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THE 
 
 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS, 
 
 TREATISE DE FINIBUS, 
 
 AND 
 
 TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS, 
 
 OF 
 
 I M. T. CICERO, 
 
 WITH 
 
 A SKETCH OF THE GREEK PHILOSOPHERS MENTIONED B\ CICERO. 
 
 2ftaUi| fettflafelt faq 
 C. D. Y O N G E, B. A. 
 
 LONDON : GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YOKE. STREET, 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1880. 
 
•v 
 
 11 
 
 V 
 
 
 C^ 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. 
 
PA tea? 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VJMM 
 
 Some Account of the Ancient Greek Philosophers . i 
 
 Academic Questions 1 ♦ 
 
 De Finibus, a Treatise on the Chief Goon and Evil 93,^ 
 
 TUSCULAN DISPUTATIOUS 2£'l N. 
 
OF THE y 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 A SKETCH OF THE GREEK PHILOSOPHERS 
 MENTIONED BY CICERO. 
 
 In the works translated in the present volume, Cicera 
 makes such constant references to the doctrines and systems 
 of the ancient Greek Philosophers, that it seems desirable 
 to give a brief account of the most remarkable of those 
 mentioned by him ; not entering at length into the history 
 of their lives, but indicating the principal theories which 
 they maintained, and the main points in which they agreed 
 with, or differed from, each other. 
 
 The earliest of them was Tholes, who was born at Miletus, 
 about 640 B.C. He was a man of great political sagacity and 
 influence ; but we have to consider him here as the earliest phi- 
 losopher who appears to have been convinced of the necessity 
 of scientific proof of whatever was put forward to be believed, 
 and as the originator of mathematics and geometry. He was 
 also a great astronomer; for we read in Herodotus (i. 74) 
 that he predicted the eclipse of the sun which happened in 
 the reign of Alyattes, king of Lydia, B.C. 609. He asserted 
 that water is the origin of all things ; that everything is pro- 
 duced out of it, and everything is resolved into it. He also 
 asserted that it is the soul which originates all motion, so 
 much so, that he attributes a soul to the magnet. Aristotle 
 also represents him as saying that everything is full of Gods. 
 He does not appear to have left any written treatises behind 
 him : we are uncertain when or where he died, but he is said 
 to have lived to a great age — to 78, or, according to some 
 writers, to 90 years -of age. 
 
 ACAD. ETC. h 
 
11 THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 Anaximander, a countryman of Thales, was also born at 
 Miletus, about 30 years later; he is said to have been a pupil 
 of the former, and deserves especial mention as the oldest 
 philosophical writer among the Greeks. He did not devote 
 himself to the mathematical studies of Thales, but rather to 
 speculations concerning the generation and origin of the 
 world; as to which his opinions are involved in some ob- 
 scurity. He appears, however, to have considered that all 
 things were formed of a sort of matter, which he called 
 to a7r€tpov, or The Infinite ; which was something everlasting 
 and divine, though not invested with any spiritual or intel- 
 ligent nature. His own works have not come down to us ; 
 but, according to Aristotle, he considered this " Infinite" as 
 consisting of a mixture of simple, unchangeable elements, 
 from which all things were produced by the concurrence of 
 homogeneous particles already existing in it, — a process which 
 he attributed to the constant conflict between heat and cold, 
 and to affinities of the particles: in this he was opposed 
 to the doctrine of Thales, Anaximenes, and Diogenes of Apol- 
 lonia, who agreed in deriving all things from a single, not 
 changeable, principle. 
 
 Anaximander further held that the earth was of a cylin- 
 drical form, suspended in the middle of the universe, and 
 surrounded by water, air, and fire, like the coats of an onion ; 
 but that the interior stratum of fire was broken up and col- 
 lected into masses, from which originated the sun, moon, and 
 stars; which he thought were carried round by the three 
 spheres in which they were respectively fixed. He believed 
 that the moon had a light of her own, not a borrowed light ; 
 that she was nineteen times as large as the earth, and the sun 
 twenty-eight. He thought that all animals, including man, 
 were originally produced in water, and proceeded gradually 
 to become land animals. According to Diogenes Laertius, he 
 was the inventor of the gnomon, and of geographical maps ; 
 at all events, he was the first person who introduced the use 
 of the gnomon into Greece. He died about 547 B.C. 
 
 Anaximenes was also a Milesian, and a contemporary of 
 Thales and Anaximander. We do not exactly know when lie 
 
ANAXAGORAS. ill 
 
 was born, or when he died ; but he must have lived to a very- 
 great age, for he was in high repute as early as B.C. 544, and 
 he was the tutor of Anaxagoras, B.C. 480. His theory was, 
 that air was the first cause of all things, and that the other 
 elements of the universe were resolvable into it. From this 
 infinite air, he imagined that all finite things were formed by 
 compression and rarefaction, produced by motion, which had 
 existed from all eternity; so that the earth was generated out 
 of condensed air, and the sun and other heavenly bodies from 
 the earth. He thought also that heat and cold were produced 
 by different degrees of density of this primal element, air; 
 that the clouds were formed by the condensing of the air ; and 
 that it was the air which supported the earth, and kept it in 
 its place. Even the human soul he believed to be, like the 
 body, formed of air. He believed in the eternity of matter, 
 and denied the existence of anything immaterial. 
 
 Anaxagoras, who, as has been already stated, was a pupil of 
 Anaximenes, was born at Clazomenae, in Ionia, about B.C. 499. 
 He removed to Athens at the time of the Persian war, where 
 he became intimate with Pericles, who defended him, though 
 unsuccessfully, when he was prosecuted for impiety : he was 
 fined five talents, and banished from the city; on which he 
 retired to Lampsacus, where he died at the age of 72. He 
 differed from his predecessors of the Ionic School, and sought 
 for a higher cause of all things than matter : this cause he 
 considered to be vovs, intelligence, or mind. Not that he 
 thought this vovs to be the creator of the world, but only 
 that principle which arranged it, and gave it motion ; for his 
 idea was, that matter had existed from all eternity, but that, 
 before the vovs arranged it, it was all in a state of chaotic 
 confusion, and full of an infinite number of homogeneous and 
 heterogeneous parts; then the vovs separated the homoge- 
 neous parts from the heterogeneous, and in this manner the 
 world was produced. This separation, however, he taught, 
 was made in such a manner that everything contains in itself 
 parts of other things, or heterogeneous elements ; and is what 
 it is only on account of certain homogeneous parts which 
 constitute its predominant and real character. 
 62 
 
IV THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 Pythagoras was earlier than Anaxagoras, though this latter 
 has been mentioned before him to avoid breaking the con- 
 tinuity of the Ionic School. His father's name was Mnesar- 
 chus, and he was born at Samos about 570 B.C., though some 
 accounts make him earlier. He is said by some writers tc 
 have been a pupil of Thales, by others of Anaximander, or o 
 Pherecydes of Scyros. He was a man of great learning, as 
 a geometrician, mathematician, astronomer, and musician; 
 a great traveller, having visited Egypt and Babylon, and, 
 according to some accounts, penetrated as far as India. 
 
 Many of his peculiar tenets are believed to have been derived 
 from the Tyrrhenian Pelasgians, with whom he is said to have 
 been connected. His contemporaries at Crotona in South Italy, 
 where he lived, looked upon him as a man peculiarly con- 
 nected with the gods; and some of them even identified him 
 with the Hyperborean Apollo. He himself is said to have laid 
 claim to the gifts of divination and prophecy. The religious 
 element was clearly predominant in his character. Grote 
 says of him, " In his prominent vocation, analogous to that 
 of Epimenides, Orpheus, or Melampus, he appears as the 
 revealer of a mode of life calculated to raise his disciples 
 above the level of mankind, and to recommend them to the 
 favour of the gods " (Hist, of Greece, iv. p. 529.) 
 
 On his arrival at Crotona, he formed a school, consisting at 
 first of three hundred of the richest of the citizens, who bound 
 themselves by a sort of vow to himself and to each other, for 
 the purpose of cultivating the ascetic observances which he 
 enjoined, and of studying his religious and philosophical 
 theories. All that took place in this school was kept a pro- 
 found secret; and there were gradations among the pupils 
 themselves, who were not all admitted, or at all events not at 
 first, to a full acquaintance with their master's doctrines. 
 They were also required to submit to a period of probation. 
 The statement of his forbidding his pupils the use of animal 
 food is denied by many of the best authorities, and that of his 
 insisting on their maintaining an unbroken silence for five 
 years, rests on no sufficient authority, and is incredible. It is 
 beyond our purpose at present to enter into the question of how 
 
PYTHAGORAS. V 
 
 far the 7iews of Pythagoras in founding his school or club of 
 three hundred, tended towards uniting in this body the idea 
 of " at once a philosophical school, a religious brotherhood, 
 and a political association,' 1 all which characters the Bishop 
 of St. David's (Hist, of Greece, vol. ii. p. 148) thinks were 
 inseparably united in his mind; while Mr. Grote's view of 
 his object (Hist, of Greece, vol. iv. p. 544) is very different. 
 In a political riot at Crotona, a temple, in which many of his 
 disciples were assembled, was burnt, and they perished, and 
 some say that Pythagoras himself was among them ; though 
 according to other accounts he fled to Tarentum, and after- 
 wards to Metapontum, where he starved himself to death. 
 His tomb (see Cic. de Fin. v. 2) was shown at Metapontum 
 down to Cicero's time. Soon after his death his school was 
 suppressed, and did not revive, though the Pythagoreans con- 
 tinued to exist as a sect, the members of which kept up the 
 religious and scientific pursuits of their founder. 
 
 Pythagoras is said to have been the first who assumed 
 the title of cfuXoaorftos ; but there is great uncertainty 
 as to the most material of his philosophical and religious 
 opinions. It is believed that he wrote nothing himself, and 
 that the earliest Pythagorean treatises were the work of 
 Philolaus, a contemporary of Socrates. It appears, how- 
 ever, that he undertook to solve by reference to one single 
 primary principle the problem of the origin and constitution 
 of the universe- His predilection for mathematics led him 
 to trace the origin of all things to number; for " in numbers 
 he thought that they perceived many analogies of things 
 that exist and are produced, more than in fire, earth, or 
 water : as, for instance, they thought that a certain condition 
 
 of numbers was justice ; another, soul and intellect, 
 
 And moreover, seeing the conditions and ratios of what per- 
 tains to harmony to consist in numbers, since other things 
 seemed in their entire nature to be formed in the likeness of 
 numbers, and in all nature numbers are the first, they 
 supposed the elements of numbers to be the elements of all 
 things." (Arist. Met. i. 5.) 
 
 Music and harmony too, played almost as important a 
 
VI THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 part in the Pythagorean system as mathematics, or numbers. 
 His idea appears to be, that order or harmony of relation is 
 the regulating principle of the whole universe. He drew 
 out a list of ten pairs of antagonistic elements, and in the 
 octave and its different harmonic relations, he believed that 
 he found the ground of the connexion between them. In his 
 system of the universe jive was the important element, occu- 
 pying both the centre and the remotest point of it; and 
 being the vivifying principle of the whole. Round the central 
 fire the heavenly bodies he believed to move in a regular 
 circle ; furthest off were the fixed stars ; and then, in order, 
 the planets, the moon, the sun, the earth, and what he called 
 dvTixOoiv, a sort of other half of the earth, which was a distinct 
 body from it, but moving parallel to it. 
 
 The most distant region he called Olympus ; the space be- 
 tween the fixed stars and the moon he called Koo-fxos ; the space 
 between the moon and the earth ovpavos. He, or at least 
 his disciples, taught that the earth revolved on its axis, 
 (though Philolaus taught that its revolutions were not round 
 its axis but round the central fire). The universe itself they 
 considered as a large sphere, and the intervals between the 
 heavenly bodies they thought were determined according to 
 the laws and relations of musical harmony. And from this 
 theory arose the doctrine of the Music of the Spheres ; as the 
 heavenly bodies in their motion occasioned a sort of sound 
 depending on their distances and velocities; and as these 
 were determined by the laws of harmonic intervals, the 
 sounds, or notes, formed a regular musical scale. 
 
 The light and heat of the central fire he believed that we 
 received through the sun, which he considered a kind of 
 lens : and perfection, he conceived to exist in direct ratio 
 to the distance from the central fire. 
 
 The universe, itself, they looked upon as having subsisted 
 from all eternity, controlled by an eternal supreme Deity; 
 v/ho established both limits and infinity ; and whom they often 
 speak of as the absolute fiovas, or unity. He pervaded (though 
 he was distinct from) and presided over the universe. Some- 
 times, too, he is called the absoiuto Good, — while the origin of 
 
XENOPHANES. Vll 
 
 evil is attributed not to him, but to matter which prevented 
 him from conducting everything to the best end. 
 
 With respect to man, the doctrine of Pythagoras "was that 
 known by the name of the Metempsychosis, — that the soul 
 after death rested a certain time till it was purified, and 
 had acquired a forgetfulness of what had previously hap- 
 pened to it ; and then reanimated some other body. The 
 ethics of the Pythagoreans consisted more in ascetic prac- 
 tice and maxims for the restraint of the passions, than in 
 any scientific theories. Wisdom they considered as superior 
 to virtue, as being connected with the contemplation of the 
 upper and purer regions, while virtue was conversant only 
 with the sublunary part of the world. Happiness, they 
 thought, consisted in the science of the perfection of the 
 soul ; or in the perfect science of numbers ; and the main 
 object of all the endeavours of man was to be, to resemble the 
 Deity as far as possible. 
 
 Alcmceon of Crotona was a pupil of Pythagoras ; but that 
 is all that is known of his history. He was a great natural 
 philosopher ; and is said to have been the first who intro- 
 duced the practice of dissection. He is said, also, to have 
 been the first who wrote on natural philosophy. Aristotle, 
 however, distinguishes between the principles of Alcmseon 
 and Pythagoras, though without explaining in what the dif- 
 ference consisted. He asserted the immortality of the soul, 
 and said that it partook of the divine nature, because, like 
 the heavenly bodies themselves, it contained in itself the 
 principle of motion. 
 
 Xenophanes, the founder of the Eleatic school, was a native 
 of Colophon ; and flourished probably about the time of 
 Pisistratus. Being banished from his own country, he fled to 
 the Ionian colonies in Sicily, and at last settled in Elea, or 
 Velia. His writings were chiefly poetical. He was universally 
 regarded by the ancients as the originator of the doctrine of the 
 oneness of the universe : he also maintained, it is said, the unity 
 of the Deity; and also his immortality and eternity; denounced 
 the transference of him into human form; and reproached 
 Homer and Hesiod for attributing to him human weaknesses. 
 
Vlll THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 He represented him as endowed with unwearied activity, and 
 as the animating power of the universe. 
 
 Heraclitus was an Ephesian, and is said to have been a 
 pupil of Xenophanes, though this statement is much doubted; 
 others call him a pupil of Hippasus the Pythagorean. He 
 wrote a treatise on Nature; declaring that the principle of 
 all things was fire, from which he saw the world was evolved 
 by a natural operation ; he further said that this fire was the 
 human life and soul, and therefore a rational intelligence 
 guiding the whole universe. In this primary fire he con- 
 sidered that there was a perpetual longing to manifest iteelf 
 in different forms : in its perfectly pure state it is in heaven ; 
 but in order to gratify this longing it descends, gradually 
 losing the rapidity of its motion till it settles in the earth. 
 The earth, however, is not immovable, but only the slowest 
 of all moving bodies ; while the soul of man, though dwelling 
 in the lowest of all regions, namely, in the earth, he con- 
 sidered a migrated portion of fire in its pure state; which, in 
 spite of its descent, had lost none of its original purity. The 
 summum bonum he considered to be a contented acquiescence 
 in the decrees ot the Deity. None of his writings are extant; 
 and he does not appear to have had many followers. 
 
 Diogenes of Apollonia, (who must not be confounded with 
 his Stoic or Cynic namesake,) was a pupil of Anaximenes, 
 and wrote a treatise on Nature, of which Diogenes Laertius 
 gives the following account: "He maintained that air was 
 the primary element of all things ; that there was an infinite 
 number of worlds and an infinite vacuum; that air con- 
 densed and rarefied produced the different members of the 
 universe; that nothing was generated from nothing, or re- 
 solved into nothing ; that the earth was round, supported in 
 the centre, having received its shape from the whirling round 
 it of warm vapours, and its concrete nature and hardness 
 from cold." He also imputed to air an intellectual energy, 
 though he did not recognise any difference between mind and 
 matter. 
 
 Parmenides was a native of Elea or Velia, and flourished 
 about 460 B.C., soon after which time he came to Athens, and 
 
PARMENIDES. 13 
 
 became acquainted with Socrates, who was then very young. 
 Theophrastus and Aristotle speak doubtfully of his having 
 been a pupil of Xenophanes. Some authors, however, reckon 
 him as one of the Pythagorean school ; Plato and Aristotle 
 speak of him as the greatest of the Eleatics ; and it is said 
 that his fellow-countrymen bound their magistrates every 
 year to abide by the laws which he had laid down. He, like 
 Xenophanes, explained his philosophical tenets in a didactic 
 poem, in which he speaks of two primary forms, one the fine 
 uniform etherial fire of flame (</>Aoyos mp), the other the cold 
 body of night, out of the intermingling of which everything in 
 the world is formed by the Deity who reigns in the midst. 
 His cosmogony was carried into minute detail, of which we 
 possess only a few obscure fragments ; he somewhat resembled 
 the Pythagoreans in believing in a spherical system of the 
 world, surrounded by a circle of pure light ; in the centre of 
 which was the earth ; and between the earth and the light 
 was the circle of the Milky Way, of the morning and evening 
 star, of the sun, the planets, and the moon. And the dif- 
 ferences in perfection of organization, he attributed to the 
 different proportions in which the primary principles were 
 intermingled. The ultimate principle of the world was, in 
 his view, necessity, in which Empedocles appears to have 
 followed him ; he seems to have been the only philosopher 
 who recognised with distinctness and precision that the 
 Existent, to ov, as such, is unconnected with all separation or 
 juxtaposition, as well as with all succession, all relation to 
 space or time, all coming into existence, and all change. It 
 is, however, a mistake to suppose that he recognised it as a 
 Deity. 
 
 Democritus was born at Abdera, B.C. 460. His father He- 
 gesistratus had been so rich as to be able to entertain Xerxes, 
 when on' his march against Greece. He spent his inheritance 
 in travelling into distant countries, visiting the greater part 
 of Asia, and, according to some authors, extending his travels 
 as far as India and ^Ethiopia. Egypt he certainly was ac- 
 quainted with. He lived to beyond the age of 100 years, 
 and is said to have died B.C. 357. 
 
X THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS, 
 
 He was a man of vast and varied learning, and a most 
 voluminous author, though none of his works have come 
 down to us; — in them he carried out the theory of atom.3 
 which he had derived from Leucippus ; insisting on the reality 
 of a vacuum and of motion, which he held was the eternal 
 and necessary consequence of the original variety of atoms in 
 this vacuum. These atoms, according to this theory, being 
 in constant motion and impenetrable, offer resistance to one 
 another, and so create a whirling motion which gives birth to 
 worlds. Moreover, from this arise combinations of distinct 
 atoms which become real things and beings. The first cause 
 of all existence he called chance (rvxn), in opposition to the 
 vovs of Anaxagoras. But Democritus went further; for he 
 directed his investigations especially to the discovery of 
 causes. 
 
 Besides the infinite number of atoms, he likewise supposed 
 the existence of an infinite number of worlds, each being kept 
 together by a sort of shell or skin. He derived the four 
 elements from the form, quality, and proportionate magni- 
 tude of the atoms predominating in each; and in deriving 
 individual things from atoms, he mainly considered the 
 qualities of warm and cold; the soul he considered as de- 
 rived from fire atoms; and he did not consider mind as 
 anything peculiar, or as a power distinct from the soul or 
 sensuous perception; but he considered knowledge derived 
 from reason to be a sensuous perception. 
 
 In his ethical philosophy, he considered (as we may see 
 from the de Finibus) the acquisition of peace of mind as 
 the end and ultimate object of all our actions, and as the 
 last and best fruit of philosophical inquiry. Temperance 
 and moderation in prosperity and adversity were, in his eyes, 
 the principal means of acquiring this peace of mind. And he 
 called those men alone pious and beloved by the Gods who 
 hate whatever is wrong. 
 
 Empedocles was a Sicilian, who flourished about the time 
 when Thrasydseus, the son of Theron, was expelled from Agri- 
 gentum, to the tyranny of which he had succeeded ; in which 
 revolution he took an active part: it is even said that tho 
 
EMPEDOCLES. XI 
 
 sovereignty of his native city was offered to and declined 
 by him. 
 
 He was a man of great genius and extensive learning ; it is 
 not known whose pupil he was, nor are any of his disciples 
 mentioned except Gorgias. He was well versed in the tenets 
 of the Eleatic and Pythagorean schools ; but he did not adopt 
 the fundamental principles of either; though he agreed with 
 Pythagoras in his belief in the metempsychosis, in the in- 
 fluence of numbers, and in one or two other points ; and with 
 the Eleatics in disbelieving that anything could be generated 
 out of nothing. Aristotle speaks of him as very much re- 
 sembling in his opinions Democritus and Anaxagoras. He 
 was the first who established the number of four elements, 
 which had been previously pointed out one by one, partly 
 as fundamental substances, and partly as transitive changes 
 of things coming into existence. He first suggested the idea 
 of two opposite directions of the moving power, an attractive 
 and a repelling one : and he believed that originally these 
 two coexisted in a state of repose and inactivity. He also 
 assumed a periodical change of the formation of the world ; 
 or perhaps, like the philosophers of the pure Ionic school, a 
 .perpetual continuance of pure fundamental substances; to 
 which the parts of the world that are tired of change return, 
 and prepare the formation of the sphere for the next period 
 of the world. Like the Eleatics, he strove to purify the 
 notion of the Deity, saying that he, " being a holy infinite 
 spirit, not encumbered with limbs, passes through the world 
 with rapid thoughts." At the same time he speaks of the 
 eternal power of Necessity as an ancient decree of the 
 Gods, though it is not quite clear what he understood by 
 this term. 
 
 Diagoras was a native of Melos, and a pupil of Democritus, 
 and flourished about B.C. 435. He is remarkable as having 
 been regarded by all antiquity as an Atheist. In his youth 
 he had some reputation as a lyric poet; so that he is 
 sometimes classed with Pindar, Simonides, and Bacchylides. 
 Aristophanes, in the Clouds, alludes to him where he calls 
 Socrates " the Melian ;" not that he w r as so, but he means to 
 
XII THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 hint that Socrates was an atheist as well as the Melian 
 Diagoras. He lived at Athens for many years till B.C. 411, 
 when he fled from a prosecution instituted against him for 
 impiety, according to Diodorus, but probably for some offence 
 ef a political nature ; perhaps connected with the mutilation 
 of the Hermse. 
 
 That he was an atheist, however, appears to have been 
 quite untrue. Like Socrates, he took new and peculiar views 
 respecting the Gods and their worship; and seems to have 
 ridiculed the honours paid to their statues, and the common 
 notions which were entertained of their actions and conduct. 
 (See De Nat. Deor. iii. 37.) He is said also to have attacked 
 objects held in the greatest veneration at Athens, such as the 
 Eleusinian Mysteries, and to have dissuaded people from 
 being initiated into them. He appears also, in his theories 
 on the divine nature, to have substituted in some degree the 
 active powers of nature for the activity of the Gods. In his 
 own conduct he was a man of strict morality and virtue. He 
 died at Corinth before the end of the century. 
 
 Protagoras was a native of Abdera ; the exact time of his 
 birth is unknown, but he was a little older than Socrates. He 
 was the first person who gave himself the title of o~o<f>Lo-T>)<; r 
 and taught for pay. He came to Athens early in life, and 
 gave to the settlers who left it for Thurium, B.C. 445, a 
 code of laws, or perhaps adapted the old laws of Charondas 
 to their use. He was a friend of Pericles. After some time 
 he was impeached for impiety in saying, That respecting the 
 Gods he did not know whether they existed or not; and 
 banished from Athens (see De Nat. Deor. i. 23). He was a 
 very prolific author: his most peculiar doctrines excited 
 Plato to write the Theeetetus to oppose them. 
 
 His fundamental principle was, that everything is motion, 
 and that that is the efficient cause of everything; that nothing 
 exists, but that everything is continually coming into existence. 
 He divided motion (besides numerous subordinate divisions) 
 into active and passive ; though he did not consider either of 
 these characteristics as permanent. From the concurrence 
 of two such motions he taught that sensations and percep- 
 
SOCRATES. Xlll 
 
 tions arose, according to the rapidity of the motion. There- 
 fore he said that there is or exists for each individual, only 
 that of which he has a sensation or perception j and that as 
 sensation, like its objects, is engaged in a perpetual change of 
 motion, opposite assertions might exist according to the dif- 
 ference of the perception respecting such object. Moral worth 
 he attributed to taking pleasure in the beautiful ; and virtue 
 he referred to a certain sense of shame implanted in man by 
 nature ; and to a certain conscious feeling of justice, which 
 secures the bonds of connexion in private and political life. 
 
 Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, a statuary, and Phsenarete, 
 a midwife, was born B.C. 468. He lived all his life at Athens, 
 serving indeed as a soldier at Potidsea, Amphipolis, and in the 
 battle of Delium; but with these exceptions he never left 
 the city ; where he lived as a teacher of philosophy ; not. 
 however, founding a school or giving lectures, but frequenting 
 the market-place and all other places of public resort, talking 
 with eveiy one who chose to address him, and putting ques- 
 tions to every one of every rank and profession, so that Grote 
 calls him " a public talker for instruction." He believed 
 himself to have a special religious mission from the Gods to 
 bring his countrymen to knowledge and virtue. He was at 
 last impeached before the legal tribunals, on the ground of 
 " corrupting the youth of the city, and not worshipping the 
 Gods whom the city worshipped/' and disdaining to defend 
 himself, or rather making a justificatory defence of such a 
 character as to exasperate the judges, he was condemned to 
 death, and executed by having hemlock administered to him, 
 B.C. 399. 
 
 From his disciples Plato and Xenophon we have a very full 
 account of his habits and doctrines ; though it has been much 
 disputed which of the two is to be considered as giving the 
 most accurate description of his opinions. As a young 
 man he had been to a certain extent a pupil of Archelaus 
 (the disciple of Anaxagoras), and derived his fondness for the 
 dialectic style of argument from Zeno the Eleatic, the favourite 
 pnpil of Parmenides. He differed, however, from all preceding 
 philosophers in discarding and excluding wholly from his 
 
XIV THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 studies all the abstruse sciences, and limiting his philosophy 
 to those practical points which could have influence on 
 human conduct. " He himself was always conversing about 
 the affairs of men," is the description given of him by Xeno- 
 phon. Astronomy he pronounced to be one of the divine 
 mysteries which it was impossible to understand and mad- 
 ness to investigate j all that man wanted was to know enough 
 of the heavenly bodies to serve as an index to the change of 
 seasons and as guides for voyages, etc. ; and that knowledge 
 might, he said, easily be obtained from pilots and watchmen. 
 Geometry he reduced to its literal meaning of land-measuring, 
 useful to enable one to act with judgment in the purchase 
 or sale of land ; but he looked with great contempt on the 
 study of complicated diagrams and mathematical problems. 
 As to general natural philosophy, he wholly discarded it; 
 asking whether those who professed to apply themselves to 
 that study knew human affairs so well as to have time to 
 spare for divine; was it that they thought that they could 
 influence the winds, rain, and seasons, or did they desire 
 nothing but the gratification of an idle curiosity? Men should 
 recollect how much the wisest of them who have attempted 
 to prosecute these investigations differ from one another, and 
 how totally opposite and contradictory their opinions are. 
 
 Socrates, then, looked at all knowledge from the point 
 of view of human practice. He first, as Cicero says, 
 (Tusc. Dis. v. 4,) " called philosophy down from heaven and 
 established it in the cities, introduced it even into private 
 houses, and compelled it to investigate life, and manners, and 
 what was good and evil among men." He was the first man 
 who turned his thoughts and discussions distinctly to the 
 subject of Ethics. Deeply imbued with sincere religious feel- 
 ing, and believing himself to be under the peculiar guidance 
 of the Gods, who at all times admonished him by a divine 
 warning voice when he was in danger of doing anything 
 unwise, inexpedient, or improper, he believed that the Gods 
 constantly manifested their love of and care for all men in 
 the most essential manner, in replying through oracles, and 
 sending them information by sacrificial signs or prodigies, in 
 
SOCRATES. XV 
 
 cases of great difficulty ; and he had no doubt that if a man 
 were diligent in learning all that the Gods permitted to be 
 learnt, and if besides he was assiduous in paying pious court 
 to them and in soliciting special information by way of 
 prophecy, they would be gracious to him and signify their 
 purposes to him. 
 
 Such then being the capacity of man for wisdom and 
 virtue, his object was to impart that wisdom to them ; and 
 the first step necessary, he considered to be eradicating one 
 great fault which was a barrier to all improvement. This 
 fault he described as " the conceit of knowledge without the 
 reality." His friend and admirer Chserephon had consulted 
 the oracle at Delphi as to whether any man was wiser than 
 Socrates; to which the priestess replied that no other man 
 was wiser. Socrates affirms that he was greatly disturbed at 
 hearing this declaration from so infallible an authority; till 
 after conversing with politicians, and orators, and poets, and 
 men of all classes, he discovered not only that they were 
 destitute of wisdom, but that they believed themselves to be 
 possessed of it ; so that he was wiser than they, though wholly 
 ignorant, inasmuch as he was conscious of his own ignorance. 
 He therefore considered his most important duty to be tc 
 convince men of their ignorance, and to excite them to remedy 
 it, as the indispensable preliminary to virtue ; for virtue he 
 defined as doing a thing well, after having learnt it and 
 practised it by the rational and proper means ; and whoever 
 performed his duties best, whether he was a ruler of a state 
 or a husbandman, was the best and most useful man and the 
 most beloved by the Gods. 
 
 And if his objects were new, his method was no less so. He 
 was the parent of dialectics and logic. Aristotle says, " To 
 Socrates we may unquestionably assign two novelties — induc- 
 tive discourses, and the definitions of general terms. Without 
 any predecessor to copy, Socrates fell as it were instinctively 
 into that which Aristotle describes as the double tract of the 
 dialectic process, breaking up the one into the many, and 
 recombining the many into the one; though the latter <Jt 
 svnthetieal process- he did not often perform himself, but 
 
XVI THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 strove to stimulate his hearer's mind so as to enable him tj 
 do it for himself. 
 
