue deservedly praised, must cut off all the approaches of pleasure.

Do not, now, expect any more arguments from me. Look, Torquatus, yourself, into your own mind; turn the question over in all your thoughts; examine yourself, whether you would prefer to pass your life in the enjoyment of perpetual pleasure, in that tranquillity which you have often felt, free from all pain, with the addition also of that blessing which you often speak of as an addition, but which is, in fact, an impossible one, the absence of all fear; or, while deserving well of all nations, and bearing assistance and safety to all who are in need of it, to encounter even the distresses of Hercules. For so our ancestors, even in the case of a god, called labours which were unavoidable by the most melancholy name, distresses.44 I would require you, and compel you to answer me, if I were not afraid that you might say that Hercules himself performed those exploits, which he performed with the greatest labour for the safety of nations, for the sake of pleasure.

And when I had said this,—I know, said Torquatus, who it is that I have to thank for this; and although I might be able to do something myself, yet I am still more glad to find my friends better prepared than I am.

I suppose you mean Syro and Philodemus, excellent citizens and most learned men. You are right, said he. Come, then, said I. But it would be more fair for Triarius to give [pg 178] some opinion on this discussion of ours. Indeed, said he smiling, it would be very unfair, at least on this subject: for you manage the question more gently; but this man attacks us after the fashion of the Stoics. Then Triarius said, Hereafter I will speak more boldly still: for I shall have all these arguments which I have just heard ready to my hand; and I will not begin before I see you equipped by those philosophers whom you mention.

And when this had been said, we made an end both of our walk and of our discussion.

Book Three

I. I think, Brutus, that Pleasure, if she were to speak for herself, and had not such pertinacious advocates, would yield to Virtue, as having been vanquished in the preceding book. In truth, she would be destitute of shame if she were to resist Virtue any longer, or persist in preferring what is pleasant to what is honourable, or were to contend that a tickling pleasure, as it were, of the body, and the joy arising out of it, is of more importance than dignity of mind and consistency. So that we may dismiss Pleasure, and desire her to confine herself within her own boundaries, so that the strictness of our discussions may not be hindered by her allurements and blandishments. For we have now to inquire what that chief good is which we are anxious to discover; since pleasure is quite unconnected with it, and since nearly the same arguments can be urged against those who have considered freedom from pain as the greatest of goods.

Nor, indeed, can anything be admitted to be the chief good which is destitute of virtue, to which nothing can be superior. Therefore, although in that discourse which was held with Torquatus we were not remiss, still we have now a much sharper contest before us with the Stoics. For the statements which are made about pleasure are not expressed with any great acuteness or refinement. For they who defend it are not skilful in arguing, nor have those who take the opposite side a very difficult cause to oppose. Even [pg 179] Epicurus himself says, that one ought not even to argue about pleasure, because the decision respecting it depends on the sensations, so that it is sufficient for us to be warned respecting it, and quite unnecessary for us to be instructed. And on this account, that previous discussion of ours was a simple one on both sides; for there was nothing involved or intricate in the discourse of Torquatus, and my own language, as it seems to me, was very clear. But you are not ignorant what a subtle, or I might rather say, thorny kind of arguing it is which is employed by the Stoics. And if it is so among the Greeks, much more so is it among us, who are forced even to invent words, and to give new names to new things. And this is what no one who is even moderately learned will wonder at, when he considers that in every art which is not in common and ordinary use, there is a great variety of new names, as appellations are forced to be given to everything about which each art is conversant. Therefore, both dialecticians and natural philosophers use those words which are not common in the ordinary conversation of the Greeks; and geometricians, musicians, and grammarians, all speak after a peculiar fashion of their own. And even the rhetoricians, whose art is a forensic one, and wholly directed to the people, still in giving their lessons use words which are, as it were, their peculiar private property.

II. And, without dwelling on the case of these liberal and gentlemanly professions, even artisans would not be capable of exercising their trades properly if they did not use technical words, which are not understood by us, though in common use among them. Agriculture, also, which is as distant as can be from all polite refinement, still marks those matters with which it is conversant by new names. And much more is this course allowable in a philosopher; for philosophy is the art of life, and a man who is discussing that cannot borrow his language from the forum,—although there is no school of philosophers which has made so many innovations as the Stoics. Zeno too, their chief, was not so much a discoverer of new things as of new words. But if, even in that language which most people consider richer than our own, Greece has permitted the most learned men to use words not in ordinary use about subjects which are equally unusual, how much more ought the same licence to be granted to us, [pg 180] who are now venturing to be the very first of our countrymen to touch on such matters? And though we have often said,—and that, too, in spite of some complaints not only of the Greeks, but of those men also who would prefer being accounted Greeks to being thought our own countrymen,—that we are so far from being surpassed by the Greeks in the richness and copiousness of our language, that we are even superior to them in that particular; we must labour to establish this point, not only in our own national arts, but in those too which we have derived from them. Although, since they have become established by habit, we may fairly consider those words as our own which, in accordance with ancient custom, we use as Latin words; such as philosophia itself, rhetorica, dialectica, grammatica, geometria, musica,—although they could, no doubt, be translated into more genuine Latin.

Enough, however, of the names of things. But with respect to the things themselves, I am often afraid, Brutus, that I may be blamed when I am writing to you, who have made so much progress, not only in philosophy, but in the most excellent kind of philosophy. And if I wrote as if I were giving you any instruction, I should deserve to be blamed; but such conceit is far from me. Nor do I send letters to you under the idea of making you acquainted with what is thoroughly known to you before; but because I am fond of supporting myself by your name, and because also I consider you the most candid critic and judge of those studies which both you and I apply ourselves to in common. I know, therefore, that you will pay careful attention to what I write, as is your wont, and that you will decide on the dispute which took place between your uncle—a most heavenly-minded and admirable man—and myself.

For when I was at my villa near Tusculum, and was desirous to make use of some books in the library of the young Lucullus, I went one day to his house, in order to take away (as I was in the habit of doing) the books which I wanted. And when I had arrived there, I found Marcus Cato, whom I did not know to be there, sitting in the library, surrounded by a number of the books of the Stoics. For he had, as you know, a boundless desire for reading, one which was quite insatiable,—so much so, indeed, that he was not [pg 181] afraid of the causeless reproaches of the common people, but was accustomed to continue reading even in the senate-house itself, while the senate was assembling, without, however, at all relaxing in his attention to the affairs of the republic. And now, being in the enjoyment of complete leisure, and being surrounded by a great abundance of such treasures, he appeared to be completely gorging himself with books, if I may use such an expression about so respectable a subject. And as it so happened that neither of us expected to see the other, he at once rose up on my entrance; and, after the first salutations which are usual at such a meeting, What object has brought you here? said he; for I presume you are come from your own villa, and if I had known that you had been there, I should have come myself to see you. I only, said I, left the city yesterday after the commencement of the games, and got home in the evening. But my object in coming here was to take some books away with me; and it will be a pity, Cato, if our friend Lucullus does not some day or other become acquainted with all these treasures; for I would rather have him take delight in these books than in all the rest of the furniture of the villa. For he is a youth I am very anxious about; although, indeed, it is more peculiarly your business to take care that he shall be so educated as to do credit to his father, and to our friend Cæpio, and to you who are such a near relation of his.45 But I myself have some right to feel an interest in him; for I am influenced by my recollection of his grandfather,—and you well know what a regard I had for Cæpio, who, in my opinion, would now be one of the first men of the city if he were alive; and I also have Lucullus himself always before my eyes,—a man not only excelling in every virtue, but connected with me both by friendship and a general resemblance of inclination and sentiment. You do well, said he, to retain a recollection of those persons, both of whom recommended their children to your care by their wills, and you are right too to be attached to this youth. And as for your calling it my peculiar [pg 182] business, I will not decline the office, but I claim you for my partner in the duty. I will say this also, that the boy has already shown me many indications both of modesty and of ability; but you see how young he is as yet. To be sure I do, said I; but even now he ought to receive a tincture of those accomplishments which, if he drinks of them now while he is young, will hereafter make him more ready for more important business. And so we will often talk over this matter anxiously together, and we will act in concert. However, let us sit down, says he, if you please. So we sat down.

III. Then Cato said: But now, what books in the world are they that you are looking for here, when you have such a library at home? I want, said I, some of the Aristotelian Commentaries, which I know are here; and I came to carry them off, to read when I have leisure, which is not, as you know, very often the case with me. How I wish, said he, that you had an inclination towards our Stoic sect; for certainly it is natural for you, if it ever was so for any one, to think nothing a good except virtue. May I not, I replied, rejoin that it would be natural for you, as your opinion in reality is the same as mine, to forbear giving new names to things? for our principles are the same,—it is only our language that is at variance. Indeed, said he, our principles are not the same at all; for I can never agree to your calling anything desirable except what is honourable, and to your reckoning such things among the goods,—and, by so doing, extinguishing honourableness, which is, as it were, the light of virtue, and utterly upsetting virtue herself. Those are all very fine words, said I, O Cato; but do you not see that all those pompous expressions are shared by you in common with Pyrrho and Aristo, who think all things equal? And I should like to know what your opinion of them is. Mine? said he; do you want to know what I think of them? I think that those men whom we have either heard of from our ancestors, or seen ourselves, to be good, brave, just, and moderate in the republic,—those who, following nature herself, without any particular learning or system, have done many praiseworthy actions, have been educated by nature herself better than they could have been educated by philosophy, if they had adopted any other philosophy except that which ranks nothing whatever among the goods except what [pg 183] is honourable, and nothing among the evils except what is disgraceful. As for all other systems of philosophy, they differ entirely in their estimate of good and evil; but still I consider no one of them which classes anything destitute of virtue among either the goods or the evils, as being of any use to men, or as uttering any sentiment by which we may become better; but I think that they all tend rather to deprave nature herself. For if this point be not conceded, that that alone is good which is honourable, it follows that it must be impossible to prove that life is made happy by virtue. And if that be the case, then I do not see why any attention should be bestowed on philosophy; for if a wise man can be miserable, then of a truth I do not consider that virtue, which is accounted so glorious and memorable a thing, of any great value.

IV. All that you have been saying, Cato, I replied, you might say if you agreed with Pyrrho or Aristo; for you are not ignorant that they consider that honourableness not only the chief good, but also (as you yourself maintain) the only good. And if this is the case, the consequence which I see you aim at follows necessarily, that all wise men are always happy. Do you then praise these men, and do you think that we ought to follow their opinion? By no means, said he; for as this is a peculiar attribute of virtue to make its selection of those things which are in accordance with nature, those who have made all things equal in such a manner as to consider all things on either side perfectly indifferent, so as to leave no room for any selection, have utterly put an end to virtue. You say right, said I; but I ask you whether you, too, must not do the same thing, when you say that there is nothing good which is not right and honourable, and so put an end to all the difference between other things? That would be the case, said he, if I did put an end to it; but I deny the fact—I leave it. How so, said I? If virtue alone,—if that thing alone which you call honourable, right, praiseworthy, and creditable, (for it will be more easily seen what is the character that you ascribe to it, if it be pointed out by many words tending to the same point,)—if, I say, that is the sole good, what else will there be for you to follow? And, on the other hand, if nothing is evil except what is disgraceful, dishonourable, unbecoming, wrong, flagitious, and base, (to make [pg 184] this also manifest by giving it many names,) what else will there be which you can say ought to be avoided?

I will not, said he, reply to each point of your question, as you are not, as I suspect, ignorant of what I am going to say, but seeking rather to find something to carp at in my brief answer: I will rather, since we have plenty of time, explain to you, unless you think it foreign to the subject, the whole opinion of Zeno and the Stoics on the matter. Very far from foreign to the subject, said I; indeed, your explanations will be of great service in elucidating to me the points about which I am inquiring. Let us try, then, said he, although this system of the Stoics has in it something rather difficult and obscure; for, as formerly, when these matters were discussed in the Greek language, the very names of things appeared strange which have now become sanctioned by daily use, what do you think will be the case when we are discussing them in Latin? Still, said I, we must do so; for if Zeno might take the liberty when he had discovered anything not previously common, to fix on it a name that was likewise unprecedented, why may not Cato take the same? Nor will it be necessary for you to render what he has said word for word, as translators are in the habit of doing who have no command of language of their own, whenever there is a word in more ordinary use which has the same meaning. I indeed myself am in the habit, if I cannot manage it any other way, of using many words to express what the Greeks have expressed in one; and yet I think that we ought to be allowed to use a Greek word on occasions when we cannot find a Latin one, and to employ such terms as proegmena and apoproegmena, just as freely as we say ephippia and acratophori, though it may be sufficient to translate these two particular words by preferred and rejected. I am much obliged to you, said he, for your hint; and I will in preference use those Latin terms which you have just mentioned; and in other cases, too, you shall come to my assistance if you see me in difficulties. I will do so, said I, with great goodwill; but fortune favours the bold. So make the attempt, I beg of you; for what more divine occupation can we have?

V. Those philosophers, said he, whose system I approve of, consider that as soon as an animal is born, (for this is where we must begin,) he is instinctively induced and excited to [pg 185] preserve himself and his existing condition, and to feel attachment to those things which have a tendency to preserve that condition; and to feel an abhorrence of dissolution, and of those circumstances which appear to be pregnant with dissolution. And they prove that this is the case, because, before either pleasure or pain has affected it, even while it is very little, it seeks what is salutary, and shuns the contrary: and this would not be the case if they were not fond of their condition, and afraid of dissolution; and it would not be possible for them to seek any particular thing if they had not some sense of themselves, and if that did not influence them to love themselves and what belongs to them. From which it ought to be understood that it is from the animal itself that the principle of self-love in it is derived. But among these natural principles of self-love most of the Stoics do not admit that pleasure ought to be classed; and I entirely agree with them, to avoid the many discreditable things which must ensue if nature should appear to have placed pleasure among those things which are the first objects of desire. But it appears to be proof enough why we naturally love those things which are by nature placed in the first rank, that there is no one, who, when either alternative is equally in his power, would not prefer to have all the parts of his body in a suitable and entire condition, rather than impaired by use, or in any particular distorted or depraved.

But as for the knowledge of things—or if you do not so much approve of this word cognitio, or find it less intelligible, we will call it κατάληψις—that we think is naturally to be acquired for its own sake, because it contains something which has, as it were, embraced and seized upon truth. And this is perceptible even in infants; whom we see amused if they have succeeded in finding out anything themselves by reason, even though it may be of no service whatever to them. And moreover, we consider arts worth attending to on their own account, both because there is in them something worth acceptance, and also because they depend upon knowledge, and contain in themselves something which proceeds on system and method. But I think that we are more averse to assent on false grounds than to anything else which is contrary to nature. Now of the limbs, that is to say, of the parts of the body, some appear to have been given to us [pg 186] by nature because of the use which, they are of to us, as, for instance, the hands, legs, and feet, and also those internal organs of the body, of which I may leave it to the physicians to explain the exceeding usefulness; but others with no view to utility, but for ornament as it were, as the tail is given to the peacock, plumage of many colours to the dove, breasts and a beard to man. Perhaps you will say this is but a dry enumeration; for these things are, as it were, the first elements of nature, which cannot well have any richness of language employed upon them; nor indeed am I thinking of displaying any; but when one is speaking of more important matters, then the subject itself hurries on the language: and then one's discourse is at the same time more impressive and more ornate. It is as you say, said I; but still everything which is said in a lucid manner about a good subject appears to me to be said well. And to wish to speak of subjects of that kind in a florid style is childish; but to be able to explain them with clearness and perspicuity, is a token of a learned and intelligent man.

VI. Let us then proceed, said he, since we have digressed from these first principles of nature, which everything which follows ought to be in harmony with. But this is the first division of the subject. A thing is said to be estimable: for so we may, I think, call that which is either itself in accordance with nature, or else which is the efficient cause of something of such a character that it is worthy of being selected because it has in it some weight worth appreciating, which he calls ἀχία; and, on the other hand, something not estimable, which is the contrary of the preceding. The first principles, therefore, being laid down, that those things which are according to nature are to be chosen for their own sakes, and those which are contrary to it are in like manner to be rejected; the first duty (for that is how I translate the word καθῆκον) is, for a man to preserve himself in his natural condition; next to that, to maintain those things which are in accordance with nature, and reject what is opposite to it; and when this principle of selection and rejection has been discovered, then follows selection in accordance with duty; and then that third kind, which is perpetual, and consistent to the end, and corresponding to nature, in which there first begins to be a proper understanding [pg 187] of what there is which can be truly called good. For the first attraction of man is to those things which are according to nature. But as soon as he has received that intelligence, or perhaps I should say, notion, which they call ἔννοια, and has seen the order and, if I may so say, the harmony in which things are to be done, he then estimates it at a higher value than all the things which he loved at first; and by this knowledge, and by reasoning, he comes to such a conclusion that he decides that the chief good of man, which deserves to be praised and desired for its own sake, is placed in what the Stoics call ὁμολογία, and we agreement, if you approve of this translation of the term; as therefore it is in this that that good is placed to which all things [which are done honourably] are to be referred, and honour itself, which is reckoned among the goods, although it is only produced subsequently, still this alone deserves to be sought for on account of its intrinsic power and worth; but of those things which are the principal natural goods there is not one which is to be sought for its own sake.

But as those things which I have called duties proceed from the first principles of nature, they must necessarily be referred to them; so that it may be fairly said that all duties are referred to this end, of arriving at the principles of nature; not, however, that this is the highest of all goods, because there is no such thing as honourable action in the first attractions of nature; for that is what follows, and arises subsequently, as I have said before. But still it is according to nature, and encourages us to desire itself much more than all those things which have been previously mentioned. But, first of all, we must remove a mistake, that no one may think that it follows that there are two supreme goods. For as, if it were the purpose of any one to direct an arrow or a spear straight at any object, just as we have said that there is an especial point to be aimed at in goods,—the archer ought to do all in his power to aim straight at the target, and the other man ought also to do his endeavour to hit the mark, and gain the end which he has proposed to himself: let this then which we call the chief good in life be, as it were, his mark; and his endeavour to hit it must be furthered by careful selection, not by mere desire.

VII. But as all duties proceed from the first principles of nature, it follows inevitably that wisdom itself must proceed [pg 188] from the same source. But as it often happens, that he who has been recommended to any one considers him to whom he has been recommended of more importance than him who recommended him; so it is not at all strange that in the first instance we are recommended to wisdom by the principles of nature, but that subsequently wisdom herself becomes dearer to us than the starting place from which we arrive at it. And as limbs have been given to us in such a way that it is plain they have been given for some purpose of life; so that appetite of the mind which in Greek is called ὁρμὴ, appears to have been given to us, not for any particular kind of life, but rather for some especial manner of living: and so too is system and perfect method. For as an actor employs gestures, and a dancer motions, not practising any random movement, but a regular systematic action; so life must be passed according to a certain fixed kind, and not any promiscuous way, and that certain kind we call a suitable and harmonious one. Nor do we think wisdom similar to the art of navigation or medicine, but rather to that kind of action which I have spoken of, and to dancing; I mean, inasmuch as the ultimate point, that is to say, the production of the art, lies in the art itself, and is not sought for from foreign sources. And yet there are other points in which there is a difference between wisdom and those arts; because in those arts those things which are done properly do nevertheless not comprise all the parts of the arts of which they consist. But the things which we call right, or rightly done, if you will allow the expression, and which they call κατορθώματα, contain in them the whole completeness of virtue. For wisdom is the only thing which is contained wholly in itself; and this is not the case with the other arts.

And it is only out of ignorance that the object of the art of medicine or navigation is compared with the object of wisdom; for wisdom embraces greatness of mind and justice, and judges all the accidents which befal mankind beneath itself: and this too is not the case in the other arts. But no one will be able to maintain those very virtues of which I have just made mention, unless he lays down a rule that there is nothing which is of any importance, nothing which differs from anything else, except what is honourable or disgraceful.

VIII. Let us see now how admirably these rules follow from [pg 189] those principles which I have already laid down. For as this is the ultimate (extremum) point, (for you have noticed, I dare say, that I translate what the Greek philosopher calls τέλος, sometimes by the word extremum, sometimes by ultimum, and sometimes by summum, and instead of extremum or ultimum, I may also use the word finis,)—as, then, this is the ultimate point, to live in a manner suitable to and harmonising with nature; it follows of necessity that all wise men do always live happily, perfectly, and fortunately; that they are hindered by nothing, embarrassed by nothing; that they are in want of nothing. And that which holds together not more that school of which I am speaking than our lives and fortunes, that is to say, the principle of accounting what is honourable to be the sole good, may indeed easily be embellished and enlarged upon at great length, with great richness of illustration, with great variety of carefully chosen expressions, and with the most pompous sentiments in a rhetorical manner; but I prefer the brief, acute, conclusive arguments of the Stoics. Now their conclusions are arrived at in this manner: “Everything which is good is praiseworthy; but everything which is praiseworthy is honourable;—therefore, everything which is good is honourable.” Does not this appear properly deduced? Undoubtedly;—for the result which was obtained from the two premises which were assumed, you see was contained in them. But of the two premises from which the conclusion was inferred it is only the major one which can be contradicted—if you say that it is not the case, that everything which is good is praiseworthy: for it is granted that whatever is praiseworthy is honourable. But it is utterly absurd to say, that there is anything good which is not to be sought for; or, that there is anything which ought to be sought for which is not pleasing; or, that if it is pleasing it ought not likewise to be loved. Then it ought also to be approved of. Then it is praiseworthy. But what is praiseworthy is honourable. And so the result is, that whatever is good is also honourable. In the next place, I ask, who can boast of a life which is miserable; or avoid boasting of one which is happy?—therefore men boast only of a life which is happy. From which the consequence follows, that a happy life deserves to be boasted of; but this cannot properly be predicated of any life which is not an honourable [pg 190] one. From this it follows, that a happy life must be an honourable one. And since the man to whom it happens to be deservedly praised has some eminent qualities tending to credit and glory, so that he may rightly be called happy on account of such important qualities; the same thing is properly predicated of the life of such a man. And so, if a happy life is discerned by its honourableness, then what is honourable ought to be considered the sole good. And, as this cannot possibly be denied, what man do we say can ever exist of a stable and firm and great mind,—whom, in fact, can we ever call brave,—unless the point is established, that pain is not an evil? For as it is impossible that the man who ranks death among evils should not fear it, so in every case it is impossible for a man to disregard what he judges to be an evil, and to despise it. And when this point has been laid down, and ratified by universal assent, this is assumed next, that the man who is of a brave and magnanimous spirit despises and utterly disregards every accident which can befal a man. And as this is the case, the consequence is, that there is nothing evil which is not disgraceful. And that man of lofty and excellent spirit,—that magnanimous and truly brave man, who considers all human accidents beneath his notice,—the man I mean whom we wish to make so, whom at all events we are looking for,—ought to confide in himself, and in his own life both past and to come, and to form a favourable judgment of himself, laying down as a principle, that no evil can happen to a wise man. From which again the same result follows, that the sole good is that which is honourable; and that to live happily is to live honourably, that is, virtuously.

IX. Not that I am ignorant that the opinions of philosophers have been various, of those I mean who have placed the chief good, that which I call the end, in the mind. And although some people have followed them very incorrectly, still I prefer their theory, not only to that of the three sects who have separated virtue from the chief good, while ranking either pleasure, or freedom from pain, or the original gifts of nature among goods, but also to the other three who have thought that virtue would be crippled without some reinforcement, and on that account have each added to it one of those other particulars which I have just enumerated. I, [pg 191] however, as I said, prefer to all these the men, whoever they may be, who have described the chief good as consisting in the mind and in virtue. But nevertheless, those also are extremely absurd who have said that to live with knowledge is the highest good, and who have asserted that there is no difference between things, and so, that a wise man will surely be a happy one, never at any moment of his life preferring one thing to another: as some of the Academics are said to have laid it down, that the highest good and the chief duty of a wise man is to resist appearances, and firmly to withhold his assent from them.

Now people often make very lengthy replies to each of these assertions; yet what is very clear ought not to be long. But what is more evident than, if there be no selection made, discarding those things which are contrary to nature, and selecting those which are according to nature, all that prudence which is so much sought after and extolled would be done away with? If, then, we discard those sentiments which I have mentioned, and all others which resemble them, it remains that the chief good must be to live, exercising a knowledge of those things which happen by nature, selecting what is according to nature, and rejecting any which are contrary to nature; that is to say, to live in a manner suitable and corresponding to nature.

But in other arts, when anything is said to have been done according to the rules of art, there is something to be considered which is subsequent and follows upon such compliance; which they call ἐπιγεννηματικόν. But when we say in any matter that a thing has been done wisely, that same thing is from the first said also to have been done most properly; for whatever proceeds from a wise man must at once be perfect in all its parts: for in him is placed that quality which we say is to be desired. For as it is a sin to betray one's country, to injure one's parents, to plunder temples, which are all sins of commission; so it is likewise a sin to be afraid, to grieve, to be under the dominion of lust, even if no overt act follows these feelings. But, as these are sins, not in their later periods and consequences, but at once from the first moment; so those actions which proceed from virtue are to be considered right at the first moment that they are undertaken, and not only when they are accomplished.

X. But it may be as well to give an explanation and definition of the word good, which, has been so often employed in this discourse. But the definitions of those philosophers differ a good deal from one another, and yet have all reference to the same facts. I myself agree with Diogenes, who has defined good to be that which in its nature is perfect. But that which follows, that which is profitable (for so we may translate his ὼφέλημα), he considered to be a motion, or a state, arising out of the nature of the perfect. And as the notions of things arise in the mind, if anything has become known either by practice, or by combination, or by similitude, or by the comparison of reason; then by this fourth means, which I have placed last, the knowledge of good is arrived at. For when, by a comparison of the reason, the mind ascends from those things which are according to reason, then it arrives at a notion of good. And this good we are speaking of, we both feel to be and call good, not because of any addition made to it, nor from its growth, nor from comparing it with other things, but because of its own proper power. For as honey, although it is very sweet, is still perceived to be sweet by its own peculiar kind of taste, and not by comparison with other things; so this good, which we are now treating of, is indeed to be esteemed of great value; but that valuation depends on kind and not on magnitude. For as estimation, which is called ἀξί, is not reckoned among goods, nor, on the other hand, among evils, whatever you add to it will remain in its kind. There is, therefore, another kind of estimation proper to virtue, which is of weight from its character, and not because of its increasing. Nor, indeed, are the perturbations of the mind, which make the lives of the unwise bitter and miserable, and which the Greeks call πάθη, (I might translate the word itself by the Latin morbi, but it would not suit all the meanings of the Greek word; for who ever calls pity, or even anger, a disease—morbus)? but the Greeks do call such a feeling πάθος. Let us then translate it perturbation, which is by its very name pointed out to be something vicious. Nor are these perturbations, I say, excited by any natural force; and they are altogether in kind four, but as to their divisions they are more numerous. There is melancholy, fear, lust, and that feeling which the Stoics call by the common name which they apply to both mind and body, ἡδονὴ, and which I prefer translating [pg 193] joy (lætitia), rather than a pleasurable elation of an exulting mind. But perturbations are not excited by any force of nature; and all those feelings are judgments and opinions proceeding from light-mindedness; and, therefore, the wise man will always be free from them.