 The fault of the Socratic theory is well remarked by Grote to 
 be, that while he resolved all virtue into knowledge or wisdom, 
 and all vice into ignorance or folly, he omitted to notice what 
 is not less essential to virtue, the proper condition of the pas- 
 sions, desires, <fec, and limited his views too exclusively to the 
 intellect ; still while laying down a theory which is too narrow, 
 he escaped the erroneous consequences of it by a partial incon- 
 sistency. For no one ever insisted more emphatically on the 
 necessity of control over the passions and appetites, of en- 
 forcing good habits, and on the value of that state of the 
 sentiments and emotions which such a course tended to form. 
 He constantly pointed out that the chief pleasures were such 
 as inevitably arise from the performance of one's duty, and 
 that as to happiness, a very moderate degree of good fortune 
 is sufficient as to external things, provided the internal man 
 be properly disciplined. 
 
 Grote remarks further, (and this remark is particularly 
 worth remembering in the reading of Cicero's philosophical 
 works,) that " Arcesilaus and the New Academy thought that 
 they were following the example of Socrates, (and Cicero 
 appears to have thought so too,) when they reasoned against 
 everything, and laid it down as a system, that against every 
 affirmative position an equal force of negative argument 
 could be brought as a counterpoise : now this view of Socrates 
 is, in my judgment, not only partial, but incorrect. He en- 
 tertained no such doubts of the powers of the mind to attain 
 certainty. About physics he thought man could know 
 nothing; but respecting the topics which concern man and 
 society, this was the field which the Gods had expressly 
 assigned, not merely to human practice, but to human study 
 and knowledge; and he thought that every man, not only 
 might know these things, but ought to know them ; that he 
 could not possibly act well unless he did know them ; and 
 that it was his imperative duty to learn them as he would 
 learn 'a profession, otherwise he was nothing better than a 
 tlave, unfit to be trusted as a free and accountable being. He 
 
ARISTIPPUS. XV11 
 
 was possessed by the truly Baconian idea, that the power of 
 steady moral action depended upon, and was limited by, the 
 rational comprehension of moral ends and means." 
 
 The system, then, of Socrates was animated by the truest 
 spirit of positive science, and formed an indispensable pre- 
 cursor to its attainment. And we may form some estimate 
 of his worth and genius if we recollect, that while the 
 systems and speculations of other ancient philosophers serve 
 only as curiosities to make us wonder, or as beacons to warn 
 us into what absurdities the ablest men may fall, the prin- 
 ciples and the system of Socrates and his followers, and of 
 that school alone, exercise to this day an important influence 
 on all human argument and speculation. 
 
 Aristippus (whom we will consider before Plato, that 
 Aristotle may follow Plato more immediately) came when 
 a young man to Athens, for the express purpose of be- 
 coming acquainted with Socrates, with whom he remained 
 almost till his death. He was, however, very different from 
 his master, being a person of most luxurious and sensual 
 habits. He was also the first of Socrates' disciples who took 
 money for teaching. He was the founder of the Cyrenaic 
 school of philosophy, which followed Socrates in limiting all 
 philosophical inquiries to ethics; though under this name 
 they comprehended a more varied range of subjects than 
 Socrates did, inasmuch as one of the parts into which they 
 divided philosophy, referred to the feelings ; another to causes, 
 which is rather a branch of physics ; and a third to proofs, 
 which is clearly connected with logic. 
 
 He pronounced pleasure to be the chief good, and pain the 
 chief evil; but he denied that either of these was a mere 
 negative inactive state, considering them, on the contrary, 
 both to be motions of the soul, — pain a violent, and pleasure 
 a moderate one. 
 
 As to actions, he asserted that they were all morally in- 
 different, that men should only look to their results, and that 
 law and custom are the only authorities which make an 
 action either good or bad. Whatever conduces to pleasure, 
 
 ACAD. etc. c 
 
XV111 THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 he thought virtue ; in which he agreed with Socrates that 
 the mind has the principal share. 
 
 Plato, the greatest of all the disciples of Socrates, was the 
 son of Ariston and Perictione, and was born probably in the 
 year b.c. 428, and descended, on the side of his father, from 
 Codrus, and on his mother's side related to Solon. At the 
 age of twenty, he became a constant attendant of Socrates, 
 and lived at Athens till his death. After this event, in con- 
 sequence of the unpopularity of the very name of his master, 
 he retired to Megara, and subsequently to Sicily. He is said 
 also to have been at some part of his life, after the death of 
 Socrates, a great traveller. About twelve years after the 
 death of Socrates he returned to Athens, and began to teach 
 in the Academy, partly by dialogue, and partly, probably, by 
 connected lectures. He taught gratuitously; and besides 
 Speusippus, Xenocrates, Aristotle, Heraclides Ponticus, and 
 others, who were devoted solely to philosophical studies, he is 
 said to have occasionally numbered Chabrias, Iphicrates, 
 Timotheus, Phocion, Isocrates, and (by some) Demosthenes 
 among his hearers. He died at a great age, B.C. 347. 
 
 His works have come down to us in a more complete form 
 than those of any other ancient author who was equally 
 voluminous; and from them we get a clear idea of the 
 principal doctrines which he inculcated on his followers. 
 
 Like Socrates, he was penetrated with the idea, that know- 
 ledge and wisdom were the things most necessary to man, 
 and the greatest goods assigned to him by God. Wisdom 
 he looked on as the great purifier of the soul; and as any 
 approach to wisdom presupposes an original communion with 
 Being, properly so called, this communion also presupposes 
 the divine nature, and consequent immortality of the soul, 
 his doctrine respecting which was of a much purer and loftier 
 character than the usual theology of the ancients. Believing 
 that the world also had a soul, he considered the human 
 soul as similar to it in nature, and free from all liability to 
 death, in sp : .te of its being bound up with the appetites, in 
 consequence of its connexion with the body, and as preserving 
 

 PLATO. XIX 
 
 power and consciousness after its separation from the body. 
 What he believed, however, to be its condition after death is 
 far less certain, as his ideas on this subject are expressed in a 
 mythical form. 
 
 The chief point, however, to which Plato directed his 
 attention, was ethics, which, especially in his system, are 
 closely connected with politics. He devotes the Protagoras, 
 and several shorter dialogues, to refute the sensual and selfish 
 theories of some of his predecessors, in order to adopt a more 
 scientific treatment of the subject; and in these dialogues he 
 urges that neither happiness nor virtue are attainable by the 
 indulgence of our desires, but that men must bring these into 
 proper restraint, if they are desirous of either. He supposes 
 an inward harmony, the preservation of which is pleasure, 
 while its disturbance is pain ; and as pleasure is always de- 
 pendent on the activity from which it springs, the more this 
 activity is elevated the purer the pleasure becomes. 
 
 Virtue he considered the fitness of the soul for the opera- 
 tions that are proper to it ; and it manifests itself by means 
 of its inward harmony, beauty, and health. Different phases 
 of virtue are distinguishable so far as the soul is not pure 
 spirit, but just as the spirit should rule both the other 
 elements of the soul, so also should wisdom, as the inner 
 development of the spirit, rule the other virtues. 
 
 Politics he considered an inseparable part of ethics, and 
 the state as the copy of a well-regulated individual life : from 
 the three different activities of the soul he deduced the three 
 main elements of the state, likening the working class to the 
 appetitive element of the soul, both of which equally require 
 to be kept under control ; the military order, which answered, 
 in his idea, to the emotive element, ought to develop itself in 
 thorough dependence on the reason; and from that the 
 governing order, answering to the rational faculty, must pro- 
 ceed. The right of passing from a subordinate to a dominant 
 position must depend on the individual capacity and ability 
 for raising itself. But from the difficulties of realizing his 
 theories, he renounces this absolute separation of ranks in his 
 book on Laws, limits the power of the governors, attempts to 
 
 c2 
 
XX THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 reconcile freedom with unity and reason, and to mingle 
 monarchy with democracy. 
 
 With respect to his theology, he appears to have agreed 
 entirely with Socrates. 
 
 Aristotle was born at Stageira, B.C. 384. His father, Nico- 
 machus, was physician to Amyntas II., king of Macedon. 
 At the age of seventeen he went to Athens, in hopes to 
 become a pupil of Plato ; but Plato was in Sicily, and did not 
 return for three years, which time Aristotle applied to severe 
 study, and to cultivating the friendship of Heraclides Pon- 
 ticus. When Plato returned, he soon distinguished him above 
 all his other pupils. He remained at Athens twenty years, 
 maintaining, however, his connexion with Macedonia; but 
 on the death of Plato, B.C. 347, which happened while Aris- 
 totle was absent in Macedonia on an embassy, he quitted 
 Athens, thinking, perhaps, that travelling was necessary to 
 complete his education. After a short period, he accepted an 
 invitation from Philip to superintend the education of Alex- 
 ander. He remained in Macedonia till B.C. 335, when he 
 returned to Athens, where he found Xenocrates had suc- 
 ceeded Speusippus as the head of the Academy. Here the 
 Lyceum was appropriated to him, in the shady walks (irtp'i- 
 iraroi) of which he delivered his lectures to a number of 
 eminent scholars who nocked around him. From these walks 
 the name of Peripatetic was given to the School which he 
 subsequently established. Like several others of the Greek 
 philosophers, he had a select body of pupils, to whom he deli- 
 vered his esoteric doctrines; and a larger, more promiscuous, 
 and less accomplished company, to whom he delivered his 
 exoteric lectures on less abstruse subjects. When he had 
 resided thirteen years at Athens, he found himself threatened 
 with a prosecution for impiety, and fled to Chalcis, in Euboea, 
 and died soon after, B.C. 322. 
 
 His learning was immense, and his most voluminous 
 -"-itings embraced almost every subject conceivable; but 
 only a very small portion of them has come down to us. 
 Cicero, however, alludes to him only as a moral philosopher, 
 Mid occasionally as a natural historian; so that it maybe 
 
ARISTOTLE. XXI 
 
 sufficient here foi' us to confine our view of him to his teach- 
 ing on the Practical Sciences ; his Ethics, too, being one of 
 his works which has come down to us entire. 
 
 God he considered to be the highest and purest energy of 
 eternal intellect, — an absolute principle, — the highest reason, 
 the object of whose thought is himself; expanding and de- 
 claring, in a more profound manner, the vov? of Anaxagoras. 
 With respect to man, the object of all action, he taught, was 
 happiness : and this happiness he defines to be an energy of 
 the soul (or of life) according to virtue, existing by and for 
 itself. Virtue, again, he subdivided into moral and intel- 
 lectual, according to the distinction between the reasoning 
 faculty and that quality in the soul which obeys reason. 
 Again, moral virtue is the proper medium between excess 
 and deficiency, and can only be acquired by practice ; intel- 
 lectual virtue can be taught ; and by the constant practice of 
 moral virtue a man becomes virtuous, but he can only prac- 
 tise it by a resolute determination to do so. Virtue, there- 
 fore, is defined further as a habit accompanied by, or arising 
 out of, deliberate choice, and based upon free and conscious 
 action. From these principles, Aristotle is led to take a 
 wider view of virtue than other philosophers : he includes 
 friendship under this head, as one of the very greatest vir- 
 tues, and a principal means for a steady continuance in all 
 virtue ; and as the unrestricted exercise of each species of 
 activity directed towards the good, produces a feeling of 
 pleasure, he considers pleasure as a very powerful means 
 of virtue. 
 
 Connected with Aristotle's system of ethics was his system 
 of politics, the former being only a part, as it were, of the 
 latter : the former aiming at the happiness of individuals, the 
 latter at that of communities ; so that the latter is the per- 
 fection and completion of the former. For Aristotle looked 
 upon man as a " political animal" — as a being, that is, created 
 by nature for the state, and for living in the state ; which, as 
 a totality consisting of organically connected members, is by 
 nature prior to the individual or the family. The state he 
 looked upon as a whole consisting of mutually dependent and 
 
XXU THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 connected members, with reference as well to imaginary as to 
 actually existing constitutions. The constitution is the ar- 
 rangement of the powers in the state — the soul of the state, 
 as it were, — according to which the sovereignty is deter- 
 mined. The laws are the determining principles, according 
 to which the dominant body governs and restrains those who 
 would, and punishes those who do, transgress them. He 
 defines three kinds of constitutions, each of them having a 
 corresponding perversion : — a republic, arising from the prin- 
 ciple of equality ; this at times degenerates into democracy ; 
 monarchy, and aristocracy, which arise from principles of 
 inequality, founded on the preponderance of external or in- 
 ternal strength and wealth, and which are apt to degenerate 
 into tyraimy and oligarchy. The education of youth he con- 
 siders as a principal concern of the state, in order that, all 
 the individual citizens being trained to a virtuous life, virtue 
 may become predominant in all the spheres of political life ; 
 and, accordingly, by means of politics the object is realized of 
 which ethics are the groundwork, namely, human happiness, 
 depending on a life in accordance with virtue. 
 
 Eeraclides Ponticus, as he is usually called, was, as his 
 name denotes, a native of Pontus. He migrated to Athens, 
 where he became a disciple of Plato, who, while absent in 
 Sicily, entrusted him with the care of his school. 
 
 Speusippus was the nephew of Plato, and succeeded him as 
 President of the Academy ; but he continued so but a short 
 time, and, within eight years of the death of Plato, he died at 
 Athens, B.C. 339. He refused to recognise the Good as the 
 ultimate principle ; but, going back to the older theologians, 
 maintained that the origin of the universe was to be set 
 down indeed as a cause of the Good and Perfect, but was not 
 the Good and Perfect, itself ; for that was the result of gene- 
 rated existence or development, just as plants are of the 
 seeds. When, with the Pythagoreans, he reckoned the One in 
 the -series of good things, he probably thought of it only in 
 opposition to the Manifold, and wished to point out that it is 
 from the One that the Good is to be derived. He appears, 
 however, (see De Nat. Deor. i. 13,) to have attributed vital 
 
THEOPHRASTUS, XX1I1 
 
 activity to the primordial unity, as inseparably belonging 
 to it. 
 
 Theopkrastus was a native of Eresus, from whence he 
 migrated to Athens, where he became a follower of Plato, and 
 afterwards of Aristotle, by whom, when he quitted Athens for 
 Chalcis, he was designated as his successor in the presidency 
 of the Lyceum ; while in this position, he is said to have had 
 two thousand disciples, and among them the comic poet 
 Menander. When, B.C. 305, the philosophers were banished 
 from Athens, he also left the city, but returned the next year 
 on the repeal of the law. He lived to a great age, though 
 the date of his birth is not certainly known. 
 
 He was a very voluminous writer on many subjects, but 
 directed his chief attention to continuing the researches into 
 natural history which had been begun by Aristotle. As, 
 however, only a few fragments of his works have come 
 down to us, and these in a very corrupt state, we know but 
 little what peculiar views he entertained: though we learn 
 from Cicero (De Inv. i. 42 — 50) that he departed a good deal 
 from the doctrines of Aristotle in his principles of ethics, and 
 also in his metaphysical and theological speculations; and 
 Cicero (De Nat. Deor. i. 13) complains that he did not ex- 
 press himself with precision or with consistency about the 
 Deity; and in other places (Acad. i. 10, Tusc. Qusest. v. 9), 
 that he appeared unable to comprehend a happiness resting 
 merely on virtue ; so that he had attributed to virtue a rank 
 very inferior to its deserts. 
 
 Xenocrates was a native of Chalcedon, born probably 
 B.C. 396. He was a follower of Plato, and accompanied him 
 to Sicily. After his death, he betook himself, with Aristotle, 
 to the court of Hermias, tyrant of Ptarneus, but soon re- 
 turned to Athens, and became president of the Academy 
 when Speusippus, through ill health, was forced to abandon 
 that post. He died B.C. 314. 
 
 He was not a man of great genius, but of unwearied in- 
 dustry and the purest virtue and integrity. None of his 
 works have come down to us ; but, from the notices of other 
 writers, we are acquainted with some of his peculiar doctrines. 
 
XXIV THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 He stood at the head of those who, regarding the universe as 
 imperishable and existing from eternity, looked upon the 
 chronic succession in the theory of Plato as a form in which 
 to denote the relations of conceptual succession. He asserted 
 that the soul was a self-moving member, — called Unity and 
 Duality deities, considering the former as the first male 
 existence, ruling in heaven, father and Jupiter ; the latter as 
 the female, as the mother of the Gods, and the soul of the 
 universe, which reigns over the mutable world under heaven. 
 He approximated to the Pythagoreans in considering Number 
 as the principle of consciousness, and consequently of know- 
 ledge ; supplying, however, what was deficient in the Pytha- 
 gorean theory by the definition of Plato, that it is only in as 
 far as number reconciles the opposition between the same and 
 the different, and can raise itself to independent motion, that 
 it is soul. 
 
 In his ethics he endeavoured to render the Platonic 
 theory more complete, and to give it a more direct applica- 
 bility to human life; admitting, besides the good and the 
 bad, of something which is neither good nor bad, and some of 
 these intermediate things, such as health, beauty, fame, good 
 fortune, he would not admit to be absolutely worthless and 
 indifferent. He maintained, however, in the most decided 
 manner, that virtue is the only thing valuable in itself, and 
 that the value of everything else is conditional, (see Cic. de 
 Fin. iv. 18, de Leg. i. 21, Acad. i. 6, Tusc. Qu»st. v. 10—18,) 
 that happiness ought to coincide with the consciousness of 
 virtue. He did not allow that mere intellectual scientific 
 wisdom was the only true wisdom to be sought after as such 
 by men : and in one point he came nearer the precepts of 
 Christianity than any of the ancients, when he asserted the 
 indispensableness of the morality of the thoughts to virtue, 
 and declared it to be the same thing, whether a person cast 
 longing eyes on the possessions of his neighbour, or attempted 
 to possess himself of them by force. 
 
 Antisthenes was older than Plato; though the exact time 
 of his birth is uncertain: but he fought at the battle of 
 Tanagra, b.c. 420, though then very young. He became a 
 
ANTISTHENES. XXV 
 
 disMple of Gorgias, and afterwards of Socrates, at whose death 
 he set up a school in the Cynosarges, a gymnasium for the 
 use of Athenians born of foreign mothers, near the temple of 
 Hercules, from which place of assembly his followers were 
 called Cynics. He lived to a great age, though the year of 
 his death is not known, but he certainly was alive after the 
 battle of Leuctra, B.C. 371. 
 
 In his philosophical system, which was almost confined to 
 ethics, he appears to have aimed at novelty rather than truth 
 or common sense. He taught that in all that the wise man 
 does he conforms to perfect virtue, and that pleasure is so far 
 from being necessary to man, that it is a positive evil. He is 
 reported also to have gone the length of pronouncing pain and 
 infamy blessings rather than evils, though when he spoke of 
 pleasure as worthless, he probably meant that pleasure which 
 arises from the gratification of sensual or artificial desires; 
 for he praised that which arises from the intellect, and from 
 friendship. The summum bonum he placed in a life according 
 to virtue. 
 
 In a treatise in which he discussed the nature of the Gods 
 he contended for the unity of the Deity, and asserted that 
 man is unable to know him by any sensible representation, 
 since he is unlike any being on earth ; and demonstrated the 
 sufficiency of virtue for happiness, by the doctrine that out- 
 ward events are regulated by God so as to benefit the wise 
 and good. 
 
 Diogenes, a native of Sinope in Pontus, who was born B.C. 
 412, was one of his few disciples; he came at an early age to 
 Athens, and became notorious for the most frantic excesses of 
 moroseness and self-denial. On a voyage to ^Egina he was 
 taken by pirates and sold as a slave to Xeniades, a Corinthian, 
 over whom he acquired great influence, and was made 
 tutor to his children. His system consisted merely in teach- 
 ing men to dispense with even the simplest necessaries of 
 civilized life : and he is said to have taught that all minds are 
 air, exactly alike, and composed of similar particles ; but that 
 in beasts and in idiots they are hindered from properly 
 developing themselves by various humours and ir capacities 
 
XX VI THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 of their bodies. He died B.C. 323, the same year that Epi- 
 curus came to Athens. 
 
 Zeno was born at Citium, a city of Cyprus ; but having 
 been shipwrecked near Cyprus, he settled in that city, where 
 he devoted himself to severe study for a great length of time, 
 cultivating, it is said, the acquaintance of the philosophers of 
 the Megaric school, Diodorus and Philo, and of the Academics, 
 Xenocrates and Polemo. After he had completed his studies, 
 he opened a school himself in the porch, adorned with the 
 paintings of Polygnotus (2roa ttolkIXtj), from which his fol- 
 lowers were called Stoics. The times of his birth and of his 
 death are not known with any exactness; but he is said to 
 have reached a great age. 
 
 In speaking of the Stoic doctrines, it is not very clear how 
 much of them proceeded from Zeno himself, and how much 
 from Chrysippus and other eminent men of the school in sub- 
 sequent years. In natural philosophy he considered that 
 there was a primary matter which was never increased or 
 diminished, and which was the foundation of everything which 
 existed : and which was brought into existence by the opera- 
 tive power, — that is, by the Deity. He saw this operative 
 power in fire and in aether as the basis of all vital activity, 
 (see Cic. Acad. i. 11, ii. 41; de Nat. Deor. ii. 9, iii. 14,) 
 and he taught that the universe comes into being when the 
 primary substance passing from fire through the intermediate 
 stage of air becomes liquefied, and then the thick portion be- 
 comes earth, the thinner portion air, which is again rarefied 
 till it becomes fire. This fire he conceived to be identical 
 with the Deity, (Cic. de Nat. Deor. ii. 22,) and to be endowed 
 with consciousness and foresight. At other times he defined 
 the Deity as that law of nature which ever accomplishes what 
 is right, and prevents the opposite, and identified it with 
 unconditional necessity. The soul of man he considered as 
 being of the nature of fire, or of a warm breath, (Cic. Tusc. 
 Queest. i. 9 ; de Nat. Deor. iii. 4,) and therefore as mortal. 
 
 In ethics he agreed with the Cynics in recognising the con- 
 stitutional nature of moral obligations, though he differed from 
 tbem with respect to things indifferent, and opposed their 
 
EPICURUS. XXV11 
 
 morose contempt for custom, though he did not allow that 
 the gratification of mere external wants, or that external 
 good fortune, had any intrinsic value. He comprised every- 
 thing which could make life happy in virtue alone (Cic. 
 Acad. i. 10), and called it the only good which deserved to 
 be striven after and praised for its own sake (Cic. de Fin. 
 iii. 6, 8), and taught that the attainment of it must inevitably 
 produce happiness. But as virtue could, according to his 
 system, only subsist in conjunction with the perfect dominion 
 of reason, and vice only in the renunciation of the authority 
 of reason, he inferred that one good action could not be more 
 virtuous than another, and that a person who had one virtue 
 had all, and that he who was destitute of one was destitute 
 of all. 
 
 Cleanthes was born at Assos in the Troas, about 300 B.C. ; 
 he came to Athens at an early age, and became the pupil of 
 Zeno, whom at his death he succeeded in his school. He dif- 
 fered from his master in regarding the soul as immortal, and 
 approximated to the Cynics in denying that pleasure was 
 agreeable to nature, or in any respect good. He died of 
 voluntary starvation at the age of eighty. 
 
 Ghrysippus was born B.C. 280, at Soli in Cilicia. He came 
 at an early age to Athens, and became a pupil of Cleanthes ; 
 and among the later Stoics he was more regarded than either 
 Zeno or Cleanthes. He died B.C. 207. 
 
 His doctrines do not appear to have differed from those of 
 Zeno j only that, from feeling the dangerous influence of the 
 Epicurean principles, he endeavoured to popularize the Stoic 
 ethics. 
 
 Epicurus was an Athenian of the Attic demos Gargettus, 
 whence he is sometimes simply called the Gargettian. He 
 was, however, born at Samos, B.C. 342, and did not come to 
 Athens till the age of eighteen, when he found Xenocrates at 
 the head of the Academy, and by some authors is said to have 
 become his pupil, though he himself would not admit it 
 (Cic. de Nat. Deor. i. 26). At the outbreak of the Samian war 
 he crossed over to Colophon, where he collected a school. It 
 is said that the first thing that excited him to the study of 
 
XXVil] THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 philosophy was the perusal of the works of Democritus while 
 he resided at Colophon. From thence he went to Mitylene 
 and Lampsacus, and B.C. 306 he returned to Athens, and 
 finally established himself as a teacher of philosophy. His 
 own life was that of a man of simple, pure, and temperate 
 habits. He died of the stone, B.C. 270, and left Hermarchus of 
 Mitylene as his successor in the management of his school. 
 
 None of his works have come down to us. With regard to 
 his philosophical system, in spite of his boast of being self- 
 taught and having borrowed from no one, he clearly derived 
 the chief part of his natural philosophy from Democritus, 
 and of his moral philosophy from Aristippus and the Cyre- 
 naics. He considered human happiness the end of all phi- 
 losophy, and agreed with the Cyrenaics that pleasure consti- 
 tuted the greatest happiness ; still this theory in his hands 
 acquired a far loftier character ; for pleasure, in his idea, was 
 not a mere momentary and transitory sensation, but some- 
 thing lasting and imperishable, consisting in pure mental 
 enjoyments, and in the freedom from pain and any other in- 
 fluence which could disturb man's peace of mind. And the 
 summum bonum, according to him, consisted in this peace of 
 mind ; which was bas»d upon correct wisdom (cfrpovrjms). 
 
 In his natural philosophy he embraced the atomic theories 
 of Democritus and Diagoras, carrying them even further than 
 they themselves had done, to such a degree that he drew upon 
 himself the reproach of Atheism. He regarded the Gods 
 themselves as consisting of atoms, and our notions of them as 
 based upon the images (elSwXa) which are reflected from them, 
 and so pass into our minds. And he believed that they 
 exercised no influence whatever on the world, or on the 
 actions or fortunes of man. 
 
 Theodorus was a native of Cyrene, who flourished about 
 B.c. 320. He was of the Cyrenaic sect, and the founder of that 
 branch of it which was called ofter him, the Theodorean ; 
 though we scarcely know in what his doctrines differed from 
 those of Aristippus, unless they were, if possible, of a still 
 more lax character. He taught, for instance, that there was 
 nothing really wrong or disgraceful in theft, adultery, or 
 
CARNEADES. XXIX 
 
 sacrilege ; but that they were branded by public opinion to 
 restrain fools. He is also reproved with utter atheism ; and 
 Cicero classes him with Diagoras, as a man who utterly denied 
 the existence of any Gods at all. 
 
 Pyrrho was a contemporary of Alexander the Great, whose 
 expedition into Asia he joined. He appears, as far as his 
 philosophy went, to have been an universal sceptic. He im- 
 peached, however, none of the chief principles of morality, 
 but, regarding Socrates as his model, directed all his endea- 
 vours towards the production in his pupils of a firm well- 
 regulated moral character. 
 
 Grantor was a native of Soli in Cilicia ; we do not know 
 when he was born or when he died, but he came to Athens 
 before B.C. 315. He was the first of Plato's followers who 
 wrote commentaries on the works of his master. He died of 
 dropsy, and left Arcesilaus his heir. 
 
 Arcesilaus, or Arcesilas, flourished about B.C. 280 ; he was 
 born at Pitane, but came to Athens and became the pupil of 
 Theophrastus and of Crantor, and afterwards of some of the 
 more sceptical philosophers. On the death of Crantor he suc- 
 ceeded to the chair of the Academy, in the doctrines of which 
 he made so many innovations that he is called the founder of 
 the New Academy. What his peculiar views were is, however, 
 a matter of great uncertainty. Some give him the credit of 
 having restored the doctrines of Plato in an uncorrupted 
 form ; while, according to Cicero, on the other hand, (Acad. 
 i. 12,) he summed up all his opinions in the statement that 
 he knew nothing, not even his own ignorance. He, and the 
 New Academy, do not, however, seem to have doubted the 
 existence of truth in itself, but only the capacity of man for 
 arriving at the knowledge of it. 
 
 Carneades was born at Cyrene about B.C. 213. He went 
 early to Athens, and at first attended the lectures of the 
 Stoics ; but subsequently attached himself to the Academy, 
 and succeeded to the chair on the death of Hegesinus. In 
 the year B.C. 155, he came to Rome on an embassy, but so 
 offended Cato by speaking one day in praise of justice as 
 a virtue, and the next day, in answer to all his previous argu- 
 
XXX THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 ments, that he made a motion in the senate, that he should be 
 ordered to depart from Rome. He died B.C. 129. 
 
 Philo of Larissa, who is often mentioned by Cicero, was 
 his own master, having removed to Rome after the conquest 
 of Athens by Mithridates, where he settled as a teacher of 
 philosophy and rhetoric. He would not admit that there was 
 any difference between the Old and New Academy, in which 
 he differed from his pupil Antiochus. The exact time of his 
 birth or death is not known ; but he was not living when 
 Cicero composed his Academics, (ii. 6.) 
 
 Antiochus of Ascalon has been called by some writers the 
 founder of the Fifth Academy; he also was a teacher of 
 Cicero during the time he studied at Athens ; he had also 
 a school at Alexandria, and another in Syria, where he died. 
 He studied under Philo, but was so far from agreeing with 
 him that he wrote a treatise on purpose to refute what he con- 
 sidered as the scepticism of the Academics. And undoubtedly 
 the later philosophers of that school had exaggerated the 
 teaching of Plato, that the senses were not in all cases trust- 
 worthy organs of perception, so as to infer from it a denial 
 of the certainty of any knowledge whatever. Antiochus pro- 
 fessed that his object was to revive the real doctrines of Plato 
 in opposition to the modern scepticism of Carneades and 
 Philo. He appears to have considered himself as an eclectic 
 philosopher, combining the best parts of the doctrines of the 
 Academic, Peripatetic, and Stoic schools. 
 
 Diodorus of Tyre flourished about B.C. 110. He lived at 
 Athens, where he succeeded Critolaus as the head of the Peri- 
 patetic school. Cicero, however, denies that he was a genuine 
 Peripatetic, and says that his doctrine that the summum 
 bonum consisted in a combination of virtue with the absence 
 of pain was an attempt to reconcile the theory of the Stoics 
 with that of the Epicureans. 
 