XI. But that everything which is honourable is to be sought for its own sake, is an opinion common to us with many other schools of philosophers. For, except the three sects which exclude virtue from the chief good, this opinion must be maintained by all philosophers, and above all by us, who do not rank anything whatever among goods except what is honourable. But the defence of this opinion is very easy and simple indeed; for who is there, or who ever was there, of such violent avarice, or of such unbridled desires as not infinitely to prefer that anything which he wishes to acquire, even at the expense of any conceivable wickedness, should come into his power without crime, (even though he had a prospect of perfect impunity,) than through crime? and what utility, or what personal advantage do we hope for, when we are anxious to know whether those bodies are moving whose movements are concealed from us, and owing to what causes they revolve through the heavens? And who is there that lives according to such clownish maxims, or who has so rigorously hardened himself against the study of nature, as to be averse to things worthy of being understood, and to be indifferent to and disregard such knowledge, merely because there is no exact usefulness or pleasure likely to result from it? or, who is there who—when he comes to know the exploits, and sayings, and wise counsels of our forefathers, of the Africani, or of that ancestor of mine whom you are always talking of, and of other brave men, and citizens of pre-eminent virtue—does not feel his mind affected with pleasure? and who that has been brought up in a respectable family, and educated as becomes a freeman, is not offended with baseness as such, though it may not be likely to injure him personally? Who can keep his equanimity while looking on a man who, he thinks, lives in an impure and wicked manner? Who does not hate sordid, fickle, unstable, worthless men? But what shall we be able to say, (if we do not lay it down that baseness is to be avoided for its own sake), is the reason why men do not seek darkness and solitude, and then give the rein [pg 194] to every possible infamy, except that baseness of itself detects them by reason of its own intrinsic foulness? Innumerable arguments may be brought forward to support this opinion; but it is needless, for there is nothing which can be less a matter of doubt than that what is honourable ought to be sought for its own sake; and, in the same manner, what is disgraceful ought to be avoided.

But after that point is established, which we have previously mentioned, that what is honourable is the sole good; it must unavoidably be understood that that which is honourable, is to be valued more highly than those intermediate goods which we derive from it. But when we say that folly, and rashness, and injustice, and intemperance are to be avoided on account of those things which result from them, we do not speak in such a manner that our language is at all inconsistent with the position which has been laid down, that that alone is evil which is dishonourable. Because those things are not referred to any inconvenience of the body, but to dishonourable actions, which arise out of vicious propensities (vitia). For what the Greeks call κακία I prefer translating by vitium rather than by malitia.

XII. Certainly; Cato, said I, you are employing very admirable language, and such as expresses clearly what you mean; and, therefore, you seem to me to be teaching philosophy in Latin, and, as it were, to be presenting it with the freedom of the city. For up to this time she has seemed like a stranger at Rome, and has not put herself in the way of our conversation; and that, too, chiefly because of a certain highly polished thinness of things and words. For I am aware that there are some men who are able to philosophise in any language, but who still employ no divisions and no definitions; and who say themselves that they approve of those things alone to which nature silently assents. Therefore, they discuss, without any great degree of labour, matters which are not very obscure. And, on this account, I am now prepared to listen eagerly to you, and to commit to memory all the names which you give to those matters to which this discussion refers. For, perhaps, I myself may some day have reason to employ them too.

You, then, appear to me to be perfectly right, and to be acting in strict accordance with our usual way of speaking, [pg 195] when you lay it down that there are vices the exact opposites of virtues; for that which is blameable (vituperabile) for its own sake, I think ought, from that very fact, to be called a vice; and perhaps this verb, vitupero, is derived from vitium. But if you had translated κακία by malitia,46 then the usage of the Latin language would have limited us to one particular vice; but, as it is, all vice is opposed to all virtue by one generic opposite name.

XIII. Then he proceeded:—After these things, therefore, are thus laid down, there follows a great contest, which has been handled by the Peripatetics somewhat too gently, (for their method of arguing is not sufficiently acute, owing to their ignorance of dialectics;) but your Carneades has pressed the matter with great vigour and effect, displaying in reference to it a most admirable skill in dialectics, and the most consummate eloquence; because he has never ceased to contend throughout the whole of this discussion, which turns upon what is good and what is bad, that the controversy between the Stoics and Peripatetics is not one of things, but only of names. But, to me, nothing appears so evident as that the opinions of these two schools differ from one another far more as to facts than to names; I mean to say, that there is much greater difference between the Stoics and Peripatetics in principle than in language. Forasmuch as the Peripatetics assert that everything which they themselves call good, has a reference to living happily; but our school does not think that a happy life necessarily embraces everything which is worthy of any esteem.

But can anything be more certain than that, according to the principles of those men who rank pain among the evils, a wise man cannot be happy when he is tormented on the rack? While the principles of those who do not consider pain among the evils, certainly compels us to allow that a happy life is preserved to a wise man among all torments. In truth, if those men endure pain with greater fortitude who suffer it in the cause of their country, than those who do so for any slighter object; then it is plain that it is opinion, and not nature, which makes the force of pain greater or less. Even that opinion of the Peripatetics is more than I can [pg 196] agree to, that, as there are three kinds of goods, as they say, each individual is the happier in proportion as he is richer in the goods of the body or external goods, so that we must be forced also to approve of this doctrine, that that man is happier who has a greater quantity of those things which are accounted of great value as affecting the body. For they think that a happy life is made complete by bodily advantages; but there is nothing which our philosophers can so little agree to. For, as our opinion is that life is not even made in the least more happy by an abundance of those goods which we call goods of nature, nor more desirable, nor deserving of being more highly valued, then certainly a multitude of bodily advantages can have still less effect on making life happy. In truth, if to be wise be a desirable thing, and to be well be so too, then both together must be more desirable than wisdom by itself; but it does not follow, if each quality deserves to be esteemed, that therefore, the two taken together deserve to be esteemed more highly than wisdom does by itself. For we who consider good health worthy of any esteem, and yet do not rank it among the goods, think, at the same time, that the esteem to which it is entitled is by no means such as that it ought to be preferred to virtue. But this is not the doctrine of the Peripatetics; and they ought to tell us, that that which is an honourable action and unaccompanied by pain, is more to be desired than the same action would be if it were attended with pain. We think not: whether we are right or wrong may be discussed hereafter; but can there possibly be a greater disagreement respecting facts and principles?

XIV. For as the light of a candle is obscured and put out by the light of the sun; and as a drop of brine is lost in the magnitude of the Ægæan sea; or an addition of a penny amid the riches of Crœsus; or as one step is of no account in a march from here to India; so, if that is the chief good which the Stoics affirm is so, then, all the goods which depend on the body must inevitably be obscured and overwhelmed by, and come to nothing when placed by the side of the splendour and importance of virtue. And since opportunity, (for that is how we may translate εὐκαιρία,) is not made greater by extending the time, (for whatever is said to be opportune has its own peculiar limit;) so a right action, (for [pg 197] that is how I translate κατόρθωσις, and a right deed I call κατόρθωμα,)—a right action, I say, and suitableness, and, in short, the good itself, which depends on the fact of its being in accordance with nature, has no possibility of receiving any addition or growth. For as that opportunity is not made greater by the extension of time, so neither are these things which I have mentioned. And, on that account, a happy life does not seem to the Stoics more desirable or more deserving of being sought after, if it is long than if it is short; and they prove this by a simile:—As the praise of a buskin is to fit the foot exactly, and as many buskins are not considered to fit better than few, and large ones are not thought better than small ones; so, in the case of those the whole good of which depends upon its suitableness and fitness; many are not preferred to few, nor what is durable to what is short-lived. Nor do they exhibit sufficient acuteness when they say, if good health is more to be esteemed when it lasts long than when it lasts only a short time, then the longest possible enjoyment of wisdom must clearly be of the greatest value. They do not understand that the estimate of good health is formed expressly with reference to its duration; of virtue with reference to its fitness of time; so that men who argue in this manner, seem as if they would speak of a good death, or a good labour, and call one which lasted long, better than a short one. They do not perceive that some things are reckoned of more value in proportion to their brevity; and some in proportion to their length. Therefore, it is quite consistent with what has been said, that according to the principles of those who think that that end of goods which we call the extreme or chief good, is susceptible of growth, they may also think that one man can be wiser than another; and, in like manner then, one man may sin more, or act more rightly than another. But such an assertion is not allowable to us, who do not think the end of goods susceptible of growth. For as men who have been submerged under the water, cannot breathe any more because they are at no great depth below the surface, (though they may on this account be able at times to emerge,) than if they were at the bottom, nor can the puppy who is nearly old enough to see, as yet see any more than one who is but this moment born; so the man who has made some progress towards the approach to virtue, [pg 198] is no less in a state of misery than he who has made no such advance at all.

XV. I am aware that all this seems very strange. But as unquestionably the previous propositions are true and uncontrovertible, and as these others are in harmony with, and are the direct consequences of them; we cannot question their truth also. But although some people deny that either virtues or vices are susceptible of growth, still they believe that each of them is in some degree diffused, and as it were extended. But Diogenes thinks that riches have not only such power, that they are, as it were, guides to pleasure and to good health, but that they even contain them: but that they have not the same power with regard to virtue, or to the other arts to which money may indeed be a guide, but which it cannot contain. Therefore, if pleasure or if good health be among the goods, riches also must be classed among the goods; but if wisdom be a good, it does not follow that we are also to call riches a good; nor can that which is classed among the goods be contained by anything which is not placed in the same classification. And on that account, because the knowledge and comprehension of those things by which arts are produced, excite a desire for them, as riches are not among the goods, therefore no art can be contained in riches.

But if we grant this to be true with respect to arts, still it is not to follow that the same rule holds good with respect to virtue; because virtue requires a great deal of meditation and practice, and this is not always the case with arts; and also because virtue embraces the stability, firmness, and consistency of the entire life; and we do not see that the same is the case with arts.

After this, we come to explain the differences between things. And if we were to say that there is none, then all life would be thrown into confusion, as it is by Aristo. Nor could any office or work be found for wisdom, if there were actually no difference between one thing and another, and if there were no power of selection at all requisite to be exerted. Therefore, after it had been sufficiently established that that alone was good which was honourable, and that alone evil which was disgraceful, they asserted that there were some particulars in which those things which had no influence on [pg 199] the misery or happiness of life, differed from one another, so that some of them deserved to be esteemed, some to be despised, and others were indifferent. But as to those things which deserved to be esteemed, some of them had in themselves sufficient reason for being preferred to others, as good health, soundness of the senses, freedom from pain, glory, riches, and similar things. But others were not of this kind. And in like manner, as to those things which were worthy of no esteem at all, some had cause enough in themselves why they should be rejected, such as pain, disease, loss of senses, poverty, ignominy, and things like them, and some had not. And thus, from this distinction, came what Zeno called προηγμένον, and on the other hand what he called ἀποπροηγμένον, as though writing in so copious a language, he chose to employ new terms of his own invention; a license which is not allowed to us in this barren language of ours; although you often insist that it is richer than the Greek. But it is not foreign to our present subject, in order that the meaning of the word may be more easily understood, to explain the principle on which Zeno invented these terms.

XVI. For as, says he, no one in a king's palace says that the king is, as it were, led forward towards his dignity (for that is the real meaning of the word προηγμένον, but the term is applied to those who are of some rank whose order comes next to his, so as to be second to the kingly dignity); so in life too, it is not those things which are in the first rank, but those which are in the second which are called προηγμένα, or led forward. And we may translate the Greek by productum (this will be a strictly literal translation), or we may call it and its opposite promotum and remotum, or as we have said before, we may call προηγμένον, præpositum or præcipuum, and its opposite rejectum. For when the thing is understood, we ought to be very ductile as to the words which we employ.

But since we say that everything which is good holds the first rank, it follows inevitably that this which we call præcipuum or præpositum, must be neither good nor bad. And therefore we define it as something indifferent, attended with a moderate esteem. For that which they call ἀδιάφορον, it occurs to me to translate indifferens. Nor, indeed, was it at all possible that there should be nothing left intermediate, [pg 200] which was either according to nature or contrary to it; nor, when that was left, that there should be nothing ranked in this class which was tolerably estimable; nor, if this position were once established, that there should not be some things which are preferred. This distinction, then, has been made with perfect propriety, and this simile is employed by them to make the truth more easily seen. For as, say they, if we were to suppose this to be, as it were, the end and greatest of goods, to throw a die in such a manner that it should stand upright, then the die which is thrown in such a manner as to fall upright, will have some particular thing preferred as its end, and vice versâ. And yet that preference of the die will have no reference to the end of which I have been speaking. So those things which have been preferred are referred indeed to the end, but have no reference at all to its force or nature.

Next comes that division, that of goods some have reference to that end (for so I express those which they call τελικὰ, for we must here, as we have said before, endure to express in many words, what we cannot express by one so as to be thoroughly intelligible,) some are efficient causes, and some are both together. But of those which have reference to that end, nothing is good except honourable actions; of those which are efficient causes, nothing is good except a friend. But they assert that wisdom is both a referential and an efficient good. For, because wisdom is suitable action, it is of that referential character which I have mentioned; but inasmuch as it brings and causes honourable actions, it may be so far called efficient.

XVII. Now these things which we have spoken of as preferred, are preferred some for their own sake, some because they effect something else, and some for both reasons. Some are preferred for their own sake, such as some particular appearance or expression of countenance, some particular kind of gait, or motion, in which there are some things which may well be preferred, and some which may be rejected. Others are said to be preferred because they produce something, as money; and others for a combination of both reasons, as soundness of the senses, or good health. But respecting good reputation, (for what they call εὐδοξία is more properly called, in this place, good reputation than glory,) [pg 201] Chrysippus and Diogenes denied its whole utility, and used to say that one ought not even to put forth a finger for the sake of it, with whom I entirely and heartily agree. But those who came after them, being unable to withstand the arguments of Carneades, said that this good reputation, as I call it, was preferred for its own sake, and ought to be chosen for its own sake, and that it was natural for a man of good family, who had been properly brought up, to wish to be praised by his parents, his relations, and by good men in general, and that too for the sake of the praise itself, and not of any advantage which might ensue from it. And they say, too, that as we wish to provide for our children, even for such as may be posthumous children, for their own sake, so we ought also to show a regard for posthumous fame after our death, for its own sake, without any thought of gain or advantage.

But as we assert that what is honourable is the only good, still it is consistent with this assertion to discharge one's duty, though we do not class duty among either the goods or the evils. For there is in these things some likelihood, and that of such a nature that reasons can be alleged for there being such; and therefore of such a nature, that probable reasons may be adduced for adopting such a line of conduct. From which it follows that duty is a sort of neutral thing, which is not to be classed either among the goods or among the opposites of goods. And since, in those things which are neither ranked among the virtues nor among the vices, there is still something which may be of use; that is not to be destroyed. For there is a certain action of that sort, and that too of such a character that reason requires one to do and perform it. But that which is done in obedience to reason we call duty; duty, then, is a thing of that sort, that it must not be ranked either among the goods or among the opposites of goods.

XVIII. And this also is evident, that in these natural things the wise man is not altogether inactive. He therefore, when he acts, judges that that is his duty; and because he is never deceived in forming his judgment, duty must be classed among neutral things; and this is proved also by this conclusion of reason. For since we see that there is something which we pronounce to have been rightly done (for that is duty when accomplished), there must also be something which is rightly begun: as, if to restore what has been justly [pg 202] deposited belongs to the class of right actions, then it must be classed among the duties to restore a deposit; and the addition of the word “justly” makes the duty to be rightly performed: but the mere fact of restoring is classed as a duty. And since it is not doubtful, that in those things which we call intermediate or neutral, some ought to be chosen and others rejected, whatever is done or said in this manner comes under the head of ordinary duty. And from this it is understood, since all men naturally love themselves, that a fool is as sure as a wise man to choose what is in accordance with nature, and to reject what is contrary to it; and so there is one duty in common both to wise men and to fools; from which it follows that duty is conversant about those things which we call neutral. But since all duties proceed from these things, it is not without reason that it is said that all our thoughts are referred to these things, and among them our departure from life, and our remaining in life.

For he in whom there are many things which are in accordance with nature, his duty it is to remain in life; but as to the man in whom there either is or appears likely to be a preponderance of things contrary to nature, that man's duty is to depart from life. From which consideration it is evident, that it is sometimes the duty of a wise man to depart from life when he is happy, and sometimes the duty of a fool to remain in life though he is miserable. For that good and that evil, as has been often said, comes afterwards. But those principal natural goods, and those which hold the second rank, and those things which are opposite to them, all come under the decision of, and are matters for the reflection of the wise man; and are, as it were, the subject matter of wisdom. Therefore the question of remaining in life, or of emigrating from it, is to be measured by all those circumstances which I have mentioned above; for death is not to be sought for by those men who are retained in life by virtue, nor by those who are destitute of virtue. But it is often the duty of a wise man to depart from life, when he is thoroughly happy, if it is in his power to do so opportunely; and that is living in a manner suitable to nature, for their maxim is, that living happily depends upon opportunity. Therefore a rule is laid down by wisdom, that if it be necessary a wise man is even to leave her herself.

Wherefore, as vice has not such power as to afford a justifying cause for voluntary death, it is evident that it is the duty even of fools, and of those too who are miserable, to remain in life, if they are surrounded by a preponderance of those things which we call according to nature. And since such a man is equally miserable, whether departing from life, or abiding in it, and since the duration of misery is not any the more a cause for fleeing from life, therefore it is not a causeless assertion, that those men who have the power of enjoying the greatest number of natural goods, ought to abide in life.

XIX. But they think it is very important with reference to this subject, that it should be understood that it is the work of nature, that children are beloved by their parents; and that this is the first principle from which we may trace the whole progress of the common society of the human race. And that this may be inferred, in the first place, from the figure and members of the body, which of themselves declare that a due regard for everything connected with generation has been exhibited by nature; nor can these two things possibly be consistent with one another, that nature should desire that offspring should be propagated, and yet take no care that what is propagated should be loved. But even in beasts the power of nature may be discerned; for when we see such labour bestowed upon the bringing forth and bearing of their offspring, we seem to be hearing the voice of nature herself. Wherefore, as it is evident that we are by nature averse to pain; so also it is clear that we are impelled by nature herself to love those whose existence we have caused. And from this it arises that there is such a recommendation by nature of one man to another, that one man ought never to appear unfriendly to another, for the simple reason that he is a man.

For as among the limbs some appear to be created for themselves as it were, as the eyes and ears; others assist the rest of the limbs, as the legs and hands; so there are some monstrous beasts born for themselves alone: but that fish which floats in an open shell and is called the pinna, and that other which swims out of the shell, and, because it is a guard to the other, is called the pinnoteres, and when it has withdrawn within the shell again, is shut up in it, so that it [pg 204] appears that it has given it warning to be on its guard; and also ants, and bees, and storks, do something for the sake of others. Much more is this the case with reference to the union of men. And therefore we are by nature adapted for companionship, for taking counsel together, for forming states. But they think that this world is regulated by the wisdom of the gods, and that it is, as it were, a common city and state of men and gods, and that every individual of us is a part of the world. From which that appears to follow by nature, that we should prefer the general advantage to our own. For as the laws prefer the general safety to that of individuals, so a good and wise man, and one who obeys the laws and who is not ignorant of his duty as a citizen, consults the general advantage rather than that of any particular individual, or even than his own. Nor is a betrayer of his country more to be blamed, than one who deserts the general advantage or the general safety on account of his own private advantage or safety. From which it also follows, that that man deserves to be praised who encounters death voluntarily for the sake of the republic, because it is right that the republic should be dearer to us than ourselves. And since it is said to be a wicked thing, and contrary to human nature, for a man to say that he would not care if, after his own death, a general conflagration of the whole world were to happen, which is often uttered in a Greek47 verse; so it is certainly true that we ought to consult the interests of those who are to come after us, for the sake of the love which we bear them.

XX. It is in this disposition of mind that wills, and the recommendations of dying persons, have originated. And because no one would like to pass his life in solitude, not even if surrounded with an infinite abundance of pleasures, it is easily perceived that we are born for communion and fellowship with man, and for natural associations. But we are impelled by nature to wish to benefit as many persons as possible, especially by instructing them and delivering them precepts of prudence. Therefore, it is not easy to find a man who does not communicate to some other what he knows himself; so prone are we not only to learn, but also to teach. And as the principle is by nature implanted in bulls to fight [pg 205] in behalf of their calves with the greatest vigour and earnestness, even against lions; so those who are rich or powerful, and are able to do so, are excited by nature to preserve the race of mankind, as we have heard by tradition was the case with Hercules and Libera. And also when we call Jupiter all-powerful and all-good, and likewise when we speak of him as the salutary god, the hospitable god, or as Stator, we mean it to be understood that the safety of men is under his protection. But it is very inconsistent, when we are disregarded and despised by one another, to entreat, that we may be dear to and beloved by the immortal gods. As, therefore, we make use of our limbs before we have learnt the exact advantage with a view to which we are endowed with them, so also we are united and associated by nature in a community of fellow-citizens. And if this were not the case, there would be no room for either justice or benevolence.

And as men think that there are bonds of right which connect man with man, so also there is no law which connects man with the beasts. For well did Chrysippus say, that all other animals have been born for the sake of men and of the gods; but that men and gods have been born only for the sake of their own mutual communion and society, so that men might be able to use beasts for their own advantage without any violation of law or right. And since the nature of man is such that he has, as it were, a sort of right of citizenship connecting him with the whole human race, a man who maintains that right is just, and he who departs from it is unjust.

But as, although a theatre is publicly open, still it may be fairly said that the place which each individual has occupied belongs to him; so in a city, or in the world, which is likewise common to all, there is no principle of right which hinders each individual from having his own private property. But since we see that man has been born for the purpose of defending and preserving men, so it is consistent with this nature that a wise man should wish to manage and regulate the republic; and, in order to live in compliance with nature, to marry a wife and beget children. Nor do philosophers think virtuous love inconsistent with a wise man. But others say that the principles and life of the Cynics are more suited to a wise man; if, indeed, any chance should befal him which [pg 206] might compel him to act in such a manner; while others wholly deny it.

XXI. But in order that the society, and union, and affection between man and man may be completely preserved, they have laid it down that all benefits and injuries, which they call ὠφελήματα and βλάμματα, are likewise common; of which the former are advantageous, and the latter injurious. Nor have they been contented with calling them common, but they have also asserted their equality. But as for disadvantages and advantages, (by which words I translate εὐχρηστήματα and δυσχρηστήματα,) those they assert to be common, but they deny that they are equal. For those things which profit or which injure are either good or evil; and they must necessarily be equal. But advantages and disadvantages are of that kind which we have already called things preferred or rejected; and they cannot be equal. But advantages are said to be common; but things done rightly, and sins, are not considered common. But they think that friendship is to be cultivated because it is one of that class of things which is profitable. But although, in friendship, some people assert that the interest of a man's friend is as dear to him as his own; others, on the other hand, contend that every man has a greater regard for his own. Yet these latter confess that it is inconsistent with justice, for which we seem to be born, to take anything from another for the purpose of appropriating it to oneself. But philosophers of this school which I am speaking of, never approve of either friendship or justice being exercised or sanctioned for the sake of its usefulness: for they say that the same principles of usefulness may, at times, undermine or overturn them. In truth, neither justice nor friendship can have any existence at all, unless they be sought for their own sake. They contend also that all right, which has any pretence to the name and appellation, is so by nature; and that it is inconsistent with the character of a wise man, not only to do any injustice to any one, but even to do him any damage. Nor is it right to make such a league with one's friends as to share in all their good deeds, or to become a partner in every act of injustice; and they argue, with the greatest dignity and truth, that justice can never be separated from usefulness: and that whatever is just and equitable is also honourable; and, reciprocally, [pg 207] that whatever is honourable must be also just and equitable.

And to those virtues which we have discussed, they also add dialectics and natural philosophy; and they call both these sciences by the name of virtues: one, because it has reason, so as to prevent our assenting to any false proposition, or being even deceived by any plausible probability; and to enable us to maintain and defend what we were saying about good and evil. For without this act they think that any one may be led away from the truth and deceived; accordingly, if rashness and ignorance is in every case vicious, this power which removes them is properly named virtue.

XXII. The same honour is also attributed to natural philosophy, and not without reason, because the man who wishes to live in a manner suitable to nature, must begin by studying the universal world, and the laws which govern it. Nor can any one form a correct judgment of good and evil without being acquainted with the whole system of nature, and of the life of the gods also, and without knowing whether or not the nature of man agrees with universal nature. He must also have learnt the ancient rules of those wise men who bid men yield to the times, and obey God, and know oneself, and shun every kind of excess. Now, without a knowledge of natural philosophy, no man can see what great power these rules have; and it is as great as can be: and also this is the only knowledge which can teach a man how greatly nature assists in the cultivation of justice, in the maintenance of friendship and the rest of the affections. Nor can piety towards the Gods, nor the gratitude which is due to them, be properly understood and appreciated without a correct understanding of the laws of nature.

But I feel now that I have advanced further than I had intended, or than the subject before me required. But the admirable arrangement of the Stoic doctrine, and the incredible beauty of the system, drew me on. And, in the name of the immortal gods! can you forbear to admire it? For what is there in all nature—though nothing is better or more accurately adapted to its ends than that—or what can be found in any work made by the hand, so well arranged, and united, and put together? What is there which is posterior, which does not agree with what has preceded it? What is there [pg 208] which follows, and does not correspond to what has gone before? What is there which is not connected with something else in such a manner, that if you only move one letter the whole will fall to pieces? Nor, indeed, is there anything which can be moved.

But what a grand and magnificent and consistent character is that of the wise man which is drawn by them! For he, after reason has taught him that that which is honourable is alone good, must inevitably be always happy, and must have a genuine right to those names which are often ridiculed by the ignorant. For he will be more properly called king than Tarquin, who was able to govern neither himself nor his family; he will deserve to be called the master of the people more than Sylla, who was only the master of three pestiferous vices, luxury, avarice, and cruelty; he will be called rich more properly than Crassus, who would never have desired to cross the Euphrates without any legitimate cause for war, if he had not been in want of something. Everything will be properly said to belong to that man, who alone knows how to make use of everything. He will also rightly be called beautiful, for the features of the mind are more beautiful than those of the body: he will deservedly be called the only free man, who is neither subject to the domination of any one, nor subservient to his own passions. He will fairly be called invincible, on whose mind, even though his body be bound with chains, no fetters can ever be imposed. Nor will he wait till the last period of his life, so as to have it decided whether he has been happy or not, after he has come to the last day of life and closed his eyes in death, in the spirit of the warning which one of the wise men gave to Crœsus, without showing much wisdom in so doing. For if he had ever been happy, then he would have borne his happy life with him, even as far as the funeral pile built for him by Cyrus.