 Panoetius was a native of Rhodes; his exact age is not 
 known, but he was a contemporary of Scipio iEmilianus, who 
 died B.C. 129. He went to Athens at an early age, where he 
 is said to have been a pupil of Diogenes of Babylon and 
 Antipater of Tarsus, and also of Polemo Periegetes. Ho 
 
PANOTITIS. XXXl 
 
 became associated with P. Scipio iEmilianus, who valued him 
 highly. The latter part of his life he spent at Athens, where 
 he had succeeded Antipater as head of the Stoic school. He 
 was the author of a treatise on " What is Becoming," which 
 (Jicero professes to have imitated, though carried rather further, 
 in his De Officiis. He softened down the harsher features of 
 tho Stoic doctrines, approximating them in some degree to 
 the opinions of Xenocrates, Plato, and Aristotle, and made 
 them attractive by the elegance of his style ; indeed, he 
 modified the principles of the school so much, that some 
 writers called him a Platonist. In* natural philosophy he 
 abandoned the Stoic doctrine of the conflagration of the 
 world ; endeavoured to simplify the division of the faculties 
 f.f the soul; and doubted the reality of the science of divina- 
 tion. In ethics he followed the method of Aristotle ; and, in 
 direct opposition to the earlier Stoics, vindicated the claim of 
 certain pleasurable sensations to be regarded as in accordance 
 with nature. 
 
 Polemo was a pupil of Xenocrates, and succeeded him as 
 the head of his school. There is a story that he had been a 
 very dissolute young man, and that one day, at the head of 
 a band of revellers, he burst into the school of Xenocrates, 
 when his attention was so arrested by the discourse of the 
 philosopher, which happened to be on the subject of tempe- 
 rance, that he tore off his festive garland, remained till the 
 end of the lecture, and devoted himself to philosophy all the 
 rest of his life. He does not appear to have varied at all from 
 the doctrines of his master. He died B.C. 273. 
 
 Archytas was a native of Tarentum : his age is not quite 
 certain, but he is believed to have been a contemporary of 
 Plato, and he is even said to have saved his life by his 
 interest with the tyrant Dionysius. He was a great general 
 and statesman, as well as a philosopher. In philosophy he 
 was a Pythagorean; and, like most of that school, a great 
 mathematician ; and applied his favourite science not only to 
 music, but also to metaphysics. Aristotle is believed to have 
 borrowed from him his System of Categories, 
 
XXX11 THE ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHERS*. 
 
 The limits of this volume forbid more than the preceding 
 very brief sketch of the chiefs of the ancient philosophy. 
 For a more detailed account the reader is referred to the 
 Biographical Dictionary edited by Dr. Smith, from which 
 valuable work much of this sketch has been derived. The ac- 
 count of Socrates has been principally derived from Mr. Grote's 
 admirable history of Greece : in which attention has so suc- 
 cessfully been devoted to the history of philosophy and the 
 sophists, that a correct idea of the subject can hardly be 
 acquired without a careful study of that work. 
 
 It was intended to subjoin a comparison of the systems of 
 the different sects, but it would take more space than can be 
 spared ; and it is moreover unnecessary, as, the distinctive 
 tenets of each having been explained, the reader is supplied 
 with sufficient materials to institute such a comparison for 
 himself. He will not wonder that men without the guidance 
 of revelation should at times have lost their way in specula- 
 tions beyond the reach of human faculties, but will the more 
 admire that genius and virtue which manifested itself in such 
 men as Socrates, Plato, and Cicero, for the perpetual enlighten- 
 ment of the human race. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The following account of the two Books of the Academics 
 is extracted from the Dictionary of Greek and Boman Bio- 
 graphy, edited by Dr. W. Smith : — 
 
 " The history of this work, before it finally quitted the 
 hands of its author, is exceedingly curious and somewhat 
 obscure ; but must be clearly understood before we can 
 explain the relative position of those portions of it which 
 have been transmitted to modern times. By comparing 
 carefully a series of letters written to Atticus, in the course 
 of b.c. 45 (Ep. ad Att. xiii. 32 ;« 12, 13, 14, 16, 18, 19, 21, 
 
 1 The following are the most important of the passages referred to : — 
 " Since I entered upon these philosophical inquiries, Varro has given 
 me notice of a valuable and honourable dedication of a work of his to 
 me. ... In the mean time I have been preparing myself as he desired 
 to make him a return. 
 
 avrta t$ fierpcf /col \wiov afoe 8iW/*ar. 
 I may as well, therefore, remove from my Academical Disputations the 
 present speakers, who are distinguished characters indeed, but by no 
 means philosophical, and who discourse with too much subtlety, and 
 substitute Varro in their place. For these are the opinions of Antiochus, 
 to which he is much attached. I can find a place for Catulus and 
 Lucullus elsewhere. — Ep. 12. 
 
 "The Catulus and Lucullus I imagine you have had before; but I 
 have made new introductions to these books which I wish you to have, 
 containing an eulogium upon each of these persons, and there are some 
 other additions — Ep. 32. 
 
 " In consequence of the letter which you wrote to me about Varro, 
 I have taken the Academy entirely out of the hands of those distin- 
 guished persons, and transferred it to our friend. And from two books 
 I have made it into four. These are longer than the others were, 
 
 though there are several parts left out In truth, if my self-love 
 
 does not deceive me, these books have come out in such a manner that 
 there is nothing of the same kind like them even in Greek." — Ep. 13. 
 
 ACAD. ETC. ' » B "I have 
 
2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 22, 23, 2^'3%-4i); j wpTir;d.t£arCicero had drawn up a 
 treatise upon the Academic Philosophy, in the form of a 
 dialogue between Catulus, Lucullus, and Hortensius; and 
 
 " I have transferred the whole of that Academical Treatise to Varro. 
 It had at first been divided among Catulus, Lucullus, and Hortensius. 
 Afterwards, as this appeared unsuitable, owing to those persons being, 
 not indeed unlearned, but notoriously unversed in such subjects, as soon 
 as I got home I transferred those dialogues to Cato and Brutus. Your 
 letter about Varro has just reached me, and there is no one by whom 
 the opinions of Antiochus could be more fitly supported." — Ep. 16. 
 
 " I had determined to include no living persons in my dialogues ; 
 but since you inform me that Varro is desirous of it, and sets a great 
 value upon it, I have composed this work, and completed the whole 
 Academical Discussion in four books ; I know not how well, but with 
 such care that nothing can exceed it. In these, what had been excel- 
 lently collected by Antiochus against the doctrine of incomprehensi- 
 oility, I have attributed to Varro ; to this I reply in my own person, 
 and you are the third in our conversation. If I had made Cotta and 
 Varro disputing with one another, as you suggest in your last letter, my 
 own would have been a mute character 
 
 " The Academics, as you know, I had discussed in the persons of 
 Catulus, Lucullus, and Hortensius ; but in truth the subject did not suit 
 their characters, being more logical than what they could be supposed 
 ever to have dreamt of. Therefore, when I read your letter to Varro, 
 1 seized on it as a sort of inspiration. Nothing could be more adapted 
 to that species of philosophy in which he seems to take particular 
 delight; or to the support of such a part that I could manage to avoid 
 making my own sentiments predominant. For the opinions of An- 
 tiochus are extremely persuasive, and are so carefully expressed as to 
 retain the acuteness of Antiochus with my own brilliancy of language, 
 if indeed 1 possess any." — Ep. 19. 
 
 The Antiochus mentioned above was a native of Ascalon, and the 
 founder of the fifth Academy; he had been the teacher of Cicero while 
 he studied at Athens ; and he had also a school in Syria and another in 
 Alexandria. Cicero constantly speaks of him with great regard and 
 esteem. The leaders of the Academy since the time of Plato, (and 
 Cicero ranks even him among those philosophers who denied the cer- 
 tainty of any kind of knowledge,) had gradually fallen into a degree of 
 scepticism that seemed to strike at the root of all truth, theoretical and 
 practical. But Antiochus professed to revive the doctrines of the old 
 Academy, maintaining, in opposition to Carneades and Philo, that the 
 intellect had in itself a test by which it could distinguish between what 
 was real and what existed only in the imagination. He himself appears 
 to have held doctrines very nearly coinciding with those of Aristotle ; 
 agreeing however so far with the Stoics as to insist that all emotions 
 ought to be suppressed. So that Cicero almost inclines to class him 
 among the Stoics ; thouuh it appears that he considered himself as an 
 Eclectic philosopher, uniting the doctrines of the Stoics md Academic* 
 eo as to revive the old Academy. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 that it was comprised in two books, the first bearing the 
 name of Catulus, the second that of Lucullus. A copy was 
 sent to Atticus; and, soon after it reached him, two new 
 Introductions were composed, the one in praise of Catulus, 
 the other in praise of Lucullus. Scarcely had this been done, 
 when Cicero, from a conviction that Catulus, Lucullus, and 
 Hortensius, although men of highly cultivated minds, and 
 well acquainted with general literature, were known to have 
 been little conversant with the subtle arguments of abstruse 
 philosophy, determined to withdraw them altogether, an^ 
 accordingly substituted Cato and Brutus in their place. Im- 
 mediately after this change had been introduced, he received 
 a communication from Atticus, representing that Varro was 
 much offended by being passed over in the discussion of 
 topics in which he was so deeply versed. Thereupon Cicero, 
 catching eagerly at the idea thus suggested, resolved to re- 
 cast the whole piece, and quickly produced, under the old 
 title, a new and highly improved edition, divided into four 
 books instead of two, dedicating the whole to Varro, to whom 
 was assigned the task of defending the tenets of Antiochus ; 
 while Cicero himself undertook to support the views of Philo, 
 Atticus also taking a share in the conversation. 
 
 "But, although these alterations had been effected with 
 extreme rapidity, the copy originally sent to Atticus had in 
 the meantime been repeatedly transcribed ; hence both edi- 
 tions passed into circulation, and a part of each has been pre- 
 served. One section, containing twelve chapters, is a short 
 fragment of the second or Varronian edition. The other, 
 containing forty-nine chapters, is the entire second book of 
 the first edition ; to which is prefixed the new introduction, 
 together with the proper title of Lucullus. The scene of the 
 Catulus was the villa of that statesman, at Cumse ; while the 
 Lucullus is supposed to have been held at the mansion of 
 Hortensius, near Bauli. 
 
 " The object proposed was to give an account of the rise and 
 progress of the Academic Philosophy, to point out the various 
 modifications introduced by successive professors, and to 
 demonstrate the superiority of the principles of the New 
 Academy, as taught by Philo, over those of the old, as advo- 
 cated by Antiochus." 
 
FIRST BOOK OF THE ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 I. When a short time ago my friend Atticus 1 was with me 
 at my villa in the district of Cunise, news was sent us by 
 Marcus 2 Varro, that he had arrived in Rome the day before 
 in the evening, and that if he had not found himself too tired 
 after his journey he should have proceeded at once to see us. 
 But when we heard this, we thought that we ought not to 
 suffer anything to delay our seeing a man so intimately con- 
 nected with us by an identity of studies, and by a very long 
 standing intimacy and friendship. And so we set out at once 
 to go to see him ; and when we were no great distance from 
 his villa we saw him coming towards us ; and when we had 
 embraced him, as the manner of friends is, after some time we 
 accompanied him back to his villa. And as I was asking a 
 few questions, and inquiring what was the news at Rome, 
 Never mind those things, said Atticus, which we can neither 
 inquire about nor hear of without vexation, but ask him 
 rather whether he has written anything new ; for the muse of 
 Varro has been silent much longer than usual; though I 
 rather suppose he is suppressing for a time what he has 
 written, than that he has been really idle. You are quite 
 wrong, said he ; for I think it very foolish conduct in a man 
 to write what he wishes to have concealed. But I have a 
 
 1 Titus Pomponius Atticus was three years older than Cicero, with 
 whom he had been educated, and with whom he always continued on 
 terms of the greatest intimacy ; his daughter was married to Agrippa. 
 He was of the Epicurean school in philosophy. He died b.q.JXL — 
 
 2 Marcus Terentius Varro was ten years older than Cicero, and a man 
 of the most extensive and profound learning. He had held a naval com- 
 mand against the pirates, and against Mithridates, and served as lieu- 
 tenant to Pompey in Spain, at the beginning of the civil war, adhering 
 to his party till after the battle of Pharsalia, when he was pardoned, 
 and taken into favour by Csesar. He was proscribed by the second 
 triumvirate, but escaped, and died b o. 28. He was a very voluminous 
 author, and according to his own account composed four hundred and 
 ninety books ; but only one, the three books De Re Rustica, have come 
 down to us, and a portion of a large treatise De Lingua Latina. 
 
 In philosophy he had been a pupil of Antiochus, and attached him- ' 
 self to the Academy with something of a leaning to the Stoics. 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. U 
 
 great work on hand ; for I have been a long time preparing a 
 treatise which I have dedicated to my friend here, (he meant 
 me,) which is of great importance, and is being polished up 
 by me with a good deal of care. 
 
 I have been waiting to see it a long time, Varro, said I, 
 but still I have not ventured to ask for it. For I heard 
 from our friend Libo, with whose zeal you are well acquainted, 
 (for I can never conceal anything of that kind,) that you have 
 not been slackening in the business, but are expending a 
 great deal of care on it, and in fact never put it out of your 
 hands. But it has never hitherto come into my mind to ask 
 you about it ; however now, since I have begun to commit to 
 a durable record those things which I learnt in your com- 
 pany, and to illustrate in the Latin language that ancient 
 philosophy which originated with Socrates, I must ask you 
 why it is that, while you write on so many subjects, you pass 
 over this one, especially when you yourself are very eminent 
 in it ; and when that study, and indeed the whole subject, is 
 far superior in importance to all other studies and arts. 
 
 II. You are asking me, he replied, about a matter on 
 which I have often deliberated and frequently revolved in my 
 mind. And, therefore, I will answer you without any hesita- 
 tion; still, however, speaking quite off-hand, because I have, 
 as I said just now, thought over the subject both, deeply and 
 frequently^ For as I saw that philosophy had been explained 
 with great care in the Greek language, I thought that if any 
 of our countrymen were engrossed by the study of it, who 
 were well versed in Greek literature, they would be more 
 likely to read Greek treatises than Latin ones: but that 
 those men who were averse to Greek science and to the 
 schools of the Greek philosophers would not care the least for 
 such matters as these, which could not be understood at all 
 without some acquaintance with Greek literature. And, 
 therefore, I did not" choose to write treatises which unlearned 
 men could not understand, and learned men would not be at 
 the trouble of reading. And you yourself are aware of this. 
 For you have learnt that we cannot resemble Amafanius l or 
 Rabirius, 2 who without any art discuss matters which come 
 before the eyes of every one in plain ordinary language, 
 
 1 Amafanius was one of the earliest Roman writers of the Epicurean 
 school. He is mentioned hy no one but Cicero. 
 3 W« do not know who this Rabirius was. 
 
6 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 giving no accurate definitions, making no divisions, drawing 
 no inferences by well-directed questions, and who appear to 
 think that there is no such thing as any art of speaking or 
 disputing. But we, in obedience to the precepts of the logi- 
 cians and of orators also, as if they were positive laws, (since 
 our countrymen consider skill in each of these branches to be 
 a virtue,) are compelled to use words although they may be 
 new ones; which learned men, as I have said before, will 
 prefer taking from the Greeks, and which unlearned men will 
 not receive even from us ; so that all our labour may be 
 undertaken in vain. But now, if I approved of the doctrines 
 of Epicurus, that is to say, of Democritus, I could write of 
 natural philosophy in as plain a style as Amafanins. For 
 what is the great difficulty when you have put an end to all 
 efficient causes, in speaking of the fortuitous concourse of cor- 
 puscules, for this is the name he gives to atoms. You know 
 our system of natural philosophy, which depends upon the 
 two principles, the efficient cause, and the subject matter out 
 of which the efficient cause forms and produces what it does 
 produce. For we must have recourse to geometry, since, if 
 we do not, in what words will any one be able to enunciate the 
 principles he wishes, or whom will he be able to cause to 
 comprehend those assertions about life, and manners, and 
 desiring and avoiding such and such things ? 
 
 For those men are so simple as to think the good of a sheep 
 and of a man the same thing. While you know the cha- 
 racter and extent of the accuracy which philosophers of our 
 school profess. Again, if you follow Zeno, it is a hard thing to 
 make any one understand what that genuine and simple good 
 is which cannot be separated from honesty ; while Epicurus 
 asserts that he is wholly unable to comprehend what the 
 character of that good may be which is unconnected with 
 pleasures which affect the senses. But if we follow the 
 doctrines of the Old Academy which, as you know, we prefer, 
 then with what accuracy must we apply ourselves to explain it ; 
 with what shrewdness and even with what obscurity must we 
 argue against the Stoics ! The whole, therefore, of that eager- 
 ness for philosophy I claim for myself, both for the purpose 
 of strengthening my firmness of conduct as far as I can, and 
 also for the delight of my mind. Nor do I think, as Plato 
 says, that any more important or more valuable gift has been 
 given to men by the gods. But I send all my friends whj 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 7 
 
 have any zeal for philosophy into Greece ; that is to say, I bid 
 them study the Greek writers, in order to draw their precepts 
 from the fountain-head, rather than follow little streams. 
 But those things which no one had previously taught, and 
 which could not be learnt in any quarter by those who were 
 eager on the subject, I have laboured as far as I could (for 
 I have no great opinion of anything which I have done 
 in this line) to explain to our fellow-countrymen. For 
 this knowledge could not be sought for among the Greeks, 
 nor, after the death of our friend Lucius ^Elius, 1 among the 
 Latins either. And yet in those old works of ours which we 
 composed in imitation of Menippus, 2 not translating him, 
 sprinkling a little mirth and sportiveness over the whole sub- 
 ject, there are many things mingled which are drawn from 
 the most recondite philosophy, and many points argued 
 according to the rules of strict logic; but I added these 
 lighter matters in order to make the whole more easy for 
 people of moderate learning to comprehend, if they were 
 invited to read those essays by a pleasing style, displayed in 
 panegyrics, and in the very prefaces of my books of anti- 
 quities. And this was my object in adopting this style, how- 
 ever I may have succeeded in it. 
 
 TIL The fact, I replied, is just as you say, Varro. For 
 while we were sojourners, as it were, in our own city, and 
 wandering about like strangers, your books have conducted 
 us, as it were, home again, so as to enable us at last to 
 recognise who and where we were. You have discussed the 
 antiquity of our country, and the variety of dates and chrono- 
 logy relating to it. You have explained the laws which regu- 
 late sacrifices and priests ; you have unfolded the customs of 
 the city both in war and peace; you have described the 
 
 1 Lucius Julius Praeconinus Stilo was a Roman knight, and one of 
 the earliest grammarians of Rome. Cicero in the Brutus describes him 
 as a very learned man in both Greek and Roman literature ; and espe- 
 cially in old Latin works. He had been a teacher of Varro in grammar, 
 and of Cicero himself in rhetoric. He received the name of Stilo from 
 his compositions; and of Praeconinus because his father had been a 
 herald. 
 
 2 Menippus was originally a slave, a native of Gadara in Ccele Syria, 
 and a pupil of Diogenes the Cynic. He became very rich by usury, 
 afterwards he lost his money and committed suicide. He wrote nothing 
 serious, but his books were entirely full of jests. We have some frag- 
 ments of Varro's Satyrae Menippeae, which were written, as we are here 
 told, in imitation of Menippus 
 
6 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 various quarters and districts ; you have omitted mentioning 
 none of the names, or kinds, or functions, or causes of divine 
 or human things ; you have thrown a great deal of light on 
 our poets, and altogether on Latin literature and on Latin 
 expressions; you have yourself composed a poem of varied 
 beauties, and elegant in almost every point ; and you have in 
 many places touched upon philosophy in a manner sufficient 
 to excite our curiosity, though inadequate to instruct us. 
 
 You allege, indeed, a very plausible reason for this. For, 
 you say, those who are learned men will prefer reading 
 philosophical treatises in Greek, and those who are ignorant 
 of Greek will not read them even in Latin. However, tell 
 me now, do you really agree with your- own argument 1 I 
 would-rather say, those who are unable to read them in the 
 one language will read them in the other; and even those 
 who can read them in Greek will not des'pise their own lan- 
 guage. For what reason- can be imagined why men learned 
 in Greek literature should read the Latin poets, and not read 
 the Latin philosophers'? Or again, if Ennius, 1 Pacuvius, 
 Accius, and many others who have given us, I will not say the 
 exact expressions, but tbe meaning of the Greeks, delight their 
 readers ; how much more will the philosophers delight them, 
 if, as the poets have imitated iEschylus, Sophocles, and Euri- 
 pides, they in like manner imitate Plato, Aristotle, and 
 Theophrastus 1 I see, too, that any orators among us are 
 praised who imitate Hyperides or Demosthenes. 
 
 But I, (for I will speak the plain truth,) as long as ambi- 
 tion and the pursuit of public honours and the pleading of 
 causes, and not a mere regard for the republic, but even a 
 
 1 Cicero ranges these poets here iu chronological order. 
 
 Ennius was born at Rudise in Calabria, b.o. 239, of a very noble 
 family. He was brought to Rome by M. Porcius Cato at the end of the 
 second Punic war. His plays were all translations or adaptations from 
 the Greek ; but he also wrote a poetical history of Rome called Annales, 
 in eighteen books, and a poem on his friend Scipio Africanus; some 
 Satires, Epigrams, and one or two philosophical poems. Only a few 
 lines of his works remain to us. He died at the age of seventy. 
 
 Pacuvius was a native of Brundusium, and a relation, probably a 
 nephew, of Ennius. He was born about r.o. 220, and lived to about 
 the year b.c. 130. His works were nearly entirely tragedies translated 
 from the Greek. Horace, distinguishing between him and Accius, 
 says — 
 
 " Aufert 
 Pacuvius docti famam sems; Accius altl." — Epist II. i. 55. 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. *J 
 
 certain degree of concern in its government, entangled me in 
 and hampered me with the numerous duties in which those 
 occupations involved me ; I kept, I say, all these matters to 
 myself, and brushed them up, when I could, by reading, to 
 prevent their getting rusty. But now, having been stricken" 
 to the ground by a most severe blow of fortune, and .being 
 discharged from all concern in the republic, I seek a medicine 
 for my sorrow in philosophy, and consider 'this study the 
 most honourable pastime for my leisure. For I may look 
 upon it as most suitable to my age, and most especially con- 
 sistent with any memorable exploits which I may have per- 
 formed, and inferior to no other occupation in its usefulness 
 for the purpose of educating my fellow-countrymen. Or even 
 if this be too high a view to take of it, at all events I see 
 nothing else which I can do. My friend Brutus, indeed, a 
 man eminent for every kind of virtue, has illustrated philo- 
 sophy in the Latin language in such a way that he has left 
 Greece nothing to wish for on those subjects. And he adopts 
 the same opinions that you do. For he was for some time a 
 pupil of Aristus, at Athens, whose brother Antiochus was 
 your own preceptor. And therefore do you also, I entreat 
 you, apply yourself to this kind of literature. 
 
 IV. Then he replied. I will indeed consider of these 
 matters, but only in your company. But still, said he, what 
 is this which I hear about you yourself? On what subject 1 
 said I. Why, that the old system is deserted by you, and 
 that you have espoused the principles of the new school. 
 What of that 1 ? said I. Why should Antiochus, my own inti- 
 mate friend, be more at liberty to return back again from the 
 new school to the old, than I myself to migrate to the new 
 from the old 1 For certainly everything that is most recent 
 is corrected and amended in the highest degree; although 
 Philo, the master of Antiochus, a great man, as you yourself 
 consider him, used to deny in his books that there were two 
 Academies (and we ourselves have heard him assert the same 
 things in his lectures) ; and he convicts those who say that 
 there are, of palpable mistake. It is as you say, said he, but 
 I do not imagine that you are ignorant of what Antiochus 
 has written in reply to the arguments of Philo. Certainly, 
 said I, I am not, and I should like to hear the whole cause 
 of the Old Academy, from which I have been so long absent, 
 
10 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 recapitulated by you, if it is not giving you too much trouble • 
 and let us sit down now, if you have no objection. That 
 will suit me very well, said he, for I am not at all strong. 
 But let us consider whether Atticus^will be pleased with that 
 compliance of mine, which I see that you yourself are desirous 
 of. Indeed I shall, said he ; for what could I prefer to being 
 reminded of what I long ago heard from Antiochus, and seeing 
 at the same time whether those ideas can be expressed with 
 sufficient suitableness in Latin 1 So after this preface we all sat 
 down looking at one another. And Varro began as follows : — 
 
 Socrates appears to me, and indeed it is the universal 
 opinion, to have been the first person who drew philosophy 
 away from matters of an abstruse character, which had been 
 shrouded in mystery by nature herself, and in which all the 
 philosophers before his time had been wholly occupied, and 
 to have diverted it to the objects of ordinary life; directing 
 its speculations to virtues and vices, and generally to what- 
 ever was good or bad. And he thought that the heavenly 
 bodies were either far out of the reach of our knowledge, or 
 that, even if we became ever so intimately acquainted with 
 them, they had no influence on living well. In nearly all his 
 discourses/ which' have been reported in great variety and 
 very fully by those who were his pupils, he argues in such a 
 manner that he affirms nothing himself, but refutes the asser- 
 tions of others. He says that he knows- nothing, except that 
 one fact, that he is ignorant ; and that he is superior to others 
 in this particular, that they believe that they do know, what 
 they do not, w T hile he knows this one thing alone, that he knows 
 nothing. And it is on that account that he imagined he w r as 
 pronounced by Apollo the wisest of all men, because this 
 alone is the whole of wisdom, for a man not to think that he 
 knows what he does not know. And as he was always saying 
 this, and persisting in the maintenance of this opinion, his 
 discourse was entirely devoted to the praise of virtue, and to 
 encouraging all men to the study of virtue ; as may be plainly 
 seen in the books of the disciples of Socrates, and above all in 
 those of Plato. But by the influence of Plato, a man of vast 
 and varied and eloquent genius, a system of philosophy was 
 established which was one and identical, though under two 
 names; the system namely of the Academics and lVripa- 
 tetics. For these two schools agreed in reality, and differed 
 only in name. For when Plato had left Speusippus, his 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 11 
 
 sister's son, the inheritor as it were of his philosophy, and also 
 two pupils most eminent for industry and genius, Xenocrates 
 of Chalcedon, and Aristotle the Stagirite ; those who adhered 
 to Aristotle were called Peripatetics, because they disputed 
 while walking 1 in the Lyceum. And. the others, who according 
 to the fashion of Plato himself were accustomed to hold their 
 meetings and discussions-4n the Academy, which is a second 
 Gymnasium, took their name from the place where they used 
 to meet. But both these schools, being impregnated with 
 the copiousness of Plato, arranged a certain definite system of 
 doctrine, which was itself copious and luxuriant ; but aban- 
 doned the Socratic plan of doubting on eveiy subject, and of 
 discussing everything without ever venturing on the assertion 
 of a positive opinion. And thus there arose what Socrates 
 would have been far from approving of, a certain art of philo- 
 sophy, and methodical arrangement, and division of the 
 school, which at first, as I have already said, was one under 
 two names. For there was no real difference between th6 
 Peripatetics and the old Academy. Aristotle, at least such is 
 ray opinion, was superior in a certain luxuriance of genius ; 
 but both schools had the same source, and adopted the same 
 division of things which were to be desired and avoided. But 
 what am I about ? said he, interrupting himself; am I in my 
 senses while I am explaining these things to you ? for although 
 it may not be exactly a case of the pig teaching Minerva, 
 still it is not very wise of any one to attempt to impart in- 
 struction to that goddess. 
 
 V. I entreat you however, said Atticus. I entreat you to 
 go on, Varro. For I am greatly attached to my own country- 
 men and to their works ; and those subjects delight me beyond 
 measure when they are treated in Latin, and in such a man- 
 ner as you treat them And what, said I, do you think that 
 I must feel, who have already engaged to display philosophy 
 to our nation 1 Let us then, said he, continue the subject, 
 since it is agreeable to you. 
 
 A threefold system of philosophising, then, wis already re- 
 ceived from Tlato. One, on the subject of life and morals. A 
 second, on nature and abstruse matters. The third, on dis- 
 cussion, and on what is true or false ; what is right or wrong 
 in a discourse ; what is consistent or inconsistent in forming 
 a decision. 
 
 1 From 7rtpnraTe«, to walk. 
 
12 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 And that first division of the subject- that namely of living 
 well, they sought in nature herself, and said that it was neces- 
 sary to obey her ; and that that chief good to which every- 
 thing was referred was not to be sought in anything whatever 
 except in nature. And they laid it down that the crowning 
 point of all desirable things, and the chief good, was to have 
 received from, nature everything which is requisite for the 
 mind, or the body, or for life. But of the goods of the body, 
 they placed some in the whole, and others in the parts. 
 Health, strength, and beauty in the whole. In the parts, 
 soundness of the senses, and a certain excellence of the indi- 
 vidual parts. As in the feet, swiftness ; in the hands, strength ; 
 in the voice, clearness; in the tongue, a distinct articulation 
 of words. The excellences of the mind they considered those 
 which were suitable to the comprehension of virtue by the 
 disposition. And those they divided under the separate heads 
 of nature and morals. Quickness in learning and memory 
 they attributed to nature ; each of which was described as a 
 property of the mind and genius. Under the head of " morals" 
 they classed our studies, and, I may say, our habits, which they 
 formed, partly by a continuity of practice, partly by reason. 
 And in these two things was contained philosophy itself, in 
 which that which is begun and not brought to its completion, 
 is called a sort of advance towards virtue ; but that which is 
 brought to completion is virtue, being a sort of perfection of 
 nature and of all things which they place in the mind ; the 
 one most excellent thing. These things then are qualities of 
 the mind. 
 
 The third division was that of life. And they said that 
 those things which had influence in facilitating the practice of 
 virtue were connected with this division. For virtue is dis- 
 cerned in some good qualities of the mind and body, which 
 are added not so much to nature as to a happy life. They 
 thought that a man was as it were a certain part of the state, 
 and of the whole human race, and that he was connected with 
 other men by a sort of human society. And this is the way 
 in which they deal with the chief and natural good. But they 
 think that everything else is connected with it, either in the 
 way of increasing or of maintaining it; as riches, power, 
 glory, and influence. And thus a threefold division of goods 
 is inferred by them. 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 13 
 
 VI. And these are those three kinds which most people 
 believe the Peripatetics speak of: and so far they are not 
 wrong ; for this division is the work of that school. But 
 they are mistaken if they think that the Academicians — those 
 at least who bore this name at that time — are different from 
 the Peripatetics. The principle, and the chief good asserted 
 by both appeared to be the same — namely, to attain those 
 things which were in the first class by nature, and which 
 were intrinsically desirable ; the whole of them, if possible, 
 or, at all events, the most important of them. But those are 
 the most important which exist in the mind itself, and are 
 conversant about virtue itself. Therefore, all that ancient 
 philosophy perceived that a happy life was placed in virtue 
 alone ; and yet that it was not the happiest life possible, 
 unless the good qualities of the body were added to it, and all 
 the other things which have been already mentioned, which 
 are serviceable towards acquiring a habit of virtue. From 
 this definition of theirs, a certain principle of action in life, 
 and of duty itself, was discovered, which consisted in the 
 preservation of those things which nature might prescribe. 
 Hence arose the avoidance of sloth, and contempt of plea- 
 sures ; from which proceeded the willingness to encounter 
 many and great labours and pains, for the sake of what was 
 right and honourable, and of those things which are con- 
 formable to the objects of nature. Hence was generated 
 friendship, and justice, and equity ; and these things were 
 preferred to pleasure and to many of the advantages of life. 
 This was the system of morals recommended in their school, 
 and the method and design of that division which I have 
 placed first. 
 