But if it be true that no one except a good man is happy, and that all good men are happy, then what deserves to be cultivated more than philosophy, or what is more divine than virtue?

Book Four

I. And when he had made an end of saying these things, I replied, Truly, O Cato, you have displayed a wonderful memory in explaining to us such a number of things, and in laying such obscure things so clearly before us. So that we must either give up having any meaning or wish contrary to what you have said, or else we must take time to deliberate: for it is not easy to learn thoroughly the principles of a school which has not only had its foundation laid, but which has even been built up with such diligence, although perhaps with some errors as to its truth, (which, however, I will not as yet dare to affirm,) but at all events with such care and accuracy. Then, said he, is that what you say, when I have seen you, in obedience to this new law, reply to the prosecutor on the same day on which he has brought forward his charge, and sum up for three hours; and then do you think that I am going to allow an adjournment in this cause? which, however, will not be conducted by you better than those which are at times entrusted to you. Wherefore, I desire that you will now apply yourself to this one, especially as it has been handled by others, and also by yourself several times; so that you cannot be at a loss for arguments or language.

I replied, I do not, in truth, venture to argue inconsiderately against the Stoics, not because I agree with them in any great degree, but I am hindered by shame; because they say so much that I hardly understand. I confess, said he, that some of our arguments are obscure; not that we make them so on purpose, but because there is some obscurity in the subjects themselves. Why, then, said I, when the Peripatetics discuss the same subjects, does not a single word occur which is not well understood? Do they discuss the same subjects? said he; or have I failed to prove to you that the Stoics differ from the Peripatetics, not in words only, but in the whole of the subject, and in every one of their opinions? But, said [pg 210] I, if, O Cato, you can establish that, I will allow you to carry me over, body and soul, to your school. I did think, said he, that I had said enough on that point; wherefore answer me on that head first, if you please; and afterwards you can advance what arguments you please. I do not think it too much, said I, if I claim to answer you on that topic as I myself please. As you will, said he; for although the other way would have been more common, yet it is only fair to allow every one to adopt his own method.

II. I think, then, said I, O Cato, that those ancient pupils of Plato, Speusippus, Aristotle and Xenocrates, and afterwards their pupils, Polemo and Theophrastus, had a system laid down with sufficient richness and eloquence of language; so that Zeno had no reason, after having been a pupil of Polemo, for deserting him and his predecessors who had established this school. And in this school I should like you to observe what you think ought to be changed, and not to wait while I am replying to everything which has been said by you. For I think that I must contend with the whole of their system, against the whole of yours.

And as these men said that we are born with the view of being generally well adapted to those virtues which are well known and conspicuous, I mean justice and temperance, and others of the same kind, all which resemble the other arts, and differ only for the better in their subject matter and way of handling;—and as they saw that we desired those very virtues in a somewhat magnificent and ardent spirit; and that we had also a certain instruction, or, I should rather say, innate desire of knowledge; and that we were born for companionship with men, and for society and communion with the human race, and that these qualities are most conspicuous in the greatest geniuses;—they divided all philosophy into three parts; and we see that this same division was retained by Zeno: and as one of these parts is that by which the manners are thought to be formed, I postpone the consideration of that part, which is, as it were, the foundation of this question. For what is the chief good I will discuss presently; but at this moment I only say that that topic which I think we shall be right in calling the civil one, and which the Greeks call πολιτικὸς, has been treated of in a dignified and copious manner by the ancient Peripatetics and Academicians [pg 211] who, agreeing in parts, differed from one another only in words.

II. How many books have these men written on the republic! how many on laws! How many precepts in art, and, more than that, how many instances of good speaking in orations have they bequeathed to us! For, in the first place, they said with the greatest degree of polish and fitness those very things which were to be argued in a subtle manner, laying down both definitions and divisions: as your friends have also done: but you have done it in a more shabby manner; while you see how brilliant their language is. In the second place, with what splendid language have they adorned that part of the subject which required ornate and impressive eloquence! how gloriously have they illustrated it! discussing justice, and fortitude, and friendship, and the method of passing life, and philosophy, and the government of the state, and temperance, not like men picking out thorns, like the Stoics, or laying bare the bones, but like men who knew how to handle great subjects elegantly, and lesser ones clearly. What, therefore, are their consolations? What are their exhortations? What also are their warnings and advice written to the most eminent men? For their practice in speaking was, like the nature of the things themselves, of a two-fold character. For whatever is made a question of, contains a controversy either as to the genus itself, without reference to persons or times; or else, with these additions, a dispute as to the fact, or the right, or the name. And therefore, they exercised themselves in both kinds; and that discipline it was which produced that great copiousness of eloquence among them in both kinds of argumentation. Now Zeno, and those who imitated him, were either unable to do much in this kind of argument, or else were unwilling, or at all events they did not do it. Although Cleanthes wrote a treatise on the art of rhetoric, and so too did Chrysippus, but still in such a manner, that if any one were to wish to be silent, he ought to read nothing else. Therefore you see how they speak. They invent new words—they abandon old established terms.

But what great attempts do they make? They say that this universal world is our town; accordingly, this excites those who hear such a statement. You see, now, how great [pg 212] a business you are undertaking; to make a man who lives at Circeii believe that this universal world is merely a town for himself to live in. What will be the end of this? Shall he set fire to it? He will rather extinguish it, if he has received it on fire. The next thing said is that list of titles which you briefly enumerated,—king, dictator, rich man, the only wise man; words poured out by you decorously and roundly: they well might be, for you have learnt them from the orators. But how vague and unsubstantial are those speeches about the power of virtue! which they make out to be so great that it can, by itself, secure the happiness of man. They prick us with narrow little bits of questions as with pins; and those who assent to them are not at all changed in their minds, and go away the same as they came: for matters which are perhaps true, and which certainly are important, are not handled as they ought to be, but in a more minute and petty manner.

IV. The next thing is the principle of arguing, and the knowledge of nature. For we will examine the chief good presently, as I said before, and apply the whole discussion to the explanation of it. There was, then, in those two parts nothing which Zeno wished to alter. For the whole thing, in both its divisions, is in an excellent state; for what has been omitted by the ancients in that kind of argument which is of influence in discussion? For they have both given many definitions, and have bequeathed to us titles for defining; and that important addition to definition, I mean the dividing of the subject into parts, is both done by them, and they have also left us rules to enable us to do so too; and I may say the same of contraries; from which they came to genera, and to the forms of genera. Now, they make those things which they call evident, the beginning of an argument concluded by reason: then they follow an orderly arrangement; and the conclusion at last shows what is true in the separate propositions. But what a great variety of arguments, which lead to conclusions according to reason, do they give us, and how dissimilar are they to captious questions! What shall we say of their denouncing, as it were, in many places, that we ought neither entirely to trust our senses when unsupported by reason, nor reason when unsupported by our senses; but that, at the same time, we ought to keep the line between [pg 213] the two clearly marked? What shall I say more? Were not all the precepts which the dialecticians now deliver and teach, originally discovered and established by them? And although they were very much elaborated by Chrysippus, still they were much less practised by Zeno than by the ancients. And there were several things in which he did not improve on the ancients; and some which he never touched at all. And as there are two arts by which reason and oratory are brought to complete perfection, one that of discovering, the other that of arguing,—both the Stoics and Peripatetics have handed us down this latter, but the Peripatetics alone have given us rules for the former, while the Stoics have altogether avoided it. For the men of your school never even suspected the places from which arguments might be drawn as out of magazines; but the Peripatetics taught a regular system and method.

And the consequence is, that it is not necessary for one now to be always repeating a sort of dictated lesson on the same subject, or to be afraid to go beyond one's note-books: for he who knows where everything is placed, and how he can arrive at it, even if anything be completely buried, will be able to dig it up, and will always have his wits about him in every discussion. And although men who are endowed with great abilities, attain to a certain copiousness of eloquence without any definite principles of oratory, still art is a surer guide than nature. For it is one thing to pour out words after the fashion of poets, and another to distinguish on settled principles and rules all that you say.

V. Similar things may be said about the explanation of natural philosophy, which both the Peripatetics and Stoics apply themselves to; and that not on two accounts only, as Epicurus thinks, namely, to get rid of the fears of death and of religion; but besides this, the knowledge of heavenly things imparts some degree of modesty to those who see what great moderation and what admirable order there is likewise among the gods: it inspires them also with magnanimity when they contemplate the arts and works of the gods; and justice, too, when they come to know how great is the power and wisdom, and what the will is also, of the supreme ruler and master of the world, whose reason, in accordance with nature, is called by philosophers the true and supreme law. There is in the same study of nature, an insatiable kind of [pg 214] pleasure derived from the knowledge of things; the only pleasure in which, when all our necessary actions are performed, and when we are free from business, we can live honourably, and as becomes free men. Therefore, in the whole of this ratiocination on subjects of the very highest importance, the Stoics have for the most part followed the Peripatetics; so far at all events as to admit that there are gods, and to assert that everything consists of one of four elements. But when an exceedingly difficult question was proposed, namely, whether there did not seem to be a sort of fifth nature from which reason and intelligence sprang; (in which question another was involved respecting the mind, as to what class that belonged to;) Zeno said that it was fire; and then he said a few more things—very few, in a novel manner; but concerning the most important point of all, he spoke in the same way, asserting that the universal world, and all its most important parts, were regulated by the divine intellect and nature of the gods. But as for the matter and richness of facts, we shall find the Stoics very poorly off, but the Peripatetics very rich.

What numbers of facts have been investigated and accumulated by them with respect to the genus, and birth, and limbs, and age of all kinds of animals! and in like manner with respect to those things which are produced out of the earth! How many causes have they developed, and in what numerous cases, why everything is done, and what numerous demonstrations have they laid open how everything is done! And from this copiousness of theirs most abundant and undeniable arguments are derived for the explanation of the nature of everything. Therefore, as far as I understand, there is no necessity at all for any change of name. For it does not follow that, though he may have differed from the Peripatetics in some points, he did not arise out of them. And I, indeed, consider Epicurus, as far as his natural philosophy is concerned, as only another Democritus: he alters very few of his doctrines; and I should think him so even if he had changed more: but in numerous instances, and certainly on all the most important points, he coincides with him exactly. And though the men of your school do this, they do not show sufficient gratitude to the original discoverers.

VI. But enough of this. Let us now, I beg, consider the [pg 215] chief good, which contains all philosophy, and see whether Zeno has brought forward any reason for dissenting from the original discoverers and parents of it, as I may call them. While speaking, then, on this topic—although, Cato, this summit of goods, which contains all philosophy, has been carefully explained by you, and though you have told us what is considered so by the Stoics, and in what sense it is called so—yet I also will give my explanation, in order that we may see clearly, if we can, what new doctrine has been introduced into the question by Zeno. For as preceding philosophers, and Polemo most explicitly of all, had said that the chief good was to live according to nature, the Stoics say that three things are signified by these words: one, that a man should live exercising a knowledge of those things which happen by nature; and they say that this is the chief good of Zeno, who declares, as has been said by you, that it consists in living in a manner suitable to nature: the second meaning is much the same as if it were said that a man ought to live attending to all, or nearly all, the natural and intermediate duties. But this, when explained in this manner, is different from the former. For the former is right, which you called κατόρθωμα, and it happens to the wise man alone; but this is only a duty which is begun and not perfected, and this may happen to some who are far from being wise: the third is that a man should live, enjoying all things, or at least all the most important things which are according to nature; but this does not always depend on ourselves, for it is perfected both out of that kind of life which is bounded by virtue, and out of those things which are according to nature, and which are not in our own power.

But this chief good, which is understood in the third signification of the definition, and that life which is passed in conformity with that good, can happen to the wise man alone, because virtue is connected with it. And that summit of good, as we see it expressed by the Stoics themselves, was laid down by Xenocrates and by Aristotle; and so that first arrangement of the principles of nature, with which you also began, is explained by them in almost these very words.

VII. All nature desires to be a preserver of itself, in order that it may be both safe itself, and that it may be preserved in its kind. They say that for this end arts have been invented [pg 216] to assist nature, among which that is accounted one of the most important which is the art of living so as to defend what has been given by nature, and to acquire what is wanting; and, at the same time, they have divided the nature of man into mind and body. And, as they said that each of these things was desirable for its own sake, so also they said that the virtues of each of them were desirable for their own sake. But when they extolled the mind with boundless praises, and preferred it to the body, they at the same time preferred the virtues of the mind to the goods of the body.

But, as they asserted that wisdom was the guardian and regulator of the entire man, being the companion and assistant of nature, they said that the especial office of wisdom was to defend the being who consisted of mind and body,—to assist him and support him in each particular. And so, the matter being first laid down simply, pursuing the rest of the argument with more subtlety, they thought that the goods of the body admitted of an easy explanation, but they inquired more accurately into those of the mind. And, first of all, they found out that they contained the seeds of justice; and they were the first of all philosophers to teach that the principle that those which were the offspring should be beloved by their parents, was implanted in all animals by nature; and they said, also, that that which precedes the birth of offspring, in point of time,—namely, the marriage of men and women,—was a bond of union suggested by nature, and that this was the root from which the friendships between relations sprang. And, beginning with these first principles, they proceeded to investigate the origin and progress of all the virtues; by which course a great magnanimity was engendered, enabling them easily to resist and withstand fortune, because the most important events were in the power of the wise man; and a life conducted according to the precepts of the ancient philosophers was easily superior to all the changes and injuries of fortune.

But when these foundations had been laid by nature, certain great increases of good were produced,—some arising from the contemplation of more secret things, because there is a love of knowledge innate in the mind, in which also the fondness for explaining principles and for discussing them originates; and because man is the only animal which has [pg 217] any share of shame or modesty; and because he also covets union and society with other men, and takes pains in everything which he does or says, that he may do nothing which is not honourable and becoming;—these foundations being, as I have said, implanted in us by nature like so many seeds, temperance, and modesty, and justice, and all virtue, was brought to complete perfection.

VIII. You here, O Cato, have a sketch of the philosophers of whom I am speaking; and, now that I have given you this, I wish to know what reason there is why Zeno departed from their established system; and which of all their doctrines it was that he disapproved of? Did he object to their calling all nature a preserver of itself?—or to their saying that every animal was naturally fond of itself, so as to wish to be safe and uninjured in its kind?—or, as the end of all arts is to arrive at what nature especially requires, did he think that the same principle ought to be laid down with respect to the art of the entire life?—or, since we consist of mind and body, did he think that these and their excellences ought to be chosen for their own sakes?—or was he displeased with the preeminence which is attributed by the Peripatetics to the virtue of the mind?—or did he object to what they said about prudence, and the knowledge of things, and the union of the human race, and temperance, and modesty, and magnanimity, and honourableness in general? The Stoics must confess that all these things were excellently explained by the others, and that they gave no reason to Zeno for deserting their school. They must allege some other excuse.

I suppose they will say that the errors of the ancients were very great, and that he, being desirous of investigating the truth, could by no means endure them. For what can be more perverse—what can be more intolerable, or more stupid, than to place good health, and freedom from all pain, and soundness of the eyes and the rest of the senses, among the goods, instead of saying that there is no difference at all between them and their contraries? For that all those things which the Peripatetics called goods, were only things preferable, not good. And also that the ancients had been very foolish when they said that these excellences of the body were desirable for their own sake: they were to be accepted, but not to be desired. And the same might be said of all the [pg 218] other circumstances of life, which consists of nothing but virtue alone,—that that life which is rich also in the other things which are according to nature is not more to be desired on that account, but only more to be accepted; and, though virtue itself makes life so happy that a man cannot be happier, still something is wanting to wise men, even when they are most completely happy; and that they labour to repel pain, disease, and debility.

IX. Oh, what a splendid force is there in such genius, and what an excellent reason is this for setting up a new school! Go on; for it will follow,—and, indeed, you have most learnedly adopted the principle,—that all folly, and all injustice, and all other vices are alike, and that all errors are equal; and that those who have made great progress, through natural philosophy and learning, towards virtue, if they have not arrived at absolute perfection in it, are completely miserable, and that there is no difference between their life and that of the most worthless of men,—as Plato, that greatest of men, if he was not thoroughly wise, lived no better, and in no respect more happily, than the most worthless of men. This is, forsooth, the Stoic correction and improvement of the old philosophy; but it can never find any entrance into the city, or the forum, or the senate-house. For who could endure to hear a man, who professed to be a teacher of how to pass life with dignity and wisdom, speaking in such a manner—altering the names of things; and though he was in reality of the same opinion as every one else, still giving new names to the things to which he attributed just the same force that others did, without proposing the least alteration in the ideas to be entertained of them? Would the advocate of a cause, when summing up for a defendant, deny that exile or the confiscation of his client's property was an evil?—that these things were to be rejected, though not to be fled from?—or would he say that a judge ought not to be merciful?

But if he were speaking in the public assembly,—if Hannibal had arrived at the gates and had driven his javelin into the wall, would he deny that it was an evil to be taken prisoner, to be sold, to be slain, to lose one's country? Or could the senate, when it was voting a triumph to Africanus, have expressed itself,—Because by his virtue and good fortune ... if there could not properly be said to be any virtue or any [pg 219] good fortune except in a wise man? What sort of a philosophy, then, is that which speaks in the ordinary manner in the forum, but in a peculiar style of its own in books? especially when, as they intimate themselves in all they say, no innovations are made by them in the facts,—none of the things themselves are changed, but they remain exactly the same, though in another manner. For what difference does it make whether you call riches, and power, and health goods, or only things preferred, as long as the man who calls them goods attributes no more to them than you do who call them things preferred? Therefore, Panætius—a noble and dignified man, worthy of the intimacy which he enjoyed with Scipio and Lælius—when he was writing to Quintus Tubero on the subject of bearing pain, never once asserted, what ought to have been his main argument, if it could have been proved, that pain was not an evil; but he explained what it was, and what its character was, and what amount of disagreeableness there was in it, and what was the proper method of enduring it; and (for he, too, was a Stoic) all that preposterous language of the school appears to me to be condemned by these sentiments of his.

X. But, however, to come, O Cato, more closely to what you have been saying, let us treat this question more narrowly, and compare what you have just said with those assertions which I prefer to yours. Now, those arguments which you employ in common with the ancients, we may make use of as admitted. But let us, if you please, confine our discussion to those which are disputed. I do please, said he: I am very glad to have the question argued with more subtlety, and, as you call it, more closely; for what you have hitherto advanced are mere popular assertions, but from you I expect something more elegant. From me? said I. However, I will try; and, if I cannot find arguments enough, I will not be above having recourse to those which you call popular.

But let me first lay down this position, that we are so recommended to ourselves by nature, and that we have this principal desire implanted in us by nature, that our first wish is to preserve ourselves. This is agreed. It follows, that we must take notice what we are, that so we may preserve ourselves in that character of which we ought to be. We are, therefore, men: we consist of mind and body,—which are [pg 220] things of a particular description,—and we ought, as our first natural desire requires, to love these parts of ourselves, and from them to establish this summit of the chief and highest good, which, if our first principles are true, must be established in such a way as to acquire as many as possible of those things which are in accordance with nature, and especially all the most important of them. This, then, is the chief good which they aimed at. I have expressed it more diffusely,—they call it briefly, living according to nature. This is what appears to them to be the chief good.

XI. Come, now let them teach us, or rather do so yourself, (for who is better able?) in what way you proceed from these principles, and prove that to live honourably (for that is the meaning of living according to virtue, or in a manner suitable to nature) is the chief good; and in what manner, or in what place, you on a sudden get rid of the body, and leave all those things which, as they are according to nature, are out of our own power; and, lastly, how you get rid of duty itself.

I ask, therefore, how it is that all these recommendations, having proceeded from nature, are suddenly abandoned by wisdom? But if it were not the chief good of man that we were inquiring into, but only that of some animal, and if he were nothing except mind (for we may make such a supposition as that, in order more easily to discover the truth), still this chief good of yours would not belong to that mind. For it would wish for good health, for freedom from pain; it would also desire the preservation of itself, and the guardianship of these qualities, and it would appoint as its own end to live according to nature, which is, as I have said, to have those things which are according to nature, either all of them, or most of them, and all the most important ones. For whatever kind of animal you make him out, it is necessary, even though he be incorporeal, as we are supposing him, still that there must be in the mind something like those qualities which exist in the body; so that the chief good cannot possibly be defined in any other manner but that which I have mentioned.

But Chrysippus, when explaining the differences between living creatures, says, that some excel in their bodies, others in their minds, some in both. And then he argues that [pg 221] there ought to be a separate chief good for each description of creature. But as he had placed man in such a class that he attributed to him excellence of mind, he determined that his chief good was not that he appeared to excel in mind, but that he appeared to be nothing else but mind.

XII. But in one case the chief good might rightly be placed in virtue alone, if there were any animal which consisted wholly of mind; and that, too, in such a manner that that mind had in itself nothing that was according to nature, as health is. But it cannot even be imagined what kind of thing that is, so as not to be inconsistent with itself. But if he says that some things are obscure, and are not visible because they are very small, we also admit that; as Epicurus says of pleasure, that those pleasures which are very small are often obscured and overwhelmed. But that kind has not so many advantages of body, nor any which last so long, or are so great. Therefore, in those in which obscuration follows because of their littleness, it often happens that we confess that it makes no difference to us whether they exist at all or not; just as when the sun is out, as you yourself said, it is of no consequence to add the light of a candle, or to add a penny to the riches of Crœsus. But in those matters in which so great an obscuration does not take place, it may still be the case, that the matter which makes a difference is of no great consequence. As if, when a man had lived ten years agreeably, an additional month's life of equal pleasantness were given to him, it would be good, because any addition has some power to produce what is agreeable; but if that is not admitted, it does not follow that a happiness of life is at once put an end to.

But the goods of the body are more like this instance which I have just mentioned. For they admit of additions worthy of having pains taken about them; so that on this point the Stoics appear to me sometimes to be joking, when they say that, if a bottle or a comb were given as an addition to a life which is being passed with virtue, a wise man would rather choose that life, because these additions were given to it, but yet that he would not be happier on that account. Now, is not this simile to be upset by ridicule rather than by serious discourse? For who would not be deservedly ridiculed, if he were anxious whether he had another bottle or [pg 222] not? But if any one relieves a person from any affection of the limbs, or from the pain of any disease, he will receive great gratitude. And if that wise man of yours is put on the rack of torture by a tyrant, he will not display the same countenance as if he had lost his bottle; but, as entering upon a serious and difficult contest, seeing that he will have to fight with a capital enemy, namely, pain, he will summon up all his principles of fortitude and patience, by whose assistance he will proceed to face that difficult and important battle, as I have called it.

We will not inquire, then, what is obscured, or what is destroyed, because it is something very small; but what is of such a character as to complete the whole sum of happiness. One pleasure out of many may be obscured in that life of pleasure; but still, however small an one it may be, it is a part of that life which consists wholly of pleasure. One coin is lost of the riches of Crœsus, still it is a part of his riches. Wherefore those things, too, which we say are according to nature, may be obscured in a happy life, still they must be parts of the happy life.

XIII. But if, as we ought to agree, there is a certain natural desire which longs for those things which are according to nature, then, when taken altogether, they must be considerable in amount. And if this point is established, then we may be allowed to inquire about those things at our leisure, and to investigate the greatness of them, and their excellence, and to examine what influence each has on living happily, and also to consider the very obscurations themselves, which, on account of their smallness, are scarcely ever, or I may say never, visible.

What should I say about that as to which there is no dispute? For there is no one who denies that that which is the standard to which everything is referred resembles every nature, and that is the chief thing which is to be desired. For every nature is attached to itself. For what nature is there which ever deserts itself, or any portion of itself, or any one of its parts or faculties, or, in short, any one of those things, or motions, or states which are in accordance with nature? And what nature has ever been forgetful of its original purpose and establishment? There has never been one which does not observe this law from first to last. How, [pg 223] then, does it happen that the nature of man is the only one which ever abandons man, which forgets the body, which places the chief good, not in the whole man, but in a part of man? And how, as they themselves admit, and as is agreed upon by all, will it be preserved, so that that ultimate good of nature, which is the subject of our inquiry, shall resemble every nature? For it would resemble them, if in other natures also there were some ultimate point of excellence. For then that would seem to be the chief good of the Stoics. Why, then, do you hesitate to alter the principles of nature? For why do you say that every animal, the moment that it is born, is prone to feel love for itself, and is occupied in its own preservation? Why do you not rather say that every animal is inclined to that which is most excellent in itself, and is occupied in the guardianship of that one thing, and that the other natures do nothing else but preserve that quality which is the best in each of them? But how can it be the best, if there is nothing at all good besides? But if the other things are to be desired, why, then, is not that which is the chief of all desirable things inferred from the desire of all those things, or of the most numerous and important of them? as Phidias can either begin a statue from the beginning, and finish it, or he can take one which has been begun by another, and complete that.

Now wisdom is like this: for wisdom is not herself the parent of man, but she has received him after he has been commenced by nature. And without regard to her, she ought to complete that work of her's, as an artist would complete a statue. What kind of man, then, is it that nature has commenced? and what is the office and task of wisdom? What is it that ought to be finished and completed by her? If there is nothing to be made further in man, except some kind of motion of the mind, that is to say, reason, then it follows, that the ultimate object is to mould the life according to virtue. For the perfection of reason is virtue. If there is nothing but body, then the chief goods must be good health, freedom from pain, beauty, and so on. The question at this moment is about the chief good of man.

XIV. Why do we hesitate, then, to inquire as to his whole nature, what has been done? For as it is agreed by all, that the whole duty and office of wisdom is to be occupied about [pg 224] the cultivation of man, some (that you may not think that I am arguing against none but the Stoics) bring forward opinions in which they place the chief good among things of a kind which are wholly out of our own power, just as if they were speaking of one of the brute beasts; others, on the contrary, as if man had no body at all, so entirely exclude everything from their consideration except the mind, (and this, too, while the mind itself, in their philosophy, is not some unintelligible kind of vacuum, but something which exists in some particular species of body,) that even that is not content with virtue alone, but requires freedom from pain. So that both these classes do the same thing, as if they neglected the left side of a man, and took care only of the right; or as if they (as Herillus did) attended only to the knowledge of the mind itself, and passed over all action. For it is but a crippled system which all those men set up who pass over many things, and select some one in particular to adhere to. But that is a perfect and full system which those adopt who, while inquiring about the chief good of man, pass over in their inquiry no part either of his mind or body, so as to leave it unprotected. But your school, O Cato, because virtue holds, as we all admit, the highest and most excellent place in man, and because we think those who are wise men, perfect and admirable men, seeks entirely to dazzle the eyes of our minds with the splendour of virtue. For in every living creature there is some one principal and most excellent thing, as, for instance, in horses and dogs; but those must be free from pain and in good health. Therefore, you do not seem to me to pay sufficient attention to what the general path and progress of nature is. For it does not pursue the same course in man that it does in corn, (which, when it has advanced it from the blade to the ear, it leaves and considers the stubble as nothing,) and leave him as soon as it has conducted him to a state of reason. For it is always taking something additional, without ever abandoning what it has previously given. Therefore, it has added reason to the senses; and when it has perfected his reason, it still does not abandon the senses.