 But concerning nature (for that came next), they spoke in 
 such a manner that they divided it into two parts, — making 
 one efficient, and the other lending itself, as it were, to the 
 first, as subject matter to be worked upon. For that part 
 which was efficient they thought there was poWer ; and in 
 that which was made something by it they thought there 
 was some matter ; and something of both in each. For 
 they considered that matter itself could have no cohesion, 
 unless it were held together by some power; and that power 
 could have none without some matter to work upon ; for that 
 ttare is nothing which is not necessarily somewhere. But 
 
14 
 
 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS 
 
 that which exists from a combination of the two they called 
 at once body, and a sort of quality, as it were. For you will 
 give me leave, in speaking of subjects which have not pre- 
 viously been in fashion, to use at times words which have 
 never been heard of (which, indeed, is no more than the 
 Greeks themselves do, who have been long in the habit of 
 discussing these subjects). 
 
 VII. To be sure we will, said Atticus. Moreover, you may 
 even use Greek words when you wish, if by chance you 
 should be at a loss for Latin ones. You are very kind ; but 
 I will endeavour to express myself in Latin, except in the 
 case of such words as these — philosophia, rhetorica, physica, 
 or dialectica, which, like many others, fashion already sanc- 
 tions, as if they were Latin. I therefore have called those 
 things qualitates (qualities), which the Greeks call iroiorqTts — 
 a word which, even among the Greeks, is no'c c"ac in ordinary 
 use, but is confined to philosophers. And the same rule 
 applies to many other expressions. As for the Dialecticians, 
 they have no terms in common use : they use technical terms 
 entirely. And the case is the same with nearly every art; for 
 men must either invent new names for new things, or else 
 boiTow them from other subjects. And if the Greeks do this, 
 who have now been engaged in such matters for so many 
 ages, how much more ought this licence to be allowed to us, 
 who are now endeavouring to deal with these subjects for the 
 first time 1 But, said I, Varro, it appears to me that you 
 will deserve well of your fellow-countrymen, if you enrich 
 them, not only with an abundance of new things, as you have 
 done, but also of words. We will venture, then, said he, to 
 employ new terms, if it be necessary, armed with your autho- 
 rity and sanction. 
 
 Of these qualities, then, said he, some are principal ones, 
 and others arise out of them . The principal ones are of one 
 character and simple ; but those which arise out of them are 
 various, an4, as it were, multiform. Therefore, air (we use 
 the Greek word drjp as Latin), fire, water, and earth are prin- 
 cipal ones ; and out of them there arise the forms of living 
 creatures, and of those things which are produced out of the 
 earth. Therefore, those first are called principles and (to 
 translate the Greek word) elements : from which air and fire 
 h. ave the power of movement and efficiency : the other divi- 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 15 
 
 Bions — I mean, water and the earth — have the power of 
 receiving, and, as it were, of suffering. The fifth class, from 
 which the stars and winds were formed, Aristotle considered 
 to be a separate essence, and different from those four which 
 I have mentioned above. 
 
 But ihej think that there is placed under all of these a 
 certain matter without any form, and destitute of all quality 
 (for we may as well, by constant use, make this word more 
 usual and notorious), from which all things are sketched out 
 and made; which can receive everything in its entirety, and 
 can be changed in every manner and in every part. And also 
 that it perishes, not so as to become nothing, but so as to be 
 dissolved with its component parts, which again are able to 
 be cut up and divided, ad infinitum; since there is absolutely 
 nothing in the whole nature of things which cannot be di- 
 vided : and those things which are moved, are all moved at 
 intervals, which intervals again are capable of being infinitely 
 divided. And, since that power which we have called quality 
 is moved in this way, and is agitated in every direction, they 
 think also that the whole of matter is itself entirely changed, 
 and so that those things are produced which they call quali- 
 ties, from which the world is made, in universal nature, 
 cohering together and connected with all its divisions ; and, 
 out of the world, there is no such thing as any portion of 
 matter or any body. 
 
 And they say that the parts of the world are all the things 
 which exist in it, and which are maintained by sentient 
 nature ; in which perfect reason is placed, which is also ever- 
 lasting : for that there is nothing more powerful which can be 
 the cause of its dissolution. And this power they call the 
 soul of the world, and also its intellect and perfect wisdom. 
 And -they call it God, a providence watching over everything 
 subject to its dominion, and, above all, over the heavenly 
 bodies ; and, next to them, over those things on earth which 
 concern men: which also they sometimes call necessity, 
 because nothing can be done in a manner different from that 
 in which it has been arranged by it, in a destined (if I may so 
 say) and inevitable continuation of eternal order. Sometimes, 
 too, they call it fortune, because it brings about many unfore- 
 seen things, which have never been expected by us, on account 
 of the obscurity of their causes, and our ignorance of them. 
 
IG ACADEMIC QUESTION'S. 
 
 VIII. The third part of philosophy, which is next in order, 
 being conversant about reason and discussion, was thus han- 
 dled by both schools. They said that, although it originated 
 m the senses, still the power of judging of the truth was not 
 in the senses. They insisted upon it that intellect was the 
 judge of things. They thought that the only thing deserving 
 of belief, because it alone discerned that which was always 
 simple and uniform, and which perceived its real character. 
 This they call idea, having already received this name from 
 Plato ; and we properly entitle it species. 
 
 But they thought that all the senses were dull and slow, 
 and that they did not by any means perceive those things 
 which appeared subjected to the senses ; which were either so 
 small as to be unable to come under the notice of sense, or so 
 moveable and rapid that none of them was ever one con- 
 sistent thing, nor even the same thing, because everything 
 was in a continual state of transition and disappearance. And 
 therefore they called all this division of things one resting 
 wholly on opinion. But they thought that science had no 
 existence anywhere except in the notions and reasonings of 
 the mind ; on which account they approved of the definitions 
 of things, and employed them on everything which was 
 brought under discussion. The explanation of words also was 
 approved of — that is to say, the explanation of the cause why 
 everything was named as it was ; and that they called etymo- 
 logy. Afterwards they used arguments, and, as it were, marks 
 of things, for the proof and conclusion of what they wished to 
 have explained ; in which the whole system of dialectics — that 
 is to say, of an oration brought to its conclusion by ratiocina- 
 tion, was handed down. And to this there was added, as a 
 kind of second part, the oratorical power of speaking, which 
 consists in developing a continued discourse, composed in a 
 manner adapted to produce conviction. 
 
 IX. This was the first philosophy handed down to them 
 by Plato. And if you like I will explain to you those discus- 
 sions which have originated in it. Indeed, said I, we shall be 
 glad if you will ; and I can answer for Atticus as well as for 
 myself. You are quite right, said he ; for the doctrine both 
 of the Peripatetics and of the old Academy is most admirably 
 explained. 
 
 Aristotle; then, was the first to undermine the doctrine ?f 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 17 
 
 spedes, which T have just now mentioned, and which Plato 
 had embraced in a wonderful manner; so that he even 
 affirmed that there was something divine in it. But Theo- 
 phrastus, a man of very delightful eloquence, and of such 
 purity of morals that his probity and integrity were noto- 
 rious to all men, broke down more vigorously still the 
 authority of the old school ; for he stripped virtue of its 
 beauty, and made it powerless, by denying that to live hap- 
 pily depended solely on it. For Strato, his pupil, although 
 a man of brilliant abilities, must still be excluded entirely 
 from that school ; for, having deserted that most indispensa- 
 ble part of philosophy which is placed in virtue and morals, 
 and having devoted himself wholly to the investigation of 
 nature, he by that veiy conduct departs as widely as possible 
 from his companions. But Speusippus and Xenocrates, who 
 were the earliest supporters of the system and authority of 
 Plato, — and, after them, Polemo and Crates, and at the same 
 time Crantor. — being all collected together in the Academy, 
 diligently maintained those doctrines which they had received 
 from their predecessors. Zeno and Arcesilas had been diligent 
 attenders on Polemo j but Zeno, who preceded Arcesilas in 
 point of time, and argued with more subtilty, and was a man 
 of the greatest acuteness, attempted to correct the system of 
 that school. And, if you like, I will explain to you the way 
 in which he set about that correction, as Antiochus used to 
 explain it. Indeed, said I, I shall be very glad to hear you 
 do so ; and you see that Pomponius intimates the same wish. 
 X. Zeno, then, was not at all a man like Theophrastus, to cut 
 through the sinews of virtue ; but, on the other hand, he was 
 one who placed everything which could have any effect in 
 producing a happy life in virtue alone, and who reckoned 
 nothing else a good at all, and who called that honour- 
 able which was single in its nature, and the sole and only 
 good. But as for all other things, although they w r ere neither 
 good nor bad, he divided them, calling some according to, and 
 others contrary to nature. There were others which he looked 
 upon as placed between these two classes, and which he called 
 intermediate. Those w r hich were according to nature, he 
 taught his disciples, deserved to be taken, and to be considered 
 worthy of a certain esteem. To those which were contrary to 
 nature, he assigned a contrary character ; and those of tho 
 
 ACAD. ETC. • 
 
18 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 intermediate class he left as neutrals, and attributed to thein 
 no importance whatever. But of those which he said ought 
 to be taken, he considered some worthy of a higher estimation 
 and others of a less. Those which were worthy of a higher 
 esteem, he called preferred; those which were only worthy of 
 a lower degree, he called rejected. And as he had altered all 
 these things, not so much in fact as in name, so too he denned 
 some actions as intermediate, lying between good deeds and 
 sins, between duty and a violation of duty ; — classing things 
 done rightly as good actions, and things done wrongly (that is 
 to say, sins) as bad actions. And several duties, whether dis- 
 charged or neglected, he considered of an intermediate cha- 
 racter, as I have already said. And whereas his predecessors 
 had not placed every virtue in reason, but had said that some 
 virtues were perfected by nature, or by habit, he placed them 
 all in reason ; and while they thought that those kinds of 
 virtues which I have mentioned above could be separated, he 
 asserted that that could not be done in any manner, and 
 affirmed that not only the practice of virtue (which was the 
 doctrine of his predecessors), but the very disposition to it, 
 was intrinsically beautiful ; and that virtue could not possibly 
 be present to any one without his continually practising it. 
 
 And while they did not entirely remove all perturbation of 
 mind from man, (for they admitted that man did by nature 
 grieve, and desire, and fear, and become elated by joy,) but 
 only contracted it, and reduced it to narrow bounds; he 
 maintained that the wise man was wholly free from all these 
 diseases as they might be called. And as the ancients said that 
 those perturbations were natural, and devoid of reason, and 
 placed desire in one part of the mind and reason in another, 
 he did not agree with them either ; for he thought that all 
 perturbations were voluntary, and were admitted by the 
 judgment of the opinion, and that a certain unrestrained in- 
 temperance was the mother of all of them. And this is nearly 
 what he laid down about morals. 
 
 XI. But about natures he held these opinions. In the 
 first place, he did not connect this fifth nature, out of which 
 his predecessors thought that sense and intellect were pro- 
 duced, with those four principles of things. For he laid it 
 down that fire is that nature which produces everything, and 
 intellect, and sense. But he differed from them again, inas- 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 19 
 
 much as he thought it absolutely impossille for anything to 
 be produced from that nature which was destitute of body ; 
 which was the character attributed by Xenocrates and his 
 predecessors to the mind, and he would not allow that that 
 which produced anything, or which was produced ly any- 
 thing, could possibly be anything except body. 
 
 But he made a great many alterations in that third part of 
 his philosophy, in which, IBrst of all, he said some new things 
 of the senses themselves : which he considered tVbe united by 
 some impulse as it were, acting upon them from without*, 
 which he called <f>avTao~La, and which we may term perception. 
 And let us recollect this word, for we shall have frequent oc^ 
 casion to employ it in the remainder of our discourse ; but 
 to these things which are perceived, and as it were accepted 
 by the senses, he adds the assent of the mind, which he con- 
 siders to be placed in ourselves and voluntary. He did not 
 give credit to everything which is perceived, but only to those 
 which contain some especial character of those things which 
 are seen; but he pronounced what was seen, when it was dis- 
 cerned on account of its own power, comprehensible — will 
 you allow me this word 1 Certainly, said Atticus, for how 
 else are you to express KaraXyprros 't But after it had been 
 received and approved, then he called it comprehension, re- 
 sembling those things which are taken up (prehenduntur) in 
 the hand ; from which verb also he derived this noun, though 
 no one else had ever used this verb with reference to such 
 matters ; and he also used many new words, for he was speak- 
 ing of new things. But that which was comprehended by 
 sense he called felt (sensum,) and if it was so comprehended 
 that it could not be eradicated by reason, he called it know- 
 ledge ; otherwise he called it ignorance : from which also was 
 engendered opinion, which was weak, and compatible with 
 what was false or unknown. But between knowledge and 
 ignorance he placed that comprehension which I have spoken 
 of, and reckoned it neither among what was right or what 
 was wrong, but said that it alone deserved to be trusted. 
 
 And from this he attributed credit alsc to the senses, be 
 cause, as I have said above, comprehension made by the 
 senses appeared to him to be true and trustworthy. Not 
 bjcause it comprehended all that existed in a thing, but be- 
 cause it left out nothing which could affect it, and because 
 
 c2 
 
20 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 nature had given it to us to be as it were a rule of know- 
 ledge, and a principle from which subsequently all notions of 
 things might be impressed on our minds, from which not only 
 principles, but some broader paths to the discovery of reason 
 are found out. But error, and rashness, and ignorance, and 
 opinion, and suspicion, and in a word everything which was 
 inconsistent with a firm and consistent assent, he discarded 
 from virtue and wisdom. And it is in these things that 
 nearly all the disagreement between Zeno and his predecessors, 
 and all his alteration of their system consists. 
 
 XII. And when he had spoken thus — You have, said I, 
 Varro, explained the principles both of the Old Academy 
 and of the Stoics with brevity, but also with great clearness. 
 But I think it to be true, as Antiochus, a great friend of mine, 
 used to assert, that it is to be considered rather as a corrected 
 edition of the Old Acadamy, than as any new sect. Then 
 Varro replied — It is your part now, who revolt from the prin- 
 ciples of the ancients, and who approve of the innovations 
 which have been made by Arcesilas, to explain what that 
 division of the two schools which he made was, and why he 
 made it ; so that we may see whether that revolt of his was 
 justifiable. Then I replied — Arcesilas, as we understand, 
 directed all his attaT^s'against Zeno, not out of obstinacy or 
 any desire of gaining the victory, as it appears to me, but by 
 reason of the obscurity of those things which had brought 
 Socrates to the confession of ignorance, and even before 
 Socrates, Democritus, Anaxagoras, Empedocles, and nearly 
 all the ancients j who asserted that nothing could be ascer- 
 tained, or perceived, or known : that the senses of man were 
 narrow, his mind feeble, the course of his life short, and that 
 truth, as Democritus said, was sunk in the deep ; that every- 
 thing depended on opinions and established customs ; that 
 nothing was left to truth. They said in short, that every- 
 thing was enveloped in darkness ; therefore Arcesilas asserted 
 that there was nothing which could be known, not even that 
 very piece of^knowledge which Socrates had left himself. 
 Thus he thought that everything lay hid in secret, and that 
 there was nothing which could be discerned or understood ; 
 for which reasons it was not right for any one to profess or 
 affirm anything, or sanction anything by his assent, but men 
 ought always to restrain their rashness and to keep it in check 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 21 
 
 bo as to guard it against every fall. For rashness would be 
 very remarkable when anything unknown or false was 
 approved of ; and nothing could be more discreditable than 
 for a man's assent and approbation to precede his knowledge 
 and perception of a fact. And he used to act consistently 
 with these principles, so as to pass most of his days in arguing 
 against eveiy one's opinion, in order that when equally im- 
 portant reasons were found for both sides of the same question, 
 the judgment might more naturally be suspended, and pre- 
 vented from giving assent to either. 
 
 This they call the New Academy, which however appears 
 to me to be the old one, if, at least, we reckon Plato as one of 
 that Old Academy. For in his books nothing is affirmed 
 positively, and many arguments are allowed on both sides of 
 a question ; everything is investigated, and nothing positive 
 affirmed. Still let the school whose principles I have ex- 
 plained, be called the Old Academy, and this other the New; 
 which, having continued to the time of Carneades, who was 
 the fourth in succession after Arcesilas, continued in the 
 same principles and system as Arcesilas. But Carneades, 
 being a man ignorant of no part of philosophy, and, as I 
 have learnt from those who had been his pupils, and par- 
 ticularly from Zeno the Epicurean, who, though he greatly 
 differed from him in opinion, still admired him above all other 
 men, was also a person of incredible abilities * * * 
 
 The rest of this Book is lost. 
 
 SECOND BOOK OF THE ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 1. Lucius Lucullus was a man of great genius, and very 
 much devoted to the study of the most important arts ; every 
 branch of liberal learning worthy of a man of high birth, was 
 thoroughly understood by him; but at the time when he 
 might have made the greatest figure in the forum, he was 
 wholly removed from all participation in the business of the 
 city. For while he was very young, he, uniting with his 
 brother, a man of equal sense of duty and diligence with him- 
 
22 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 salf, followed up the quarrel • bequeathed to him by his father 
 to his own exceeding credit ; afterwards having gene as 
 quaestor into Asia, he there governed the province for many 
 years with great reputation. Subsequently he was made 
 aedile in his absence, and immediately after that he was elected 
 praetor;, for his services had been rewarded by an express law 
 authorizing his election at a period earlier than usual. After 
 that he was sent into Africa ; from thence he proceeded to 
 the consulship, the duties of which he discharged in such a 
 manner, that every one admired his diligence, and recognised 
 his genius. Afterwards he was sent by the Senate to conduct 
 the war against Mithridates, and there he not only surpassed 
 the universal expectation which every one had formed of his 
 valour, but even the glory of his predecessors. And that was 
 the more admirable in him, because great skill as a general 
 was not very much looked for in one who had spent his 
 youth in the occupations of the forum, and the duration of 
 his quaestorship in peace in Asia, while Murena was carrying 
 on the war in Pontus. But the incredible greatness of his 
 genius did not require the aid of experience, which can 
 never be taught by precepts. Therefore, having devoted the 
 whole time occupied in his march and his voyage, partly 
 
 1 This Lucius Lucullus was the son of Lucius Licinius Lucullus, 
 who was praetor b.c. 103, and was appointed by the senate to take the 
 command in Sicily, where there was a formidable insurrection of the 
 slaves under Athenion and Tryphon. He was not however successful, 
 and was recalled ; and subsequently prosecuted by Servilius for bribery 
 and malversation, convicted and banished. The exact time of the 
 birth of this Lucullus his son is not known, but was probably about 
 b.c. 109. His first appearance in public life was prosecuting Servi- 
 lius, who had now become an augur, on a criminal charge, (which is 
 what Cicero alludes to here.) And though the trial terminated in the 
 acquittal of Servilius, yet the part Lucullus took in it appears to have 
 added greatly to his credit among his contemporaries. The special law 
 in his favour mentioned a few lines lower down, was passed by Sylla 
 with whom Lucullus was in high favour; so much so that Sylla at his 
 death confided to him the charge of revising and correcting his Com- 
 mentaries. Cicero's statement of his perfect inexperience in military 
 affaire before the war against Mithridates is not quite correct, as he had 
 served with distinction in the Marsic war. The time of his death is 
 not certainly known, but Cicero speaks of him as dead in the Oration 
 concerning the consular provinces, delivered b.c. 56, while he was cer- 
 tainly alive b.c. 59, in which year he was charged by L. Vettius with 
 an imaginary plot against the life of Pompey. His second wife was 
 Servilia, half-sister to Cato Uticensia. 
 
'ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 23 
 
 to making inquiries of those who where skilful in such mat- 
 ters, and partly in reading the accounts of great achieve- 
 ments, he arrived in Asia a perfect general, though he had 
 left Rome entirely ignorant of military affairs. For he had 
 an almost divine memory for facts, though Hortensius had a 
 better one for words. But as in performing great deeds, facts 
 are of more consequence than words, this memory of his was 
 the more serviceable of the two ; and they say, that the same 
 quality was conspicuous in Themistocles, whom we consider 
 beyond all comparison the first man in Greece. And a story 
 is told of him, that, when some one promised to teach him 
 the art of memory, which was then beginning to be cultivated, 
 he answered, that he should much prefer learning to forget ; 
 I suppose, because everything which he had either heard or 
 seen stuck in his memory. 
 
 Lucullus having this great genius, added to it that study 
 which Themistocles had despised : therefore, as we write down 
 in letters what we wish to commit to monuments, he, in like 
 manner, had the facts engraved in his mind. Therefore, he was 
 a general of such perfect skill in every kind of war, in battles, 
 and sieges, and naval fights,, and in the whole equipment and 
 management of war, that that king, the greatest that has ever 
 lived since the time of Alexander, confessed, that he con- 
 sidered him a greater general than any one of whom he had 
 ever read. He also displayed such great prudence in arrang- 
 ing and regulating the affairs of the different cities, and such 
 great justice too, that to this very day, Asia is preserved by 
 the careful maintenance of the regulations, and by following 
 as it were in the footsteps of Lucullus. But although it was 
 greatly to the advantage of the republic, still that great virtue 
 and genius was kept abroad at a distance from the eyes both 
 of the forum and the senate-house, for a longer time than I 
 could have wished. Moreover, when he had returned vic- 
 torious from the war against Mithridates, owing to the ca- 
 lumnies of his adversaries, he did not celebrate his triumph 
 till three years later than he ought to have done. For I may 
 almost say, that J myself when consul led into the city the 
 chariot of that most illustrious man, and I might enlarge 
 upon the great advantage that his counsel and authority were 
 to me, in the most critical circumstances, if it were not that 
 to do so would compel me to speak of myself, which at thia 
 
24 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS.' 
 
 moment is not necessary. Therefore, I will rather deprive 
 him of the testimony due to him, than mix it up now with a 
 commendation of myself. 
 
 II. But as for those exploits of Lucullus, which were en- 
 titled to be celebrated by the praises of the nation, they have 
 been extolled both in Greek and Latin writings. For those 
 outward exploits of his are known to us in common with the 
 multitude ; but his interior excellences (if I may so call them) 
 we and a few of his friends have learnt from himself. For 
 Lucullus used to apply himself to every kind of literature, 
 and especially to philosophy, with greater eagerness than 
 those who were not acquainted with him believed. And he 
 did so, not only at his first entrance into life, but also when 
 he was proqusestor, as he was for several years, and even 
 during the time of war itself, a time when men are usually 
 so fully occupied w T ith their military business, that very little 
 leisure is left to the general, even in his own tent. And as of 
 all the philosophers of that day, Antiochus, who had been a 
 pupil of Philo, was thought to excel in genius and learning, 
 he kept him about him while he was qusestor, and some years 
 afterwards when he was general. And as he had that extra- 
 ordinary memory whieh I have mentioned already, by hearing 
 frequently of things, he arrived at a thorough acquaintance 
 with them ; as he recollected everything that he had heard of 
 only once. And he was wonderfully delighted in the reading 
 books of which he heard any one speak. 
 
 And I sometimes fear lest I may even diminish the glory 
 of such characters as his, even while wishing to enhance it ; 
 for there are many people who are altogether averse to Greek 
 literature, still more who have a dislike to philosophy, 
 and men in general, even though they do not positively dis- 
 approve of them, still think the discussion of such matters 
 not altogether suitable for the chiefs of the state. But I, 
 having heard that Marcus Cato learnt Greek in his old age, 
 and learning from history that Pansetius was above all other 
 men the chosen companion of Publius Africanus, in that 
 noble embassy which he was employed on before he entered 
 on the censorship, think I have no need of any other instance 
 to justify his study of Greek literature or of philosophy. 
 f~^ It remains for me to reply to those men who disapprove of 
 such dignified characters being mixed up in discussions of this 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 25 
 
 sort ; as if the meetings of illustrious men were bound to be 
 passed in silence, or their conversation to be confined to jest- 
 ing, and all the topics to be drawn from trifling subjects. In 
 truth, if in any one of my writings 1 have given philosophy 
 its due praise, then surely its discussion is thoroughly worthy 
 of every excellent and honourable man ; nor is anything else 
 necessary to be taken care of by us, whom the Roman 
 people has placed in our present rank, except that we do not 
 devote to our private pursuits, the time which ought to be 
 bestowed on the atlairs of the public. But if, while we are 
 bound to discharge our duties, we still not only never omit to 
 give our assistance in all public meetings, but never even 
 write a single word unconnected with the forum, who then 
 will blame our leisure, because even in that moment we are 
 unwilling to allow ourselves to grow rusty and stupid, but 
 take pains rather to benefit as many people as possible 1 
 
 And I think, that not only is the glory of those men not 
 diminished, but that it is even increased by our adding to 
 their popular and notorious praises these also which are less 
 known and less spoken of. Some people also deny that those 
 men who are introduced in our writings as disputants had 
 any knowledge of those affairs which are the subjects of dis- 
 cussion. But they appear to me to be showing their envy, 
 not only of the living but also of the dead. 
 ^j, III. There remains one class of critics who disapprove of 
 the general principles of the Academy. Which we should be 
 more concerned at if any one approved of any school of phi- 
 losophy except that which he himself followed. But we, 
 since we are in the habit of arguing against every one who 
 appears to himself to know anything, cannot object to others 
 also dissenting from us. Although our side of the question is 
 an easier one, since we wish to discover the truth without any 
 dispute, and we seek for that with the greatest anxiety and 
 diligence. For although all knowledge is beset with many dif- 
 ficulties, and there is that obscurity in the things themselves 
 and that infirmity in our own judgment, that it is not without 
 reason that the most learned and ancient philosophers have 
 distrusted their power of discovering what they wished ; yet 
 they have not been deficient in any respect, nor do we allow 
 ourselves to abandon the pursuit of truth through fatigue,* 
 nor have our discussions ever any other object except that of, 
 
2Q ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 by arguing on each side, eliciting, and as it were, squeezing out 
 something which may either be the truth itself, or may at least 
 come as near as possible to it. Nor is there any difference 
 between us and those people who fancy that they know some- 
 thing, except that they do not doubt at all that those doc- 
 trines which they uphold are the truth, while we account 
 many things as probable which we can adopt as our belief, 
 but can hardly positively affirm. 
 
 And in this we are more free and unfettered than they are, 
 because our power of judging is unimpeached, and because 
 we are not compelled by any necessity to defend theories 
 which are laid upon as injunctions, and, if I may say so, as 
 commands. For in the first place, those of the other schools 
 have been bound hand and foot before they were able to judge 
 what was best ; and, secondly, before their age or their under- 
 standing had come to maturity, they have either followed the 
 opinion of some friend, or been charmed by the eloquence of 
 some one who was the first arguer whom they ever heard, 
 and so have been led to form a judgment on what they did 
 not understand, and now they cling to whatever school they 
 were, as it were, dashed against in a tempest, like sailors 
 clinging to a rock. For as to their statement that they are 
 wholly trusting to one whom they judge to have been a wise 
 man, I should approve of that if that were a point which they, 
 while ignorant and unlearned, were able to judge of, (for to 
 decide who is a wise man appears to me most especially the 
 task of one who is himself wise.) But they have either 
 formed their opinion as well as they could from a hearing of 
 all the circumstances, and also from a knowledge of the 
 opinions of philosophers of all the other schools ; or else, 
 having heard the matter mentioned once, they have sur- 
 rendered themselves to the guidance of some one individual. 
 But, I know not how it is, most people prefer being in error, 
 and defending with the utmost pugnacity that opinion which 
 they have taken a fancy to, to inquiring without any obsti- 
 nacy what is said with the greatest consistency. 
 
 And these subjects were very frequently and very copiously 
 discussed by us at other times, and once also in the villa of 
 Hortensius, which is at Bauli, when Catulus, and Lucullus, 
 and I myself had arrived there the day after we had been 
 staying with Catulus. And we had come thither rather early 
 
Y 
 
 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 27 
 
 in the day, because we had intended, if the wind was fair, to 
 set sail, Lucullus for his villa near Naples, and I myself 
 towards mine, in the district of Pompeii. When, therefore, 
 we had had a short conversation on the terrace, we sat down 
 where we were. 
 
 IV. Then Catulus said, — Although what we were inquiring 
 mto yesterday was almost wholly explained in such a manner 
 that nearly the whole question appears to have been discussed, 
 still I long to hear what you promised to tell us, Lucullus, 
 as being what you had learnt from Antiochus. I, indeed, said 
 Hortensius, did more than I intended, for the whole matter 
 ought to have been left untouched for Lucullus, and indeed, 
 perhaps it was : for I only said such things as occurred to me 
 at the moment ; but I hope to hear something more recon- 
 dite from Lucullus. 
 
 Lucullus rejoined, I am not much troubled, Hortensius, at 
 your expectation, although there is nothing so unfavourable 
 for those who wish to give pleasure; but still, as I am not 
 very anxious about how far I can prove to your satisfaction 
 the arguments which I advance, I am the less disturbed. For 
 the arguments which I am going to repeat are not my own, 
 nor such that, if they are incorrect, I should nr*, prefer being 
 defeated to gaining the victory; but, in trutn, as the case 
 stands at present, although the doctrines of my school were 
 somewhat shaken in yesterday's discussion, still they do seem 
 to me to be wholly true. I will therefore argue as Antiochus 
 used to argue; for the subject is one with which I am well 
 acquainted. For I used to listen to his lectures with a mind 
 quite unengaged, and with great pleasure, and, moreover, he 
 frequently discussed the same subject over again; so that you 
 have some grounds for expecting more from me than you 
 had from Hortensius a little while ago. When he had begun 
 in this manner we prepared to listen with great attention. 
 