As if the culture of the vine, the object of which is to cause the vine, with all its parts, to be in the best possible condition, (however that is what we understand it to be, for [pg 225] one may, as you often do yourselves, suppose anything for the purpose of illustration,) if, then, that culture of the vine be in the vine itself, it would, I presume, desire everything else which concerns the cultivation of the vine, to be as it has been before. But it would prefer itself to every separate part of the vine, and it would feel sure that nothing in the vine was better than itself. In like manner sense, when it has been added to nature, protects it indeed, but it also protects itself. But when reason is also added, then it is placed in a position of such predominant power, that all those first principles of nature are put under its guardianship. Therefore it does not abandon the care of those things over which it is so set, that its duty is to regulate the entire life: so that we cannot sufficiently marvel at their inconsistency. For they assert that the natural appetite, which they call ὁρμὴ, and also duty, and even virtue herself, are all protectors of those things which are according to nature. But when they wish to arrive at the chief good, they overleap everything, and leave us two tasks instead of one—namely, to choose some things and desire others, instead of including both under one head.

XV. But now you say that virtue cannot properly be established, if those things which are external to virtue have any influence on living happily. But the exact contrary is the case. For virtue cannot possibly be introduced, unless everything which it chooses and which it neglects is all referred to one general end. For if we entirely neglect ourselves, we then fall into the vices and errors of Ariston, and shall forget the principles which we have attributed to virtue itself. But if we do not neglect those things, and yet do not refer them to the chief good, we shall not be very far removed from the trivialities of Herillus. For we shall have to adopt two different plans of conduct in life: for he makes out that there are two chief goods unconnected with each other; but if they were real goods, they ought to be united; but at present they are separated, so that they never can be united. But nothing can be more perverse than this. Therefore, the fact is exactly contrary to your assertion: for virtue cannot possibly be established firmly, unless it maintains those things which are the principles of nature as having an influence on the object. For we have been looking [pg 226] for a virtue which should preserve nature, not for one which should abandon it. But that of yours, as you represent it, preserves only one part, and abandons the rest.

And, indeed, if the custom of man could speak, this would be its language. That its first beginnings were, as it were, beginnings of desire that it might preserve itself in that nature in which it had been born. For it had not yet been sufficiently explained what nature desired above all things. Let it therefore be explained. What else then will be understood but that no part of nature is to be neglected? And if there is nothing in it besides reason, then the chief good must be in virtue alone. But if there is also body, then will that explanation of nature have caused us to abandon the belief which we held before the explanation. Is it, then, being in a manner suitable to nature to abandon nature? As some philosophers do, when having begun with the senses they have seen something more important and divine, and then abandoned the senses; so, too, these men, when they had beheld the beauty of virtue developed in its desire for particular things, abandoned everything which they had seen for the sake of virtue herself, forgetting that the whole nature of desirable things was so extensive that it remained from beginning to end; and they do not understand that they are taking away the very foundations of these beautiful and admirable things.

XVI. Therefore, all those men appear to me to have made a blunder who have pronounced the chief good to be to live honourably. But some have erred more than others,—Pyrrho above all, who, having fixed on virtue as the chief good, refuses to allow that there is anything else in the world deserving of being desired; and, next to him, Aristo, who did not, indeed, venture to leave nothing else to be desired, but who introduced influence, by which a wise man might be excited, and desire whatever occurred to his mind, and whatever even appeared so to occur. He was more right than Pyrrho, inasmuch as he left man some kind of desire; but worse than the rest, inasmuch as he departed wholly from nature: but the Stoics, because they place the chief good in virtue alone, resemble these men: but inasmuch as they seek for a principle of duty, they are superior to Pyrrho; and as they do not admit the desire of those objects which offer [pg 227] themselves to the imagination, they are more correct than Aristo; but, inasmuch as they do not add the things which they admit to be adopted by nature, and to be worthy of being chosen for their own sakes, to the chief good, they here desert nature, and are in some degree not different from Aristo: for he invented some strange kinds of occurrences; but these men recognise, indeed, the principles of nature, but still they disconnect them from the perfect and chief good; and when they put them forward, so that there may be some selection of things, they appear to follow nature; but when they deny that they have any influence in making life happy, they again abandon nature.

And hitherto I have been showing how destitute Zeno was of any good reason for abandoning the authority of previous philosophers: now let us consider the rest of his arguments; unless, indeed, O Cato, you wish to make any reply to what I have been saying, or unless we are getting tedious. Neither, said he; for I wish this side of the question to be completely argued by you; nor does your discourse seem to me to be at all tedious. I am glad to hear it, I replied; for what can be more desirable for me than to discuss the subject of virtue with Cato, who is the most virtuous of men in every point? But, first of all, remark that that imposing sentiment of yours, which brings a whole family after it, namely, that what is honourable is the only good, and that to live honourably is the chief good, will be shared in common with you by all who define the chief good as consisting in virtue alone; and, as to what you say, that virtue cannot be formed if anything except what is honourable is included in the account, the same statement will be made by those whom I have just named. But it appeared to me to be fairer, advancing from one common beginning, to see where Zeno, while disputing with Polemo, from whom he had learnt what the principles of nature were, first took his stand, and what the original cause of the controversy was; and not to stand on their side, who did not even allow that their own chief good was derived from nature, and to employ the same arguments which they did, and to maintain the same sentiments.

XVII. But I am very far from approving this conduct of yours, that when you have proved, as you imagine, that that [pg 228] alone is good which is honourable, then say again that it is necessary that beginnings should be put forward which are suitable and adapted to nature; by a selection from which virtue might be called into existence. For virtue ought not to have been stated to consist in selection, so that that very thing which was itself the chief good, was to acquire something besides itself; for all things which are to be taken, or chosen, or desired, ought to exist in the chief good, so that he who has attained that may want nothing more. Do you not see how evident it is to those men whose chief good consists in pleasure, what they ought to do and what they ought not? so that no one of them doubts what all their duties ought to regard, what they ought to pursue, or avoid. Let this, then, be the chief good which is now defended by me; it will be evident in a moment what are the necessary duties and actions. But you, who set before yourselves another end except what is right and honourable, will not be able to find out where your principle of duty and action is to originate.

Therefore you are all of you seeking for this, and so are those who say that they pursue whatever comes into their mind and occurs to them; and you return to nature. But nature will fairly reply to you, that it is not true that the chief happiness of life is to be sought in another quarter, but the principles of action in herself: for that there is one system only, in which both the principles of action and the chief good too is contained; and that, as the opinion of Aristo is exploded, when he says that one thing does not differ from another, and that there is nothing except virtue and vice in which there was any difference whatever; so, too, Zeno was in the wrong, who affirmed that there was no influence in anything, except virtue or vice, of the very least power to assist in the attainment of the chief good: and as that had no influence on making life happy, but only in creating a desire for things, he said that there was some power of attraction in them: just as if this desire had no reference to the acquisition of the chief good. But what can be less consistent than what they say, namely, that when they have obtained the knowledge of the chief good they then return to nature, in order to seek in it the principle of action, that is to say, of duty? For it is not the principle of action or duty which impels them to desire those things which are [pg 229] according to nature; but desire and action are both set in motion by those things.

XVIII. Now I come to those brief statements of yours which you call conclusions; and first of all to that—than which, certainly, nothing can be more brief—that "everything good is praiseworthy; but everything praiseworthy is honourable; therefore everything good is honourable." Oh, what a leaden dagger!—for who will grant you your first premises? And if it should be granted to you, then you have no need of the second: for if everything good is praiseworthy, so is everything honourable; who, then, will grant you this, except Pyrrho, Aristo, and men like them?—whom you do not approve of. Aristotle, Xenocrates, and all that school, will not grant it; inasmuch as they call health, strength, riches, glory, and many other things good, but not praiseworthy; and they therefore do not think that the chief good is contained in virtue alone, though still they do prefer virtue to everything else. What do you think that those men will do who have utterly separated virtue from the chief good, Epicurus, Hieronymus, and those too, if indeed there are any such, who wish to defend the definition of the chief good given by Carneades? And how will Callipho and Diodorus be able to grant you what you ask, men who join to honourableness something else which is not of the same genus?—Do you, then, think it proper, Cato, after you have assumed premises which no one will grant to you, to derive whatever conclusion you please from them? Take this sorites, than which you think nothing can be more faulty: “That which is good is desirable; that which is desirable ought to be sought for; that which ought to be sought for is praiseworthy,” and so on through all the steps. But I will stop here, for in the same manner no one will grant to you that whatever ought to be sought is therefore praiseworthy; and that other argument of theirs is far from a legitimate conclusion, but a most stupid assertion, “that a happy life is one worthy of being boasted of.” For it can never happen that a person may reasonably boast, without something honourable in the circumstances. Polemo will grant this to Zeno; and so will his master, and the whole of that school, and all the rest who, preferring virtue by far to everything else, still add something besides to it in their definition of the chief good. For, [pg 230] if virtue be a thing worthy of being boasted of, as it is, and if it is so far superior to all other things that it can scarcely be expressed how much better it is; then a man may, possibly, be happy if endowed with virtue alone, and destitute of everything else; and yet he will never grant to you that nothing whatever is to be classed among goods, except virtue.

But those men whose chief good has no virtue in it, will perhaps not grant to you that a happy life has anything in it of which a man can rightly boast, although they also, at times, represent virtues as subjects for boasting. You see, therefore, that you are either assuming propositions which are not admitted, or else such as, even if they are granted, will do you no good.

XIX. In truth, in all these conclusions, I should think this worthy both of philosophy and of ourselves,—and that, too, most especially so when we were inquiring into the chief good,—that our lives, and designs, and wishes should be corrected, and not our expressions. For who, when he has heard those brief and acute arguments of yours which, as you say, give you so much pleasure, can ever have his opinion changed by them? For when men fix their attention on them, and wish to hear why pain is not an evil, they tell him that to be in pain is a bitter, annoying, odious, unnatural condition, and one difficult to be borne; but, because there is in pain no fraud, or dishonesty, or malice, or fault, or baseness, therefore it is not an evil. Now, the man who hears this said, even if he does not care to laugh, will still depart without being a bit more courageous as to bearing pain than he was when he came. But you affirm that no one can be courageous who thinks pain an evil. Why should he be more courageous if he thinks it—what you yourself admit it to be—bitter and scarcely endurable? For timidity is generated by things, and not by words. And you say, that if one letter is moved, the whole system of the school will be undermined. Do I seem, then, to you to be moving a letter, or rather whole pages? For although the order of things, which is what you so especially extol, may be preserved among them, and although everything may be well joined and connected together, (for that is what you said,) still we ought not to follow them too far, if arguments, having set out from false principles, are consistent with themselves, and do not wander from the end they propose to themselves.

Accordingly, in his first establishment of his system, your master, Zeno, departed from nature; and as he had placed the chief good on that superiority of disposition which we call virtue, and had affirmed that there was nothing whatever good which was not honourable, and that virtue could have no real existence if in other things there were things of which one was better or worse than another; having laid down these premises, he naturally maintained the conclusions. You say truly; for I cannot deny it. But the conclusions which follow from his premises are so false that the premises from which they are deduced cannot be true. For the dialecticians, you know, teach us that if the conclusions which follow from any premises are false, the premises from which they follow cannot be true. And so that conclusion is not only true, but so evident that even the dialecticians do not think it necessary that any reasons should be given for it—“If that is the case, this is; but this is not; therefore that is not.” And so, by denying your consequence, your premise is contradicted. What follows, then?—“All who are not wise are equally miserable; all wise men are perfectly happy: all actions done rightly are equal to one another; all offences are equal.” But, though all these propositions at first appear to be admirably laid down, after a little consideration they are not so much approved of. For every man's own senses, and the nature of things, and truth itself, cried out, after a fashion, that they could never be induced to believe that there was no difference between those things which Zeno asserted to be equal.

XX. Afterwards that little Phœnician of yours (for you know that the people of Citium, your clients, came from Phœnicia), a shrewd man, as he was not succeeding in his case, since nature herself contradicted him, began to withdraw his words; and first of all he granted in favour of those things which we consider good, that they might be considered fit, and useful, and adapted to nature; and he began to confess that it was more advantageous for a wise—that is to say for a perfectly happy—man, to have those things which he does not venture indeed to call goods, but yet allows to be well adapted to nature. And he denies that Plato, if he were not a wise man, would be in the same circumstances as the tyrant Dionysius; for that to die was better for the one, [pg 232] because he despaired of attaining wisdom, but to live was better for the other, because of his hope of doing so. And he asserts that of offences some are tolerable, and some by no means so, because many men passed by some offences, and there are others which very few people pass by, on account of the number of duties violated. Again, he said that some men are so foolish as to be utterly unable ever to arrive at wisdom; but that there are others who, if they had taken pains, might have attained to it. Now, in this he expressed himself differently from any one else, but he thought just the same as all the rest. Nor did he think those things deserving of being valued less which he himself denied to be goods, than they did who considered them as goods. What, then, did he wish to effect by having altered these names? At least he would have taken something from their weight, and would have valued them at rather less than the Peripatetics, in order to appear to think in some respects differently from them, and not merely to speak so.

What more need I say? What do you say about the happy life to which everything is referred? You affirm that it is not that life which is filled with everything which nature requires; and you place it entirely in virtue alone. And as every controversy is usually either about a fact or a name, both kinds of dispute arise if either the fact is not understood or if a mistake is made as to the name; and if neither of these is the case, we must take care to use the most ordinary language possible, and words as suitable as can be,—that is, such as make the subject plain. Is it, then, doubtful that if the former philosophers have not erred at all as to the fact itself, they certainly express themselves more conveniently? Let us, then, examine their opinions, and then return to the question of names.

XXI. They say that the desire of the mind is excited when anything appears to it to be according to nature; and that all things which are according to nature are worthy of some esteem; and that they deserve to be esteemed in proportion to the weight that there is in each of them: and that of those things which are according to nature, some have in themselves nothing of that appetite of which we have already frequently spoken, being neither called honourable nor praiseworthy; and some, again, are accompanied by pleasure in the [pg 233] case of every animal, and in the case of man also with reason. And those of them which are suitable are honourable, beautiful, and praiseworthy; but the others, mentioned before, are natural, and, when combined with those which are honourable, make up and complete a perfectly happy life. But they say, too, that of all these advantages—to which those people do not attribute more importance who say that they are goods, than Zeno does, who denies it—by far the most excellent is that which is honourable and praiseworthy; but that if two honourable things are both set before one, one accompanied with good health and the other with sickness, it is not doubtful to which of them nature herself will conduct us: but, nevertheless, that the power of honourableness is so great, and that it is so far better than, and superior to, everything else, that it can never be moved by any punishments or by any bribes from that which it has decided to be right; and that everything which appears hard, difficult, or unfortunate, can be dissipated by those virtues with which we have been adorned by nature; not because they are trivial or contemptible—or else where would be the merit of the virtues?—but that we might infer from such an event, that it was not in them that the main question of living happily or unhappily depended.

In short, the things which Zeno has called estimable, and worth choosing, and suitable to nature, they call goods; but they call that a happy life which consists of those things which I have mentioned, or, if not of all, at least of the greatest number of them, and of the most important. But Zeno calls that the only good which has some peculiar beauty of its own to make it desirable; and he calls that life alone happy which is passed with virtue.

XXII. If we are to discuss the reality of the case, then there cannot possibly, Cato, be any disagreement between you and me: for there is nothing on which you and I have different opinions; let us only compare the real circumstances, after changing the names. Nor, indeed, did he fail to see this; but he was delighted with the magnificence and splendour of the language: and if he really felt what he said, and what his words intimate, then what would be the difference between him and Pyrrho or Aristo? But if he did not approve of them, then what was his object in differing in language with those men with whom he agreed in reality?

What would you do if these Platonic philosophers, and those, too, who were their pupils, were to come to life again, and address you thus:—“As, O Marcus Cato, we heard that you were a man exceedingly devoted to philosophy, a most just citizen, an excellent judge, and a most conscientious witness, we marvelled what the reason was why you preferred the Stoics to us; for they, on the subject of good and evil things, entertain those opinions which Zeno learnt from Polemo; and use those names which, when they are first heard, excite wonder, but when they are explained, move only ridicule. But if you approved those doctrines so much, why did you not maintain them in their own proper language? If authority had influence with you, how was it that you preferred some stranger to all of us and to Plato himself? especially while you were desirous to be a chief man in the republic, and might have been accomplished and equipped by us in a way to enable you to defend it to your own great increase of dignity. For the means to such an end have been investigated, described, marked down, and enjoined by us; and we have written detailed accounts of the government of all republics, and their descriptions, and constitutions, and changes,—and even of the laws, and customs, and manners of all states. Moreover, how much eloquence, which is the greatest ornament to leading men,—in which, indeed, we have heard that you are very eminent,—might you have learnt, in addition to that which is natural to you, from our records!” When they had said this, what answer could you have made to such men? I would have entreated you, said he, who had dictated their speech to them, to speak likewise for me, or else rather to give me a little room to answer them myself, only that now I prefer listening to you; and yet at another time I should be likely to reply to them at the same time that I answer you.

XXIII. But if you were to answer truly, Cato, you would be forced to say this—That you do not approve of those men, men of great genius and great authority as they are. But that you have noticed that the things which, by reason of their antiquity they have failed to see, have been thoroughly comprehended by the Stoics, and that these latter have discussed the same matters with more acuteness, and have also entertained more dignified and courageous sentiments, [pg 235] inasmuch as, in the first place, they deny that good health is to be desired, though they admit that it may be chosen; not because to be well is a good, but because it is not to be utterly disregarded, and yet that it does not appear to them of more value that it does to those who do not hesitate to call it a good. And that you could not endure that those ancients, those bearded men (as we are in the habit of calling our own ancestors), should believe that the life of that man who lived honourably, if he had also good health and a good reputation, and was rich, was more desirable, better, and more to be sought for, than that of him who was equally a good man in many respects, like the Alcmæon of Ennius—

Surrounded by disease, and exile sad,

And cruel want.

Those ancients, then, must have been far from clever, to think that life more desirable, better, and happier. But the Stoics think it only to be preferred if one has a choice; not because this life is happier, but because it is better adapted to nature; and they think that all who are not wise are equally miserable. The Stoics, forsooth, thought this; but it had entirely escaped the perception of those philosophers who preceded them, for they thought that men stained with all sorts of parricide and wickedness were not at all more miserable than those who, though they lived purely and uprightly, had not yet attained complete wisdom.

And while on this topic, you brought forth those similes which they are in the habit of employing, which are, in truth, no similes at all. For who is ignorant that, if many men should choose to emerge from the deep, those would be nearer breathing who came close to the surface, but still would not be actually able to breathe any more than those who are at the bottom? Therefore, on your principles, it is of no avail to make progress and advancement in virtue, in order to be less utterly miserable before you have actually arrived at it, since it is of no use in the case of men in the water. And since puppies who are on the point of opening their eyes, are just as blind as those that are but this moment born; it is plain also that Plato, as he had not yet seen wisdom, was as blind in his intellect as Phalaris.

XXIV. These cases are not alike, Cato. For in these [pg 236] instances, though you may have made a good deal of progress, still you are in exactly the same evil from which you wish to be free, till you have entirely escaped. For a man does not breathe till he has entirely emerged, and puppies are just as blind till they have opened their eyes, as if they were never going to open them. I will give you some instances that really are like. One man's eyes are bad, another is weak in his body; these men are both gradually relieved by the daily application of remedies. The one gets better every day, and the other sees better. Now these men resemble all those who study virtue. They are relieved of their vices; they are relieved of their errors. Unless, perchance, you think that Tiberius Gracchus, the father, was not happier than his son, when the one laboured to establish the republic, and the other to subvert it. And yet he was not a wise man. For who taught him wisdom? or when? or where? or whence did he learn it? Still, because he consulted his twin glory and dignity, he had made great progress in virtue.

But I will compare your grandfather, Drusus, with Caius Gracchus, who was nearly his contemporary. He healed the wounds which the other inflicted on the republic. But there is nothing which makes men so miserable as impiety and wickedness. Grant that all those who are unwise are miserable, as, in fact, they are; still he is not equally miserable who consults the interest of his country with him who wishes for its destruction. Therefore, those men are already a great deal relieved from their vices who have made any considerable advance towards virtue. But the men of your school admit that advance towards virtue can be made, but yet assert that no relief from vices takes place in consequence.

But it is worth while to consider on what arguments acute men rely for proving this point. Those arts, say they, of which the perfection can be increased, show that the completeness of their contraries can likewise be increased. But no addition can be made to the perfection of virtue. Therefore, also, vices will not be susceptible of any increase, for they are the contraries of virtues. Shall we say, then, that things which are doubtful are made plain by things which are evident, or that things which are evident are obscured by things that are doubtful? But this is evident, that different vices are greater in different people. This is doubtful, whether [pg 237] any addition can be made to that which you call the chief good. But you, while what you ought to do is to try and illustrate what is doubtful by what is evident, endeavour to get rid of what is evident by what is doubtful. And, therefore, you will find yourself hampered by the same reasoning which I used just now. For if it follows that some vices are not greater than others, because no addition can be made to that chief good which you describe, since it is quite evident that the vices of all men are not equal, you must change your definition of the chief good. For we must inevitably maintain this rule, that when a consequence is false, the premises from which the consequence proceeds cannot be true.

XXV. What, then, is the cause of these difficulties? A vain-glorious parade in defining the chief good. For when it is positively asserted that what is honourable is the sole good, all care for one's health, all attention to one's estate, all regard for the government of the republic, all regularity in transacting business, all the duties of life, in short, are put an end to. Even that very honourableness, in which alone you assert that everything is comprised, must be abandoned. All which arguments are carefully urged against Ariston by Chrysippus. And from that embarrassment it is that all those fallaciously speaking wiles, as Attius calls them, have arisen. For because wisdom had no ground on which to rest her foot, when all the duties were taken away, (and duties were taken away when all power of selection and discrimination was denied; for what choice, or what discrimination could there be when all things were so completely equal that there was no difference whatever between them?) from these difficulties there arose worse errors than even those of Aristo. For his arguments were at all events simple; those of your school are full of craft.

For suppose you were to ask Aristo whether these things, freedom from pain, riches, and good health, appear to him to be goods? He would deny it. What next? Suppose you ask him whether the contraries of these things are bad? He would deny that equally. Suppose you were to ask Zeno the same question? He would give you the same answer, word for word. Suppose further, that we, being full of astonishment, were to ask them both how it will be possible for us to live, if we think that it makes not the least difference to [pg 238] us whether we are well or sick; whether we are free from pain or tormented by it; whether we are able or unable to endure cold and hunger? You will live, says Aristo, magnificently and excellently, doing whatever seems good to you. You will never be vexed, you will never desire anything, you will never fear anything. What will Zeno say? He says that all these ideas are monstrous, and that it is totally impossible for any one to live on these principles; but that there is some extravagant, some immense difference between what is honourable and what is base; that between other things, indeed, there is no difference at all. He will also say—(listen to what follows, and do not laugh, if you can help it)—all those intermediate things, between which there is no difference, are nevertheless such that some of them are to be chosen, others rejected, and others utterly disregarded; that is to say, that you may wish for some, wish to avoid others, and be totally indifferent about others. But you said just now, O Zeno, that there was no difference whatever between these things. And now I say the same, he replies; and that there is no difference whatever as respects virtues and vices. Well, I should like to know who did not know that?

XXVI. However, let us hear a little more. Those things, says he, which you have mentioned, to be well, to be rich, to be free from pain, I do not call goods; but I will call them in Greek προηγμένα (which you may translate by the Latin producta, though I prefer præposita or præcipua, for they are more easily comprehended and more applicable terms). And again, the contraries, want, sickness, and pain, I do not call evils, though I have no objection to styling them (if you wish) things to be rejected. And, therefore, I do not say that I seek for them first, but that I choose them; not that I wish for them, but that I accept them. And so, too, I do not say that I flee from the contraries; but that I, as it were, keep aloof from them. What says Aristotle and the rest of the disciples of Plato? Why, that they call everything good which is according to nature; and that whatever is contrary to nature they call evil.

Do you not see, then, that your master Zeno agrees with Aristo in words, but differs from him as to facts; but that he agrees with Aristotle and those other philosophers as to facts, but differs from them only in words? Why, then, when we [pg 239] are agreed as to facts, do we not prefer speaking in the ordinary manner? Let him teach me either that I shall be more prepared to despise money, if I reckon it only among things preferred, than if I count it among goods; and that I shall have more fortitude to endure pain if I call it bitter, and difficult to bear, and contrary to nature, than if I pronounce it an evil. Marcus Piso, my intimate, also was a very witty man, and used to ridicule the Stoics for their language on this topic: for what was he used to say? “You deny that riches are a good, but call them something to be preferred. What good do you do by that? do you diminish avarice? But if we mind words, then, in the first place, your expression, to be preferred, is longer than good.” “That has nothing to do with the matter.” “I dare say it has not, but still it is a more difficult expression. For I do not know what the word good is derived from; but the word preferred I suppose means that it is preferred to other things. That appears to me to be important.” Therefore, he insisted upon it, that more consequence was attributed to riches by Zeno, who placed them among things preferred, than by Aristotle, who admitted that they were a good. Still he did not say that they were a great good, but rather such an one as was to be despised and scorned in comparison of what was right and honourable, and never one to be greatly sought after. And altogether, he argued in this way, about all those expressions which had been altered by Zeno, both as to what he denied to be goods, and as to those things to which he referred the name of evil; saying that the first received from him a more joyful title than they did from us; and the latter a more gloomy one.

XXVII. Piso, then—a most excellent man, and, as you well know, a great friend of yours—used to argue in this manner. And now let us make an end of this, after we have just said a few additional words. For it would take a long time to reply to all your assertions.

For from the same tricks with words, originate all those kingdoms, and commands, and riches, and universal dominion which you say belong to the wise man. You say besides, that he alone is handsome, he alone is free, he alone is a citizen; and that everything which is the contrary of all these things belongs to the foolish man, who is also insane, as you assert [pg 240] they call these assertions παράδοξα; we may call them marvellous. And yet what marvel is there in them when you come nearer to them? I will just examine the matter with you, and see what meaning you affix to each word; there shall be no dispute between us. You say that all offences are equal. I will not speak to you now, as I spoke on the same subject when I was defending Lucius Murena, whom you prosecuted; then I was addressing an unphilosophical audience; something too was to be directed to the bystanders in court; at present, we must proceed more precisely. In what way can all offences be called equal? Because nothing is more honourable than what is honourable; nothing more base than what is base. Go on a little further, for there is a great dispute as to this point; let us examine those arguments, which are especially your own, why all offences are equal. As, says he, in many lyres, if not one of them is so well in tune as to be able to preserve the harmony, all are equally out of tune; so because offences differ from what is right, they will differ equally; therefore they are equal: now here we are being mocked with an ambiguous expression. For it equally happens to all the lyres to be out of tune, but not to them all to be equally out of tune. Therefore, that comparison does not help you at all. For it would not follow if we were to say that every avarice is equally avarice, that therefore every case of avarice was equal. Here is another simile which is no simile; for as, says he, a pilot blunders equally if he wrecks a ship loaded with straw, as if he wrecks one loaded with gold; so, too, he sins equally who beats his parent, with him who beats a slave unjustly. This is not seeing that it has no connexion with the art of the pilot what cargo the ship carries: and therefore that it makes no difference with respect to his steering well or ill, whether his freight is straw or gold. But it can and ought to be understood what the difference is between a parent and a slave; therefore it makes no difference with respect to navigation, but a great deal with respect to duty, what the description of thing may be which is affected by the blunder. And if, in navigation, a ship has been wrecked through carelessness, the offence then becomes more serious if gold is lost, than if it is only straw. For in all arts we insist upon the exercise of what is called common prudence; which all men who have the management of any [pg 241] business entrusted to them are bound to possess. And so even in this instance offences are not equal.

XXVIII. However, they press on, and relax nothing. Since, say they, every offence is one of imbecility and inconsistency, and since these vices are equally great in all fools, it follows necessarily that offences are equal: as if it were admitted that vices are equally great in all fools, and that Lucius Tubulus was a man of the same imbecility and inconsistency as Publius Scævola, on whose motion he was condemned; and as if there were no difference at all between the things themselves which are the subject of the offences; so that, in proportion as they are more or less important, the offences committed in respect of them are so too.

Therefore, for I may now bring this discourse to an end, your Stoics seem to me to be most especially open to this charge, that they fancy they can support two opposite propositions. For what is so inconsistent as for the same person to say that what is honourable is the only good, and also that the desire of things adapted for human life proceeds from nature? But when they wish to maintain the arguments which are suitable for the former propositions, they agree with Aristo; when they avoid that, they in reality are upholding the same doctrines as the Peripatetics; they cling to words with great tenacity; and as they cannot bear to have them taken from them one after another, they become more fierce, and rough, and harsher both in their language and manners. But Panætius, wishing to avoid their moroseness and asperity, would not approve of either the bitterness of their sentiments, or their captious way of arguing: and so in one respect he was more gentle, and in the other more intelligible. And he was always quoting Plato, and Aristotle, and Xenocrates, and Theophrastus, and Dicæarchus, as his own writings show. And indeed, I feel very sure that it would do you a great deal of good if you too were to study those authors with care and diligence.

But since it is getting towards evening, and I must return to my villa, we will stop this discussion at this point, but we will often return to it on other occasions. Indeed we will, said he, for what can we do better? And indeed I shall require of you to give me a hearing while I refute what you have said; but recollect that you approve of all our opinions, [pg 242] charging us only with using words incorrectly; but that we do not approve of one single one of your ideas. You are throwing a stone at me as I depart, said I; however, we shall see. And when we had thus spoken we separated.

Book Five

I. One day when I had been hearing Antiochus lecture, as I was in the habit of doing, O Brutus, in company with Marcus Piso, in that gymnasium which is called Ptolemy's, my brother Quintus being with me, and Titus Pomponius, and Lucius Cicero, our cousin on the father's side as to relationship, but our own brother as to affection, we determined to take our afternoon's walk in the Academy, principally because at that time of day that place was free from any crowd. Accordingly, at the appointed time we all met at Piso's house, and from thence we walked half-a-dozen furlongs from the Dipylus to the Academy, beguiling the road with discourse on various subjects; and when we had arrived at the deservedly celebrated space of the Academy, we there found the solitude which we desired. Then said Piso—Shall I say that this is implanted in us by nature, or by some mistake, that when we see those places which we have heard that men who deserve to be had in recollection have much frequented, we are more moved than when we hear even of their actual deeds, or than when we read some one of their writings?—just as I am affected now. For the remembrance of Plato comes into my mind, whom we understand to have been the first person who was accustomed to dispute in this place; and whose neighbouring gardens not only recal him vividly to my recollection, but seem even to place the man himself before my eyes. Here Speusippus, here Xenocrates, here his pupil Polemo used to walk; and the latter used to sit in the very spot which is now before us. There is our senate-house (I mean the Curia [pg 243] Hostilia,48 not this new one, which always seems to me smaller, though in fact it is larger): whenever I have looked upon that I have always thought of Scipio, and Cato, and Lælius, and more especially of my own grandfather. So great a power of reminding one of circumstances exists in the places themselves, that it is not without reason that some people have built up a system of memory in them. Then Quintus said—It is just as you say, Piso: for as I was coming here just now, that district of Colonos drew my attention to itself, whose inhabitant, Sophocles, was brought at once before my eyes: for you know how I admire, and how I delight in him: and accordingly a sort of appearance moved me, an unsubstantial one indeed, but still it did move me to a more vivid recollection of Œdipus coming hither, and asking in most melodious verse what all these places were. Then Pomponius said—I whom you all are always attacking as devoted to Epicurus, am often with Phædrus, who is a particular friend of mine, as you know, in the gardens of Epicurus, which we passed by just this moment; but, according to the warning of the old proverb, I remember the living; still I may not forget Epicurus, even if were to wish to do so, whose likeness our friends have not only in pictures, but even on their goblets and rings.

II. On this I chimed in:—Our friend Pomponius, said I, appears to be joking, and perhaps he has a right to do so; for he has established himself at Athens in such a way that he has almost become an Athenian, and indeed so as to seem likely to earn such a surname. But I, Piso, agree with you that we do get into a habit of thinking a good deal more earnestly and deeply on illustrious men in consequence of the warnings of place. For you know that once I went with you to Metapontum, and did not turn into the house of my entertainer until I had seen the very place where Pythagoras passed his life, and his house; and at this present time, although all over Athens there are many traces of eminent men in the places themselves, still I am greatly affected by this seat which is before me. For here Charmadas lately sat,—a man [pg 244] whom I seem to see, for his likeness is well known to me, and I can fancy that his voice is regretted by the very seat itself, deprived as it is now of such a brilliant genius. Then Piso said—Since, now, we have all said something, what does our friend Lucius think? is he glad to visit that spot where Demosthenes and Æschines used to contend together? for every one is chiefly attracted by his own particular study. And he blushed, and answered—Do not ask me, who went down even to the harbour of Phalerum, where they say that Demosthenes used to declaim to the waves, in order to accustom himself to outvoice the roaring of the sea. I turned aside also out of the road, a little to the right, to approach the tomb of Pericles; although, indeed, such records are countless in this city, for wherever we step we place our foot on some history.

Then Piso continued:—But, Cicero, said he, those inclinations are the inclinations of clever men, if they lead to the imitation of great men; but if they only tend to bringing up again the traces of ancient recollections, that is mere curiosity. But we all exhort you,—though you of your own accord, as I hope, are running that way,—to imitate those men whom you wish that you had known. Although, I replied, our friend Piso here does, as you see, what you recommended, still your exhortation is pleasing to me. Then said he, in a most friendly manner, as was his wont,—Let all of us, then, contribute every assistance to his youth, especially urging him to devote some of his studies to philosophy, either for the sake of imitating you whom he loves, or else of being able to do what he is desirous to do with more elegance. But do you, O Lucius, said he, require to be exhorted by us, or are you inclined that way of your own accord? You appear, indeed, to me to be very assiduous in your attendance on Antiochus, whose pupil you are. Then replied he, timidly,—or, I ought rather to say, modestly,—I am indeed; but did you not just now hear Charmadas's name mentioned? I am attracted in that direction, but Antiochus drags me back again; nor is there any one else whose lectures it would be possible to attend.

III. Piso replied—Although, while our friend here (meaning me) is present, this matter will perhaps not be quite so easy; yet I will endeavour to call you back from this New [pg 245] Academy to that ancient one, in which (as you used to hear Antiochus say) those men are not alone reckoned who are called Academics,—Speusippus, Xenocrates, Polemo, Crantor, and the rest; but the old Peripatetics also, the chief of whom was Aristotle, whom, next to Plato, I think I may fairly call the prince of philosophers. Turn yourself, therefore, I entreat you, to those men; for from their writings and systems all liberal learning, all history, all elegance of language, may be derived; and also, so great is the variety of arts of which they were masters, that no one can come properly armed for any business of importance and credit without being tolerably versed in their writings. It is owing to them that men have turned out orators, generals, and statesmen; and, to descend to less important matters, it is from this Academy, as from a regular magazine of all the arts, that mathematicians, poets, musicians, aye, and physicians too, have proceeded.

I replied—You know well, O Piso, that my opinion is the same: but still the mention of it by you was very seasonable; for my relation Cicero is anxious to hear what was the doctrine of that Old Academy which you have been speaking of, and of the Peripatetics, about the chief good; and we think that you can very easily explain it to us, because you entertained Staseas the Neapolitan in your house for many years, and because, too, we are aware that you have been many months at Athens, investigating these very things, as a pupil of Antiochus. And he said, with a laugh, Come, come,—for you have very cleverly drawn me in to begin the discussion,—let us explain it to the young man if we can; for this solitude gives us the opportunity: but, even if a god had told me so, I would never have believed that I should be disputing in the Academy, like a philosopher. However, I hope I shall not annoy the rest of you while complying with his request. Annoy me, said I, who asked you? Quintus and Pomponius also said that they entertained the same wish; so he began. And I beg of you, Brutus, to consider whether what he said appears to you to sufficiently embrace the doctrines of Antiochus, which I know you, who were a constant attendant on the lectures of his brother Aristus, approve of highly. Thus he spoke:—

IV. What great elegance there is in the Peripatetic system I have explained a little time ago, as briefly as I could. But [pg 246] the form of the system, as is the case with most of the other schools, is threefold: one division being that of nature; the second, that of arguing; the third, that of living. Nature has been investigated by them so thoroughly that there is no part of heaven, or earth, or sea (to speak like a poet), which they have passed over. Moreover, after having treated of the origin of things, and of the universal world, so as to prove many points not only by probable arguments, but even by the inscrutable demonstrations of mathematicians, they brought from the subjects which they had investigated abundant materials to assist in attaining to the knowledge of secret things. Aristotle investigated the birth, and way of living, and figure of every animal; Theophrastus examined the causes, and principles, and natures of plants, and of almost everything which is produced out of the earth; by which knowledge the investigation of the most secret things is rendered easier. Also, they have given rules for arguing, not only logically, but oratorically; and a system of speaking in both these manners, on every subject, has been laid down by Aristotle, their chief; so that he did not always argue against everything, as Arcesilas did; and yet he furnished one on every subject with arguments to be used on both sides of it.

But, as the third division was occupied about the rules of living well, it was also brought back by those same people, not only to the system of private life, but also to the direction of affairs of state. For from Aristotle we have acquired a knowledge of the manners, and customs, and institutions of almost every state, not of Greece only, but also of the Barbarians; and from Theophrastus we have learnt even their laws: and each of them taught what sort of man a leader in a state ought to be, and also wrote at great length to explain what was the best constitution for a state. But Theophrastus also detailed very copiously what were the natural inclinations of affairs, and what the influences of opportunities which required regulating as occasion might demand. And as for living, a quiet method of life appeared to them to be the best, passed in the contemplation and knowledge of things; which, inasmuch as it had the greatest resemblance to the life of the gods, appeared to them to be most worthy of a wise man; and on these subjects they held very lofty and dignified language.

V. But respecting the chief good, because there are two kinds of books,—one addressed to the people, which they used to call ἐξωτερικὸν, the other written in a more polished style, which they left behind in commentaries,—they appear not always to say the same thing; and yet in their ultimate conclusion there is no variety in the language of the men whom I have named, nor is there any disagreement between them. But, as a happy life is the object of search, and as that is the only thing which philosophy ought to pursue and regard, there never appears to be the least difference or doubt in their writings, as to whether happiness is wholly in the power of the wise man, or whether it can be undermined or taken from him by adversity. And this point is the especial subject of the book of Theophrastus, on a Happy Life; in which a great deal is attributed to fortune: and if that theory is correct, then wisdom cannot make life happy. Now, this seems to me rather too tender (if I may say so) and delicate a doctrine, more so than the power and importance of virtue can sanction. Wherefore let us rather hold with Aristotle, and his son Nicomachus,—whose admirably written books on Morals are said, indeed, to be Aristotle's; but I do not see why the son may not have been like his father; but, in most cases, let us apply to Theophrastus, as long as we attribute a little more firmness and strength to virtue than he did.

Let us, then, be content with these guides; for their successors are wiser men, indeed, in my opinion, than the philosophers of other schools: but still they degenerate so from these great men, that they seem to me rather to have arisen from themselves than from them. In the first place, Strato, the pupil of Theophrastus, called himself a natural philosopher: and though, in truth, he is an eminent man in that line, still most of what he said was novel; and he said very little about morals. His pupil Lyco was rich in eloquence, but very meagre in matter. Then his pupil Aristo was a neat and elegant writer, but still he had not that dignity which we look for in a great philosopher: he wrote a great deal, certainly, and in a polished style; but, somehow or other, his writings do not carry any weight. I pass over several, and among them that learned man and pleasant writer, Hieronymus; and I do not know why I should call him a Peripatetic, for he defined the chief good to be freedom from pain: and [pg 248] he who disagrees with me about the chief good, disagrees with me about the whole principle of philosophy. Critolaus wished to copy the ancients; and, indeed, he comes nearest to them in dignity, and his eloquence is preeminent: still he adheres to the ancient doctrine. Diodorus, his pupil, adds to honourableness freedom from pain: he, too, clings to a theory of his own; and, as he disagrees from them about the chief good, he is hardly entitled to be called a Peripatetic. But my friend Antiochus seems to me to pursue the opinions of the ancients with the greatest care; and he shows that they coincided with the doctrines of Aristotle and Polemo.

VI. My young friend Lucius, therefore, acts prudently when he wishes chiefly to be instructed about the chief good; for when this point is once settled in philosophy, everything is settled. For in other matters, if anything is passed over, or if we are ignorant of anything, the inconvenience thus produced is no greater than the importance the matter is of in which the omission has taken place; but if one is ignorant of what is the chief good, one must necessarily be ignorant of the true principles of life; and from this ignorance such great errors ensue that they cannot tell to what port to betake themselves. But when one has acquired a knowledge of the chief ends,—when one knows what is the chief good and the chief evil,—then a proper path of life, and a proper regulation of all the duties of life, is found out.

There is, therefore, an object to which everything may be referred; from which a system of living happily, which is what every one desires, may be discovered and adopted. But since there is a great division of opinion as to what that consists in, we had better employ the division of Carneades, which our friend Antiochus prefers, and usually adopts. He therefore saw not only how many different opinions of philosophers on the subject of the chief good there were, but how many there could be. Accordingly, he asserted that there was no art which proceeded from itself; for, in truth, that which is comprehended by an art is always exterior to the art. There is no need of prolonging this argument by adducing instances; for it is evident that no art is conversant about itself, but that the art itself is one thing, and the object which is proposed to be attained by the art another. Since, therefore, prudence is the art of living, just as medicine is of health, or [pg 249] steering of navigation, it follows unavoidably that that also must have been established by, and must proceed from, something else. But it is agreed among almost all people, that that object with which prudence is conversant, and which it wishes to arrive at, ought to be fitted and suited to nature, and to be of such a character as by itself to invite and attract that desire of the mind which the Greeks call ὁρμή. But as to what it is which causes this excitement, and which is so greatly desired by nature from its first existence, it is not agreed; and, indeed, there is a great dissension on the subject among philosophers whenever the chief good is the subject of investigation: for the source of this whole question which is agitated as to the chief good and evil, when men inquire what is the extreme and highest point of either, must be traced back, and in that will be found the primitive inducements of nature; and when it is found, then the whole discussion about the chief good and evil proceeds from it as from a spring.

VII. Some people consider the first desire to be a desire of pleasure, and the first thing which men seek to ward off to be pain: others think that the first thing wished for is freedom from pain, and the first thing shunned, pain; and from these men others proceed, who call the first goods natural ones; among which they reckon the safety and integrity of all one's parts, good health, the senses unimpaired, freedom from pain, strength, beauty, and other things of the same sort, the images of which are the first things in the mind, like the sparks and seeds of the virtues. And of these three, as there is some one thing by which nature is originally moved to feel desire, or to repel something, and as it is impossible that there should be anything except these three things, it follows unavoidably that every duty, whether of avoiding or of pursuing anything, is referred to some one of these things; so that that prudence, which we have called the art of life, is always conversant about some one of these three things from which it derives the beginning of the whole life: and from that which it has pronounced to be the original cause by which nature is excited, the principle of what is right and honourable arises; which can agree with some one of these three divisions; so that it is honourable to do everything for the sake of pleasure, even if you do not obtain it; or else for the [pg 250] sake of avoiding pain, though you may not be able to compass that; or else of getting some one of those things which are according to nature. And thus it comes about that there is as much difference between the chief good and the chief evil as there is in their natural principles. Others again, starting from the same beginning, refer everything either to pleasure or to freedom from pain, or else to the attainment of those primary goods which are according to nature.

Now then that we have detailed six opinions about the chief good, these are the chief advocates of the three last-mentioned opinions,—Aristippus, the advocate of pleasure; Hieronymus, of freedom from pain; and Carneades, of the enjoyment of those things which we have called the principal things in accordance with nature (though he, indeed, was not the author of this theory, but only its advocate, for the sake of maintaining a debate). Now, the three former were such as might possibly be true, though only one of them was defended, and that was vehemently maintained. For no one says, that to do everything for the sake of pleasure, or that, even though we obtain nothing, still the very design of acting so is of itself desirable, and honourable, and the only good; no one ever even placed the avoidance of pain (not even if it could be avoided) among things intrinsically desirable; but to do everything with a view to obtain the things which are according to nature, even though we do not succeed in obtaining them, the Stoics do affirm to be honourable, and the only thing to be desired for its own sake, and the only good.

VIII. These, then, are six plain opinions about the chief good and the chief evil,—two having no advocate, but four being defended. But of united and twofold explanations of the chief good there were in all three; nor could there be more if you examine the nature of things thoroughly. For either pleasure can be added to honourableness, as Callipho and Dinomachus thought; or freedom from pain, as Diodorus asserted; or the first gifts of nature, as the ancients said, whom we call at the same time Academics and Peripatetics. But, since everything cannot be said at once, at present these things ought to be known, that pleasure ought to be excluded; since, as it will presently appear, we have been born for higher purposes; and nearly the same may be said of freedom from [pg 251] pain as of pleasure. Since then we have discussed pleasure with Torquatus, and honourableness (in which alone every good was to consist) with Cato; in the first place, the arguments which were urged against pleasure are nearly equally applicable to freedom from pain. Nor, indeed, need we seek for any others to reply to that opinion of Carneades; for in whatever manner the chief good is explained, so as to be unconnected with honourableness, in that system duty, and virtue, and friendship, can have no place. But the union of either pleasure or freedom from pain with honourableness, makes that very honourableness which it wishes to embrace dishonourable; for to refer what you do to those things, one of which asserts the man who is free from evil to be in the enjoyment of the chief good, while the other is conversant with the most trifling part of our nature, is rather the conduct of a man who would obscure the whole brilliancy of honourableness—I might almost say, who would pollute it.

The Stoics remain, who after they had borrowed everything from the Peripatetics and Academics, pursued the same objects under different names. It is better to reply to them all separately. But let us stick to our present subject; we can deal with those men at a more convenient season. But the “security” of Democritus, which is as it were a sort of tranquillity of the mind which they all εὐθυμία, deserved to be separated from this discussion, because that tranquillity of the mind is of itself a happy life. What we are inquiring, however, is not what it is, but whence it is derived. The opinions of Pyrrho, Aristo, and Herillus, have long ago been exploded and discarded, as what can never be applicable to this circle of discussion to which we limit ourselves, and which had no need to have been ever mentioned; for as the whole of this inquiry is about the chief, and what I may call the highest good and evil, it ought to start from that point which we call suitable and adapted to nature, and which is sought of itself for itself. Now this is wholly put out of the question by those who deny that in those things in which there is nothing either honourable or dishonourable, there is any reason why one thing should be preferred to another, and who think that there is actually no difference whatever between those things. And Herillus, if he thought that nothing was good except knowledge, put an end to all reason for taking counsel, and to [pg 252] all inquiry about duty. Thus, after we have got rid of the opinions of the rest, as there can be no other, this doctrine of the ancients must inevitably prevail.

IX. Therefore, after the fashion of the ancients, which the Stoics also adopt, let us make this beginning:—Every animal loves itself, and as soon as it is born labours to preserve itself, because this is the first desire given to it by nature, to regulate its whole life, to preserve itself, and to be so disposed as it best may in accordance with nature. At the beginning it has such a confused and uncertain kind of organization that it can only just take care of itself, whatever it is; but it does not understand either what it is, or what its powers are, or what its nature is. But when it has advanced a little, and begins to perceive how far anything touches it, or has reference to it, then it begins gradually to improve, and to comprehend itself, and to understand for what cause it has that appetite of the mind which I have spoken of; and begins also to desire those things which it feels to be suited to its nature, and to keep off the contrary. Therefore, in the case of every animal, what it wishes is placed in that thing which is adapted to its nature. And so the chief good is to live according to nature, with the best disposition and the most suitable to nature that can be engendered.

But since every animal has his own peculiar nature, it is plain that the object of each must be to have his nature satisfied. For there is no hindrance to there being some things in common to all other animals, and some common both to men and beasts, since the nature of all is common. But that highest and chief good and evil which we are in search of, is distributed and divided among the different kinds of animals, each having its own peculiar good and evil, adapted to that end which the nature of each class of animal requires. Wherefore, when we say that the chief good to all animals is to live according to nature, this must be understood as if we said that they had all the same chief good. But as it may truly be said to be common to all arts to be conversant about some science, and that there is a separate science belonging to each art, so we may say that it is common to all animals to live according to nature, but that there are different natures; so that the horse has by nature one chief good, the ox another, man another; and yet in all there is one common end; and [pg 253] that is the case too, not only in animals, but also in all those things which nature nourishes, causes to grow, and protects; in which we see that those things which are produced out of the earth, somehow or other by their own energy create many things for themselves which have influence on their life and growth, and so each in their own kind they arrive at the chief good. So that we may now embrace all such in one comprehensive statement; and I need not hesitate to say, that every nature is its own preserver; and has for its object, as its end and chief good, to protect itself in the best possible condition that its kind admits of; so that it follows inevitably that all things which flourish by nature have a similar but still not the same end. And from this it should be understood, that the chief and highest good to man is to live according to nature which we may interpret thus,—to live according to that nature of a man which is made perfect on all sides, and is in need of nothing. These things then we must explain; and if our explanation is rather minute, you will excuse it; for we are bound to consider the youth of our hearer, and the fact that he is now perhaps listening to such a discourse for the first time. Certainly, said I; although what you have said hitherto might be very properly addressed to hearers of any age.

X. Since then, said he, we have explained the limit of those things which are to be desired, we must next show why the facts are as I have stated them. Wherefore, let us set out from the position which I first laid down, which is also in reality the first, so that we may understand that every animal loves itself. And though there is no doubt of this, (for it is a principle fixed deep in nature itself, and is comprehended by the sense of every one, in such a degree that if any one wished to argue against it, he would not be listened to,) yet, that I may not pass over anything, I think it as well to adduce some reasons why this is the case. Although, how can any one either understand or fancy that there is any animal which hates itself? It would be a contradiction of facts; for when that appetite of the mind has begun designedly to attract anything to itself which is an hindrance to it, because it is an enemy to itself,—when it does that for its own sake, it will both hate itself and love itself, which is impossible. It is unavoidable that, if any one is an enemy to himself, he must [pg 254] think those things bad which are good, and, on the other hand, those things good which are bad; that he must avoid those things which he ought to seek, and seek what he ought to avoid; all which habits are indubitably the overturning of life. For even if some people are found who seek for halters or other modes of destruction, or, like the man in Terence, who determined “for such a length of time to do less injury to his son,” (as he says himself,) “until he becomes miserable,” it does not follow that they are to be thought enemies to themselves. But some are influenced by pain, others by desire; many again are carried away by passion, and while they knowingly run into evils, still fancy that they are consulting their own interests most excellently; and, therefore, they unhesitatingly say—

That is my way; do you whate'er you must—

like men who have declared war against themselves, who like to be tortured all day and tormented all night, and who yet do not accuse themselves of having omitted to consult their own interests; for this is a complaint made by those men who are dear to and who love themselves.

Wherefore, whenever a man is said to be but little obliged to himself, to be a foe and enemy to himself, and in short to flee from life, it should be understood that there is some cause of that kind lying beneath the surface; so that it may be understood from that very instance that every one is dear to himself. Nor is it sufficient that there has never been any one who hated himself; but we must understand also that there is no one who thinks that it is a matter of indifference to him in what condition he is; for all desire of the mind will be put an end to if, as in those things between which there is no difference we are not more inclined to either side, so also, in the case of our own selves, we think it makes no difference to us in what way we are affected.

XI. And this also would be a very absurd thing if any one were to say it, namely, that a man is loved by himself in such a manner that that vehement love is referred to some other thing, and not to that very man who loves himself. Now when this is said in the case of friendship, of duty, or of virtue, however it is said, it is still intelligible what is meant by it; but in regard to our own selves, it cannot even be understood that we should love ourselves for the sake of [pg 255] something else, or in a word, for the sake of pleasure. For it is for our sakes that we love pleasure, and not for the sake of pleasure that we love ourselves; although what can be more evident than that every one is not only dear, but excessively dear to himself? For who is there, or at all events how few are there, who when death approaches, does not find

His heart's blood chill'd with sudden fear,

His cheek grow pale?

and if it is a vice to dread the dissolution of nature so excessively, (and the same thing on the same principle may be asserted of our aversion to pain,) still the fact that nearly every one is affected in this manner, is a sufficient proof that nature abhors destruction. And though some men show this dread or aversion to such a degree that they are deservedly blamed for it, still this may show us that such feelings would not be so excessive in some people, if a moderate degree of them were not implanted in mankind by nature.

Nor, indeed, do I mean that fear of death which is shown by those men who, because they think that they are being deprived of the goods of life, or because they fear some terrible events after death, or who, because they are afraid of dying in pain, therefore shun death; for in the case of children, who can have no such ideas or apprehensions, they often show fear if, when playing with them, we threaten to throw them down from any place; and even beasts, as Pacuvius says,

Who have no cunning, or prophetic craft

To ward off danger ere it come,

shudder when the fear of death comes before them. And, indeed, who entertains a different opinion of the wise man himself? who, even when he has decided that he must die, still is affected by the departure from his family, and by the fact that he must leave the light of day. And above all is the power of nature visible in the human race, since many endure beggary to preserve life, and men worn out with old age are tortured with the idea of the approach of death, and endure such things as we see Philoctetes in the play suffer, who, while he was kept in torture by intolerable pains, nevertheless preserved his life by the game which he could kill with his arrows.