 And he spoke thus:— When I was at Alexandria, as pro- 
 quaestor, Antiochus was with me, and before my arrival, Herac- 
 litus, of Tyre, a friend of Antiochus, had already settled in 
 Alexandria, a man who had been for many years a pupil of 
 Clitomachus and of Philo, and who had a great and deserved 
 reputation in that school, which having been almost utterly 
 discarded, is now coming again into fashion ; and I used often 
 to hear Antiochus arguing with him ; but they both con- 
 
2S ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 ducted their discussions with great gentleness. And just at 
 that time those two books of Philo which were yesterday 
 mentioned by Catulus had been brought to Alexandria, and 
 had for the first time come under the notice of Antiochus ; 
 and he, though naturally a man of the mildest disposition, 
 (nor indeed was it possible for any one to be more peaceable 
 than he was,) was nevertheless a little provoked. I was sur- 
 prised, for I had never seen him so before : but he, appealing 
 to the recollection of Heraclitus, began to inquire of him 
 whether he had seen those works of Philo, or whether he had 
 heard the doctrines contained in them, either from Philo or 
 from any one else of the Academic school 1 And he said that he 
 had not ; however, he recognised the style of 'Philo, nor, indeed, 
 could there be any doubt about it ; for some friends of mine, 
 men of great learning, Publius and Caius Setilius, and Tetri- 
 lius Rogus were present, who said that they heard Philo advance 
 such operations at Rome ; and who said that they had written 
 out those two books from his dictation. Then Antiochus 
 repeated what Catulus mentioned yesterday, as having been 
 said to Philo by his father, and many other things besides ; 
 nor did he forbear even to publish a book against his own 
 master, which is called " Sosus." 
 
 I therefore, then, as I was much interested in hearing 
 Heraclitus arguing against Antiochus, and Antiochus against 
 the Academicians, paid great attention to Antiochus, in order 
 to learn the whole matter from him. Accordingly, for many 
 days, collecting together Heraclitus and several learned men, 
 and among them Aristus, the brother of Antiochus, and also 
 Ariston and Dion, men whom he considered only second to 
 his brother in genius, we devoted a great deal of time to that 
 single discussion. 
 
 But we must pass over that part of it which was bestowed 
 on refuting the doctrines of Philo ; for he is a less formidable 
 adversary, who altogether denies that the Academicians ad- 
 vance those arguments which were maintained yesterday. 
 For although he is quite wrong as to the fact, still he is a 
 less invincible adversary. Let us speak of Arcesilas and 
 Carneades. 
 
 V. And having said this, he began again : — You appear to 
 me, in the first place, (and he addressed me by name,) when 
 you speak of the old natural philosophers, to do the sam© 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 29 
 
 thing that seditious citizens are in the habit of doing when 
 they bring forward some illustrious men of the ancients, who 
 they say were friends of the people, in the hope of being 
 themselves considered like them. They go back to Publius 
 Valerius, who was consul the first year after the expulsion of 
 the kings. They enumerate all the other men who have 
 passed laws for the advantage of the people concerning ap- 
 peals when they were consuls ; and then they come down to 
 these better known men, Caius Flaminius, who, as tribune of 
 the people, passed an Agrarian law some years before the 
 second Punic war, against the will of the senate, and who 
 was afterwards twice elected consul ; to Lucius Cassius and 
 Quintus Pompeius ; they are also in the habit of classing 
 Publius Africanus in the same list ; and they assert that those 
 two brothers of infinite wisdom and exceeding glory, Publius 
 Crassus and Publius Scsevola, were the advisers of Tiberius Grac- 
 chus, in the matter of the laws which he proposed ; the one, 
 indeed, as we see, openly ; the other, as we suspect, in a more 
 concealed manner. They add also Caius Marius; and with 
 respect to him they speak truly enough : then, having re- 
 counted the names of so many illustrious men, they say that 
 they are acting up to their principles. 
 
 In like manner, you, when you are seeking to overturn a 
 well-established system of philosophy, in the same way as 
 those men endeavoured to overturn the republic, bring for- 
 ward the names of Empedocles, Anaxagoras, Democritus, Par- 
 menides, Xenophanes, and even Plato and Socrates. But 
 Saturninus, (that I may name my own enemy rather than 
 any one else,) had nothing in him resembling those ancient 
 men; nor are the ungrounded accusations of Arcesilas to be 
 compared to the modesty of Democritus. And yet those 
 natural philosophers, though very seldom, when they have 
 any very great difficulty, make loud and violent outcries, as if 
 under the influence of some great excitement, Empedocles, 
 indeed, does so to such a degree, that he appears to me at 
 times to be mad, crying out that all things are hidden, that 
 we feel nothing, see nothing, and cannot find out the true 
 character of anything whatever. But for the most part all 
 those men appear to me to affirm some things rather too 
 positively, and to profess that they know more than they 
 really do know. But if they then hesitated while discussing 
 new subjects, like children lately born, are we for that reasou 
 
30 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 to think that nothing has been explained in so many ages by 
 the greatest genius and the most untiring industry 1 May 
 we not say that, after the establishment of some wise and 
 important schools of philosophy, then, as Tiberius Gracchus 
 arose in an excellent constitution, for the purpose of throwing 
 everything into confusion, so Arcesilas rose up to overturn 
 the established philosophy, and to shelter himself under the 
 authority of those men who asserted that nothing could be 
 known or perceived \ in which number we ought not to include 
 Plato or Socrates; the one because he left behind him a 
 most perfect school, namely, the Peripatetics and Academics, 
 differing in name, but agreeing in all substantial matters: and 
 from whom the Stoics themselves differ in words rather than 
 in opinions. But Socrates, who always disparaged himself in 
 arguing, attributed more knowledge to those whom he wished 
 to refute. So, as he was speaking differently from what he 
 really thought, he was fond of using that kind of dissimu- 
 lation which the Greeks call dpwveta ; which Fannius says 
 Africanus also was in the habit of indulging in, and that that 
 ought not be considered a bad habit in him, as it was a 
 favourite practice of Socrates. 
 
 VI. But. however, we will allow, if you like, that all those 
 things were unknown to the ancients : — Was nothing effected 
 then, by their being thoroughly investigated, after that Arce- 
 silas, disparaging Zeno, (for that is supposed to have been his 
 object,) as discovering nothing new, but only correcting pre- 
 vious changes of names, while seeking to upset his definitions, 
 had attempted to envelop the clearest possible matters in 
 darkness 1 ? And his system, which was at first not at all 
 approved of, although it was illustrated both by acute genius 
 and by an admirable wittiness of language, was in the next 
 generation adopted by no one but Lacydes; but subsequently 
 it was perfected by Carneades, who was the fourth in succes- 
 sion from Arcesilas ; for he was the pupil of Hegesinus, who 
 had been the pupil of Evander, the disciple of Lacydes, and 
 Lacydes himself had been the pupil of Arcesilas ; but Carne- 
 ades maintained it for a long time, for he lived ninety years; 
 and those who had been his pupils had a very high reputa- 
 tion, of whom Clitomachus displayed the most industry, as 
 the number of books which he composed testifies ; nor was 
 there less brilliancy of genius in him than there was of elo- 
 quence in Charmadas, or of sweetness in Melanthius of Rhodes. 
 
aCADEMIJ QUEGTIOtfS. 3X 
 
 But Metrodorus of Stratonice was thought to be the one who 
 had the most thorough understanding of Carneades. And 
 your friend Philo attended the lectures of Clitomachus for 
 many years ; but as long as Philo was alive the Academy was 
 never in want of a head. 
 
 But the business that we now propose to ourselves, of argu- 
 ing against the Academicians, appears to some philosophers, 
 and those, too, men of no ordinary calibre, to be a thing that 
 ought not to be done at all ; and they think that there is no 
 sense at all in, and no method of disputing with men who 
 approve of nothing j and they blame Antipater, the Stoic, 
 who was very fond of doing so, and say that there is no need 
 of laying down exact definitions of what knowledge is, or per- 
 ception, or, if we want to render word for word, comprehension, 
 which they call /cai-aA^is ; and they say that those who wish 
 to persuade men that there is anything which can be compre- 
 hended and perceived, are acting ignorantly ; because there 
 is nothing clearer than eVapyeia, as the Greeks call it, and 
 which we may call perspicuity, or evidentness if you like, — 
 coining words, if you will permit us to do so, that this fellow 
 (meaning me) may not think that he is the only person to 
 whom such liberties are permitted. Still they thought that 
 no discourse could be found which should be more intel- 
 ligible than evidentness itself ; and they thought that there 
 was no need of defining things which were so clear. 
 
 But others declared that they would never be the first to 
 speak in behalf of this evidentness ; but they thought that a 
 reply ought to be made to those arguments which were ad- 
 vanced against it, to prevent any one being deceived by them. 
 There are also many men who do not disapprove of the defi- 
 nitions of the evident things themselves, and who think the 
 subject one worthy of being inquired into, and the men 
 worthy of being argued with. 
 
 But Philo, while he raises some new questions, because he 
 was scarcely able to withstand the things which were said 
 against the obstinacy of the Academicians, speaks falsely, 
 without disguise, as he was reproached for doing by the elder 
 Catulus ; and also, as Antiochus told him, falls into the very 
 trap of which he was afraid. For as he asserted that there 
 was nothing which could be comprehended, (for that is what 
 we conceive to be meant by aKaTaX^irro^,) if that was, as Zeno 
 defined it, such a perception, (for we have already spent time 
 
52 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 enough yesterday in beating out a word for ^avrama,) then a 
 perception was extracted and produced out of that from which 
 it originated, such as could be produced from that from which 
 it did not originate. And we say that this matter was most 
 excellently defined by Zeno ; for how can anything be com- 
 prehended, so that you may feel absolutely sure that it has 
 been perceived and known, which is of such a character that 
 it is even possible that it may be false 1 Now when Philo 
 upsets and denies this, he takes away also all distinction 
 between what is known and unknown ; from which it follows 
 that nothing can be comprehended ; and so, without intend- 
 ing it, he is brought back to the point he least intended. 
 Wherefore, all this discourse against the Academy is under- 
 taken by us in order that we may retain that definition which 
 Philo wished to overturn ; and unless we succeed in that, we 
 grant that nothing can be perceived. 
 
 VII. Let us begin then with the senses — the judgments of 
 which are so clear and certain, that if an option were given 
 to our nature, and if some god w 7 ere to ask of it whether it is 
 content with its own unimpaired and uncorrupted senses, or 
 whether it desires something better, I do not see what more 
 it could ask for. Nor while speaking on this topic need you 
 wait while I reply to the illustration drawn from a bent oar, or 
 the neck of a dove ; for I am not a man to say that every- 
 thing which seems is exactly of that character of which it 
 seems to be. Epicurus may deal with this idea, and with 
 many others ; but in my opinion there is the very greatest 
 truth in the senses, if they are in sound and healthy order, 
 and if everything is removed which could impede or hinder 
 them. Therefore we often wish the light to be changed, or 
 the situation of those things which we are looking at ; and 
 we either narrow or enlarge distances ; and we do many 
 things until our sight causes us to feel confidence in our 
 judgment. And the same thing takes place with respect to 
 sounds, and smell, and taste, so that there is not one of us 
 who, in each one of his senses, requires a more acute judgment 
 as to each sort of thing. 
 
 But when practice and skill are added, so that one's eyes 
 are charmed by a picture, and one's ears by songs, who is 
 there who can fail to see what great power there is in the 
 senses 1 How many things do painters see in shadows and in 
 projections which we do not see 1 How many beauties which 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 33 
 
 escape us in music are perceived by those who are practised in 
 that kind of accomplishment 1 men who, at the first note of the 
 flute-player, say, — That is the Antiope, or the Andromache, 
 when we have not even a suspicion of it. There is no need for 
 me to speak of the faculties of taste or smell ; organs in which 
 there is a degree of intelligence, however faulty it may be. 
 Why should I speak of touch, and of that kind of touch which 
 philosophers call the inner one, I mean the touch of pleasure 
 or pain ? in which alone the Cyrenaics think that there is any 
 judgment of the truth, because pleasure or pain are felt. Can 
 any one then say that there is no difference between a man who 
 is in pain and a man who is in pleasure ? or can any one think 
 ♦hat a man who entertains this opinion is not flagrantly mad 1 
 But such as those things are which we say are perceived by 
 the senses, such also are those things which are said to be 
 perceived, not by the senses themselves, but by the senses 
 after a fashion ; as these things — that is white, this is sweet, 
 that is tuneful, this is fragrant, that is rough. We have 
 these ideas already comprehended by the mind, not by the 
 senses. Again, this is a house, that is a dog. Then the rest 
 of the series follows, connecting the more important links; 
 such as these, which embrace, as it were, the full comprehen- 
 sion of things ; — If he is a man, he is a mortal animal par- 
 taking of reason : — from which class of arguments the notions 
 of things are impressed upon lis, without which nothing can 
 be understood, nor inquired into, nor discussed. But if those 
 notions were false, (for y<>u seemed to me to translate eWotat 
 notions,) if, I say, they were false, or impressed, or perceptions 
 of such a kind as not to be able to be distinguished from 
 false ones ; then I should like to know how we were to use 
 them? and how we were to see what was consistent with 
 each thing and what was inconsistent with it? Certainly no 
 room at all is here left for memory, which of all qualities is 
 the one that most completely contains, not only philosophy, 
 but the whole practice of life, and all the arts. For what 
 memory can there be of what is false 1 or what does any one 
 remember which he does not comprehend and hold in his 
 mind 1 And what art can there be except that which con- 
 sists not of one, nor of two, but of many perceptions Oi 
 the mind 1 and if you take these away, how are you to dis- 
 tinguish the artist from the ignorant man 1 For we must net 
 
 ACAD. ETC., D 
 
34 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 say at random that this man is an artist, and deny that that 
 man is; but we must only do so when we see that the one 
 retains the things which he has perceived and comprehended, 
 and that the other does not. And as some arts are of that 
 kind that one can only see the fact in one's mind, others 
 such that one can design and effect something, how can a 
 geometrician perceive those things which have no existence, 
 or which cannot be distinguished from what is false 1 or how 
 •can he who plays on the lyre complete his rhythm, and finish 
 verses 1 And the same will be the case with respect to simi- 
 lar arts, whose whole w^ork consists in acting and in effecting 
 something. For what is there that can be effected by art, 
 unless the man who exercises the art has many perceptions % 
 
 VIII. And most especially does the knowledge of virtues 
 confirm the assertion that many things can be perceived and 
 comprehended. And in those things alone do we say that 
 science exists ; which we consider to be not a mere compre- 
 hension of things, but one that is firm and unchangeable ; and 
 we consider it also to be wisdom, the art of living which, by 
 itself, derives consistency from itself. But if that consistency 
 has no perception or knowledge about it, then I ask w T hence 
 it has originated and how? I ask also, why that good man 
 who has made up his mind to endure every kind of torture, 
 to be torn by intolerable pain, rather than to betray his duty 
 or his faith, has imposed on himself such bitter conditions, 
 when he has nothing comprehended, perceived, known, or 
 established, to lead him to think that he is bound to do so ? 
 It cannot, then, by any possibility be the case that any one 
 should estimate equity and good faith so highly as to shrink 
 from no punishment for the sake of preserving them, unless 
 he has assented to those facts which cannot be false. But as 
 to wisdom itself, if it be ignorant of its own character, and if 
 it does not know whether it be wisdom or not, in the first place, 
 how is it to obtain its name of wisdom? Secondly, how will it 
 venture to undertake any exploit, or to perform it with con- 
 fidence, when it has nothing certain to follow 1 But when it 
 doubts what is the chief and highest good, being ignorant to 
 what everything is referred, how can it be wisdom ? 
 
 And that also is manifest, that it is necessary that there 
 should be laid down in the first place a principle which wisdom 
 may follow when it begins to act ; and that principle must be 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 35 
 
 adapted to nature. For otherwise, the desire, (for that is 
 how I translate bpfxr},) by which we are impelled to act, and 
 by which we desire what has been seen, cannot be set in 
 motion. But that which sets anything in motion must first 
 be seen and trusted, which cannot be the case if that which 
 is seen cannot be distinguished from what is false. But how 
 can the mind be moved to desire anything, if it cannot be 
 perceived whether that which is seen is adapted to nature or 
 inconsistent with it 1 
 
 And again, if it does not occur to a man's mind what his 
 duty is, he will actually never do anything, he will never be 
 excited to any action, he will never be moved. But if he 
 ever is about to do anything, then it is necessary that 
 that which occurs to him must appear to him to be true. 
 What ! But if those things are true, is the whole of reason, 
 which is, as it were, the light and illumination of life, 
 put an end to 1 And still will you persist in that wrong- 
 headedness 1 ? For it is reason which has brought men the 
 beginning of inquiry, which has perfected virtue, after reason 
 herself had been confirmed by inquiry. But inquiry is the 
 desire of knowledge ; and the end of inquiiy is discovery. 
 But no one can discover what is false ; nor can those things 
 which continue uncertain be discovered. But when those things 
 which have, as it were, been under a veil, are laid open, then they 
 are said to be discovered; and so reason contains the beginning 
 of inquiry, and the end of perceiving and comprehending. 
 Therefore the conclusion of an argument, which in Greek is 
 called dwohcUjis, is thus defined : — Reason, which leads one from 
 facts which are perceived, to that which was not perceived. 
 
 IX. But if all things which are seen were of that sort that 
 those men say they are, so that they either could possibly 
 be false, or that no discernment could distinguish whether 
 they were false or not, then how could we say that any 
 one had either formed any conclusion, or discovered any- 
 thing 1 Or what trust could be placed in an argument when 
 brought to a conclusion'? And what end will philosophy itself 
 have, which is bound to proceed according to reason 1 And 
 what will become of wisdom 1 which ought not to doubt 
 about its own character, nor about its decrees, which philoso- 
 phers call Soy/ion-a ; none of which can be betrayed without 
 wickedness. For when a decree is betrayed, the law of truth 
 
 d2 
 
36 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 and right is betrayed too. From which fault betrayals of 
 friendships and of republics often originate. It cannot, there- 
 fore be doubted, that no rule of wisdom can possibly be 
 false ; and it ought not to be enough for the wise man that it 
 is not false, but it ought also to be steady, durable, and last- 
 ing; such as no arguments can shake. But none can either 
 be, or appear such, according to the principle of those men 
 who deny that those perceptions in which all rules originate 
 are in any respect different from false ones ; and from this 
 assertion arose the demand which was repeated by Hor- 
 tensius, that you would at least allow that the fact that 
 nothing can be perceived has been perceived by the wise 
 man. But when Antipater made the same demand, and 
 argued that it was unavoidable that the man who affirmed 
 that nothing could be perceived should nevertheless admit 
 that this one thing could be perceived, — namely, that nothing 
 else could, — Carneades resisted him with great shrewdness. For 
 he said that this admission was so far from being consistent 
 with the doctrine asserted, that it was above all others incom- 
 patible with it : for that a man who denied that there was 
 anything which could be perceived excepted nothing. And 
 so it followed of necessity, that even that very thing which 
 was not excepted, could not be comprehended and perceived 
 in any possible manner. 
 
 Antiochus, on this topic, seems to press his antagonist more 
 closely. For since the Academicians adopted that rule, (for 
 you understand that I am translating by this word what they 
 call Soyixa,) that nothing can be perceived, he urged that they 
 ought not to waver in their rule as in other matters, especially 
 as the whole of their philosophy consisted in it : for that the 
 fixing of what is true and false, known and unknown, is the 
 supreme law of all philosophy. And since they adopted this 
 principle, and wished to teach what ought to be received by 
 each individual, and what rejected, undoubtedly, said he, 
 they ought to perceive this very thing from which the 
 whole judgment of what is true and false arises. He urged, 
 in short, that there were these two principal objects in 
 philosophy, the knowledge of truth, and the attainment of 
 the chief good ; and that a man could not be wise who wai 
 ignorant of either the beginning of knowledge, or of the end 
 of desire, so as not to know either where to start from, or 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 3/ 
 
 whither to seek to arrive at. But that to feel in doubt on these 
 points, and not to have such confidence respecting them as to 
 be unable to be shaken, is utterly incompatible with wisdom. 
 
 In this manner, therefore, it was more fitting to demand of 
 them that they should at least admit that this fact was per- 
 ceived, namely, that nothing could be perceived. But enough, 
 I imagine, has been said of the inconsistency of their whole 
 opinion, if, indeed, you can say that a man who approves of 
 nothing has any opinion at all. 
 
 X. The next point for discussion is one which is copious 
 enough, but rather abstruse ; for it touches in some points 
 on natural philosophy, so that I am afraid that I may 
 be giving the man who will reply to me too much liberty 
 and licence. For what can I think that he will do about 
 abstruse and obscure matters, who seeks to deprive us of all 
 light 1 But one might argue with great refinement the ques- 
 tion, — with how much artificial skill, as it were, nature has 
 made, first of all, every animal ; secondly, man most especially ; 
 — how great the power of the senses is ; in what manner things 
 seen first affect us ; then, how the desires, moved by these 
 things, followed ; and, lastly, in what manner we direct our 
 senses to the perception of things. For the mind itself, which 
 is the source of the senses, and which itself is sense, has a 
 natural power, which it directs towards those things by which 
 it is moved. Therefore it seizes on other things which are 
 seen in such a manner as to use them at once ; others it 
 stores up ; and from these memory arises : but all other 
 things it arranges by similitudes, from which notions of 
 things are engendered ; which the Greeks call, at one time 
 Iwoiai, and at another 7rpoXr;i^ctg. And when to this there is 
 added reason and the conclusion of the argument, and a 
 multitude of countless circumstances, then the perception of 
 all those things is manifest, and the same reason, being made 
 perfect by these steps, arrives at wisdom. 
 
 As, therefore, the mind of man is admirably calculated for 
 the science of things and the consistency of life, it embraces 
 knowledge most especially. And it loves that Kcn-aA^is, 
 (which we, as I have said, will call comprehension, translating 
 the word literally,) for its own sake, (for there is nothing 
 more sweet than the light of truth,) and also because of its 
 use : on which account also it uses the senses, and creates 
 
28 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 arts, which are, as it were, second senses; and it strengthens 
 philosophy itself to such a degree that it creates virtue, to 
 which single thing all life is subordinate. Therefore, those 
 men who affirm that nothing can be comprehended, take away 
 by their assertion all these instruments or ornaments of life ; 
 or rather, I should say, utterly overturn the whole of life, and 
 deprive the animal itself of mind (animo), so that it is difficult 
 to speak of their rashness as the merits cf the case require. 
 
 Nor can I sufficiently make out what their ideas or inten- 
 tions really are. For sometimes, when we address them with 
 this argument, — that if the doctrines which we are upholding 
 are not true, then everything must be uncertain : they reply, 
 — Well, what is that to us 1 is that our fault % blame nature, 
 who, as Democritus says, has buried truth deep in the bottom 
 of the sea. 
 
 But others defend themselves more elegantly, who com- 
 plain also that we accuse them of calling everything uncer- 
 tain ; and they endeavour to explain how much difference 
 there is between what is uncertain and what cannot be per- 
 ceived, and to make a distinction between them. Let us, 
 then, now deal with those who draw this distinction, and let 
 us abandon, as incurable and desperate, those who say that 
 everything is as uncertain as whether the number of the stars 
 be odd or even. For they contend, (and I noticed that you 
 were especially moved by this,) that there is something pro- 
 bable, and, as I may say, likely; and that they adopt that 
 likelihood as a rule in steering their course of life, and in 
 making inquiries and conducting discussions. 
 
 XI. But what rule can there be, if we have no notion what- 
 ever of true or false, because it is impossible to distinguish 
 one from the other? For, if we have such a notion, then 
 there must be a difference between what is true and what is 
 false, as there is .between what is right and what is wrong. If 
 there is no difference, then there is no rule ; nor can a mac 
 to whom what is true and what is false appear under one 
 common aspect, have any means of judging of, or any mark 
 at all by which he can know the truth. For when they say, 
 that they take away nothing but the idea of anything being 
 able to appear in such a manner that it cannot possibly 
 appear false in the same manner but that they admit every- 
 thing else, they are acting childishly. For though they have 
 
4CA.DEMIC QUESTIONS. 39 
 
 taken away that by which everything is judged of, they deny 
 that they take away the rest J just as if a person were to de- 
 prive a man of his eyes, and then say that he has not taken 
 away from him those things which can be seen. For just as 
 those things are known by the eyes, so are the other things 
 known by the perceptions ; but by a mark belonging pecu- 
 liarly to truth, and not common to what is true and false. 
 
 Wherefore, whether you bring forward a perception w r hich 
 is merely probable, or one w T hich is at once probable and 
 free from all hindrance, as Carneades contended, or anything 
 else that you may follow, you will still have to return to that 
 perception of wrhich we are treating. But in it, if there be 
 but one common characteristic of what is false and true, there 
 will be no judgment possible, because nothing peculiar can be 
 noted in one sign common to two things : but if there be no 
 such community, then I have got wiiat I want; for I am 
 seeking what appears to me to be so true, that it cannot pos- 
 sibly appear false. 
 
 They are equally mistaken when, being convicted and over- 
 powered by the force of truth, they wish to distinguish be- 
 tween what is evident and what is perceived, and endeavour 
 to prove that there is something evident, — being a truth im- 
 pressed on the mind and intellect, — and yet that it cannot be 
 perceived and comprehended. For how can you say distinctly 
 that anything is white, when it may happen that that which is 
 black may appear white 1 Or how are we to call those things 
 evident, or to say that they are impressed faithfully on the 
 mind, when it is uncertain whether it is really moved or only 
 in an illusory manner 1 And so there is neither colour, nor 
 body, nor truth, nor argument, nor sense, nor anything certain 
 left us. And, owing to this, it frequently happens that, what- 
 ever they say, they are asked by some people, — Do you, then, 
 perceive that ! But they who put this question to them are 
 laughed at by them ; for they do not press them hard enough 
 so as to prove that no one can insist upon any point, or make 
 any positive assertion, without some certain and peculiar 
 mark to distinguish that thing which each individual says 
 that he is persuaded of. 
 
 What, then, is this probability of yours? For if that which 
 occurs to every one, and which, at its first look, as it were, 
 appears probable, is asserted positively, what can be moro 
 
40 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 trifling I But if your philosophers say that they, after a cer« 
 tain degree of circumspection and careful consideration, adopt 
 what they have seen as such, still they will not be able to 
 escape from us. First of all, because credit is equally taken 
 from ail these things which are seen, but between which there 
 is no difference ; secondly, when they say that it can happen 
 to a wise man, that after he has done everything, and exer- 
 cised the most diligent circumspection, there may still be 
 something which appears probable, and which yet is very far re- 
 moved from being true, — how can they then trust themselves, 
 even if they (to use their own expression) approach truth for 
 the most part, or even if they come as near to it as possible 1 
 For, in order to trust themselves, the distinctive mark of 
 truth ought to be thoroughly known to them ; and if that be 
 obscure or concealed, what truth is there which they can seem 
 to themselves to arrive at 1 And what can be so absurd a 
 thing to say as, — This indeed is a sign of that thing, or a proof 
 of it, and on that account I follow it ; but it is possible that 
 that which is indicated may either be false, or may actually 
 have no existence at all ? 
 
 XII. However, we have said enough aoout perception. For 
 if any one wishes to invalidate what has been said, truth will 
 easily defend itself, even if we are absent. 
 
 These things, then, which have now been explained, being 
 sufficiently understood, we will proceed to say a little on the 
 subject of assent and approbation, which the Greeks call 
 <ruyKa.Ta.Oe(TLs. Not that the subject itself is not an extensive 
 one, but because the foundations have been already laid a 
 little while ago. For when we were explaining what power 
 there was in the senses, this point was at the same time esta- 
 blished, that many things were comprehended and perceived 
 by the senses, which is a thing which cannot take place 
 without assent. Secondly, as this is the principal difference 
 between an inanimate and an animated being, that the in- 
 animate being does nothing, but the animated one does 
 something (for it is impossible even to imagine what kind of 
 animal that can be which does nothing) — either sense must be 
 taken from it, or else assent (wluch is wholly in our own 
 power) must be given. But mind is in some degree denied to 
 those beings whom they will not allow either to feel or to 
 assent. For as it is inevitable that one scale of a balance 
 

 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 41 
 
 must be depressed when a weight is put in it, so the mind, 
 too, must yield to what is evident ; for just as it is impossible 
 for any animal to forbear discerning what is manifestly suited 
 to its nature (the Greeks call that ot/cetov), so it is equally 
 impossible for it to withhold its assent to a manifest fact 
 which is brought under its notice. 
 
 Although, if those principles which we have been maintain- 
 ing are true, there is no advantage whatever in discussing 
 assent. For he who perceives anything, assents immediately. 
 But these inferences also follow, — that memory can have no 
 existence without assent, no more can notions of things or 
 arts. And what is most important of all is, that, although 
 some things may be in our power, yet they will not be in the 
 power of that man who assents to nothing. Where, then, is 
 virtue, if nothing depends on ourselves 1 But it is above all 
 things absurd that vices should be in the power of the agents, 
 and that no one should do wrong except by deliberate con- 
 sent to do so, and yet that this should not be the case with 
 virtue ; all the consistency and firmness of which depends on 
 the things to which it has assented, and which it has ap- 
 proved. And altogether it is necessary that something should 
 be perceived before we act, and before we assent to what is 
 perceived ; wherefore, he who denies the existence of percep- 
 tion or as«ent, puts an end to all action in life. 
 
 XIII. Now let us examine the arguments which are com- 
 monly advanced by this school in opposition to these princi- 
 ples. But, first of all, you have it in your power to become ac- 
 quainted with what I may call the foundations of their system. 
 They then, first of all, compound a sort of art of those things 
 which we call perceptions, and define their power and kinds ; 
 and at the same time they explain what the character of that 
 thing which can be perceived and comprehended is, in the 
 very same words as the Stoics. In the next place, they 
 explain those two principles, which contain, as it were, the 
 w r hole of this question ; and which appear in such a manner 
 that even others may appear in the same, nor is there any 
 difference between them, so that it is impossible that some of 
 them should be perceived, and that others should not be per- 
 ceived ; but that it makes no difference, not only if they are 
 in every part of the same character, but even if they cannot 
 be distinguished. 
 
42 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 And when these principles are laid down, then these men 
 comprehend the whole cause in the conclusion of one argu- 
 ment. But this conclusion, thus compounded, runs in this* 
 way : " Of the things which are seen, some are true and some 
 are false ; and what is false cannot be perceived, but that 
 wmich appears to be true is all of such a character that a 
 thing of the same sort may seem to be also false. And as to 
 those things which are perceived being of such a sort that 
 there is no difference between them, it cannot possibly happen 
 that some of them can be perceived, and that others cannot ; 
 there is, then, nothing seen which can really be perceived." 
 
 But of the axioms which they assume, in order to draw the 
 conclusions which they desire, they think that two ought to be 
 granted to them ; for no one objects to them. They are these : 
 " That those perceptions which are false, cannot really be per- 
 ceived ;" and the second is — " Of those perceptions between 
 which there is no difference, it is impossible that some should 
 be of such a character that they can be perceived, and others 
 of such a character that they cannot." 
 