He, though slow, o'ertook the swift,

He stood and slew the flying—

as Attius says, and made himself coverings for his body by plaiting the feathers together. I am speaking of mankind, and, indeed, generally of all animals, though plants and trees have nearly the same nature, whether, as is the opinion of some most learned men, because some predominant and divine cause has implanted this power in them, or whether it is accidental. We see those things which the earth produces preserved in vigour by their bark and roots, which happens to animals by the arrangement of their senses, and a certain compact conformation of limb. And with reference to this subject, although I agree with those men who think that all these things are regulated by nature, and that if nature neglected to regulate them, the animals themselves could not exist, still I grant that those who differ on this subject may think what they please, and may either understand that when I say the nature of man I mean man (for it makes no difference); for a man will be able to depart from himself sooner than he can lose the desire of those things which are advantageous to him. Rightly, therefore, have the most learned philosophers sought the principle of the chief good in nature, and thought that that appetite for things adapted to nature is implanted in all men, for they are kept together by that recommendation of nature in obedience to which they love themselves.

XII. The next thing which we must examine is, what is the nature of man, since it is sufficiently evident that every one is dear to himself by nature; for that is the thing which we are really inquiring about. But it is evident that man consists of mind and body, and that the first rank belongs to the mind, and the second to the body. In the next place we see, also, that his body is so formed as to excel that of other animals, and that his mind is so constituted as to be furnished with senses, and to have excellence of intellect which the whole nature of man obeys, in which there is a certain admirable force of reason, and knowledge, and science, and all kinds of virtues; for the things which are parts of the body have no authority to be compared with that possessed by the parts of the mind; and they are more easily known. Therefore, let us begin with them.

It is evident, now, how suitable to nature are the parts of our body, and the whole general figure, form, and stature of [pg 257] it; nor is there any doubt what kind of face, eyes, ears and other features are peculiar to man. But certainly it is necessary for them to be in good health and vigorous, and to have all their natural movements and uses; so that no part of them shall be absent, or disordered, or enfeebled; for nature requires soundness. For there is a certain action of the body which has all its motions and its general condition in a state of harmony with nature, in which if anything goes wrong through any distortion or depravity, either by any irregular motion or disordered condition,—as if, for instance, a person were to walk on his hands, or to walk not forwards but backwards,—then he would evidently appear to be flying from himself, and to be putting off his manhood, and to hate his own nature. On which account, also, some ways of sitting down, and some contorted and abrupt movements, such as wanton or effeminate men at times indulge in, are contrary to nature. So that even if that should happen through any fault of the mind, still the nature of the man would seem to be changed in his body. Therefore, on the contrary, moderate and equal conditions, and affections, and habits of the body, seem to be suitable to nature. But now the mind must not only exist, but must exist in a peculiar manner, so as to have all its parts sound, and to have no virtue wanting: but each sense has its own peculiar virtue, so that nothing may hinder each sense from performing its office in the quick and ready perception of those things which come under the senses.

XIII. But there are many virtues of the mind, and of that part of the mind which is the chief, and which is called the intellect; but these virtues are divided into two principal classes: one, consisting of those which are implanted by nature, and are called involuntary; the other, of those which depend on the will, and are more often spoken of by their proper name of virtues; whose great excellence is attributed to the mind as a subject of praise. Now in the former class are docility, memory, and others, nearly all of which are called by the one name of ingenium, and those who possess them are called ingeniosi. The other class consists of those which are great and real virtues; which we call voluntary, such as prudence, temperance, fortitude, justice, and others of the same kind. And this was what might be said briefly of both mind and body; and this statement supplies a sort of sketch of what the [pg 258] nature of man requires:—and from this it is evident, since we are beloved by ourselves, and since we wish everything both in our minds and bodies to be perfect, that those qualities are dear to us for their own sakes, and that they are of the greatest influence towards our living well. For he to whom self-preservation is proposed as an object, must necessarily feel an affection for all the separate parts of himself; and a greater affection in proportion as they are more perfect and more praiseworthy in their separate kinds. For that kind of life is desired which is full of the virtues of the mind and body; and in that the chief good must unavoidably be placed, since it ought to be of such a character as to be the highest of all desirable things. And when we have ascertained that, there ought to be no doubt entertained, that as men are dear to themselves for their own sake, and of their own accord, so, also, the parts of the body and mind, and of those things which are in the motion and condition of each, are cultivated with a deserved regard, and are sought for their own sakes. And when this principle has been laid down, it is easy to conjecture that those parts of us are most desirable which have the most dignity; so that the virtue of each most excellent part which is sought for its own sake, is also deserving of being principally sought after. And the consequence will be, that the virtue of the mind is preferred to the virtue of the body, and that the voluntary virtues of the mind are superior to the involuntary; for it is the voluntary ones which are properly called virtues, and which are much superior to the others, as being the offspring of reason; than which there is nothing more divine in man. In truth, the chief good of all those qualities which nature creates and maintains, and which are either unconnected or nearly so with the body, is placed in the mind; so that it appears to have been a tolerably acute observation which was made respecting the sow, that that animal had a soul given it instead of salt to keep it from getting rotten.

XIV. But there are some beasts in which there is something resembling virtue, such as lions, dogs, and horses; in which we see movements not of the body only, as we do in pigs, but to a certain extent we may discern some movements of mind. But in man the whole dominant power lies in the mind; and the dominant power of the mind is reason: [pg 259] and from this proceeds virtue, which is defined as the perfection of reason: which they think is to be gradually developed day by day. Those things, too, which the earth produces have a sort of gradual growth towards perfection, not very unlike what we see in animals. Therefore we say that a vine lives, and dies; we speak of a tree as young, or old; being in its prime, or growing old. And it is therefore not inconsistent to speak, as in the case of animals, of some things in plants, too, being conformable to nature, and some not: and to say that there is a certain cultivation of them, nourishing, and causing them to grow, which is the science and art of the farmer, which prunes them, cuts them in, raises them, trains them, props them, so that they may be able to extend themselves in the direction which nature points out; in such a manner that the vines themselves, if they could speak, would confess that they ought to be managed and protected in the way they are. And now indeed that which protects it (that I may continue to speak chiefly of the vine) is external to the vine: for it has but very little power in itself to keep itself in the best possible condition, unless cultivation is applied to it. But if sense were added to the vine, so that it could feel desire and be moved by itself, what do you think it would do? Would it do those things which were formerly done to it by the vine-dresser, and of itself attend to itself? Do you not see that it would also have the additional care of preserving its senses, and its desire for all those things, and its limbs, if any were added to it? And so too, to all that it had before, it will unite those things which have been added to it since: nor will it have the same object that its dresser had, but it will desire to live according to that nature which has been subsequently added to it: and so its chief good will resemble that which it had before, but will not be identical with it; for it will be no longer seeking the good of a plant, but that of an animal. And suppose that not only the senses are given it, but also the mind of a man, does it not follow inevitably that those former things will remain and require to be protected, and that among them these additions will be far more dear to it than its original qualities? and that each portion of the mind which is best is also the dearest? and that its chief good must now consist in satisfying its nature, since intellect and reason are by far the most excellent parts [pg 260] of it? And so the chief of all the things which it has to desire, and that which is derived from the original recommendation of nature, ascends by several steps, so as at last to reach the summit; because it is made up of the integrity of the body, and the perfect reason of the intellect.

XV. As, therefore, the form of nature is such as I have described it, if, as I said at the beginning, each individual as soon as he is born could know himself, and form a correct estimate of what is the power both of his entire nature and of its separate parts, he would see immediately what this was which we are in search of, namely, the highest and best of all the things which we desire: nor would it be possible for him to make a mistake in anything. But now nature is from the very beginning concealed in a wonderful manner, nor can it be perceived nor comprehended. But as our age advances, we gradually, or I should rather say slowly, come to a kind of knowledge of ourselves. Therefore, that original recommendation which is given to us by our nature, is obscure and uncertain; and that first appetite of the mind only goes the length of wishing to secure our own safety and soundness. But when we begin to look around us, and to feel what we are, and in what we differ from all the other animals, then we begin to pursue the objects for which we were born. And we see a similar thing take place in beasts, who at first do not move from the place in which they were born; but afterwards all move, influenced by some desire of their own. And so we see snakes crawl, ducks swim, blackbirds fly, oxen use their horns, scorpions their stings; and we see nature a guide to each animal in its path of life.

And the case is similar with the human race. For infants at their first birth lie as if they were utterly devoid of mind; but when a little strength has been added to them, they use both their mind and their senses, and endeavour to raise themselves up and to use their hands; and they recognise those by whom they are being brought up; and afterwards they are amused with those of their own age, and gladly associate with them, and give themselves up to play, and are attracted by hearing stories, and are fond of pleasing others with their own superfluities; and take curious notice of what is done at home, and begin to make remarks, and to learn; and do not like to be ignorant of the names of those whom [pg 261] they see; and in their sports and contests with their fellows, they are delighted if they win, and if they are beaten they are dejected and lose their spirits. And we must not think that any of these things happen without reason; for the power of man is produced in such a way by nature, that it seems made for a perception of all excellence: and on that account children, even without being taught, are influenced by likeness of those virtues of which they have the seeds in themselves; for they are the original elements of nature: and when they have acquired growth, then the whole work of nature is accomplished. For as we have been born and created so as to contain in ourselves the principles of doing something, and of loving somebody, and of liberality, and of gratitude; and so as to have minds adapted for knowledge, prudence, and fortitude, and averse to their opposites; it is not without cause that we see in children those sparks, as it were, of virtue which I have mentioned, by which the reason of a philosopher ought to be kindled to follow that guide as if it were a god, and so to arrive at the knowledge of the object of nature.

For, as I have often said already, the power of nature is discerned through a cloud while we are of a weak age and feeble intellect; but when our mind has made progress and acquired strength, then it recognises the power of nature, but still in such a way that it can make more progress still, and that it must derive the beginning of that progress from itself.

XVI. We must therefore enter into the nature of things, and see thoroughly what it demands; for otherwise we cannot arrive at the knowledge of ourselves. And because this precept was too important an one to be discerned by a man, it has on that account been attributed to God. The Pythian Apollo, then, enjoins us to know ourselves: but this knowledge is to know the power of our mind and body, and to follow that course of life which enjoys the circumstances in which it is placed. And since that desire of the mind to have all the things which I have mentioned in the most perfect manner in which nature could provide them, existed from the beginning, we must admit, when we have obtained what we desired, that nature consists in that as its extreme point, and that that is the chief good: which certainly must in every case be sought for spontaneously for its own sake, since it has already been proved, that even all its separate parts [pg 262] are to be desired for their own sake. But if, in enumerating the advantages of the body, any one should think that we have passed over pleasure, that question may be postponed till another opportunity; for it makes no difference with regard to the present subject of our discussion, whether pleasure consists in those things which we have called the chief things in accordance with nature, or whether it does not. For if, as I indeed think, pleasure is not the crowning good of nature, it has been properly passed over: but if that crowning good does exist in pleasure, as some assert, then the fact does not at all hinder this idea of ours of the chief good from being the right one. For, if to those things which are the principal goods of nature, pleasure is added, then there will have been added just one advantage of the body; but no change will have been made in the original definition of the chief good which was laid down at first.

XVII. And hitherto, indeed, reason has advanced with us in such a way as to be wholly derived from the original recommendation of nature. But now we must pursue another kind of argument, namely, that we are moved in these matters of our own exceeding goodwill, not only because we love ourselves, but because there is both in the body and in the mind a peculiar power belonging to each part of nature. And, (to begin with the body,) do you not see that if there is anything in their limbs deformed, or weak, or deficient, men conceal it? and take pains, and labour earnestly, if they can possibly contrive it, to prevent that defect of the body from being visible, or else to render it as little visible as possible? and that they submit to great pain for the sake of curing any such defect? in order that, even though the actual use of the limb, after the application of the remedy, be likely to be not greater, but even less, still the appearance of the limb may be restored to the ordinary course of nature. In truth, as all men fancy that they are altogether desirable by nature, and that too, not on any other account, but for their own sakes, it follows inevitably that each part of them should be desired for its own sake, because the whole body is sought for its own sake. What more need I say? Is there nothing in the motion and condition of the body which nature herself decides ought to be noticed? for instance, how a person walks or sits, what the expression of his countenance is, what [pg 263] his features are; is there nothing in all these things which we think worthy or unworthy of a free man, as the case may be? Do we not think many men deserving of hatred, who appear by some motion or condition to have despised the laws and moderation of nature? And since these things are derived from the body, what is the reason why beauty also may not fairly be said to be a thing to be desired for its own sake?

For if we consider distortion or disfigurement of the body a thing to be avoided for its own sake, why should we not also, and perhaps still more, cultivate dignity of form for its own sake? And if we avoid what is unseemly, both in the condition and motion of the body, why may we not on the other hand pursue beauty? And we also desire health, strength, and freedom from pain, not merely because of their utility, but also for their own sakes. For since nature wishes to be made complete in all her parts, she desires this condition of the body, which is most according to nature, for its own sake: but nature is put into complete confusion if the body is either sick, or in pain, or destitute of strength.

XVIII. Let us consider the parts of the mind, the appearance of which is more noble; for in proportion as they are more sublime, they give a more clear indication of their nature. So vehement a love, then, of knowledge and science is innate in us, that no one can doubt that the nature of man is drawn to them without being attracted by any external gain. Do we not see how boys cannot be deterred even by stripes from the consideration and investigation of such and such things? how, though they may be beaten, they still pursue their inquiries, and rejoice in having acquired some knowledge? how they delight in telling others what they have learnt? how they are attracted by processions, and games, and spectacles of that kind, and will endure even hunger and thirst for such an object? Can I say no more? Do we not see those who are fond of liberal studies and arts regard neither their health nor their estate? and endure everything because they are charmed with the intrinsic beauty of knowledge and science? and that they put the pleasures which they derive from learning in the scale against the greatest care and labour? And Homer himself appears to me to have had some such feeling as this, which he has developed in what he has said about the songs of the Sirens: for they do [pg 264] not seem to have been accustomed to attract those who were sailing by with the sweetness of their voices, or with any novelty or variety in their song, but the profession which they made of possessing great knowledge; so that men clung to their rocks from a desire of learning. For thus they invite Ulysses, (for I have translated several passages of Homer, and this among them)—

Oh stay, O pride of Greece! Ulysses, stay!

Oh, cease thy course, and listen to our lay!

Blest is the man ordain'd our voice to hear:

Our song instructs the soul and charms the ear.

Approach, thy soul shall into raptures rise;

Approach, and learn new wisdom from the wise.

We know whate'er the kings of mighty name

Achieved at Ilium in the field of fame;

Whate'er beneath the sun's bright journey lies—

Oh stay, and learn new wisdom from the wise.49

Homer saw that the story would not be probable if he represented so great a man as caught by mere songs; so they promise him knowledge, which it was not strange that a man desirous of wisdom should consider dearer than his country. And, indeed, to wish to know everything of every kind, is natural to the curious; but, to be attracted by the contemplation of greater objects, to entertain a general desire for knowledge, ought to be considered a proof of a great man.

XIX. What ardour for study do you not suppose there must have been in Archimedes, who was so occupied in drawing some mathematical figures in the sand, that he was not aware that his city was taken? And what a mighty genius was that of Aristoxenus which, we see, was devoted to music? What fondness, too, for study, must have inspired Aristophanes, to dedicate his whole life to literature! What shall we say of Pythagoras? Why should I speak of Plato and of Democritus, by whom, we see, that the most distant countries were travelled over, on account of their desire for learning? And those who are blind to this have never loved anything very worthy of being known. And here I may say, that those who say that those studies which I have mentioned are cultivated for the sake of the pleasures of the mind, do not understand that they are desirable for their own sakes, because the mind is delighted by them, without the interruption of any ideas of utility, and rejoices in the mere fact of [pg 265] knowledge, even though it may possibly produce inconvenience. But why need we seek for more instances to prove what is so evident? For let us examine our own selves, and inquire how the motions of the stars, and the contemplation of the heavenly bodies, and the knowledge of all those things which are hidden from us by the obscurity of nature, affect us; and why history, which we are accustomed to trace back as far as possible, delights us; in the investigation of which we go over again all that has been omitted, and follow up all that we have begun. Nor, indeed, am I ignorant that there is a use, and not merely pleasure, in history. What, however, will be said, with reference to our reading with pleasure imaginary fables, from which no utility can possibly be derived? Or to our wishing that the names of those who have performed any great exploits, and their family, and their country, and many circumstances besides, which are not at all necessary, should be known to us? How shall we explain the fact, that men of the lowest rank, who have no hope of ever performing great deeds themselves, artisans in short, are fond of history; and that we may see that those persons also are especially fond of hearing and reading of great achievements, who are removed from all hope of ever performing any, being worn out with old age?

It must, therefore, be understood, that the allurements are in the things themselves which are learnt and known, and that it is they themselves which excite us to learning and to the acquisition of information. And, indeed, the old philosophers, in their fictitious descriptions of the islands of the blessed, intimate the kind of life which the wise pass, whom they imagine to be free from all care, requiring no cultivation or appointments of life as necessary, and doing, and about to do nothing else but devote their whole time to inquiring and learning and arriving at a knowledge of nature. But we see that that is not only the delight of a happy life, but also a relief from misery. Therefore, many men while in the power of enemies or tyrants, many while in prison or in exile, have relieved their sorrow by the study of literature. A great man of this city, Demetrius Phalereus, when he had been unjustly banished from his country, fled to Alexandria, to king Ptolemy; and, as he was very eminent for his knowledge of this philosophy to which we are exhorting you, and had been [pg 266] a pupil of Theophrastus, he wrote many admirable treatises during the time of that unfortunate leisure of his, not, indeed, for any utility to himself, for that was out of his reach, but the cultivation of his mind was to him a sort of sustenance for his human nature.

I, indeed, have often heard Cnæus Aufidius, a man of prætorian rank, of great learning, but blind, say that he was affected more by a regret for the loss of light, than of any actual benefit which he derived from his eyes. Lastly, if sleep did not bring us rest to our bodies, and a sort of medicine after labour, we should think it contrary to nature, for it deprives us of our senses, and takes away our power of action. Therefore, if either nature were in no need of rest, or if it could obtain it by any other means, we should be glad, since even now we are in the habit of doing without sleep, in a manner almost contrary to nature, when we want to do or to learn something.

XX. But there are tokens supplied by nature, still clearer, or, I may say, entirely evident and indubitable,—more especially, indeed, in man, but also in every animal,—that the mind is always desirous to be doing something, and can in no condition endure perpetual rest. It is easy to see this in the earliest age of children; for although I fear that I may appear prolix on this subject, still all the ancient philosophers, and especially those of our own country, have recourse to the cradle for illustrations, because they think that in childhood they can most easily detect the will of nature. We see, then, that even infants cannot rest; but, when they have advanced a little, then they are delighted with even laborious sports, so that they cannot be deterred from them even by beating: and that desire for action grows with their growth. Therefore, we should not like to have the slumber of Endymion given to us, not even if we expected to enjoy the most delicious dreams; and if it were, we should think it like death. Moreover, we see that even the most indolent men, men of a singular worthlessness, are still always in motion both in mind and body; and when they are not hindered by some unavoidable circumstance, that they demand a dice-box or some game of some kind, or conversation; and, as they have none of the liberal delights of learning, seek circles and assemblies. Even beasts, which we shut up for our own [pg 267] amusement, though they are better fed than if they were free, still do not willingly endure being imprisoned, but pine for the free and unrestrained movements given to them by nature. Therefore, in proportion as every one is born and prepared for the best objects, he would be unwilling to live at all if, being excluded from action, he were able only to enjoy the most abundant pleasures.

For men wish either to do something as individuals, or those who have loftier souls undertake the affairs of the state, and devote themselves to the attainment of honours and commands, or else wholly addict themselves to the study of learning; in which path of life they are so far from getting pleasures, that they even endure care, anxiety and sleeplessness, enjoying only that most excellent portion of man which may be accounted divine in us, I mean the acuteness of the genius and intellect, and they neither seek for pleasure nor shun labour. Nor do they intermit either their admiration of the discoveries of the ancients, or their search after new ones; and, as they are insatiable in their pursuit of such, they forget everything else, and admit no low or grovelling thoughts; and such great power is there in those studies, that we see even those who have proposed to themselves other chief goods, which they measure by advantage or pleasure, still devote their lives to the investigation of things, and to the explanation of the mysteries of nature.

XXI. This, then, is evident, that we were born for action. But there are several kinds of action, so that the lesser are thrown into the shade by those more important. But those of most consequence are, first of all, as it appears to me, and to those philosophers whose system we are at present discussing, the consideration and knowledge of the heavens, and of those things which are hidden and concealed by nature, but into which reason can still penetrate. And, next to them, the management of state affairs, or a prudent, temperate, courageous principle of government and knowledge, and the other virtues, and such actions as are in harmony with those virtues, which we, embracing them all in one word, call honourable; to the knowledge and practice of which we are led by nature herself, who goes before us as our guide, we having been already encouraged to pursue it. For the beginnings of all things are small, but, as they proceed, they [pg 268] increase in magnitude, and that naturally: for, at their first birth, there is in them a certain tenderness and softness, so that they cannot see or do what is best. For the light of virtue and of a happy life, which are the two principal things to be desired, appears rather later; and much later still in such a way that it can be plainly perceived of what character they are.

For, admirably does Plato say, “That man is happy to whom, even in his old age, it is allowed to arrive at wisdom and correctness of judgment.” Wherefore, since we have said enough of the first advantages of nature, we will now examine those which are more important, and which are later in point of time.

Nature, then, has made and fashioned the body of man in such a manner, that it makes some parts of him perfect at his first birth, and forms others as he advances in age; and, at the same time, does not employ many external or adventitious aids. But she has filled up the perfection of the mind in the same way as that of the body; for she has adorned it with senses suitable for the effecting of its purposes, so that it is not in the least, or not much, in want of any assistance for strengthening itself. But that which is most excellent and important in man it has abandoned: although it has given him an intellect able to receive every kind of virtue, and has implanted in him, even without instruction, a slight knowledge of the most important things, and has begun, as it were, to teach him, and has led him on to those elements as I may call them, of virtue which existed in him. But it has only begun virtue itself, nothing more. Therefore it belongs to us,—when I say to us, I mean to our art,—to trace back the consequences to those principles which we have received, until we have accomplished our object, which is indeed of a good deal more consequence, and a good deal more to be desired for its own sake, than either the senses, or those parts of the body which we have mentioned; which the excellent perfection of the mind is so far superior to, that it can scarcely be imagined how great the difference is. Therefore, all honour, all admiration, all study is referred to virtue, and to those actions which are consistent with virtue; and all those things which are either in our minds in that state, or are done in that manner, are called by one common name—honourable. And we shall presently see what knowledge we [pg 269] have of all these things, and what is meant by the different names, and what the power and nature of each is.

XXII. But at present we need only explain that these things which I call honourable, (besides the fact of our living ourselves on their account,) are also by their own nature deserving of being sought for their own sake. Children show this, in whom nature is perceived as in a mirror. What eagerness is there in them when contending together! how vigorous are their contests! how elated are those who win! how ashamed those who are beaten! how unwilling are they to be blamed! how eager to be praised! what labours will they not endure to surpass their fellows! what a recollection have they of those who are kind to them! how anxious are they to prove their gratitude! and these qualities are most visible in the best dispositions; in which all these honourable qualities which we appreciate are filled up as it were by nature. But in children they are only sketched.

Again, in more mature age, who is so unlike a man as not to be moved to a dislike of baseness and approval of what is honourable? Who is there who does not loathe a libidinous and licentious youth? who, on the contrary, does not love modesty and constancy in that age, even though his own interest is not at all concerned? Who does not detest Pullus Numitorius, of Fregellæ, the traitor, although he was of use to our own republic? who does not praise Codrus, the saviour of his city, and the daughters of Erectheus? Who does not detest the name of Tubulus? and love the dead Aristides? Do we forget how much we are affected at hearing or reading when we are brought to the knowledge of anything which has been done in a pious, or friendly, or magnanimous spirit? Why should I speak of men like ourselves, who have been born and brought up and trained to praise and glory? What shouts of the common people and of the unlettered crowd are excited in the theatres when this sentence is uttered—

I am Orestes:

and when, on the other hand, the other actor says—

No; it is I, 'tis I who am Orestes.

But when one of them is allowed to depart by the perplexed and bewildered king, and they demand to die together, is this [pg 270] scene ever acted without being accompanied by the most violent expressions of admiration? There is no one, then, who does not approve of and praise this disposition of mind; by which not only no advantage is sought, but good faith is preserved even at the expense of one's advantage. And not only are imaginary fables, but true histories also, and especially those of our country, full of such instances: for we selected our most virtuous citizen to receive the Idæan sacred vessels; we have sent guardians to kings; our generals have devoted their lives for the safety of the republic; our consuls have warned a king who was our greatest enemy, when he was actually approaching our walls, to beware of poison. In our republic, a woman has been found to expiate, by a voluntary death, a violation which was inflicted on her by force; and a man to kill his daughter to save her from being ravished. All which instances, and a countless host of others, prove to the comprehension of every one that those who performed those deeds were induced to do so by the brilliancy of virtue, forgetful of their own advantage, and that we, when we praise those actions, are influenced by nothing but their honourable character.

XXIII. And having briefly explained these matters, (for I have not sought to adduce the number of examples which I might have done, because there was no doubt on the subject,) it is shown sufficiently by these facts that all the virtues, and that honourableness which arises from these virtues, and clings to them, are worthy to be sought for their own sake. But in the whole of this honourableness of which we are speaking, there is nothing so eminent, nor so extensive in its operation, as the union of man with man, and a certain partnership in and communication of advantages, and the affection itself of the human race; which originating in that first feeling according to which the offspring is loved by the parent, and the whole house united by the bonds of wedlock and descent, creeps gradually out of doors, first of all to one's relations, then to one's connexions, then to one's friends and neighbours, then to one's fellow-countrymen, and to the public friends and allies of one's country; then it embraces the whole human race: and this disposition of mind, giving every one his due, and protecting with liberality and equity this union of human society which I have spoken of, is called [pg 271] justice, akin to which are piety, kindness, liberality, benevolence, courtesy, and all other qualities of the same kind. But these, though peculiarly belonging to justice, are also common to the other virtues.

For as the nature of man has been created such that it has a sort of innate principle of society and citizenship, which the Greeks call πολιτικὸν, whatever each virtue does will not be inconsistent with that principle of common union, and that human affection and society which I have spoken of; and justice, as she founds herself in practice on the other virtues, will also require them, for justice cannot be maintained except by a courageous and wise man. Honourableness itself, then, is a thing of the same character as all this conspiracy and agreement of the virtues which I have been speaking of; since it is either virtue itself, or an action virtuously performed. And a life acting in harmony and consistency with this system, and with virtue, may fairly be thought upright and honourable, and consistent, and natural. And this union and combination of virtues is nevertheless divided by philosophers on some principle of their own. For though they are so joined and connected as to be all partners with one another, and to be unable to be separated from one another, yet each has its peculiar sphere of duty; as, for instance, fortitude is discerned in labour and danger; temperance, in the disregard of pleasures; prudence, in the choice of good and evil; justice, in giving every one his due. Since, then, there is in every virtue a certain care which turns its eyes abroad, as it were, and which is anxious about and embraces others, the conclusion is, that friends, and brothers, and relations, and connexions, and fellow-countrymen, and in short everybody, since we wish the society of all mankind to be one, are to be sought after for their own sakes. But still, of all these things and people there is nothing of such a kind that it can be accounted the chief good. And from this it follows, that there are found to be two kinds of goods which are to be sought for their own sake. One kind which exists in those things in which that chief good is brought to perfection: and they are qualities of either the mind or body. But these things which are external, that is to say, which are in neither mind nor body, such as friends, parents, children, relations, or one's country, are indeed dear to me for their [pg 272] own sake, but still are not of the same class as the other kind. Nor, indeed, could any one ever arrive at the chief good, if all those things which are external, although desirable, were contained in the chief good.

XXIV. How then, you will say, can it be true that everything is referred to the chief good, if friendship, and relationship, and all other external things are not contained in the chief good? Why, on this principle,—because we protect those things which are external with those duties which arise from their respective kinds of virtue. For the cultivation of the regard of a friend or a parent, which is the discharge of a duty, is advantageous in the actual fact of its being such, inasmuch as to discharge a duty is a good action; and good actions spring from virtues; and wise men attend to them, using nature as a kind of guide.

But men who are not perfect, though endued with admirable talents and dispositions, are often excited by glory, which has the form and likeness of honourableness. But if they were to be thoroughly acquainted with the nature of that honourableness which is wholly complete and perfect, that one thing which is the most admirable of all things, and the most praiseworthy, with what joy would they be filled, when they are so greatly delighted at its outline and bare idea! For who that is given up to pleasure, and inflamed with the conflagration of desire in the enjoyment of those things which he has most eagerly wished for, can we imagine to be full of such joy as the elder Africanus after he had conquered Hannibal, or the younger one after he had destroyed Carthage? What man was there who was so much elated with the way in which all the people flocked to the Tiber on that day of festivity as Lucius Paullus, when he was leading in triumph king Perses as his prisoner, who was conveyed down on the same river?

Come now, my friend Lucius, build up in your mind the lofty excellence of virtue, and you will not doubt that the men who are possessed of it, and who live with a magnanimous and upright spirit, are always happy; men who are aware that all the movements of fortune, all the changes of affairs and circumstances, must be insignificant and powerless if ever they come to a contest with virtue. For those things which are considered by us as goods of the body, do indeed [pg 273] make up a happy life, but still not without leaving it possible for a life to be happy without them. For so slight and inconsiderable are those additions of goods, that as stars in the orbit of the sun are not seen, so neither are those qualities, but they are lost in the brilliancy of virtue. And as it is said with truth that the influence of the advantages of the body have but little weight in making life happy, so on the other hand it is too strong an assertion to say that they have no weight at all: for those who argue thus appear to me to forget the principles of nature which they themselves have contended for.

We must, therefore, allow these things some influence: provided only that we understand how much we ought to allow them. It is, however, the part of a philosopher, who seeks not so much for what is specious as for what is true, neither utterly to disregard those things which those very boastful men used to admit to be in accordance with nature; and at the same time to see that the power of virtue, and the authority, if I may say so, of honourableness, is so great that all those other things appear to be, I will not say nothing, but so trivial as to be little better than nothing. This is the language natural to a man who, on the one hand, does not despise everything except virtue, and who, at the same time, honours virtue with the praises which it deserves. This, in short, is a full and perfect explanation of the chief good; and as the others have attempted to detach different portions from the main body of it, each individual among them has wished to appear to have established his own theory as the victorious one.

XXV. The knowledge of things has been often extolled in a wonderful manner by Aristotle and Theophrastus for its own sake. And Herillus, being allured by this single fact, maintained that knowledge was the chief good, and that there was no other thing whatever that deserved to be sought for its own sake. Many things have been said by the ancients on the subject of despising and contemning all human affairs. This was the one principle of Aristo; he declared that there was nothing which ought to be avoided or desired except vice and virtue. And our school has placed freedom from pain among those things which are in accordance with nature. Hieronymus has said that this is the chief good: but Callipho, [pg 274] and Diodorus after him, one of whom was devoted to pleasure, and the other to freedom from pain, could neither of them allow honourableness to be left out, which has been especially praised by our countrymen. Moreover, even the advocates of pleasure seek for subterfuges, and are talking of virtue whole days together; and say that pleasure is at first only wished for; that afterwards it, through custom, becomes a second nature, by which men are excited to do many things without at all seeking pleasure.

The Stoics remain to be mentioned. They, indeed, have borrowed not one idea or another from us, but have appropriated our whole system of philosophy. And as other thieves alter the marks on the things which they have stolen, so they, in order to be able to use our opinions as their own, have changed the names which are like the private marks on things. And so this school alone remains worthy of those men who study the liberal arts, worthy of the learned, worthy of eminent men, worthy of princes, worthy of kings.

And when he had said this, and then stopped to take breath for a while; What is the matter? said he; do I not seem to have said enough in your presence for my own defence? I replied,—Indeed, O Piso, as has often been the case before, you have seemed to-day to have so thorough an acquaintance with all these things, that, if we could always have the advantage of your company, I should not think that we had much reason to have recourse to the Greeks. Which, indeed, I have been the more pleased with, because I recollect that Staseas, the Neapolitan, your preceptor, a very illustrious Peripatetic, was at times accustomed to discuss these points differently, agreeing with those men who attributed a great deal of weight to prosperity and adversity, and to the good or evil qualities of the body. It is as you say, he replied: but these points are argued with much more accuracy and impressiveness by my friend Antiochus than they used to be by Staseas. Although I do not ask what I have proved to your satisfaction, but what I have proved to the satisfaction of this friend of mine, the young Cicero, a pupil whom I wish to seduce from you.

XXVI. Then Lucius said,—Indeed, I quite agree with what you have said, and I think my brother does too. Then said Piso to me: Is it so? Do you pardon the youth? or would [pg 275] you rather that he should learn these things which, when he has learnt thoroughly, he will know nothing at all? I give him leave, said I. But do not you recollect that I am allowed to express my approval or disapproval of what has been said by you? For who can avoid approving of what appears to him to be probable? Can any, we said, approve of anything of which he has not a thorough perception, comprehension, and knowledge? There is, said I, no great dispute between us, Piso; for there is no other reason why it appears to me that nothing can be perceived except that the faculty of perceiving is defined in such a manner by the Stoics that they affirm that nothing can be perceived except what is so true that it cannot possibly be false. Therefore there is a dispute between us and the Stoics, but none between us and the Peripatetics. However, we may pass over this, for it would open the door to a long and sufficiently bitter dispute.

It seemed to me that it was too hasty an assertion of yours that all wise men were always happy. I know not how such a sentence escaped you; but unless it is proved, I fear that the assertion which Theophrastus made with respect to fortune, and pain, and bodily torture be true, with which he did not consider that a happy life could possibly be joined, must be true. For it is exceedingly inconsistent that the same person should be happy, and afflicted with many misfortunes; and how these things can be reconciled, I do not at all understand. Which assertion then, said he, is it that you object to? Do you deny that the power of virtue is so great that she can by herself be sufficient for happiness? or, if you admit that, do you think it impossible that those persons who are possessed of virtue may be happy, even if they are afflicted with some evils? I, indeed, I replied, wish to attribute as much power as possible to virtue; however, we may discuss at another time how great her power is; at present the only question is, whether she has so much power as this, if anything external to virtue is reckoned among the goods. But, said he, if you grant to the Stoics that virtue alone, if it be present, makes life happy, you grant it also to the Peripatetics; for those things which they do not venture to call evils, but which they admit to be unpleasant and inconvenient, and to be rejected, and odious to nature [pg 276] we call evils, but slight, and, indeed, exceedingly trifling ones. Wherefore, if that man can be happy who is among disagreeable things which ought to be rejected, he also may be so who is among slight evils. And I say, O Piso, if there is any one who in causes is used to have a clear insight into what the real question is, you are the man: wherefore I beg of you to take notice; for, hitherto, owing perhaps to my fault, you do not perceive what it is that I am seeking. I am attending, said he; and I am waiting to see what answer you will make to the questions that I ask.

XXVII. I will answer, said I, that I am not inquiring at present what virtue can effect, but what is said consistently on the subject, and why the assertions are at variance with one another. How so? said he. Because, said I, when this pompous assertion is uttered by Zeno, as if he were an oracle,—“Virtue requires nothing beyond herself to enable a man to live happily”—why? said he—“Because there is no other good except what is honourable.” I do not ask now whether that is true; I only say that what he says is admirably consistent. Epicurus will say the same thing—“that the wise man is always happy;” which, indeed, he is in the habit of spouting out sometimes. And he says that this wise man, when he is being torn to pieces with the most exquisite pains, will say, “How pleasant it is! how I disregard it!” I will not argue with the man as to why there is so much power in nature; I will only urge that he does not understand what he ought to say, after he has said that pain is the greatest evil.

Now I will address the same language to you. You say that all the goods and evils are the same that those men pronounce them to be who have never even seen a philosopher in a picture, as the saying is—namely, health, strength, stature, beauty, the soundness of all a man's nails, you call good—deformity, disease, weakness you call evils. These are all externals; do not go on any more; but at all events you will reckon these things among the goods, as the goods of the body which help to compose them, namely, friends, children, relations, riches, honour, power. Take notice that I say nothing against this. If those are evils into which a wise man can fall, then it follows that to be a wise man is not sufficient to secure a happy life. Indeed, said he, it is very [pg 277] little towards securing a perfectly happy one, but enough for securing a tolerably happy one.

I have noticed, said he, that you made this distinction a little while ago, and I know that our friend Antiochus used to speak in this manner. But what can be less approved of than the idea of a person being happy, and yet not happy enough? For when anything is enough, then whatever is added to that is excess: and no one is too happy: and no one is happier than a happy man. Therefore, said he, was not Quintus Metellus, who saw three of his sons consuls, one of whom was also censor and celebrated a triumph, and a fourth prætor; and who left them all in safety behind him, and who saw his three daughters married, having been himself consul, censor and augur, and having celebrated a triumph; was he not, I say, in your opinion, (supposing him to have been a wise man,) happier than Regulus, who being in the power of the enemy, was put to death by sleeplessness and hunger, though he may have been equally wise?

XXVIII. Why do you ask me that? said I; ask the Stoics. What answer, then, said he, do you suppose they will make? They will say that Metellus was in no respect more happy than Regulus. Let us, then, said he, hear what they have got to say. But, said I, we are wandering from our subject; for I am not asking what is true, but what each person ought to say. I wish, indeed, that they would say that one man is happier than another: you should see the ruin I would make of them. For, as the chief good consists in virtue alone, and in honourableness; and as neither virtue, as they say, nor honourableness is capable of growth, and as that alone is good which makes him who enjoys it necessarily happy, as that in which alone happiness is placed cannot be increased, how is it possible that one person can be happier than another? Do you not see how all these things agree together? And, in truth, (for I must avow what I feel,) the mutual dependence of all these things on one another is marvellous: the last part corresponds to the first, the middle to each extremity, and each extremity to the other. They see all that follows from, or is inconsistent with them. In geometry, if you grant the premises the conclusion follows. Grant that there is nothing good except what is honourable, and you must grant that happiness is placed in virtue alone. Try it the other [pg 278] way. If you grant this conclusion, you must grant the premises; but this is not the case with the arguments of your school. There are three kinds of goods. The assertions go trippingly on: he comes to the conclusion: he sticks fast: he is in a difficulty; for he wishes to say, that nothing can be wanting to a wise man to complete his happiness—a very honourable sentiment, one worthy of Socrates, or even of Plato. Well, I do venture to assert that, says he. It is impossible, unless you remodel your premises: if poverty is an evil, no beggar can be happy be he ever so wise. But Zeno ventured to call such a man not only happy, but also rich.

To be in pain is an evil; the man who is fastened to a cross cannot be happy. Children are a good; childlessness is an evil. One's country is a good; exile is an evil. Health is a good; disease is an evil. Vigour of body is a good; feebleness is an evil. Clear sight is a good; blindness is an evil. But, though a man may be able to alleviate any single one of these evils by consolation, how will he be able to endure them all? For, suppose one person were blind, feeble, afflicted with grievous sickness, banished, childless, in indigence, and put to the torture; what will you call him, Zeno? Happy, says he. Will you call him most perfectly happy? To be sure I will, says he, when I have taught him that happiness does not admit of degrees any more than virtue, the mere possession of which makes him happy. This seems to you incredible that he can call him perfectly happy. What is your own doctrine? is that credible? For if you appeal to the people, you will never convince them that a man in such a condition is happy. If you appeal to prudent men, perhaps they will doubt as to one point, namely, whether there is so much force in virtue that men endued with that can be happy, even in Phalaris's bull; but they will not doubt at all that the Stoic language is consistent with itself and that yours is not.

Do you then, says he, approve of the book of Theophrastus on a happy life? We are wandering from our subject; and that I may not be too tedious—if, said I, Piso, those things are evils, I wholly approve of it. Do not they then, said he, seem to you to be evils? Do you ask that? said I; whatever answer I give you, you will find yourself in embarrassment. How so? said he. Because, if they are evils, a man [pg 279] who is affected with them cannot be happy. If they are not evils, there is an end to the whole system of the Peripatetics. And he laughing replied, I see what you are at; you are afraid I shall carry off your pupil. You may carry him off, said I, if he likes to follow you; for he will still be with me if he is with you.

XXIX. Listen then, said he, O Lucius; for, as Theophrastus says, I must direct my discourse to you,—the whole authority of philosophy consists in making life happy; for we are all inflamed with a desire of living happily. This, both your brother and I agree upon. Wherefore we must see whether the system of the philosophers can give us this. It promises to do so certainly: for, unless it made that promise, why did Plato travel over Egypt, to learn numbers and knowledge of the heavenly mysteries from barbarian priests? Why afterwards did he go to Tarentum to Archytas; and to the other Pythagoreans of Locri, Echecrates, Timæus, and Acrion; in order, after he had drained Socrates to the dregs, to add the doctrine of the Pythagoreans to his, and to learn in addition those things which Socrates rejected? Why did Pythagoras himself travel over Egypt, and visit the Persian Magi; why did he go on foot over so many countries of the barbarians, and make so many voyages? Why did Democritus do the same? who, (whether it is true or false, we will not stop to inquire,) is said to have put out his own eyes; certainly, in order that his mind might be abstracted from contemplation as little as possible; he neglected his patrimony, and left his lands uncultivated, and what other object could he have had except a happy life? And if he placed that in the knowledge of things, still from that investigation of natural philosophy he sought to acquire equanimity; for he called the summum bonum εὐθυμία, and very often ἀθαμβία, that is to say, a mind free from alarm. But, although this was well said, it was not very elegantly expressed; for he said very little about virtue, and even what he did say, he did not express very clearly. For it was not till after his death that these subjects were discussed in this city, first by Socrates, and from Socrates they got entrance into the Academy. Nor was there any doubt that all hope of living well and also happily was placed in virtue: and when Zeno had learnt this from our school, he began to express himself on the same [pg 280] subject in another manner, as lawyers do on trials. And now you approve of this conduct in him. Will you then say that he by changing the names of things escaped the charge of inconsistency, and yet not allow us to do so too?

He asserts that the life of Metellus was not happier than that of Regulus, but admits that it was preferable to it; he says it was not more to be sought after, but still to be taken in preference; and that if one had a choice, one would choose the life of Metellus, and reject that of Regulus. What then he calls preferable, and worthy to be chosen in preference, I call happier; and yet I do not attribute more importance to that sort of life than the Stoics do. For what difference is there between us, except that I call well-known things by well-known names, and that they seek for new terms to express the same ideas? And so, as there is always some one in the senate who wants an interpreter, we, too, must listen to them with an interpreter. I call that good which is in accordance with nature; and whatever is contrary to nature I call evil. Nor do I alone use the definition; you do also, O Chrysippus, in the forum and at home; but in the school you discard it. What then? Do you think that men in general ought to speak in one way, and philosophers in another, as to the importance of which everything is? that learned men should hold one language, and unlearned ones another? But as learned men are agreed of how much importance everything is, (if they were men, they would speak in the usual fashion,) why, as long as they leave the facts alone, they are welcome to mould the names according to their fancy.

XXX. But I come now to the charge of inconsistency, that you may not repeat that I am making digressions; which you think exist only in language, but which I used to consider depended on the subject of which one was speaking. If it is sufficiently perceived (and here we have most excellent assistance from the Stoics), that the power of virtue is so great, that if everything else were put on the opposite side, it would not be even visible, when all things which they admit at least to be advantages, and to deserve to be taken, and chosen, and preferred, and which they define as worthy of being highly estimated; when, I say, I call these things goods which have so many names given them by the Stoics, [pg 281] some of which are new, and invented expressly for them, such as producta and reducta, and some of which are merely synonymous; (for what difference can it make whether you wish for a thing or choose it? that which is chosen, and on which deliberate choice is exercised, appears to me to be the better) still, when I have called all these things goods, the question is merely how great goods I call them; when I say they deserved to be wished for, the question is,—how eagerly?

But, if I do not attribute more importance to them when I say that they deserve to be wished for, than you do who say they only deserve to be chosen, and if I do not value them more highly when I call them bona, than you, when you speak of them as producta; then all these things must inevitably be involved in obscurity, and put out of sight, and lost amid the rays of virtue like stars in the sunbeams. But that life in which there is any evil cannot be happy. Then a corn-field full of thick and heavy ears of corn is not a corn-field if you see any tares anywhere; nor is traffic gainful if, amid the greatest gains, you incur the most trifling loss. Do we ever act on different principles in any circumstances of life; and will you not judge of the whole from its greatest part? or is there any doubt that virtue is so much the most important thing in all human affairs, that it throws all the rest into the shade?

I will venture, then, to call the rest of the things which are in accordance with nature, goods, and not to cheat them of their ancient title, rather than go and hunt for some new name for them; and the dignity of virtue I will put, as it were, in the other scale of the balance. Believe me, that scale will outweigh both earth and sea; for the whole always has its name from that which embraces its largest part, and is the most widely diffused. We say that one man lives merrily. Is there, then, an end of this merry life of his if he is for a moment a little poor?

But, in the case of that Marcus Crassus, who, Lucilius says, laughed once in his life, the fact of his having done so did not deliver him from being called ἀγέλαστος. They call Polycrates of Samos happy. Nothing had ever happened to him which he did not like, except that he had thrown into the sea a ring which he valued greatly; therefore he was unhappy as to that one annoyance; but subsequently he was [pg 282] happy again when that same ring was found in the belly of a fish. But he, if he was unwise (which he certainly was, since he was a tyrant), was never happy; if he was wise he was not miserable, even at the time when he was crucified by Orœtes, the lieutenant of Darius. But he had great evils inflicted on him. Who denies that?—but those evils were overcome by the greatness of his virtue.

XXXI. Do you not grant even this to the Peripatetics, that they may say that the life of all good, that is, of all wise men, and of men adorned with every virtue, has in all its parts more good than evil? Who says this? The Stoics may say so. By no means. But do not those very men who measure everything by pleasure and pain, say loudly that the wise man has always more things which he likes than dislikes? When, then, these men attribute so much to virtue, who confess that they would not even lift a finger for the sake of virtue, if it did not bring pleasure with it, what ought we to do, who say that ever so inconsiderable an excellence of mind is so superior to all the goods of the body, that they are put wholly out of sight by it? For who is there who can venture to say, that it can happen to a wise man (even if such a thing were possible) to discard virtue for ever, with a view of being released from all pain? Who of our school, who are not ashamed to call those things evils which the Stoics call only bitter, would say that it was better to do anything dishonourably with pleasure than honourably with pain? To us, indeed, Dionysius of Heraclea appears to have deserted the Stoics in a shameful manner, on account of the pain of his eyes; as if he had learnt from Zeno not to be in pain when he was in pain. He had heard, but he had not learnt, that it was not an evil, because it was not dishonourable, and because it might be borne by a man. If he had been a Peripatetic he would, I suppose, have adhered to his opinion, since they say that pain is an evil. And with respect to bearing its bitterness, they give the same precepts as the Stoics; and, indeed, your friend Arcesilas, although he was a rather pertinacious arguer, was still on our side; for he was a pupil of Polemo; and when he was suffering under the pain of the gout, and Carneades, a most intimate friend of Epicurus, had come to see him, and was going away very melancholy, said, “Stay awhile, I entreat you, friend [pg 283] Carneades; for the pain does not reach here,” showing his feet and his breast. Still he would have preferred being out of pain.

XXXII. This, then, is our doctrine, which appears to you to be inconsistent, since, by reason of a certain heavenly, divine, and inexpressible excellence of virtue, so great, that wherever virtue and great, desirable, and praiseworthy exploits done by virtue are, there misery and grief cannot be, but nevertheless labour and annoyance can be, I do not hesitate to affirm that all wise men are always happy, but still, that it is possible that one man may be more happy than another.

But this is exactly the assertion, Piso, said I, which you are bound to prove over and over again; and if you establish it, then you may take with you not only my young Cicero here, but me too. Then, said Quintus, it appears to me that this has been sufficiently proved. I am glad, indeed, that philosophy, the treasures of which I have been used to value above the possession of everything else (so rich did it appear to me, that I could ask of it whatever I desired to know in our studies),—I rejoice, therefore, that it has been found more acute than all other arts, for it was in acuteness that some people asserted that it was deficient. Not a mite more so than ours, surely, said Pomponius, jestingly. But, seriously, I have been very much pleased with what you have said; for what I did not think could be expressed in Latin has been expressed by you, and that no less clearly than by the Greeks, and in not less well adapted language. But it is time to depart, if you please; and let us go to my house.

And when he had said this, as it appeared that we had discussed the subject sufficiently, we all went into the town to the house of Pomponius.

Rackham - Excerpts

Book 1 - Torquatus Section

This is the 1931 Loeb Edition, translated by H.A. Rackham. Another good internet version of the same text with line numbers is here at LacusCurtius.

In this selection from book I, sections 9 through 21, Lucius Torquatus delivers a monologue explaining and defending Epicurean ethics:

V.13 To begin with what is easiest, let us first pass in review the system of Epicurus, which to most men is the best known of any. Our exposition of it, as you shall see, will be as accurate as any usually given even by the professed adherents of his school. For our object is to discover the truth, not to refute someone as an opponent.

An elaborate defense of the hedonistic theory of Epicurus was once delivered by Lucius Torquatus, a student well versed in all the systems of philosophy; to him I replied, and Gaius Triarius, a youth of remarkable learning and seriousness of character, assisted at the discussion. Both of these gentlemen had called to pay me their respects at my place at Cumae. We first exchanged a few remarks about literature, of which both were enthusiastic students. Then Torquatus said, ‘As we have for once found you at leisure, I am resolved to hear the reason why you regard my master Epicurus, not indeed with hatred, as those who do not share his views mostly do, but at all events with disapproval. I myself consider him as the one person who had discerned the truth, and who has delivered men from the gravest errors and imparted to them all there is to know about well-being and happiness. The fact is, I think that you are like our friend Triarius, and dislike Epicurus because he has neglected the graces of style that you find in your Plato, Aristotle and Theophrastus. For I can scarcely bring myself to believe that you think his opinions untrue.’ “Let me assure you, Torquatus,” said I, “that you are entirely mistaken. With your master’s style I have no fault to find. He expresses his meaning adequately, and gives me a plain intelligible statement. Not that I despise eloquence in a philosopher if he has it to offer, but I should not greatly insist on it if he has not. But his matter I do not find so satisfactory, and that in more points than one. However, ‘many men, many minds’: so it is possible that I am mistaken.” “What is it, pray,” he said, “to which you take exception? For I recognize you as a just critic, provided you really know what his doctrines are.” “Oh,” said I, “I know the whole of Epicurus’s opinions well enough, — unless you think that Phaedrus or Zeno did not tell me the truth. I have heard both of them lecture, though to be sure they convinced me of nothing but their own devotion to the system. Indeed I regularly attended those professors, in company with our friend Atticus, who for his part had an admiration for them both, and a positive affection for Phaedrus. Every day we used to discuss together in private what we had heard at lecture, and there was never any dispute as to what I could understand; the question was, what I could accept as true.” ...

VIII I had spoken rather with the intention of drawing out Torquatus than of delivering a discourse of my own. But Triarius interposed, with a smile: “Why, you have practically expelled Epicurus altogether from the philosophic choir. What have you left to him except that, whatever his style may be, you find his meaning intelligible? His doctrines in Natural Philosophy were second-hand, and in your opinion unsound at that; and his attempts to improve on his authority only made things worse. Dialectic he had none. His identification of the Chief Good with pleasure in the first place was in itself an error, and secondly this also was not original; for it had been said before, and said better, by Aristippus. To crown all you added that Epicurus was a person of no education.” “Well, Triarius,” I rejoined, “when one disagrees with a man, it is essential to say what it is that one objects to in his views. What should prevent me from being an Epicurean, if I accepted the doctrines of Epicurus? especially as the system is an exceedingly easy one to master. You must not find fault with members of opposing schools for criticizing each other’s opinions; though I always feel that insult and abuse, or ill-tempered wrangling and bitter, obstinate controversy are beneath the dignity of philosophy.” “I am quite of your mind,” said Torquatus; “it is impossible to debate without criticizing, but it is equally impossible to debate properly with ill-temper or obstinacy. But I have something I should like to say in reply to all this, if it will not weary you.” “Do you suppose,” said I, “that I should have said what I have, unless I wanted to hear you?” “Then would you like me to make a rapid review of the whole of Epicurus’s system, or to discuss the single topic of pleasure, which is the one main subject of dispute?” “Oh,” I said, “that must be for you to decide.” “Very well then,” said he, “this is what I will do, I will expound a single topic, and that the most important. Natural Philosophy we will postpone; though I will undertake to prove to you both your swerve of the atoms and size of the sun, and also that very many errors of Democritus were criticized and corrected by Epicurus. But on the present occasion I will speak about pleasure; not that I have anything original to contribute, yet I am confident that what I say will command even your acceptance.” “Be assured,” I said, “that I shall not be obstinate, but will gladly own myself convinced if you can prove your case to my satisfaction.” “I shall do so,” he rejoined, “provided you are as fair-minded as you promise. But I prefer to employ continuous discourse rather than question and answer.” “As you please,” said I. So he began.

IX. I will start then in the manner approved by the author of the system himself, by settling what are the essence and qualities of the thing that is the object of our inquiry; not that I suppose you to be ignorant of it, but because this is the logical method of procedure. We are inquiring, then, what is the final and ultimate Good, which as all philosophers are agreed must be of such a nature as to be the End to which all other things are means, while it is not itself a means to anything else. This Epicurus finds in pleasure; pleasure he holds to be the Chief Good, pain the Chief Evil. This he sets out to prove as follows: Every animal, as soon as it is born, seeks for pleasure, and delights in it as the Chief Good, while it recoils from pain as the Chief Evil, and so far as possible avoids it. This it does as long as it remains unperverted, at the prompting of Nature's own unbiased and honest verdict.