 But their other propositions they defend by numerous and 
 varied arguments, and they likewise are two in number. One 
 is — " Of those things which appear, some are true and others 
 false ;" the other is — " Every perception which originates in 
 the truth, is of such a character as it might be of, though 
 originating in what is false." And these two propositions 
 they do not pass by, but they expand in such a manner as to 
 show no slight degree of care and diligence. For they divide 
 them into parts, and those also large parts ; first of all into 
 the senses, then into those things which are derived from the 
 senses, and from universal custom, the authority of which 
 they wish to invalidate. Then they come to the point of 
 laying it down that nothing can be perceived even by reason 
 and conjecture. And these universal propositions they cut up 
 into more minute parts. For as in our yesterday's discussion 
 you saw that they acted with respect to the senses, so do 
 they also act with respect to everything else. And in each 
 separate thing which they divide into the most minute parts, 
 they wish to make out that all these true perceptions have 
 often false ones added to them, which are in no respect dif- 
 ferent from the true ones; and that, as they are of such a 
 character, nothing can be comprehended. 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 43 
 
 XIV. Now all this subtlety I consider indeed thoroughly 
 worthy of philosophy, but still wholly unconnected with the 
 case which they advocate who argue thus. For definitions, 
 and divisions, and a discourse which employs these orna- 
 ments, and ajso similarities and dissimilarities, and the subtle 
 and fine-drawn distinctions between them, belong to men 
 who are confident that those arguments which they are up- 
 holding are true, and firm, and certain ; and not to men who 
 assert loudly that tnose things are no more true than false. 
 For what would they do if, after they had defined anything, 
 some one were to ask them whether that definition could 
 be transferred to something else? If they said it could, 
 then what reason could they give why it should be a true 
 definition ? If they said no, — then it must be confessed, since 
 that definition of what is true cannot be transferred to what 
 is false, that that which is explained by that definition can be 
 perceived ; which is the last thing they mean. 
 
 The same thing may be said on every article of the divi- 
 sion. For if they say that they see clearly the things about 
 which they are arguing, and they cannot be hindered by any 
 similarity of appearance, then they will confess that they are 
 able to comprehend those things. But if they affirm that true 
 perceptions cannot be distinguished from false ones, how can 
 they go any further? For the same objections will be made 
 to them which have been made already; for an argument 
 cannot be concluded, unless the premises which are taken to 
 deduce the conclusion from are so established that nothing of 
 the same kind can be false. 
 
 Therefore, if reason, relying on things comprehended and 
 perceived, and advancing in reliance on them, establishes the 
 point that nothing can be comprehended, what can be found 
 which can be more inconsistent with itself? And as the very 
 nature of an accurate discourse professes that it will develop 
 something which is not apparent, and that, in order the more 
 easily to succeed in its object, it will employ the senses and 
 those things which are evident, what sort of discourse is 
 that which is uttered by those men who insist upon it that 
 everything has not so much an existence as a mere appear- 
 ance ? 
 
 But they are convicted most of all when they assume, as 
 consistent with each other, these two propositions which are 
 
4 4 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 so> utterly incompatible : first of all,— That there are some 
 false perceptions ; — and in asserting this they declare also that 
 there are some which are true : and secondly, they add at the 
 same time, — That there is no difference between true percep- 
 tions and false ones. But you assumed the first proposition 
 as if there were some difference ; and so the latter proposition 
 is inconsistent with the former, and the former with the 
 latter. 
 
 But let us proceed further, and act so as in no respect to 
 seem to be flattering ourselves ; and let us follow up what is 
 said by them, in such a manner as to allow nothing to be 
 passed over. 
 
 In the first place, then, that evidentness which we have 
 mentioned has sufficiently great power of itself to point out 
 to us the things which are just as they are. But still, in order 
 that we may remain with firmness and constancy in our trust 
 in what is evident, we have need of a greater degree of either 
 skill or diligence, in order not, by some sort of juggling or 
 trick, to be driven away from those things w T hich are clear 
 of themselves. For Epicurus, who wished to remedy those 
 errors, which seem to perplex one's knowledge of the truth, 
 and who said that it was the duty of a wise mau to separate 
 opinion from evident knowledge, did no good at all ; for he 
 did not in the least remove the errors of opinion itself. 
 
 XV. Wherefore, as there are two causes which oppose what 
 is manifest and evident, it is necessary also to provide oneself 
 with an equal number of aids. For this is the first obstacle, 
 that men do not sufficiently exert and fix their minds upon 
 those things which are evident, so as to be able to understand 
 how great the light is with which they are surrounded. The 
 second is, that some men, being deluded and deceived by fal- 
 lacious and captious interrogatories, when they cannot clear 
 them up, abandon the truth. It is right, therefore, for us to 
 have those answers ready which may be given in defence of 
 the evidentness of a thing, — and we have already spoken of 
 them, — and to be armed, in order to be able to encounter the 
 questions of those people, and to scatter their captious objec- 
 tions to the winds : and this is what I propose to do next. 
 
 I will, therefore, explain their arguments one by one; since 
 even they themselves are in the habit of speaking in a suf- 
 ficiently lucid manner. 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 45 
 
 In the first place, they endeavour to show that many things 
 can appear to exist, which in reality have no existence ; when 
 minds are moved to no purpose by things which do not exist, 
 in the same manner as by things that do. For when you say 
 (say they) that some visions are sent by God, as those, for 
 instance, which are seen during sleep, and those also which 
 are revealed by oracles, and auspices, and the entrails of vic- 
 tims, (for they say that the Stoics, against whom they are 
 arguing, admit all these things,) they ask how God can make 
 those things probable which appear to be false ; and how it 
 is that He cannot make those appear so which plainly come 
 as near as possible to truth? Or if He can likewise make 
 those appear probable, why He cannot make the others appear 
 so too, which are only with great difficulty distinguished from 
 them? And if He can make these appear so, then why He 
 cannot also make those things appear so which are absolutely 
 different in no respect whatever I 
 
 In the next place, since the mind is moved by itself, — as those 
 things which we picture to ourselves in thought, and those 
 which present themselves to the sight of madmen or sleeping 
 men declare, — is it not, say they, probable that the mind is also 
 moved in such a manner, that not only it does not distinguish 
 between the perceptions, as to whether they be true or false, 
 but that there really is no difference between them ? As, for 
 instance, if any men of their own accord trembled and grew 
 pale, on account of some agitation of mind, or because some 
 terrible object came upon them from without, there would be 
 no means of distinguishing one trembling and paleness from 
 the other, nor indeed would there be any difference between 
 the external and internal alarm which caused them. 
 
 Lastly, if no perceptions are probable which are false, then 
 we must seek for other principles ; but if they are probable, 
 then why may not one say the same of such as are not easily 
 distinguished from one another ? Why not also of such as 
 have actually no difference at all between them ? Especially 
 when you yourselves say that the wise man when enraged 
 withholds himself from all assent, because there is no distinc- 
 tion between his perceptions which is visible to him. 
 
 XVI. Now on all these empty perceptions Antiochus 
 brought forward a great many arguments, and one whole day 
 was occupied in tne discussion of this subject. But I do not 
 
4:6 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 think that I ought to adopt the same course, but merely to 
 give the heads of what he said. 
 
 And in the first place, they are blameable in this, that they 
 use a most captious kind of interrogation. And the system 
 of adding or taking away, step by step, minute items from a 
 proposition, is a kind of argument very little to be approved 
 of in philosophy. They call it sorites, 1 when they make up a 
 heap by adding grain after grain ; a very vicious and captious 
 style of arguing. For you mount up in this way : — If a 
 vision is brought by God before a man asleep of such a nature 
 as to be probable (probabile), why may not one also be brought 
 of such a nature as to be very like truth (yerisimile) ? If so, 
 then why may not one be brought which can hardly be dis- 
 tinguished from truth ? If so, then why may there not be 
 one which cannot be distinguished at all ? If so, then why 
 may there not be such that there is actually no difference 
 between them? — If you come to this point because I have 
 granted you all the previous propositions, it will be my fault ; 
 but if you advance thither of your own accord, it will be 
 yours. For who will grant to you either that God can do 
 everything, or that even if He could He would act in that 
 manner ? And how do you assume that if one thing may be 
 like another, it follows that it may also be difficult to distin- 
 guish between them ? And then, that one cannot distinguish 
 between them at all? And lastly, that they are identical? 
 So that if wolves are like dogs, you will come at last to 
 asserting that they are the same animals. And indeed there 
 are some things not honourable, which are like things that 
 are honourable; some things not good, like those that are 
 good ; some things proceeding on no system, like others which 
 are regulated by system. Why then do we hesitate to affirm 
 that there is no difference between all these things 1 Do we 
 not even see that they are inconsistent ? For there is 
 nothing that can be transferred from its own genus to 
 another. But if such a conclusion did follow, as that there 
 was no difference between perceptions of different genera, but 
 that some could be found which were both in their own genus 
 and in one which did not belong to them, how could that be 
 possible ? 
 
 There is then one means of getting rid of all unreal per- 
 1 From <rwp6s, a heap. 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 47 
 
 ceptions, whether they be formed in the ideas, which we 
 grant to be usually the case, or whether they be owing to 
 idleness, or to wine, or to madness. For we say that clear- 
 ness, which we ought to hold with the greatest tenacity, is 
 absent from all visions of that kind. For who is there who, 
 when he imagines something and pictures it to himself in his 
 thoughts, does not, as soon as he has stirred up himself, and 
 recovered himself, feel how much difference there is between 
 what is evident and what is unreal 1 The case of dreams is 
 the same. Do you think that Ennius, when he had been 
 walking in his garden with Sergius Galba, his neighbour, said 
 to himself, — I have seemed to myself to be walking with 
 Galba ? But when he had a dream, he related it in this way, — 
 
 The poet Homer seem'd to stand before me. 
 And again in his Epicharmus he says — 
 
 For I seem'd to be dreaming, and laid in the tomb. 
 Therefore, as soon as we are awakened, we despise those things 
 which we have seen, and do not regard them as we do the 
 things which we have done in the forum. 
 
 XVII. But while these visions are being beheld, they 
 assume the same appearance as those things which we see 
 while awake. There is a good deal of real difference between 
 them ; but we may pass over that. For what we assert is, 
 that there is not the same power or soundness in people when 
 asleep that there is in them while waking, either in intellect 
 or in sensation. What even drunken men do, they do not do 
 with the same deliberate approbation as sober men. They 
 doubt, they hesitate, they check themselves at times, and 
 give but a feeble assent to what they see or agree too. And 
 when they have slept off their drunkenness, then they under- 
 stand how unreal their perceptions were. And the same 
 thing is the case with madmen j that when their madness is 
 beginning, they both feel and say that something appears to 
 them to exist that has no real existence. And when their 
 frenzy abates, they feel and speak like Alcmseon; — 
 
 But now my heart does not agree 
 With that which with my eyes I see. 
 
 But even in madness the wise man puts restraint upon him- 
 self, so far as not to approve of what is false as if it uera 
 true. And he does so often at other times, if there is by 
 
48 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 chance any heaviness or slowness in his senses, or if those 
 things which are seen by him are rather obscure, or if he is 
 prevented from thoroughly examining them by the shortness of 
 the time. Although the whole of this fact, that the wise man 
 sometimes suspends his assent, makes against you. For if 
 there were no difference between his perceptions, he would 
 either suspend it always or never. 
 
 But from the whole character of this discussion we may 
 see the worthless nature of the argument of those men who 
 wish to throw everything into confusion. We want judgment, 
 marked with gravity, consistency, firmness, and wisdom : and 
 we use the examples of men dreaming, mad, or drunk. I press 
 this point, that in all this discussion we are speaking with 
 great inconsistency. For we should not bring forward men 
 sunk in wine or sleep, or deprived of sense, in such an absurd 
 manner as at one time to say there is a difference between 
 the perceptions of men awake and sober and sensible, and 
 those of men in a different condition, and at other times that 
 there was no difference at all. 
 
 They do not even perceive that by this kind of argument 
 they are making out everything to be uncertain, which they 
 do not wish to do. I call that uncertain which the Greeks 
 call aSrjXov. For if the fact be that there is no difference 
 between the appearance that a thing presents to a madman 
 and to a person in his senses, then who can feel quite sure of 
 his own sanity? And to wish to produce such an effect as 
 that is a proof of no ordinary madness. But they follow up 
 in a childish manner the likenesses of twins, or of impressions 
 of rings. For who of us denies that there are such things as 
 likenesses, when they are visible in numbers of things ? But 
 if the fact of many things being like many other things is 
 sufficient to take away knowledge, why are you not content 
 with that, especially as we admit it ? And why do you rather 
 insist upon that assertion which the nature of things will not 
 suffer, that everything is not in its own kind of that character 
 of which it really is ? and that there is a conformity with- 
 out any difference whatever ir .wo or more things ; so that 
 eggs are entirely like eggs, and bees like bees 1 What then 
 are you contending for? or what do you seek to gain by 
 talking about twins ? For it is granted that they are alike; 
 and you might be content with that. But you try to make 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 49 
 
 them out to be actually the same, and not merely alike; and 
 that is quite impossible. 
 
 Then you have recourse to those natural philosophers who 
 are so greatly ridiculed in the Academy, but whom you will 
 not even now desist from quoting. And you tell us that 
 Democritus says that there are a countless number of worlds, 
 and that there are some which are not only so like one 
 another, but so completely and absolutely equal in every 
 point, that there is no difference whatever between them, and 
 that they are quite innumerable ; and so also are men. Then 
 you require that, if the world be so entirely equal to another 
 world that there is absolutely not the slightest difference 
 between them, we should grant to you that in this world of 
 ours also there must be something exactly equal to something 
 else, so that there is no difference whatever or distinction 
 between them. For why, you will say, since there not only 
 can be, but actually are innumerable Quinti Lutatii Catuli 
 formed out of those atoms, from which Democritus affirms 
 that everything is produced, in all the other worlds, which 
 are likewise innumerable, — why may not there be a second 
 Catulus formed in this identical world of ours, since it is of 
 such a size as we see it ? 
 
 XVIII. First of all I reply, that you are bringing me to 
 the arguments of Democritus, with whom I do not agree. 
 And I will the more readily refute them, on account of that 
 doctrine which is laid down very clearly by the more refined 
 natural philosophers, that everything has its own separate 
 property. For grant that those ancient Servilii who were 
 twins were as much alike as they are said to have been, do 
 you think that that would have made them the same % They 
 were not distinguished from one another out of doors, but 
 they were at home. They were not distinguished from one 
 another by strangers, but they were by their own family. Do 
 we not see that this is frequently the case, that those people 
 whom we should never have expected to be able to know from 
 one another, we do by practice distinguish so easily that they 
 do not appear to be even in the least alike 1 
 
 Here, however, you may struggle ; I will not oppose you. 
 Moreover, I will grant that that very wise man who is the 
 subject of all this discussion, when things like one another 
 come under his notice, in which he has not remarked any 
 
 ACAD. ETC. i . s 
 
50 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 special character, will withhold his assent, and will never 
 agree to any perception which is not of such a character as a 
 false perception can never assume. But with respect to all 
 other things he has a certain art by which he can distinguish 
 what is true from what is false; and with respect to those 
 similitudes he must apply the test of experience. As a mother 
 distinguishes between twins by the constant practice of her 
 eyes, so you too will distinguish when you have become 
 accustomed to it. Do you not see that it has become a per- 
 fect proverb that one egg is like another 1 and yet we are 
 told that at Delos (when it was a nourishing island) there 
 were many people who used to keep large numbers of hens 
 for the sake of profit ; and that they, when they had looked 
 upon an egg, could tell which hen had laid it. Nor does that 
 fact make against our argument ; for it is sufficient for us to 
 be ablo to distinguish between the eggs. For it is impossible 
 for one to assent to the proposition that this thing is that 
 thing more, than by admitting that there is actually no dif- 
 ference at all between the two. For I have laid it down as a 
 rule, to consider all perceptions true which are of such a 
 character as those which are false cannot be. And from this 
 I may not depart one finger's breadth, as they say, lest I should 
 throw everything into confusion. For not only the knowledge 
 of what is true and false, but their whole nature too, will be 
 destroyed if there is no difference between one and the other. 
 And that must be very absurd which you sometimes are in 
 the habit of saying, when perceptions are imprinted on the 
 mind, that what you say is, not that there is no difference 
 between the impressions, but only that there is none 
 between certain appearances and forms which they assume. 
 As if perceptions were not judged of by their appearance, 
 which can deserve or obtain no credit if the mark by which 
 we are to distinguish truth from falsehood be taken away. 
 
 But that is a monstrous absurdity of yours, when you say 
 that you follow what is probable when you are not hindered 
 by anything from doing so. In the first place, how can you 
 avoid being hindered, when what is false does not differ from 
 what is true ? Secondly, what judgment can be formed of 
 what is true, when what is true is undistinguishable from 
 what is false ? From these facts there springs unavoidably 
 brow, that is to say, a suspension of assent : for which 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 51 
 
 Arcesilas is more consistent, if at least the opinions which 
 some people entertain of Carneades are correct. For if 
 nothing can be perceived, as they both agree in thinking, 
 then all assent is taken away. For what is so childish as to 
 talk of approving of what is not known 1 But even yesterday 
 we heard that Carneades was in the habit, at times, of descend- 
 ing to say that a wise man would be guided by opinion, that 
 is to say, would do wrong. To me, indeed, it is not so certain 
 that there is anything which can be comprehended, a ques- 
 tion which I have now spent too much time in discussing, as 
 that a wise man is never guided by opinion, that is to say, 
 never assents to anything which is either false or unknown. 
 
 There remains this other statement of theirs, that for the 
 sake of discovering the truth, one ought to speak against 
 every side, and in favour of every side. I wish then to see 
 what they have discovered. We are not in the habit, says he, 
 of showing that. What then is the object of all this mystery ? 
 or why do you conceal your opinion as something discredit- 
 able ? In order, says he, that those who hear us may be 
 influenced by reason rather than led by authority. What 
 if they are influenced by both 1 would there be any harm in 
 that 1 However, they do not conceal one of their theories, 
 namely, that there is nothing which can be conceived. Is 
 authority no hindrance to entertaining this opinion 1 It seems 
 to me to be a great one. For who would ever have embraced 
 so openly and undisguisedly such perverse and false prin- 
 ciples, if there had not been such great richness of ideas and 
 power of eloquence in Arcesilas, and, in a still greater degree, 
 in Carneades ? 
 
 XIX. These are nearly the arguments which Antiochus 
 used to urge at Alexandria, and many years afterwards, with 
 much more positiveness too, in Syria, when he was there with 
 i me, a little before he died. But, as my case is now established, 
 I will not hesitate to warn you, as you are my dearest friend, 
 (he was addressing me,) and one a good deal vounger than 
 myself. 
 
 Will you, then, after having extolled philosophy with such 
 panegyrics, and provoked our friend Hortensius, who dis- 
 agrees with us, now follow that philosophy which confounds 
 what is true with what is false, deprives us of all judg- 
 ment, strips us of the power of approval, and robs us of all 
 
 e2 
 
1)2 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 Dur senses? Even the Cimmerians, to whom some god, or 
 nature, or the foulness of the country that they inhabited, 
 had denied the light of the sun, had still some fires which 
 they were permitted to avail themselves of as if they were 
 light. But those men whom you approve of, after having 
 enveloped us in such darkness, have not left us a single spark 
 to enable us to look around by. And if we follow them, we 
 become bound with such chains that we cannot move. For 
 when assent is taken away, they take away at the same time 
 all motion of our minds, and all our power of action ; which 
 not only cannot be done rightly, but which cannot possibly 
 be done at all. Beware, also, lest you become the only person 
 who is not allowed to uphold that opinion. Will you, when 
 you have explained the most secret matters and brought them 
 to light, and said on your oath that you have discovered them, 
 (which, indeed, I could swear to also, since I learnt them 
 from you,) — will you, I say, assert that there is nothing which 
 can be known, comprehended, or perceived % Beware, I en- 
 treat you, lest the authority of those most beautiful actions 
 be diminished by your own conduct. 
 
 And having said this he stopped. But Hortensius, ad- 
 miring all he said very greatly, (so much, indeed, that all 
 the time that Lucullus was speaking he kept lifting up his 
 hands ; and it was no wonder, for I do not believe that an 
 argument had ever been conducted against the Academy with 
 more acuteness,) began to exhort me, either jestingly or seri- 
 ously, (for that was a point that I was not quite sure about,) to 
 abandon my opinions. Then, said Catulus, if the discourse of 
 Lucullus has had such influence over you, — and it has been a 
 wonderful exhibition of memory, accuracy, and ingenuity, — I 
 have nothing to say ; nor do I think it my duty to try and 
 deter you from changing opinion if you choose. But I should 
 not think it well for you to be influenced merely by his 
 authority. For he was all but warning you, said he, jestingly, 
 to take care that no worthless tribune of the people, of whom 
 you know what a number there will always be, seize upon 
 you, and ask of you in the public assembly how you are con- 
 sistent with yourself, when at one time you assert that nothing 
 certain can be discovered, and at another time affirm that you 
 vourself have discovered something. I entreat you, do not 
 let him terrify you. But I would rather have you disagree 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 53 
 
 with him on the merits of the case itself. But if you give in 
 to him, I shall not be greatly surprised ; for I recollect that 
 Antiochus himself, after he had entertained such opinions for 
 many years, abandoned them as soon as he thought it desir- 
 able. When Catulus had said this, they all began to fix their 
 eyes on me. 
 
 XX. Then I, being no less agitated than I usually am 
 when pleading important causes, began to speak something 
 after this fashion : — 
 
 The discourse of Lucullus, Catulus, on the matter itself, 
 moved me a good deal, being the discourse of a learned and 
 ingenious and quick-witted man, and of one who passes 
 over nothing which can be said for his side ; but still I am 
 not afraid but that I may be able to answer him. But no 
 doubt such authority as his would have influenced me a good 
 deal, if you had not opposed your own to it, which is of equal 
 weight. I will endeavour, therefore, to reply to him after I 
 have said a few words in defence of my own reputation, as 
 it were. 
 
 If it is by any desire of display, or any zeal for contentious 
 disputes, that I have been chiefly led to rank myself as an 
 adherent of this school of philosophy, I should think not only 
 my folly, but also my disposition and nature deserving of 
 severe censure ; for if obstinacy is found fault with in the 
 most trifling matters, and if also calumny is repressed, should 
 I choose to contend with others in a quarrelsome manner 
 about the general condition and conduct of my whole life, or 
 to deceive others and also my own self ? Therefore, if I did 
 not think it foolish in such a discussion to do what, when one 
 is discussing affairs of state, is sometimes done, I would swear 
 by Jupiter and my household gods, that I am inflamed with 
 a desire of discovering the truth, and that I do truly feel 
 what I say. For how can I avoid wishing to discover the 
 truth, when I rejoice if I have discovered anything resembling 
 the truth? But although I consider to see the truth a most 
 beautiful thing, so also do I think it a most disgraceful one to 
 approve of what is false as if it were true. Not, indeed, that 
 I am myself a man who never approve of anything false, 
 who never give assent to any such thing, and am never 
 guided by opinion ; but we are speaking of a wise man. 
 But I myself am very apt to adopt opinions, for I am not a 
 
54 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 wise man, and I direct my thoughts, steering not to that little 
 Cynosura, 
 
 The nightly star, which shining not in vain, 
 
 .Guides the Phoenician sailor o'er the main, 
 as Aratus says ; — and those mariners steer in a more direct 
 course because they keep looking at the constellation, 
 
 Which in its inner course and orbit brief 
 
 Surely revolves; — 
 
 but looking rather towards Helice, and the bright north star, 
 that is to say, to these reasons of a more expansive kind, not 
 polished away to a point ; and therefore I roam and wander 
 about in a freer course. However, the question, as I said just 
 now, is not about myself, but about a wise man. For when 
 these perceptions have made a violent impression on the 
 intellect and senses, I admit them, and sometimes I even 
 assent to them, but still I do not perceive them : for I do 
 not think that anything can be perceived. I am not a wise 
 man, therefore I submit to perceptions and cannot resist 
 them : but Arcesilas, being on this point in agreement with 
 Zeno, thinks that this is the most important part of the 
 power of a wise man, that he can guard against being en- 
 tangled, and provide against being deceived. For there is 
 nothing more incompatible with the idea which we have of 
 the gravity of a wise man than error, levity, and temerity. 
 Why, then, need I speak of the firmness of a wise man 1 
 whom even you too, Lucullus, admit to be never guided by 
 mere opinion. And since this is sanctioned by you, (if I am 
 dealing irregularly with you at this moment, I will soon 
 return to the proper order of your arguments,) just consider 
 what force this first conclusion has. 
 
 XXI. If the wise man ever assents to anything, he will like- 
 wise sometimes form opinions : but he never will form 
 opinions : therefore he will never assent to anything. This 
 conclusion was approved of by Arcesilas, for it confirmed both 
 his first and second proposition. But Carneades sometimes 
 granted that minor premiss, that the wise man did at times 
 assent : then it followed that he also was at times guided by 
 opinion ; which you will not allow ; and you are right, as it 
 seems to me : but the first proposition, that the wise man, if 
 he expresses assent, must also be guided by opinion, is denied 
 by the Stoics and their follower on this point, Antiochus, 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 55 
 
 For they say that they can distinguish what is false from 
 what is true, and what cannot be perceived from what can. 
 But, in the first place, even if anything can be perceived, still 
 the very custom of expressing assent appears to us to be peril- 
 ous and unsure. Wherefore, as it is plain that is so faulty a 
 proceeding, to assent to anything that is either false or un- 
 known, all assent must rather be removed, lest it should rush 
 on into difficulties if it proceeds rashly. For what is false is 
 so much akin to what is true, and the things which cannot 
 be perceived to those which can, (if, indeed, there are any 
 such, for we shall examine that point presently,) that a wise 
 man ought not to trust himself in such a hazardous position. 
 
 But if I assume that there is actually nothing which can 
 be perceived, and if I also take what you grant me, that a 
 wise man is never guided by opinion, then the consequence 
 will be that the wise man will restrain all assent on his part ; 
 so that you must consider whether you would rather have it 
 so, or let the wise man sometimes form opinions. You do 
 not approve of either, you will say. Let us, then, endeavour 
 to prove that nothing can be perceived ; for that is what the 
 whole controversy turns upon. 
 
 XXII. But first I must say a few words to Antiochus ; 
 who under Philo learnt this very doctrine which I am now 
 defending, for such a length of time, that it is certain that no 
 one was ever longer studying it ; and who wrote on these 
 subjects with the greatest acuteness, and who yet attacked it 
 in his old age with no less energy than he had defended it in 
 his youth. Although therefore he may have been a shrewd 
 arguer, as indeed he was, still his authority is diminished by 
 his inconsistency. For what day, I should like to know, will 
 ever dawn, which shall reveal to him that distinctive charac- 
 teristic of what is true and what is false, of which for so many 
 years he denied the existence? Has he devised anything 
 new ? He says the same that the Stoics say. Does he repent 
 of having held such an opinion ! Why did he not cross over 
 to some other school, and especially to the Stoics'? for this 
 disagreement with the Academy was peculiarly theirs. What 1 ? 
 did he repent of Mnesarchus or Dardanus, who at that time 
 where the chiefs of the Stoics at Athens 1 He never deserted 
 Philo till after the time when he himself began to have 
 pupils. 
 
56 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 But from whence was the Old Academy on a sudden re- 
 called 1 He appears to have wished to preserve the dignity of 
 the name, after he had given up the reality ; which however 
 some people said, that he did from a view to his own glory, 
 and that he even hoped that those who followed him might 
 be called Antiochians. But to me it seems, that he could not 
 stand that concourse of all the philosophers. In truth, there 
 are among them all, some common principles on the other 
 points ; but this doctrine is peculiar to the Academicians, and 
 not one of the other philosophers approves of it. Therefore, 
 he quitted it ; and, like those men who, where the new shops 
 stand, cannot bear the sun, so he, when he was hot, took 
 refuge under the shade of the Old Academicians, as those men 
 do under the shade of the old shops near the pillar of Maenius. 
 There was also an argument which he was in the habit of em- 
 ploying, when he used to maintain that nothing could be 
 perceived j namely, asking whether Dionysius of Heraclea had 
 comprehended the doctrine which he had espoused for many 
 years, because he was guided by that certain characteristic, 
 and whether he believed the doctrine of his master Zeno, that 
 whatever was honourable was the only good ; or, whether he 
 adopted the assertion which he defended subsequently, that 
 the name of honourableness is a mere phantom, and that 
 pleasure is the chief good : for from this change of opinion 
 on his part he wished to prove, that nothing can be so stamped 
 on our minds by the truth, that it cannot also be impressed 
 on them in the same manner by falsehood ; and so he took 
 care that others should derive from his own conduct the same 
 argument which he himself had derived from Dionysius. 
 
 XXIII. But we will argue this point more at length an- 
 other time ; at present we will turn what has been said, 
 Lucullus, to you. And in the first place, let us examine the 
 assertion which you made at the beginning, and see what sort 
 of assertion it is ; namely, that we spoke of the ancient phi- 
 losophers in a manner similar to that in which seditious men 
 were in the habit of speaking of illustrious men, who were 
 however friends of the people. These men do not indeed pur- 
 sue good objects, but still wish to be considered to resemble 
 good men ; but we say that we hold those opinions, which 
 you yourselves confess to have been entertained by the most 
 illustrious philosophers. Anaxagoras said, that snow was 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 57 
 
 black : would you endure me if I were to say the same ? You 
 would not bear even for me to express a doubt on the sub- 
 ject. But who is this manl is he a Sophist? for by that 
 name were those men called, who used to philosophize for the 
 sake of display or of profit. The glory of the gravity and 
 genius of that man was great. Why should I speak of 
 Democritus 1 Who is there whom we can compare with him 
 for the greatness, not merely of his genius, but also of his 
 spirit 1 a man who dared to begin thus : "I am going to 
 speak of everything." He excepts nothing, so as not to 
 profess a knowledge of it. For indeed, what could there 
 possibly be beyond everything 1 Who can avoid placing 
 this philosopher before Cleanthes, or Chrysippus, or all the 
 rest of his successors 1 men who, when compared with him, 
 appear to me to be in the fifth class. 
 