Hence Epicurus refuses to admit any necessity for argument or discussion to prove that pleasure is desirable and pain to be avoided. These facts, be thinks, are perceived by the senses, as that fire is hot, snow white, honey sweet, none of which things need be proved by elaborate argument: it is enough merely to draw attention to them. (For there is a difference, he holds, between formal syllogistic proof of a thing and a mere notice or reminder: the former is the method for discovering abstruse and recondite truths, the latter for indicating facts that are obvious and evident.) Strip mankind of sensation, and nothing remains; it follows that Nature herself is the judge of that which is in accordance with or contrary to nature.

What does Nature perceive or what does she judge of, beside pleasure and pain, to guide her actions of desire and of avoidance? Some members of our school however would refine upon this doctrine; these say that it is not enough for the judgment of good and evil to rest with the senses; the facts that pleasure is in and for itself desirable and pain in and for itself to be avoided can also be grasped by the intellect and the reason. Accordingly they declare that the perception that the one is to be sought after and the other avoided is a notion naturally implanted in our minds. Others again, with whom I agree, observing that a great many philosophers do advance a vast array of reasons to prove why pleasure should not be counted as a good nor pain as an evil, consider that we had better not be too confident of our case; in their view it requires elaborate and reasoned argument, and abstruse theoretical discussion of the nature of pleasure and pain.

X. But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of reprobating pleasure and extolling pain arose. To do so, I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?

On the other hand, we denounce with righteous indignation and dislike men who are so beguiled and demoralized by the charms of the pleasure of the moment, so blinded by desire, that they cannot foresee the pain and trouble that are bound to ensue; and equal blame belongs to those who fail in their duty through weakness of will, which is the same as saying through shrinking from toil and pain. These cases are perfectly simple and easy to distinguish. In a free hour, when our power of choice is untrammelled and when nothing prevents our being able to do what we like best, every pleasure is to be welcomed and every pain avoided.

But in certain emergencies and owing to the claims of duty or the obligations of business it will frequently occur that pleasures have to be repudiated and annoyances accepted. The wise man therefore always holds in these matters to this principle of selection: he rejects pleasures to secure other greater pleasures, or else he endures pains to avoid worse pains.

This being the theory I hold, why need I be afraid of not being able to reconcile it with the case of the Torquati my ancestors? Your references to them just now were historically correct, and also showed your kind and friendly feeling towards myself; but the same I am not to be bribed by your flattery of my family, and you will not find me a less resolute opponent. Tell me, pray, what explanation do you put upon their actions? Do you really believe that they charged an armed enemy, or treated their children, their own flesh and blood, so cruelly, without a thought for their own interest or advantage? Why, even wild animals do not act in that way; they do not run amok so blindly that we cannot discern any purpose in their movements and their onslaughts.

Can you then suppose that those heroic men performed their famous deeds without any motive at all? What their motive was, I will consider later on: for the present I will confidently assert, that if they had a motive for those undoubtedly glorious exploits, that motive was not a love of virtue in and for itself.—He wrested the necklet from his foe.—Yes, and saved himself from death. But he braved great danger.—Yes, before the eyes of an army.—What did he get by it?—Honor and esteem, the strongest guarantees of security in life.—He sentenced his own son to death.—If from no motive, I am sorry to be the descendant of anyone so savage and inhuman; but if his purpose was by inflicting pain upon himself to establish his authority as a commander, and to tighten the reins of discipline during a very serious war by holding over his army the fear of punishment, then his action aimed at ensuring the safety of his fellow citizens, upon which he knew his own depended.

And this is a principle of wide application. People of your school, and especially yourself, who are so diligent a student of history, have found a favorite field for the display of your eloquence in recalling the stories of brave and famous men of old, and in praising their actions, not on utilitarian grounds, but on account of the splendor of abstract moral worth. But all of this falls to the ground if the principle of selection that I have just mentioned be established,—the principle of forgoing pleasures for the purpose of getting greater pleasures, and enduring, pains for the sake of escaping greater pains.

XI. But enough has been said at this stage about the glorious exploits and achievements of the heroes of renown. The tendency of all of the virtues to produce pleasure is a topic that will be treated in its own place later on. At present I shall proceed to expound the essence and qualities of pleasure itself, and shall endeavor to remove the misconceptions of ignorance and to make you realize how serious, how temperate, how austere is the school that is supposed to be sensual, lax, and luxurious. The pleasure we pursue is not that kind alone which directly affects our physical being with a delightful feeling,—a positively agreeable perception of the senses; on the contrary, the greatest pleasure according to us is that which is experienced as a result of the complete removal of pain. When we are released from pain, the mere sensation of complete emancipation and relief from uneasiness is in itself a source of gratification.

But everything that causes gratification is a pleasure (just as everything that causes annoyance is a pain). Therefore the complete removal of pain has correctly been termed a pleasure. For example, when hunger and thirst are banished by food and drink, the mere fact of getting rid of uneasiness brings a resultant pleasure in its train. So generally, the removal of pain causes pleasure to take its place.

Epicurus consequently maintained that there is no such thing as a neutral state of feeling intermediate between pleasure and pain; for the state supposed by some thinkers to be neutral, being characterized as it is by entire absence of pain, is itself, he held, a pleasure, and, what is more, a pleasure of the highest order. A man who is conscious of his condition at all must necessarily feel either pleasure or pain.

But complete absence of pain Epicurus considers to be the limit and highest point of pleasure; beyond this point pleasure may vary in kind, but it cannot vary in intensity or degree. Yet at Athens, so my father used to tell me when lie wanted to air his wit at the expense of the Stoics, in the Ceramicus there is actually a statue of Chrysippus seated and holding out one hand, the gesture being intended to indicate the delight which he used to take in the following little syllogism: “Does your hand want anything, while it is in its present condition?” Answer: “No,nothing.”—“But if pleasure were a good, it would want pleasure.”—“Yes, I suppose it would.”—“Therefore pleasure is not a good.”

An argument, as my father declared, which not even a statue would employ, if a statue could speak; because though it is cogent enough as an objection to the Cyrenaics, it does not touch Epicurus. For if the only kind of pleasure were that which so to speak tickles the senses, an influence permeating them with a feeling of delight, neither the hand nor any other member could be satisfied with the absence of pain unaccompanied by an agreeable and active sensation of pleasure. Whereas if, as Epicurus holds, the highest pleasure be to feel no pain, Chrysippus's interlocutor, though justified in making his first admission, that his hand in that condition wanted nothing, was not justified in his second admission, that if pleasure were a good, his hand would have wanted it.

And the reason why it would not have wanted pleasure is that to be without pain is to be in a state of pleasure.

XII. The truth of the position that pleasure is the ultimate good will most readily appear from the following illustration. Let us imagine a man living in the continuous enjoyment of numerous and vivid pleasures alike of body and of mind, undisturbed either by the presence or by the prospect of pain: what possible state of existence could we describe as being more excellent or more desirable? One so situated must possess in the first place a strength of mind that is proof against all fear of death or of pain; he will know that death means complete unconsciousness, and that pain is generally light if long and short if strong, so that its intensity is compensated by brief duration and its continuance by diminishing severity. Let such a man moreover have no dread of any supernatural power; let him never suffer the pleasures of the past to fade away, but constantly renew their enjoyment in recollection, and his lot will be one which will not admit of further improvement.

Suppose on the other hand a person crushed beneath the heaviest load of mental and of bodily anguish to which humanity is liable. Grant him no hope of ultimate relief in view also give him no pleasure either present or in prospect. Can one describe or imagine a more pitiable state? If then a life full of pain is the thing most to be avoided, it follows that to live in pain is the highest evil; and this position implies that a life of pleasure is the ultimate good. In fact the mind possesses nothing in itself upon which it can rest as final. Every fear, every sorrow can be traced back to pain; there is no other thing besides pain which is of its own nature capable of causing either anxiety or distress.

Pleasure and pain moreover supply the motives of desire and of avoidance, and the springs of conduct generally. This being so, it clearly follows that actions are right and praiseworthy only as being a means to the attainment of a life of pleasure. But that which is not itself a means to anything else, but to which all else is a means, is what the Greeks term the Telos, the highest, ultimate or final Good. It must therefore be admitted that the Chief Good is to live agreeably.

XIII. Those who place the Chief Good in virtue alone are beguiled by the glamour of a name, and do not understand the true demands of nature. If they will consent to listen to Epicurus, they will be delivered from the grossest error. Your school dilates on the transcendent beauty of the virtues; but were they not productive of pleasure, who would deem them either praiseworthy or desirable? We esteem the art of medicine not for its interest as a science, but for its conduciveness to health; the art of navigation is commended for its practical and not its scientific value, because it conveys the rules for sailing a ship with success. So also Wisdom, which must be considered as the art of living, if it effected no result would not be desired; but as it is, it is desired, because it is the artificer that procures and produces pleasure. (The meaning that I attach to pleasure must by this time be clear to you, and you must not be biased against my argument owing to the discreditable associations of the term.)

The great disturbing factor in a man's life is ignorance of good and evil; mistaken ideas about these frequently rob us of our greatest pleasures, and torment us with the most cruel pain of mind. Hence we need the aid of Wisdom, to rid us of our fears and appetites, to root out all our errors and prejudices, and to serve as our infallible guide to the attainment of pleasure. Wisdom alone can banish sorrow from our hearts and protect its front alarm and apprehension; put yourself to school with her, and you may live in peace, and quench the glowing flames of desire. For the desires are incapable of satisfaction; they ruin not individuals only but whole families, nay often shake the very foundations of the state. It is they that are the source of hatred, quarreling, and strife, of sedition and of war.

Nor do they only flaunt themselves abroad, or turn their blind onslaughts solely against others; even when prisoned within the heart they quarrel and fall out among themselves; and this cannot but render the whole of life embittered. Hence only the Wise Man, who prunes away all the rank growth of vanity and error, can possibly live untroubled by sorrow and by fear, content within the bounds that nature has set. Nothing could be more useful or more conducive to well-being than Epicurus's doctrine as to the different classes of the desires. One kind he classified as both natural and necessary, a second as natural without being necessary, and a third as neither natural nor necessary; the principle of classification being that the necessary desires are gratified with little trouble or expense; the natural desires also require but little, since nature's own riches, which suffice to content her, are both easily procured and limited in amount; but for the imaginary desires no bound or limit can be discovered.

XIV. If then we observe that ignorance and error reduce the whole of life to confusion, while Wisdom alone is able to protect us from the onslaughts of appetite and the menaces of fear, teaching us to bear even the affronts of fortune with moderation, and showing us all the paths that lead to calmness and to peace, why should we hesitate to avow that Wisdom is to be desired for the sake of the pleasures it brings and Folly to be avoided because of its injurious consequences?

The same principle will lead us to pronounce that Temperance also is not desirable for its own sake, but because it bestows peace of mind, and soothes the heart with a tranquilizing sense of harmony. For it is temperance that warns us to be guided by reason in what we desire and avoid. Nor is it enough to judge what it is right to do or to leave undone; we also need to abide by our judgment. Most men however lack tenacity of purpose; their resolution weakens and succumbs as soon as the fair form of pleasure meets their gaze, and they surrender themselves prisoners to their passions, failing to foresee the inevitable result. Thus for the sake of a pleasure at once small in amount and unnecessary, and one which they might have procured by other means or even denied themselves altogether without pain, they incur serious disease, or loss of fortune, or disgrace, and not infrequently become liable to the penalties of the law and of the courts of justice.

Those on the other hand who are resolved so to enjoy their pleasures as to avoid all painful consequences therefrom, and who retain their faculty of judgment and avoid being seduced by pleasure into courses that they perceive to be wrong, reap the very highest pleasure by forgoing pleasure. Similarly also they often voluntarily endure pain, to avoid incurring greater pain by not doing so. This clearly proves that Intemperance is not undesirable for its own sake, while Temperance is desirable not because it renounces pleasures, but because it procures greater pleasures.

XV. The same account will be found to hold good of Courage. The performance of labors, the undergoing of pains, are not in themselves attractive, nor are endurance, industry, watchfulness, nor yet that much lauded virtue, perseverance, nor even courage; but we aim at these virtues in order to live without anxiety and fear and so far as possible to be free from pain of mind and body. The fear of death plays havoc with the calm and even tenor of life, and to bow the head to pain and bear it abjectly and feebly is a pitiable thing; such weakness has caused many men to betray their parents or their friends, some their country, and very many utterly to ruin themselves. So on the other hand a strong and lofty spirit is entirely free from anxiety and sorrow.

It makes light of death, for the dead are only as they were before they were born. It is schooled to encounter pain by recollecting that pains of great severity are ended by death, and slight ones have frequent intervals of respite; while those of medium intensity lie within our own control: we can bear them if they are endurable, or if they are not, we may serenely quit life's theater, when the play has ceased to please us. These considerations prove that timidity and cowardice are not blamed, nor courage and endurance praised, on their own account; the former are rejected because they beget pain, the latter coveted because they beget pleasure.

XVI. It remains to speak of Justice, to complete the list of the virtues; but this admits of practically the same treatment as the others. Wisdom, Temperance, and Courage I have shown to be so closely linked with Pleasure that they cannot possibly be severed or sundered from it. The same must be deemed to be the case with Justice. Not only does Justice never cause anyone harm, but on the contrary it always adds some benefit, partly owing to its essentially tranquilizing influence upon the mind, partly because of the hope that it warrants of a never-failing supply of the things that uncorrupted nature really needs. And just as Rashness, License, and Cowardice ever torment the mind, ever awakening trouble and discord, so Unrighteousness, when firmly rooted in the heart, causes restlessness by the mere fact of its presence; and if once it has found expression in some deed of wickedness, however secret the act, yet it can never feel assured that it will always remain undetected.

The usual consequences of crime are, first suspicion, next gossip and rumor, then comes the accuser, then the judge; many wrongdoers have even turned evidence against themselves, as happened in your consulship. And even if any think themselves well fenced and fortified against detection by their fellow men, they still dread the eye of heaven, and fancy that the pangs of anxiety night and day gnawing at their hearts are sent by Providence to punish them. But what can wickedness contribute towards lessening the annoyances of life, commensurate with its effect in increasing them, owing to the burden of a guilty conscience, the penalties of the law and the hatred of one's fellows?

Yet nevertheless some men indulge without limit their avarice, ambition and love of power, lust, gluttony and those other desires, which ill-gotten gains can never diminish but rather must inflame the more; inasmuch that they appear proper subjects for restraint rather than for reformation. Men of sound natures, therefore, are summoned by the voice of true reason to justice, equity, and honesty. For one without eloquence or resources dishonesty is not good policy, since it is difficult for such a man to succeed in his designs, or to make good his success when once achieved.

On the other hand, for the rich and clever generous conduct seems more in keeping, and liberality wins them affection and good will, the surest means to a life of peace; especially as there really is no motive for transgressing since the desires that spring from nature are easily gratified without doing any man wrong, while those that are imaginary ought to be resisted, for they set their affections upon nothing that is really wanted; while there is more loss inherent in Injustice itself than there is profit in the gains it brings.

Hence Justice also cannot correctly be said to be desirable in and for itself; it is so because it is so highly productive of gratification. For esteem and affection are gratifying, because they render life safer and fuller of pleasure. Hence we hold that Unrighteousness is to be avoided not simply on account of the disadvantages that result from being unrighteous, but even far more because when it dwells in a man's heart it never suffers him to breathe freely or know a moment's rest.

If then even the glory of the Virtues, on which all the other philosophers love to expatiate so eloquently, has in the last resort no meaning unless it be based on pleasure, whereas pleasure is the only thing that is intrinsically attractive and alluring, it cannot be doubted that pleasure is the one supreme and final Good and that a life of happiness is nothing else than a life of pleasure.

XVII. The doctrine thus firmly established has corollaries which I will briefly expound.

(1)The Ends of Goods and Evils themselves, that is, pleasure and pain, are not open to mistake; where people go wrong is in not knowing what things are productive of pleasure and pain.

(2) Again, we aver that mental pleasures and pains arise out of bodily ones (and therefore I allow your contention that any Epicureans who think otherwise put themselves out of court; and I am aware that many do, though not those who can speak with authority); but although men do experience mental pleasure that is agreeable and mental pain that is annoying, yet both of these we assert arise out of and are based upon bodily sensations.

(3) Yet we maintain that this does not preclude mental pleasures and pains from being much more intense than those of the body; since the body can feel only what is present to it at the moment, whereas the mind is also cognizant of the past and of the future. For granting that pain of body is equally painful, yet our sensation of pain can be enormously increased by the belief that some evil of unlimited magnitude and duration threatens to befall us hereafter. And the same consideration may be transferred to pleasure: a pleasure is greater if not accompanied by any apprehension of evil. This therefore clearly appears, that intense mental pleasure or distress contributes more to our happiness or misery than a bodily pleasure or pain of equal duration.

(4) But we do not agree that when pleasure is withdrawn uneasiness at once ensues, unless the pleasure happens to have been replaced by a pain: while on the other hand one is glad to lose a pain even though no active sensation of pleasure comes in its place: a fact that serves to show how great a pleasure is the mere absence of pain.

(5) But just as we are elated by the anticipation of good things, so we are delighted by their recollection. Fools are tormented by the memory of former evils; wise men have the delight of renewing in grateful remembrance the blessings of the past. We have the power both to obliterate our misfortunes in an almost perpetual forgetfulness and to summon up pleasant and agreeable memories of our successes. But when we fix our mental vision closely on the events of the past, then sorrow or gladness ensues according as these were evil or good.

XVIII. Here is indeed a royal road to happiness—open, simple, and direct! For clearly man can have no greater good than complete freedom from pain and sorrow coupled with the enjoyment of the highest bodily and mental pleasures. Notice then how the theory embraces every possible enhancement of life, every aid to the attainment of that Chief Good which is our object. Epicurus, the man whom you denounce as a voluptuary, cries aloud that no one can live pleasantly without living wisely, honorably, and justly, and no one wisely, honorably, and justly without living pleasantly. For a city rent by faction cannot prosper, nor a house whose masters are at strife; much less then can a mind divided against itself and filled with inward discord taste any particle of pure and liberal pleasure. But one who is perpetually swayed by conflicting and incompatible counsels and desires can know no peace or calm.

Why, if the pleasantness of life is diminished by the more serious bodily diseases, how much more must it be diminished by the diseases of the mind! But extravagant and imaginary desires, for riches, fame, power, and also for licentious pleasures, are nothing but mental diseases. Then, too, there are grief, trouble and sorrow, which gnaw the heart and consume it with anxiety, if men fail to realize that the mind need feel no pain unconnected with some pain of body, present or to come. Yet there is no foolish man but is afflicted by some one of these diseases; therefore there is no foolish man that is not unhappy.

Moreover, there is death, the stone of Tantalus ever hanging over men's heads; and superstition, that poisons and destroys all peace of mind. Besides, they do not recollect their past nor enjoy their present blessings; they merely look forward to those of the future, and as these are of necessity uncertain, they are consumed with agony and terror; and the climax of their torment is when they perceive too late that all their dreams of wealth or station, power or fame, have come to nothing. For they never attain any of the pleasures, the hope of which inspired them to undergo all their arduous toils. Or look again at others, petty, narrow-minded men, or confirmed pessimists, or spiteful, envious, ill-tempered creatures, unsociable, abusive, brutal; others again enslaved to the follies of love, impudent or reckless, wanton, headstrong and yet irresolute, always changing their minds. Such failings render their lives one unbroken round of misery.

The conclusion is that no foolish man can be happy, nor any wise man fail to be happy. This is a truth that we establish far more conclusively than do the Stoics. For they maintain that nothing is good save that vague phantom which they entitle Moral Worth, a title more splendid than substantial; and say that Virtue resting on this Moral Worth has no need of pleasure, but is herself her own sufficient happiness.

XIX. At the same time this Stoic doctrine can be stated in a form which we do not object to, and indeed ourselves endorse. For Epicurus thus presents his Wise Man who is always happy: his desires are kept within bounds; death he disregards; he has a true conception, untainted by fear, of the Divine nature; he does not hesitate to depart from life, if that would better his condition. Thus equipped he enjoys perpetual pleasure, for there is no moment when the pleasures he experiences do not outbalance the pains; since he remembers the past with gratitude, grasps the present with a full realization of its pleasantness, and does not rely upon the future; he looks forward to it, but finds his true enjoyment in the present. Also he is entirely free from the vices that I instanced a few moments ago, and he derives no inconsiderable pleasure from comparing his own existence with the life of the foolish.

Moreover, any pains that the Wise Man may encounter are never so severe but that he has more cause for gladness than for sorrow. Again, it is a fine saying of Epicurus that “the Wise Man is but little interfered with by fortune: the great concerns of life, the things that matter, are controlled by his own wisdom and reason”; and that “no greater pleasure could be derived from a life of infinite duration than is actually afforded by this existence which we know to be finite.” Logic, on which your school lays such stress, he held to be of no effect either as a guide to conduct or as an aid to thought.

Natural Philosophy he deemed all-important. This science explains to us the meaning of terms, the nature of predication, and the law of consistency and contradiction; secondly, a thorough knowledge of the facts of nature relieves us of the burden of superstition, frees us from fear of death, and shields us against the disturbing effects of ignorance, which is often in itself a cause of terrifying apprehensions; lastly, to learn what nature's real requirements are improves the moral character also. Besides, it is only by firmly grasping a well-established scientific system, observing the Rule or Canon that has fallen as it were from heaven so that all men may know it—only by making that Canon the test of all our judgments, that we can hope always to stand fast in our belief, unshaken by the eloquence of any man.

On the other hand, without a full understanding of the world of nature it is impossible to maintain the truth of our sense-perceptions. Further, every mental presentation has its origin in sensation: so that no certain knowledge will be possible, unless all sensations are true, as the theory of Epicurus teaches that they are. Those who deny the validity of sensation and say that nothing can be perceived, having excluded the evidence of the senses, are unable even to expound their own argument. Besides, by abolishing knowledge and science they abolish all possibility of rational life and action. Thus Natural Philosophy supplies courage to face the fear of death; resolution to resist the terrors of religion; peace of mind, for it removes all ignorance of the mysteries of nature; self-control, for it explains the nature of the desires and distinguishes their different kinds; and, as I showed just now, the Canon or Criterion of Knowledge, which Epicurus also established, gives a method of discerning truth from falsehood.

XX. There remains a topic that is pre-eminently germane to this discussion, I mean the subject of Friendship. Your school maintains that if pleasure be the Chief Good, friendship will cease to exist. Now Epicurus's pronouncement about friendship is that of all the means to happiness that wisdom has devised, none is greater, none more fruitful, none more delightful than this. Nor did he only commend this doctrine by his eloquence, but far more by the example of his life and conduct. How great a thing such friendship is, is shown by the mythical stories of antiquity. Review the legends from the remotest ages, and, copious and varied as they are, you will barely find in them three pairs of friends, beginning with Theseus and ending with Orestes. Yet Epicurus in a single house and that a small one maintained a whole company of friends, united by the closest sympathy and affection; and this still goes on in the Epicurean school.

But to return to our subject, for there is no need of personal instances: I notice that the topic of friendship has been treated by Epicureans in three ways:

(1) Some have denied that pleasures affecting our friends are in themselves to be desired by us in the same degree as we desire our own pleasures. This doctrine is thought by some critics to undermine the foundations of friendship; however, its supporters defend their position, and in my opinion have no difficulty in making good their ground. They argue that friendship can no more be sundered from pleasure than can the virtues, which we have discussed already. A solitary, friendless life must be beset by secret dangers and alarms. Hence reason itself advises the acquisition of friends; their possession gives confidence, and a firmly rooted hope of winning pleasure. And just as hatred, jealousy, and contempt are hindrances to pleasure, so friendship is the most trustworthy preserver and also creator of pleasure alike for our friends and for ourselves. It affords us enjoyment in the present, and it inspires us with hopes for the near and distant future.

Thus it is not possible to secure uninterrupted gratification in life without friendship, nor yet to preserve friendship itself unless we love our friends as much as ourselves. Hence this unselfishness does occur in friendship, while also friendship is closely linked with pleasure. For we rejoice in our friends' joy as much as in our own, and are equally pained by their sorrows. Therefore the Wise Man will feel exactly the same towards his friend as he does towards himself, and will exert himself as much for his friend's pleasure as he would for his own. All that has been said about the essential connection of the virtues with pleasure must be repeated about friendship. Epicurus well said (I give almost his exact words): “The same creed that has given us courage to overcome all fear of everlasting or long-enduring evil hereafter, has discerned that friendship is our strongest safeguard in this present term of life.”

(2) Other Epicureans though by no means lacking in insight are a little less courageous in defying the opprobrious criticisms of the Academy. They fear that if we hold friendship to be desirable only for the pleasure that it affords to ourselves, it will be thought that it is crippled altogether. They therefore say that the first advances and overtures, and the original inclination to form an attachment, are prompted by the desire for pleasure, but that when the progress of intercourse has led to intimacy, the relationship blossoms into an affection strong enough to make us love our friends for their own sake, even though no practical advantage accrues from their friendship, Does not familiarity endear to us localities, temples, cities, gymnasia, and playing-grounds, horses and hounds, gladiatorial shows and fights with wild beasts, then how much more natural and reasonable that this should be able to happen in our intercourse with our fellow-men!

(3) The third view is that wise men have made a sort of compact to love their friends no less than themselves. We can understand the possibility of this, and we often see it happen. Clearly no more effective means to happiness could be found than such an alliance.

All these considerations go to prove not only that the theory of friendship is not embarrassed by the identification of the Chief Good with pleasure, but also that without this no foundation for friendship whatsoever can be found.

XXI. If then the doctrine I have set forth is clearer and more luminous than daylight itself; if it is derived entirely from Nature's source; if my whole discourse relies throughout for confirmation on the unbiased and unimpeachable evidence of the senses; if lisping infants, nay even dumb animals, prompted by Nature's teaching, almost find voice to proclaim that there is no welfare but pleasure, no hardship but pain—and their judgment in these matters is neither sophisticated nor biased—ought we not to feel the greatest gratitude to him who caught this utterance of Nature's voice, and grasped its import so firmly and so fully that he has guided all sane-minded men into the paths of peace and happiness, calmness and repose?

You are pleased to think him uneducated. The reason is that he refused to consider any education worth the name that did not help to school us in happiness. Was he to spend his time, as you encourage Triarius and me to do, in perusing poets, who give us nothing solid and useful, but merely childish amusement? Was he to occupy himself like Plato with music and geometry, arithmetic and astronomy, which starting from false premises cannot be true, and which moreover if they were true would contribute nothing to make our lives pleasanter and therefore better? Was he, I say, to study arts like these, and neglect the master art, so difficult and correspondingly so fruitful, the art of living?

No! Epicurus was not uneducated: the real philistines are those who ask us to go on studying till old age the subjects that we ought to be ashamed not to have learnt in boyhood.