 But he does not say this, which we, who do not deny that 
 there is some truth, declare cannot be perceived : he abso- 
 lutely denies that there is any truth. He says that the 
 senses are not merely dim, but utterly dark ; for that is what 
 Metrodorus of Chios, who was one of his greatest admirers, 
 says of them, at the beginning of his book on Nature. " I 
 deny," says he, " that we know whether we know anything oi 
 whether we know nothing ; I say that we do not even know 
 what is ignorance and knowledge ; and that we have no 
 knowledge whether anything exists or whether nothing does." 
 Empedocles appears to you to be mad ; but to me he seems 
 to utter words very worthy of the subjects of which he speaks. 
 Does he then blind us, or deprive us of our senses, if he 
 thinks that there is but little power in them to judge of those 
 things which are brought under their notice 1 Parmenides 
 and Xenophanes blame, as if they were angry with them, 
 though in no very poetical verses, the arrogance of those 
 people who, though nothing can be known, venture to say 
 that they know something. And you said that Socrates 
 and Plato were distinct from these men. Why so? Are 
 there any men of whom we can speak more certainly 1 I in- 
 deed seem to myself to have lived with these men ; so many 
 of their discourses have been reported, from which one 
 cannot possibly doubt that Socrates thought that nothing 
 could be known. He excepted one thing only, asserting that 
 he did know that he knew nothing ; but he made no other 
 
58 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 exception. What shall I say of Plato? who certainly would 
 never have followed up these doctrines in so many books if he 
 had not approved of them ; for there was no object in going 
 on with the irony of the other, especially when it was so 
 unceasing. 
 
 XXIV. Do I not seem to you, not, like Saturninus, to be 
 content with naming illustrious men, but also sometimes 
 even to imitate them, though never unless they are really 
 eminent and noble ? And I might have opposed to you men 
 who are annoying to you, but yet disputants of great ac- 
 curacy; Stilpo, Diodorus, and Alexinus : men who indulged 
 in far-fetched and pointed sophisms ; for that was the name 
 given usually to fallacious conclusions. But why need I enu- 
 merate them, when I have Chrysippus, who is considered to 
 be the great support of the portico of the Stoics ? How many 
 of the arguments against the senses, how many against every- 
 thing which is approved by ordinary practice, did he not 
 refute ! It is true that I do not think very much of his 
 refutations.; but still, let us grant that he did refute them. 
 Certainly he would never have collected so many arguments 
 to deceive us with their excessive probability, unless he saw 
 that it was not easily possible to resist them. 
 
 What do you think of the Cyrenaic School ? philosophers 
 far from contemptible, who affirm that there is nothing which 
 can be perceived externally ; and that they perceive those 
 things alone which they feel by their inmost touch, such as 
 pain, or pleasure. And that they do not know what colour 
 anything is of, or what sound it utters ; but only feel that 
 they themselves are affected in a certain manner. 
 
 We have said enough about authors : although you had 
 asked me whether I did not think that since the time of 
 those ancient philosophers, in so many ages, the truth might 
 have been discovered, when so many men of genius and dili- 
 gence were looking for it 1 What was discovered we will con- 
 sider presently, and you yourself shall be the judge. But it 
 is easily seen that Arcesilas did not contend with Zeno for 
 the sake of disparaging him; but that he wished to discover 
 the truth. No one, I say, of preceding philosophers had said 
 positively, no one had even hinted that it was possible for 
 man never to form opinions : and that for a wise man it was 
 not only possible, but indispensable. The opinion of Aicesilaa 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 59 
 
 appeared not only true, but honourable and worthy of a 
 wise man. 
 
 Perhaps he asked of Zeno what would happen if a wise 
 man could not possibly perceive anything, and if to form 
 mere opinion was unworthy of a wise man ] He answered, I 
 suppose, that the wise man never would form mere opinion, 
 since there were things which admitted of being perceived. 
 What then were they 1 Perceptions, I suppose. What sort 
 of perceptions then ? In reply to this he gave a definition, 
 That it was such as is impressed and stamped upon and 
 figured in us, according to and conformably to something 
 which exists. Afterwards the question was asked, whether, if 
 such a perception was true, it was of the same character as 
 one that was false 1 Here Zeno saw clearly enough that there 
 was no perception that could be perceived at all, if the per- 
 ception derived from that which is, could possibly resemble 
 that which is derived from that which is not. 
 
 Arcesilas was quite right in admitting this. An addition 
 was made to the definition ; namely, That nothing false 
 could be perceived; nor anything true either, if it was of such 
 a character as that which was false. But he applied himself 
 diligently to these discussions, in order to prove that no per- 
 ception originated in what was true of such a kind that there 
 might not be a similar one originating in what was false. And 
 this is the one subject of controversy which has lasted to this 
 day. For the other doctrine, that the wise man would never 
 assent to anything, had nothing to do with this question. For 
 it was quite possible for a man to perceive nothing, and 
 nevertheless to be guided at times by opinion ; which is said 
 to have been admitted by Carneades. I, indeed, trusting 
 rather to Clitomachus than to Philo or Metrodorus, believe 
 that he argued this point rather than that he admitted it. 
 
 XXV. However, let us say no more about this. Undoubt- 
 edly, when opinion and perception are put an end to, the 
 retention of every kind of assent must follow ; as, if I prove 
 that nothing can be perceived, you would then grant that a 
 philosopher would never assent to anything. What is there 
 then that can be perceived, if even the senses do not warn us 
 of the truth 1 But you, Lucullus, defend them by a common 
 topic ; and to prevent you from being able to do so it was, 
 that I yesterday, when it was not otherwise necessary, said so 
 
60 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS 
 
 much against the senses. But you say that you are not at 
 ali moved by " the broken oar" or " the dove's neck." In the 
 first place, I will ask why 1 — for in the case of the oar, I feel 
 that that which appears to be the case, is not really so ; and 
 that in the dove's neck there appear to be many colours, but 
 are not in reality more than one. Have we, then, said nothing 
 more than this 1 Let all our arguments stand : that man is 
 tearing his cause to pieces ; he says that his senses are vora- 
 cious. Therefore you have always one backer who will plead 
 the cause at his own risk : for Epicurus brings the matter 
 down to this point, that if once in a man's life one of his 
 senses has decided wrongly, none of them is ever to be 
 trusted. This is what he calls being true, and confiding in 
 his own witnesses, and urging his proofs to their just conclu- 
 sion ; therefore Timagoras the Epicurean declares, that when 
 he had twisted his eye with his hand, he had never seen two 
 flames appear out of one candle : for that the error was one 
 of opinion, and not one of his eyes ; just as if the question 
 were what the fact is, and not what it appears to be. How- 
 ever, he is just like his predecessors. But as for you, who say 
 that of the things perceived by your senses, some are true 
 and some false, how do you distinguish between them ? 
 Cease, I beg of you, to employ common topics : we have plenty 
 of them at home. 
 
 If any god were to ask you, while your senses are sound 
 and unimpaired, whether you desire anything further, what 
 would you answer 1 I wish, indeed, he would ask me ! You 
 should hear how ill he treats us : for how far are we to look 
 in order to see the truth 1 I can see the Cumaean villa of 
 Catulus from this place, but not his villa near Pompeii ; not 
 that there is any obstacle interposed, but my eyesight cannot 
 extend so far. What a superb view ! We see Puteoli, but 
 we do not see our friend Avianus, though he may perhaps be 
 walking in the portico of Neptune ; there was, however, some 
 one or other who is often spoken of in the Schools who could 
 see things that were a thousand and eighty furlongs off ; and 
 some birds can see further still. I should therefore answer 
 your god boldly, that I am not at all contented with these 
 eyes of mine. He will tell me, perhaps, that I can see better 
 than some fishes ; which are not seen by us, and which even 
 now are beneath our eyes, and yet they cannot look up far 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 61 
 
 enough to see us : therefore, as water is shed around them, 
 *o a dense air is around us. But we desire nothing better. 
 What 1 do you suppose that a mole longs for light 1 — nor 
 would he complain to the god that he could not see far, but 
 rather that he saw incorrectly. Do you see that ship ? It 
 appears to us to be standing still ; but to those who are in 
 that ship, this villa appears to be moving. Seek for the rea- 
 son why it seems so, and if you discover it ever so much, and 
 I do not know whether you may not be able to, still you will 
 have proved, not that you have a trustworthy witness, but that 
 he has not given false evidence without sufficient reason. 
 
 XXVI. What need had I to speak of the ship I for I saw 
 that what I said about the oar was despised by you ; per- 
 haps you expect something more serious. What can be 
 greater than the sun, which the mathematicians affirm to be 
 more than eighteen times as large as the earth ? How little 
 does it appear to us ! To me, indeed, it seems about a foot 
 in diameter ; but Epicurus thinks it possible that it may be 
 even less than it seems, but not much ; nor does he think 
 that it is much greaterj but that it is very near the size it 
 seems to be : so that our eyes are either quite correct, or, at 
 all events, not very incorrect. What becomes then of the 
 exception, " If once . . . V However, let us leave this credu- 
 lous man, who does not believe that the senses are ever wrong, 
 — not even now, when that sun, which is borne along with 
 such rapidity that it is impossible even to conceive how great 
 its velocity is, nevertheless seems to us to be standing still. 
 
 However, to abridge the controversy, consider, I pray you, 
 within what narrow bounds you are confined. There are four 
 principles which conduct you to the conclusion that there is 
 nothing which can be known, or perceived, or comprehended ; 
 — and it is about this that the whole dispute is. The first 
 principle is, that some perceptions are false ; the second, that 
 such cannot be perceived ; the third, that of perceptions 
 between which there is no difference, it is not possible that 
 some of them can be perceived and that others cannot ; the 
 fourth, that there is no true perception proceeding from the 
 senses, to which there is not some other perception opposed 
 which in no respect differs from it, and which cannot be per- 
 ceived. Now of these four principles, the second and third 
 are admitted by every one. Epicurus does not admit the 
 
02 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 first, but you, with whom we are now arguing, admit that one 
 too, — the whole contest is about the fourth. 
 
 The man, then, who saw Publius Servilius Geminus, if ho 
 thought that he saw Quintus, fell into a perception of that 
 kind that could not be perceived ; because what was true was 
 distinguished by no characteristic mark from what was false : 
 and if this distinctive mark were taken away, what character- 
 istic of the same kind could he have by which to recognise 
 Caius Cotta, who was twice consul with Geminus, which 
 could not possibly be false 1 You say that such a likeness as 
 that is not in the nature of things. You fight the question 
 vigorously, but you are fighting a peaceably disposed adver- 
 sary. Grant, then, that it is not ; at all events, it is possible 
 that it should seem to be so; therefore it will deceive the 
 senses. And if one likeness deceives them, it will have made 
 everything doubtful ; for when that judgment is once taken 
 away by which alone things can be known, then, even if the 
 person whom you see, be really the person whom he appears 
 to you to be, still you will not judge by that characteristic 
 which you say you ought, being of such a character that one 
 of the same kind cannot be false. If, therefore, it is possible 
 that Publius Geminus may appear to you to be Quintus, 
 what certainty have you that he may not appear to you to be 
 Cotta though he is not, since some things do appear to you 
 to be what they are not 1 You say that everything has its 
 own peculiar genus ; that there is nothing the same as some- 
 thing else. That is a stoic doctrine, and one not very credible, 
 for they say that there is not a single hair or a single grain 
 in every respect like another hair or grain. These things 
 could all be refuted, but I do not wish to be contentious ; 
 for it has nothing in the world to do with the question whether 
 the things which are seen do not differ at all in any part, or 
 whether they cannot be distinguished from another even 
 though they do differ. But, granting that there cannot be 
 such a likeness between men, can there not be such between 
 statues 1 Tell me, could not Lysippus, using the same brass, 
 the same composition of metals, the same atmosphere, water, 
 and all other appliances, have made a hundred Alexanders 
 exactly alike? How then could you distinguish between 
 them ? Again ; if I, with this ring, make a hundred im- 
 pressions on the same piece of wax,, is it pcssible that there 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 63 
 
 should be any difference to enable you to distinguish one 
 from the other ? — or, shall you have to seek out some ring 
 engraver, since you have already found us a Delian poulterer 
 who could recognise his eggs % 
 
 XXVII. But you have recourse to art, which you call in to 
 the aid of the senses. A painter sees what we do not see ; 
 and as soon as a flute-player plays a note the air is recog- 
 nised by a musician. Well % Does not this argument seem to 
 tell against you, if, without great skill, such as very few per- 
 sons of our class attain to, we can neither see nor hear % 
 Then you give an excellent description of the skill with which 
 nature has manufactured our senses, and intellect, and the 
 whole construction of man, in order to prevent my being 
 alarmed at rashness of opinions. Can you also, Lucullus, 
 affirm that there is any power united with wisdom and pru- 
 dence which has made, or, to use your own expression, manu- 
 factured man % What sort of a manufacture is that % Where 
 is it exercised ? when % why I how 1 These points are all 
 handled ingeniously, they are discussed even elegantly. Let 
 it be said even that they appear likely ; only let them not be 
 affirmed positively. But we will discuss natural philosophy 
 hereafter, and, indeed, we will do so that you, who said a little 
 while ago that I should speak of it, may appear not to have 
 spoken falsely. 
 
 However, to come to what is clearer, I shall now bring for- 
 ward general facts on which whole volumes have been filled, 
 not only by those of our own School, but also by Chrysippus. 
 But the Stoics complain of him, that, while he studiously 
 collected every argument which could be brought forward 
 against the senses and clearness, and against all custom, and 
 against reason, when he came to reply to himself, he was 
 inferior to what he had been at first ; and therefore that, in 
 fact, he put arms into the hands of Carneades. Those argu- 
 ments are such as have been ingeniously handled by you. 
 You said that the perceptions of men asleep, or drunk, or 
 mad, were less vigorous than those of men awake, sober, and 
 sane. How do you prove that 1 because, when Ennius had 
 awakened, he would not say that he had seen Homer, but 
 only that Homer had seemed to be present. And Alcmseon 
 says — 
 
 My heart distrusts the witness of my eyes. 
 
64 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 And one may say the same of men who are drunk. As if any 
 one denied that when a man has awakened he ceases to think 
 his dreams true; and that a man whose frenzy has passed 
 away, no longer conceives those things to be real which ap- 
 peared so to him during his madness. But that is not the 
 question : the question is, how those things appear to us, at 
 the time when they do appear. Unless, indeed, we suppose 
 that Ennius heard the whole of that address — 
 
 piety of the soul .... 
 
 (if, indeed, he did dream it), just as he would have heard it if 
 he had been awake. For when awake, he was able to think 
 those things phantoms — as, in fact, they were — and dreams. 
 But while he was asleep, he felt as sure of their reality as if 
 he had been awake. Again, Iliona, in that dream of hers, 
 where she hears — 
 
 Mother, I call on you .... 
 does she not believe that her son has spoken, just as she 
 would have believed it if she had been awake 1 On which 
 account she adds — 
 
 Come now, stand here, remain, and hear my words, 
 And once again repeat those words to me. 
 
 Does she here seem to place less trust in what she has seen 
 than people do when awake 1 
 
 XXVIII. Why should I speak of madmen 1 — such as your 
 relation Tuditanus was, Catulus. Does any man, who may 
 be ever so much in his senses, think the things which he sees 
 as certain as he used to think those that appeared to him 1 
 Again, the man who cries out — 
 
 1 see you now, I see you now alive, 
 Ulysses, while such sight is still allow'd me ; 
 
 does he not twice cry out that he is seeing what he never 
 sees at all? Again, when Hercules, in Euripides, shot his 
 own sons with his arrows, taking them for the sons of Eurys- 
 theus,— when he slew his wife, — when he endeavoured even 
 to slay his father, — was he not worked upon by false ideas, 
 just as he might have been by true ones 1 Again, does not 
 your own Alcmseon, who says that his heart distrusts the 
 witness of his eyes, say in the same place, while inflamed by 
 frenzy — 
 
 Whence does this flame arise 1 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 65 
 
 And presently afterwards — 
 
 Come on ; come on ; they hasten, they approach ; 
 They seek for me. 
 
 Listen, how he implores the good faith of the virgin : — 
 
 bring vie aid ; drive this pest away ; 
 This fiery power which now doth torture me ; 
 See, they advance, dark shades, with flames encircled, 
 And stand around me with their blazing torches. 
 
 Have you any doubt here that he appears to himself to see 
 these things ? And then the rest of his speech : — 
 
 See how Apollo, fair-hair'd God, 
 Draws in and bends his golden bow ; 
 While on the left fair Dian waves her torch. 
 
 How could he have believed these things any more if they 
 had really existed than he did when they only seemed to 
 exist 1 For it is clear that at the moment his heart was not 
 distrusting his eyes. But all these instances are cited in 
 order to prove that than which nothing can be more certain, 
 namely, that between true and false perceptions there is no 
 difference at all, as far as the assent of the mind is concerned. 
 But you prove nothing when you merely refute those false 
 perceptions of men who are mad or dreaming, by their own 
 recollection. For the question is not what sort of recollection 
 those people usually have who have awakened, or those who 
 have recovered from madness, but what sort of perception 
 madmen or dreamers had at the moment when they were 
 under the influence of their madness or their dream. How- 
 ever, we will say no more about the senses. 
 
 What is there that can be perceived by reason? You say 
 that Dialectics have been discovered, and that that science is, 
 as it were, an arbiter and judge of what is true and false. 
 Of what true and false I— and of true and false on what sub- 
 ject ? Will a dialectician be able to judge, in geometry, what 
 is true and false, or in literature, or in music 1 He knows 
 nothing about those things. In philosophy, then ? What is 
 it to him how large the sun is ? or what means has he which 
 may enable him to judge what the chief good is ? What then 
 will he judge of? Of what combination or disjunction of ideas 
 is accurate, — of what is an ambiguous expression, — of what 
 follows from each fact, or what is inconsistent with it? If the 
 science of dialectics judges of these things, or things like 
 
 ACAI ETC. v 
 
6G ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 them, it is judging of itself. But it professed more. For to 
 judge of these matters is not sufficient for the resolving of 
 the other numerous and important questions which arise in 
 philosophy. But, since you place so much importance in 
 that art, I would have you to consider whether it was not 
 invented for the express purpose of being used against you. 
 For, at its first opening, it gives an ingenious account of the 
 elements of speaking, and of the manner in which one may 
 come to an understanding of ambiguous expressions, and of 
 the principles of reasoning : then, after a few more things, it 
 comes to the sorites, a very slippery and hazardous topic, and 
 a class of argument which you yourself pronounced to be a 
 vicious one. 
 
 XXIX. What then, you will say ; are we to be blamed for 
 that viciousness 1 The nature of things has not given us any 
 knowledge of ends, so as to enable us, in any subject whatever, 
 to say how far we can go. Nor is this the case only in respect 
 of the heap of wheat, from which the name is derived, but in 
 no matter whatever where the argument is conducted by 
 minute questions : for instance, if the question be whether a 
 man is rich or poor, illustrious or obscure, — whether things 
 be many or few, great or small, long or short, broad or nar- 
 row, — we have no certain answer to give, how much must be 
 added or taken away to make the thing in question either 
 one or the other. 
 
 But the sorites is a vicious sort of argument : — crush it, 
 then, if you can, to prevent its being troublesome ; for it will 
 be so, if you do not guard against it. We have guarded 
 against it, says he. For Chrysippus's plan is, when he is 
 interrogated step by step (by way of giving an instance), 
 whether there are three, or few, or many, to rest a little before 
 he comes to the " many ;" that is to say, to use their own 
 language, tjovx^iv. Rest and welcome, says Carneades; you 
 may even snore, for all I care. But what good does he do % 
 For one follows who will waken you from sleep, and question 
 you in the same manner : — Take the number, after the men- 
 tion of which you were silent, and if to that number I add 
 one, will there be many ? You will again go on, as long as 
 you think fit. Why need I say more ? for you admit this, 
 that you cannot in your answers fix the last number which 
 car* be classed as "few," nor the first, which amounts to 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 67 
 
 ' many." And this kind of uncertainty extends so widely, 
 that I do not see any bounds to its progress. 
 
 Nothing hurts me, says he ; for I, like a skilful driver, will 
 rein in my horses before I come to the end, and all the more 
 if the ground which the horses are approaching is precipitous. 
 And thus, too, says he, I will check myself, and not reply any 
 more to one who addresses me with captious questions. If 
 you have a clear answer to make, and refuse to make it, you 
 are giving yourself airs ; if you have not, even you yourself 
 do not perceive it. If you stop, because the question is 
 obscure, I admit that it is so ; but you say that you do not 
 proceed as far as what is obscure. You stop, then, where the 
 case is still clear. If then all you do is to hold your tongue, 
 you gain nothing by that. For what does it matter to the 
 man who wishes to catch you, whether he entangles you 
 owing to your silence or to your talking ? Suppose, for in- 
 stance, you were to say, without hesitation, that up to the 
 number nine, is " few," but were to pause at the tenth ; then 
 you would be refusing your assent to what is certain and 
 evident, and yet you will not allow me to do the same with 
 respect to subjects which are obscure. 
 
 That art, therefore, does not help you against the sorites ; 
 inasmuch as it does not teach a man, who is using either the 
 increasing or diminishing scale, what is the first point, or the 
 last. May I not say that that same art, like Penelope undoing 
 her web, at last undoes all the arguments which have gone 
 before 1 Is that your fault, or ours 1 In truth, it is the 
 foundation of dialectics, that whatever is enuntiated (and that 
 is what they call d^tw/xa, which answers to our word effatum,) 
 is either true or false. What, then, is the case 1 Are these 
 true or false 1 If you say that you are speaking falsely, and 
 that that is true, you are speaking falsely and telling the 
 truth at the same time. This, forsooth, you say is inex- 
 plicable ; and that is more odious than our language, when 
 we call things uncomprehended, and not perceived. 
 
 XXX. However, I will pass over all this. I ask, if those 
 things cannot be explained, and if no means of judging of 
 them is discovered, so that you can answer whether they are 
 true or false, then what has become of that definition, — " That 
 a proposition {effatum) is something which is either true or 
 false ?" After the facts are assumed I will add, that of them 
 
 f2 
 
68 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 some are to be adopted, others impeached, because they arc 
 contrary to the first. What then do you think of this con- 
 clusion, — " If you say that the sun shines/ and if you speak 
 truth, therefore the sun does shine 1 " At all events you 
 approve of the kind of argument, and you say that the con- 
 clusion has been most correctly inferred. Therefore, in teach- 
 ing, you deliver that as the first mood in which to draw 
 conclusions. Either, therefore, you will approve of every 
 other conclusion in the same mood, or that art of yours is 
 good for nothing. Consider, then, whether you are inclined 
 to approve of this conclusion; — " If you say that you are a 
 liar, and speak the truth, then you are a liar. But you do 
 say that you are a liar, and you do speak the truth, therefore 
 you are a liar." How can you avoid approving of this con- 
 clusion, when you approved of the previous one of the same 
 kind? 
 
 These are the arguments of Chrysippus, which even he 
 himself did not refute. For what could he do with such a 
 conclusion as this, — " If it shines, it shines: but it does shine, 
 therefore it does shine % " He must give in ; for the principle 
 of the connexion compels you to grant the last proposition 
 after you have once granted the first. And in what does this 
 conclusion differ from the other, — " If you lie, you he ; but 
 you do lie, therefore you do lie 1 " You assert that it is im- 
 possible for you either to approve or disapprove of this : if so, 
 how can you any more approve or disapprove of the other 1 
 If the art, or the principle, or the method, or the force of the 
 one conclusion avails, they exist in exactly the same degree 
 in both. 
 
 This, however, is their last resource. They demand that 
 one should make an exception with regard to these points 
 which are inexplicable. I give my vote for their going to 
 some tribune of the people ; for they shall never obtain this 
 exception from me. In truth, when they cannot prevail on 
 Epicurus, who despises and ridicules the whole science of 
 dialectics, to grant this proposition to be true, which we may 
 express thus — " Hermachus will either be alive to-morrow or 
 he will not;" when the dialecticians lay it down that every 
 disjunctive proposition, such as "either yes or no" is not 
 only true but necessaiy ; you may see how cautious he is, 
 whom they think slow. For, says he, if I should grant that 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 69 
 
 one of the two alternatives is necessary, it will then be neces- 
 sary either that Hermachus should be alive to-morrow, or not. 
 But there is no such necessity in the nature of things. Let 
 the dialecticians then, that is to say, Antiochus and the 
 Stoics, contend with him, for he upsets the whole science of 
 dialectics. 
 
 For if a disjunctive proposition made up of contraries, 
 (I call those propositions contraries when one affirms and the 
 other denies,) if, I say, such a disjunctive can be false, then 
 no one is ever true. But what quarrel have they with me 
 who am following their system? When anything of that 
 kind happened, Carneades used to joke in this way : — " If I 
 have drawn my conclusion correctly, I gain the cause : if 
 incorrectly, Diogenes shall pay back a mina;" for he had 
 learnt dialectics of that Stoic, and a mina was the pay of the 
 dialectians. 
 
 I, therefore, follow that system which I learnt from Anti- 
 ochus; and I find no reason why I should judge " If it does 
 shine, it does shine" to be true, because I have learnt that 
 everything which is connected with itself is true ; and yet not 
 judge " If you lie, you lie," to be connected with itself in the 
 same manner. Either, therefore, I must judge both this and 
 that to be true, or, if I may not judge this to be true, then I 
 cannot judge that to be. 
 
 XXXI. However, to pass over all those prickles, and all 
 that tortuous kind of discussion, and to show what we are : — 
 after having explained the whole theory of Carneades, all the 
 quibbles of Antiochus will necessarily fall to pieces. Nor 
 will I say anything in such a way as to lead any one to sus- 
 pect that anything is invented by me. I will take what I say 
 from Clitomachus, who was with Carneades till his old age, a 
 man of great shrewdness, (indeed, he was a Carthaginian,) and 
 very studious and diligent. And he has written four bookg 
 on the subject of withholding assent ; but what I am going to 
 say is taken out of the first. 
 
 Carneades asserts that there are two kinds of appearances ; 
 and that the first kind may be divided into those which can 
 be perceived and those which cannot ; and the other into 
 those which are probable and those which are not. There- 
 fore, those which are pronounced to be contrary to the senses 
 and contrary to evidentness belong to the former division; 
 
70 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 but that nothing can be objected to those of the second kind. 
 Wherefore his opinion is, that there is no appearance of such 
 a character that perception will follow it, but many such as 
 to draw after them probability. Indeed, it would be contrary 
 to nature if nothing were probable ; and that entire over- 
 turning of life, which you were speaking of, Lucullus, would 
 ensue. Therefore there are many things which may be proved 
 by the senses; only one must recollect that there is not in 
 them anything of such a character that there may not also be 
 something which is false, but which in no respect differs from 
 it in appearance ; and so, whatever happens which is pro- 
 bable in appearance, if nothing offers itself which is contrary 
 to that probability, the wise man will use it ; and in this way 
 the whole course of life will be regulated. 
 
 And, in truth, that wise man whom you are bringing on 
 the stage, is often guided by what is probable, not being com- 
 prehended, nor perceived, nor assented to, but only likely; 
 and unless a man acts on such circumstances there is an end 
 to the whole system of life. For what must happen 1 Has 
 the wise man, when he embarks on board ship, a positive 
 comprehension and perception in his mind that he will have 
 a successful voyage 1 How can he 1 But suppose he goes from 
 this place to Puteoli, thirty furlongs, in a seaworthy vessel, with 
 a good pilot, and in fine weather like this, it appears pro- 
 bable that he will arrive there safe. According to appearances 
 of this kind, then, he will make up his mind to act or not to 
 act ; and he will be more willing to find the snow white than 
 Anaxagoras, who not only denied that fact, but who affirmed, 
 because he knew*that water, from which snow was congealed, 
 was of a dark colour, that snow did not even look white. 
 And he will be influenced by anything which affects him in 
 such a way that the appearance is probable, and not inter- 
 fered with by any obstacle. For such a man is not cut out 
 of stone or hewn out of oak. He has a body, he has a mind, 
 he is influenced by intellect, he is influenced by his senses, so 
 that many things appear to him to be true, and yet not to have 
 conspicuous and peculiar characteristics by which to be per- 
 ceived. And therefore the wise man does not assent to them, 
 because it is possible that something false may exist of the 
 same kind as this true thing. Nor do we speak against the 
 senses differently from the Stoics, who say that many things 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 71 
 
 are false, and are very different from the appearance which 
 they present to the senses. 
 
 XXXII. But if this is the case, that one false idea can bo 
 entertained by the senses, you will find some one in a moment 
 who will deny that anything can be perceived by the senses. 
 And so, while we are silent, all perception and comprehension 
 is done away with by the two principles laid down, one by 
 Epicurus and the other by you. What is Epicurus's maxim 1 
 — If anything that appears to the senses be false, then nothing 
 can be perceived. What is yours? — The appearances pre- 
 sented to the senses are false. — What is the conclusion 1 Even 
 if I hold my tongue, it speaks for itself, that nothing can be 
 perceived. I do not grant that, says he, to Epicurus. Argue 
 then with him, as he is wholly at variance with you ; but 
 leave me alone, who certainly agree with you so far, that the 
 senses are liable to error. Although nothing appears so 
 strange to me, as that such things should be said, especially 
 by Antiochus, to whom the propositions which I have just 
 mentioned were thoroughly known. For although, if he 
 pleases, any one may find fault with this, namely with our 
 denying that anything can be perceived ; at all events it is 
 not a very serious reproof that we can have to endure. But 
 as for our statement that some things are probable, this does 
 not seem to you to be sufficient. Grant that it is not. At 
 least we ought to escape the reproaches which are incessantly 
 bandied about by you, " Can you, then, see nothing 1 can 
 you hear nothing 1 is nothing evident to you 1 " 
 
 I explained just now, on the testimony of Clitomachus, in 
 what manner Carneades intended those statements to be taken. 
 Hear now, how the same things are stated by Clitomachus in 
 that book which he dedicated to Caius Lucilius, the poet, 
 after he had written on the same subject to Lucius Censorinus, 
 the one, I mean, who was consul with Marcus Manilius ; he 
 then used almost these very words; for I am well acquainted 
 with them, because the first idea and arrangement of those 
 very matters which we are now discussing is contained in that 
 book. He then uses the following language — 
 
 " The philosophers of the Academy are of opinion that there 
 are differences between things of such a kind that some ap- 
 pear probable, and others the contrary. But that it is not a 
 sufficient reason for one's saying that some of these can be 
 
72 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 perceived and that others cannot, because many things which 
 are false are probable ; but nothing false can be perceived and 
 known. Therefore, says he, those men are egregiously wrong 
 who say that the Academics deny the existence of the senses ; 
 for they have never said that there is no such thing as colour, 
 or taste, or sound; the only point they argue for is, that 
 there is not in them that peculiar characteristic mark of truth 
 and certainty which does not exist anywhere else. 
 
 And after having explained this, he adds, that there are 
 two senses in which the wise man may be said to suspend his 
 assent : one, when it is understood that he, as a general rule, 
 assents to nothing ; the other, when he forbears answering, so 
 as to say that he approves or disapproves of anything, or, so 
 as to deny or affirm anything. This being the case, he 
 approves of the one sense, so as never to assent to anything ; 
 and adheres to the other, so as to be able to answer yes, or 
 no, following probability whenever it either occurs or is want- 
 ing. And that one may not be astonished at one, who in 
 every matter withholds himself from expressing his assent, 
 being nevertheless agitated and excited to action, he leaves us 
 perceptions of the sort by which we are excited to action, and 
 those owing to which we can, when questioned, answer either 
 way, being guided only by appearances, as long as we avoid 
 expressing a deliberate assent. And yet we must look upon 
 all appearances of that kind as probable, but only those which 
 have no obstacles to counteract them. If we do not induce 
 you to approve of these ideas, they may perhaps be false, but 
 they certainly do not deserve odium. For we are not de- 
 priving you of any light; but with reference to the things 
 which you assert are perceived and comprehended, we say, that 
 if they be only probable, they appear to be true. 
 
 XXXIII. Since, therefore, what is probable, is thus inferred 
 and laid down, and at the same time disencumbered of all 
 difficulties, set free and unrestrained, and disentangled from 
 all extraneous circumstances; you see, Lucullus, that that 
 defence of perspicuity which you took in hand is utterly over- 
 thrown. For this wise man of whom I am speaking will 
 survey the heaven and earth and sea with the same eyes as 
 your wise man; and will feel with the same senses all those 
 other things which fall under each respective sense. That 
 sea, which now, as the west wind is rising over it, appears 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 73 
 
 purple to us, will appear so too to our wise man, but never- 
 theless he will not sanction the appearance by his assent; 
 because, to us ourselves it appeared just now blue, and in 
 the morning it appeared yellow ; and now, too, because it 
 sparkles in the sun, it is white and dimpled, and quite unlike 
 the adjacent continent; so that, even if you could give an 
 account why it is so, still you could not establish the truth of 
 the appearance that is presented to the eyes. 
 
 Whence then, — for this was the question which you asked, 
 — comes memory, if we perceive nothing, since we cannot 
 recollect anything which we have seen unless we have com- 
 prehended it? What? Did Polyeenus, who is said to have 
 been a great mathematician, after he had been persuaded by 
 Epicurus to believe all geometry to be false, forget all the 
 knowledge which he had previously possessed 1 ? But that 
 which is false cannot be comprehended as you yourselves 
 assert. If, therefore, memory is conversant only with things 
 which have been perceived and comprehended, then it retains 
 as comprehended and perceived all that every one remembers. 
 But nothing false can be comprehended ; and Scyron recol- 
 lects all the dogmas of Epicurus ; therefore they are all true. 
 For all I care, they may be ; but you also must either admit 
 that they are so, and that is the last thing in your thoughts, 
 or else you must allow me memory, and grant that there is 
 plenty of room for it, even if there be no comprehension or 
 perception. 
 
 What then is to become of the arts? Of what arts? of 
 those, which of their own accord confess that they proceed 
 on conjecture more than on knowledge; or of those which 
 only follow what appears to them, and are destitute of that 
 art which you possess to enable them to distinguish between 
 truth and falsehood ? 
 
 But there are two lights which, more than any others, con- 
 tain the whole case; for, in the first place, you deny the 
 possibility of any man invariably withholding his assent from 
 everything. But that is quite plain ; since Panaetius, almost 
 the greatest man, in my opinion, of all the Stoics, says that 
 he is in doubt as to that matter, which all the Stoics except 
 him think absolutely certain, namely as to the truth of the 
 auspices taken by soothsayers, and of oracles, and dreams, 
 and prophecies ; and forbears to express any assent respecting 
 
74 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 them. And why, if he may pursue this course concerning 
 those matters, which the men of whom he himself learnt con- 
 sidered unquestionable, why may not a wise man do so too in 
 all other cases? Is there any position which a man may 
 either approve or disapprove of after it has been asserted, but 
 yet may not doubt about ? May you do so with respect to 
 the sorites whenever you please, and may not he take his 
 stand in the same manner in other cases, especially when 
 without expressing his assent he may be able to follow a 
 probability which is not embarrassed by anything 1 
 
 The second point is that you declare that man incapable 
 of action who withholds his assent from everything. For 
 first of all we must see in what assent consists. For the 
 Stoics say that the senses themselves are assents; that desire 
 comes after them, and action after desire. But that every 
 thing is at an end if we deny perception. 
 
 XXXIV. Now on this subject many things have been said 
 and written on both sides, but the whole matter may be sum- 
 med up in a few words. For although I think it a very great 
 exploit, to resist one's perceptions, to withstand one's vague 
 opinions, to check one's propensity to give assent to proposi- 
 tions, — and though I quite agree with Clitomachus, when he 
 writes that Carneades achieved a Herculean labour when, as 
 if it had been a savage and formidable monster, he extracted 
 assent, that is to say, vague opinion and rashness, from our 
 minds, — yet, supposing that part of the defence is wholly 
 omitted, what will hinder the action of that man who follows 
 probability, without any obstacle arising to embarrass him? 
 This thing of itself, says he, will embarrass him, — that he will 
 lay it down, that even the thing he approves of cannot be 
 perceived. And that will hinder you, also, in sailing, in 
 planting, in marrying a wife, in becoming the parent of chil- 
 dren, and in many things in which you follow nothing except 
 what is probable. 
 
 And, nevertheless, you bring up again that old and often 
 repudiated objection, to employ it not as Antipater did, but, 
 as you say, in a closer manner. For you tell us that Antipater 
 was blamed for saying, that it was consistent in a man who 
 affirmed that nothing could be comprehended, to say that at 
 least this fact of that impossibility could be comprehended] 
 which appeared even to Antiochus to be a stupid kind of 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS- 75 
 
 assertion, and contradictory to itself. For that it cannot be 
 said with any consistency that nothing can be comprehended, 
 if it is asserted at the same time that the fact of the impossi- 
 bility can be comprehended. He thinks that Carneades ought 
 rather to be pressed in this way: — As the wise man admits of no 
 dogma except such as is comprehended, perceived, and known, 
 he must therefore confess that this very dogma of the wise 
 man, " that nothing can be perceived," is perceived ; as if the 
 wise man had no other maxim whatever, and as if he could 
 pass his life without any. But as he has others, which are 
 probable, but not positively perceived, so also has he this one, 
 that nothing can be perceived. For if he had on this point 
 any characteristic of certain knowledge, he would also have it 
 on all other points ; but since he has it not, he employs pro- 
 babilities. Therefore he is not afraid of appearing to be 
 throwing everything into confusion, and making it uncertain. 
 For it is not admissible for a person to- say that he is ignorant 
 about duty, and about many other things with which he is 
 constantly mixed up and conversant ; as he might say, if he 
 were asked whether the number of the stars is odd or even. 
 For in things uncertain, nothing is probable ; but as to those 
 matters in which there is probability, in those the wise man 
 will not be at a loss what to do, or what answer to give. 
 
 Nor have you, Lucullus, omitted that other objection 
 of Antiochus (and, indeed, it is no wonder, for it is a very 
 notorious one,) by which he used to say that Philo was above 
 all things perplexed. For when one proposition was assumed, 
 that some appearances were false, and a second one that 
 there was no difference between them and true ones, he said 
 that that school omitted to take notice that the former pro- 
 position had been granted by him, because there did appear 
 to be some difference between appearances ; but that that was 
 put an end to by the second proposition, which asserted that 
 there was no difference between false and true ones ; for that 
 no two assertions could be more contradictory. And this 
 objection would be correct if we altogether put truth out of 
 the question : but we do not ; for we see both true appear- 
 ances and false ones. But there is a show of probability in 
 them, though of perception we have no sign whatever. 
 
 XXXV. And I seem to myself to be at this moment adopt- 
 ing too meagre an argument j for, when there is a wide plain, 
 in which our discourse may rove at liberty, why should wo 
 
76 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 confine it within such narrow straits, and drive it into the 
 thickets of the Stoics 1 For if I were arguing with a Peripa- 
 tetic, who said "that everything could be perceived which 
 was an impression originating in the truth," and who did not 
 employ that additional clause, — " in such a way as it could not 
 originate in what was false," I should then deal plainly with a 
 plain man, and should not be very disputatious. And even 
 if, when I said that nothing could be comprehended, he was 
 to say that a wise man was sometimes guided by opinion, I 
 should not contradict him; especially as even Carneades is 
 not very hostile to this idea. As it is, what can I do 1 For 
 I am asking what there is that can be comprehended ; and I 
 am answered, not by Aristotle, or Theophrastus, or even 
 Xenocrates or Polemo, but by one who is of much later date 
 than they, — "A truth of such a nature as what is false cannot 
 be." I find nothing of the sort. Therefore I will, in truth, 
 assent to what is unknown ; — that is to say, I will be guided 
 by opinion. This I am allowed to do both by the Peripate- 
 tics and by the Old Academy ; but you refuse me such indul- 
 gence, and in this refusal Antiochus is the foremost, who has 
 great weight with me, either because I loved the man, as he 
 did me, or because T consider him the most refined and acute 
 of all the philosophers of our age. 
 
 And, first of all, I will ask him how it is that he is a fol- 
 lower of that Academy to which he professes to belong 1 For, 
 to pass over other points, who is there, either of the Old Aca- 
 demy or of the Peripatetics, who has ever made these two 
 assertions which are the subject of discussion, — either that 
 that alone could be perceived which was a truth of such a 
 nature, as what was false could not be ; or that a wise man 
 was never guided by opinion 1 Certainly no one of them ever 
 said so. Neither of these propositions was much maintained 
 before Zeno's time. But I consider both of them true ; and I 
 do not say so just to serve the present turn, but it is my 
 honest opinion. 
 
 XXXVI. This is what I cannot bear. When you forbid me 
 to assent to what I do not know, and say such a proceeding 
 is most discreditable, and full of rashness, — when you, at the 
 same time, arrogate so much to yourself, as to take upon 
 yourself to explain the whole system of wisdom, to unfold the 
 nature of all things, to form men's manners, to fix the limits 
 of erood and evil, to describe men's duties, and also to under- 
 
take to teach a complete rule and system of disputing and 
 understanding, will you be able to prevent me from never 
 tripping while embracing all those multitudinous branches of 
 knowledge? What, in short, is that school to which you 
 would conduct me, after you have earned me away from this 
 one 1 I fear you will be acting rather arrogantly. if you say it 
 is your own. Still you must inevitably say so. Nor, indeed, 
 are you the only person who would say such a thing, but 
 every one will try and tempt me to his own. Come ; suppose 
 I resist the Peripatetics, who say that they are closely con- 
 nected with the orators, and that illustrious men who have 
 been instructed by them have often governed the republic ; — 
 suppose that I withstand the Epicureans, so many of whom 
 are friends of my own, — excellent, united, and affectionate 
 men; — what am I to do with respect to Deodotus the Stoic, 
 of whom I have been a pupil from my youth, — who has been 
 living with me so many years, — who dwells in my house, — 
 whom I admire and love, aud who despises all those theories 
 of Antiochus 1 Our principles, you will say, are the only true 
 ones. Certainly the only true ones, if they are true at all ; 
 for there cannot be many true principles incompatible with 
 one another. Are we then shameless who are unwilling to 
 make mistakes ; or they arrogant who have persuaded them- 
 selves that they are the only people who know everything ? 
 I do not, says he, assert that I, but that the wise man 
 knows everything. Exactly so ; that he knows those things 
 which are the principles of your school. Now, in the first 
 place, what an assertion it is that wisdom cannot be explained 
 by a wise man. — But let us leave off speaking of ourselves ; 
 let us speak of the wise man, about whom, as I have often 
 said before, the whole of this discussion is. 
 
 Wisdom, then, is distributed by most people, and indeed by 
 us, into three parts. First therefore, if you please, let us con- 
 sider the researches that have been made into the nature of 
 things. Is there any one so puffed up with a false opinion of 
 himself as to have persuaded himself that he knows those 
 things % I am not asking about those reasons which depend 
 on conjecture, which are dragged every way by discussions, 
 and which do not admit any necessity of persuasion. Let the 
 geometricians look to that, who profess not to persuade men 
 to believe them, but to compel them to do so • and who prove 
 to you everything that they describe. 1 am not asking these 
 
78 1CADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 men for those principles of the mathematicians, which, if they 
 be not granted, they cannot advance a single step j such as 
 that a point is a thing which has no magnitude, — that an 
 extremity or levelness, as it were, is a space which has no 
 thickness, — that a line is length without breadth. Though I 
 should grant that all these axioms are true, if I were to add 
 an oath, do you think a wise man would swear that the sun is 
 many degrees greater than the earth, before Archimedes had, 
 before his eyes, made out all those calculations by which it is 
 proved I If he does, then he will be despising the sun which 
 he considers a god. But if he will not believe the mathema- 
 tical calculations which employ a sort of constraint in teach- 
 ing, — as you yourselves say, — surely he will be very far from 
 believing the arguments of philosophers ; or, if he does believe 
 any such, which school will he believe ? One may explain all 
 the principles of natural philosophers, but it would take a 
 long time : I ask, however, whom he will follow 1 Suppose 
 for a moment that some one is now being made a wise man, 
 but is not one yet, — what system and what school shall he 
 select above all others ? For, whatever one he selects, he will 
 select while he is still unwise. But grant that he is a man or 
 godlike genius, which of all the natural philosophers will he 
 approve of above all others ? For he cannot approve of more 
 than one. I will not pursue an infinite number of questions ; 
 only let us see whom he will approve of with respect to the 
 elements of things of which all things are composed; for 
 there is a great disagreement among the greatest men on this 
 subject. 
 
 XXXVII. First of all, Thales, one of the seven, to whom 
 they say that the other six yielded the preeminence, said 
 that everything originated out of water; but he failed to 
 convince Anaximander, his countryman and companion, of 
 this theory ; for his idea was that there was an infinity of 
 nature from which all things were produced. After him, his 
 pupil, Anaximenes, said that the air was infinite, but that the 
 things which were generated from it were finite ; and that 
 the eartfc, and water, and fire, were generated, and that from 
 them was produced everything else. Anaxagoras said that 
 matter was infinite ; but that from it were produced minute 
 particles resembling one another ; that at first they were con- 
 fused, but afterwards brought into order by divine intellect. 
 Xenophanes, who was a little more ancient still, asserted that 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 79 
 
 all things were only one single being, and that that being was 
 immutable and a god, not born, but everlasting, of a globular 
 form. Parmenides considered that it is fire that moves the 
 earth, which is formed out of it. Leucippus thought that 
 there was a plenum, and a vacuum ; Democritus resembled 
 him in this idea, but was more copious on other matters : 
 Empedocles adopts the theory of the four ordinary and com- 
 monly known elements. Heraclitus refers everything to fire ; 
 Melissus thinks that what exists is infinite, immutable, always 
 has existed, and always will. Plato thinks that the world 
 was made by God, so as to be eternal, out of matter which 
 collects everything to itself. The Pythagoreans affirm that 
 everything proceeds from numbers, and from the principles of 
 mathematicians. 
 
 Now of all these different teachers the wise man will, 
 I imagine, select some one to follow ; all the rest, numerous, 
 and great men as they are, will be discarded by him and 
 condemned ; but whichever doctrine he approves of he will 
 retain in his mind, being comprehended in the same manner 
 as those things which he comprehends by means of the senses ; 
 nor will he feel any greater certainty of the fact of its now 
 being day, than, since he is a Stoic, of this world being wise, 
 being endowed with intellect, which has made both itself and 
 the world, and which regulates, sets in motion, and governs 
 everything. He will also be persuaded that the sun, and 
 moon, and all the stars, and the earth, and sea, are gods, be- 
 cause a certain animal intelligence pervades and passes 
 through them all : but nevertheless that it will happen some 
 day or other that all this world will be burnt up with fire. 
 
 XXXVIII, Suppose that all this is true : (for you see 
 already that I admit that something is true,) still I deny that 
 these things are comprehended and perceived. For when that 
 wise Stoic of yours has repeated all that to you, syllable by 
 syllable, Aristotle will come forward pouring forth a golden 
 stream of eloquence, and pronounce him a fool ; and assert 
 that the world has never had a beginning, because there never 
 existed any beginning of so admirable a work from the adop- 
 tion of a new plan : and that the world is so excellently made 
 in every part that no power could be great enough to cause 
 such motion, and such changes ; nor could any time whatever 
 be long enough to produce an old age capable of causing all 
 this beauty to decay and perish. It will be indispensable for 
 
80 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 you to deny this, and to defend the former doctrine as you 
 would your own life and reputation ; may I not have even 
 legve to entertain a doubt on the matter ? To say nothing 
 about the folly of people who assent to propositions rashly, 
 what value am I to set upon a liberty which will not allow 
 to me what is necessary for you 1 Why did God, when he 
 was making everything for the sake of man, (for this is your 
 doctrine,) make such a multitude of water-serpents and 
 vipers 1 Why did he scatter so many pernicious and fatal 
 things over the earth? You assert that all this universe 
 could not have been made so beautifully and so ingeniously 
 without some godlike wisdom; the majesty of which you 
 trace down even to the perfection of bees and ants ; so that 
 it would seem that there must have been a Myrmecides 1 among 
 the gods ; the maker of all animated things. 
 
 You say that nothing can have any power without God. 
 Exactly opposite is the doctrine of Strato of Lampsacus, who 
 gives that God of his exemption from all important business. 
 But as the priests of the gods have a holiday, how much more 
 reasonable is it that the gods should have one themselves 1 
 He then asserts that he has no need of the aid of the gods 
 to account for the making of the world. Everything that 
 exists, he says, was made by Nature : not agreeing with that 
 other philosopher who teaches, that the universe is a con- 
 crete mass of rough and smooth, and hooked and crooked 
 bodies, with the addition of a vacuum : this he calls a dream 
 of Democritus, and says that he is here not teaching, but 
 wishing; — but he himself, examining each separate part of 
 the world, teaches that whatever exists, and whatever is done, 
 is caused, or has been caused, by natural weights and motions. 
 In this way he releases God from a great deal of hard work, 
 and me from fear ; for who is there who, (when he thinks 
 that he is an object of divine care,) does not feel an awe of 
 the divine power day and night 1 And who, whenever any 
 misfortunes happen to him (and what man is there to whom 
 none happen ?) feels a dread lest they may have befallen him 
 deservedly — not, indeed, that I agree with that ; but neither 
 do I with you : at one time I think one doctrine more pro- 
 bable, and at other times I incline to the other. 
 
 XXXIX. All these mysteries, Lucullus, lie concealed 
 and enveloped in darkness so thick that no human ingenuity 
 1 From fxvp/i7j{ an ant. 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 81 
 
 has a sight sufficiently piercing to penetrate into heaven, and 
 dive into the earth. We do not understand our own bodies : 
 we do not know what is the situation of their different parts, 
 or what power each part has : therefore, the physicians them- 
 selves, whose business it was to understand these things, have 
 opened bodies in order to lay those parts open to view. And 
 yet empirics say that they are not the better known for that : 
 because it is possible that, by being laid open and uncovered, 
 they may be changed. But is it possible for us, in the same 
 manner, to anatomize, and open, and dissect the natures of 
 things, so as to see whether the earth is firmly fixed on its 
 foundations and sticks firm on its roots, if I may so say, or 
 whether it hangs in the middle of a vacuum 1 Xenophanes 
 s lys that the moon is inhabited, and that it is a country of 
 many cities and mountains. These assertions seem strange, but 
 the man who has made them could not take his oath that such 
 is the case ; nor could I take mine that it is not the case. You 
 also say that, opposite to us, on the contrary side of the earth, 
 there are people who stand with their feet opposite to our 
 feet, and you call them Antipodes. Why are you more angry 
 with me, who do not despise these theories, than with those 
 who, when they hear them, think that you are beside your- 
 selves ? 
 
 Hiretas of Syracuse, as Theophrastus tells us, thinks that 
 the sun, and moon, and stars, and all the heavenly bodies, in 
 short, stand still ; and that nothing in the world moves 
 except the earth ; and, as that turns and revolves on its own 
 axis with the greatest rapidity, he thinks that everything is 
 made to appear by it as if it were the heaven which is moved 
 while the earth stands still. And, indeed, some people think 
 that Plato, in the Timaeus, asserts this, only rather obscurely. 
 What is your opinion, Epicurus 1 Speak. Do you think 
 that the sun is so small 1 — Do 1 1 Do you yourselves think 
 it so large 1 But all of you are ridiculed by him, and you in 
 your turn mock him. Socrates, then, is free from this ridi- 
 cule, and so is Ariston of Chios, who thinks that r-one of these 
 matters can be known. 
 
 But I return to the mind and body. Is it sufficiently 
 known by us what is the nature of the sinews and of the 
 veins I Do we comprehend what the mind is ? — where it is t 
 — or, in short, whether it exists at all, or whether, as Dicsear- 
 
 acad. *ru. g 
 
82 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 chus thinks, there is no such thing whatever ? If there is 
 such a thing, do we know whether it has three divisions, as 
 Plato thought ; those of reason, anger, and desire? — or whether 
 it is single and. uniform ? If it is single and uniform, do we 
 know whether it is fire, or breath, or blood ? — or, as Xeno- 
 crates says, number without a body ? — though, what sort of 
 thing that is, is not very easy to understand. And whatever 
 it is, do we know whether it is mortal or eternal ? For many 
 arguments are alleged on both sides. 
 
 XL. Some of these theories seem certain to your wise man : 
 but ours does not even see what is most probable ; so nearly 
 equal in weight are the opposite arguments in most cases. 
 If you proceed more modestly, and reproach me, not because 
 I do not assent to your reasoning, but because I do not assent 
 to any, I will not resist any further : but I will select some 
 one with whom I may agree. Whom shall I choose 1 ? — whom? 
 Democritus ? for, as you know, I have always been a favourer 
 of noble birth. I shall be at once overwhelmed with the 
 reproaches of your whole body. Can you think, they will say 
 to me, that there is any vacuum, when everything is so filled 
 and close packed that whenever any body leaves its place 
 and moves, the place which it leaves is immediately occupied 
 by some other body ? Or can you believe that there are any 
 atoms to which whatever is made by their combination is 
 entirely unlike ? or that any excellent thing can be made 
 without intellect ? And, since this admirable beauty is found 
 in one world, do you think that there are also innumerable 
 other worlds, above, below, on the right hand and on the left, 
 before, and behind, some unlike this one, and some of the 
 same kind ? And, as we are now at Bauli, and are beholding 
 Puteoli, do you think that there are in other places like these 
 a countless host of men, of the same names and rank, and 
 exploits, and talents, and appearances, and ages, arguing on 
 the same subjects ? And if at this moment, or when we are 
 asleep, we seem to see anything in our mind, do you think 
 that those images enter from without, penetrating into our 
 minds through our bodies ? You can never adopt such ideas 
 as these, or give your assent to such preposterous notions. It 
 is better to have no ideas at all than to have such erroneous 
 ones as these. 
 
 Your object, then/is not to make me sanction anything by 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 83 
 
 my assent. If it were, consider whether it would not be 
 an impudent, not to say an arrogant demand, especially as 
 these principles of yours do not seem to me to be even pro- 
 bable. For I do not believe that there is any such thing as 
 divination, which you assent to ; and I also despise fate, by 
 which you say that everything is regulated. I do not even 
 believe that this world was formed by divine wisdom ; or, 
 I should rather say, I do not know whether it was so formed 
 or not. 
 
 XLT. But why should you seek to disparage me 1 May I 
 not confess that I do not understand what I really do not ? 
 Or may the Stoics argue with one other, and may I not argue 
 with them? Zeno, and nearly all the rest of the Stoics, con- 
 sider iEther as the Supreme God, being endued with reason, 
 by which everything is governed. Cleanthes, who we may 
 call a Stoic, Majorum Gentium, the pupil of Zeno, thinks that 
 the Sun has the supreme rule over and government of every- 
 thing. We are compelled, therefore, by the dissensions of 
 these wise men, to be ignorant of our own ruler, inasmuch as 
 we do not know whether we are subjects of the Sun or of 
 ^Ether. But the great size of the sun, (for this present radi- 
 ance of his appears to be looking at me,) warns me to make 
 frequent mention of him. Now you all speak of his magni- 
 tude as if you had measured it with a ten-foot rule, (though 
 I refuse credit to your measurement, looking on you as but 
 bad architects.) Is there then any room for doubt, which of 
 us, to speak as gently as possible, is the more modest of 
 the two ? Not, however, that I think those questions of the 
 natural philosophers deserving of being utterly banished from 
 our consideration; for the consideration and contemplation 
 of nature is a sort of natural food, if I may say so, for our 
 minds and talents. We are elevated by it, we seem to be 
 raised above the earth, we look down on human affairs; 
 and by fixing our thoughts on high and heavenly things we 
 despise the affairs of this life, as small and inconsiderable. 
 The mere investigation of things of the greatest importance, 
 which are at the same time veiy secret, has a certain pleasure 
 in it. And when anything meets us which appears likely, our 
 minds are filled with pleasure thoroughly worthy of a man. 
 Both your wise man and ours, then, will inquire into these 
 things ; but yours will do so in order to assent, to feel belief 
 
 <2l 
 
8* ACADEMIC QUESTIONS*. 
 
 to express affirmation ; ours, with such feelings that he will 
 fear to yield rashly to opinion, and will think that he has 
 succeeded admirably if in matters of this kind he has found 
 out anything which is likely. 
 
 Let us now come to the question of the knowledge of good 
 and evil. But we must say a few words by way of preface. 
 It appears to me that they who speak so positively about 
 those questions of natural philosophy, do not reflect that they 
 are depriving themselves of the authority of those ideas which 
 appear more clear. For they cannot give a clearer assent to, 
 or a more positive approval of the fact that it is now day- 
 light, than they do, when the crow croaks, to the idea that it 
 is commanding or prohibiting something. Nor will they 
 affirm that that statue is six feet high more positively after 
 they have measured it, than that the sun, which they cannot 
 measure, is more than eighteen times as large as the earth. 
 From which this conclusion arises : if it cannot be perceived 
 how large the sun is, he who assents to other things in the 
 same manner as he does to the magnitude of the sun, does 
 not perceive them. But the magnitude, of the sun cannot be 
 perceived. He, then, who assents to a statement about it, as 
 if he perceived it, perceives nothing. Suppose they were to 
 reply that it is possible to perceive how large the sun is; I 
 will not object as long as they admit that other things toe 
 can be perceived and comprehended in the same manner 
 For they cannot affirm that one thing can be comprehended 
 more or less than another, since there is only one definition 
 of the comprehension of everything. 
 
 XLII. However, to go back to what I had begun to say — 
 What have we in good and bad certainly ascertained? (we must, 
 of course, fix boundaries to which the sum of good and evil is 
 to be referred ;) what subject, in fact, is there about which there 
 is a greater disagreement between the most learned men 1 I 
 say nothing about those points which seem now to be aban- 
 doned ; or about Herillus, who places the chief good in know- 
 ledge and science : and though he had been a pupil of Zeno, 
 you see how far he disagrees with him, and how very little 
 he differs from Plato. The school of the Megaric philoso- 
 phers was a very celebrated one ; and its chief, as 1 see it 
 stated in books, was Xenophanes, whom I mentioned just 
 now. After him came Parmenides and Zeno ; and from them 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 85 
 
 the Eleatic philosophers get their name. Afterwards came 
 Euclid of Megara. a pupil of Socrates, from whom that school 
 got the name of Megaric. And they defined that as the only 
 good which was always one, alike, and identical. They also 
 borrowed a great deal from Plato. But the Eretrian philoso- 
 phers, who were so called from Menedumus, because he was 
 a native of Eretria, placed all good in the mind, and in that 
 acuteness of the mind by which the truth is discerned. The 
 Megarians say very nearly the same, only that they, I think, 
 develop their theory with more elegance and richness of 
 illustration. If we now despise these men, and think them 
 worthless, at all events we ought to show more respect for 
 Ariston, who, having been a pupil of Zeno, adopted in reality 
 the principles which he had asserted in words; namely, that 
 there was nothing good except virtue, and nothing evil except 
 what was contrary to virtue ; and who denied altogether the 
 existence of those influences which Zeno contended for as being 
 intermediate, and neither good nor evil. His idea of the chief 
 good, is being affected in neither direction by these circum- 
 stances ; and this state of mind he calls aSta^opta ; but 
 Pyrrho asserts that the wise man does not even feel them ; 
 and that state is called a-n-a^cia. 
 
 To say nothing, then, of all these opinions, let us now 
 examine those others which have been long and vigorously 
 maintained. Some have accounted pleasure the chief good ; 
 the chief of whom was Aristippus, who had been a pupil of 
 Socrates, and from whom the Cyrenaic school spring. After 
 him came Epicurus, whose school is now better know r n, 
 though he does not exactly agree w r ith the Cyrenaics about 
 pleasure itself. But Callipho thought that pleasure and 
 honour combined made up the chief good. Hieronymus 
 placed it in being free from all annoyance ; Diodorus in this 
 state when combined with honour. Both these last men were 
 Peripatetics. To live honourably, enjoying those things which 
 nature makes most dear to man, was the definition both of 
 the Old Academy, (as as we may learn from the writings of 
 Polemo, who is highly approved of by Antiochus,) and of 
 Aristotle, and it is the one to which his friends appear now 
 to come nearest. Carneades also introduced a definition, 
 (not because he approved of it himself, but for the sake of 
 opposition to the Stoics \ that the chief good is to eniov those 
 
86 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 things which nature has made man consider as most desirable. 
 But Zeno laid it down that that honourableness which arises 
 from conformity to nature is the chief good. And Zeno was 
 the founder and chief of the Stoic school. 
 
 XLIII. This now is plain enough, that all these chief 
 goods which I have mentioned have a chief evil correspond- 
 ing to them, which is their exact opposite. I now put it to 
 you, whom shall I follow ? only do not let any one make me 
 so ignorant and absurd a reply as, Any one, provided only that 
 you follow some one or other. Nothing more inconsiderate 
 can be said: I wish to follow the Stoics. Will Antiochus, 
 (I do not say Aristotle, a man almost, in my opinion, un- 
 rivalled as a philosopher, but will Antiochus) give me leave 1 
 And he was called an Academic; but he would have been, 
 with very little alteration, something very like a Stoic. The 
 matter shall now be brought to a decision. For we must 
 either give the wise man to the Stoics or to the Old Academy. 
 He cannot belong to both ; for the contention between them is 
 not one about boundaries, but about the whole territory. For 
 the whole system of life depends on the definition of the chief 
 good; and those who differ on that point, differ about the 
 Whole system of life. It is impossible, therefore, that those 
 of both these schools should be wise, since they differ so 
 much from one another : but one of them only can be so. 
 If it be the disciple of Polemo, then the Stoic is wrong, who 
 assents to an error : and you say that nothing is so incom- 
 patible with the character of a wise man as that. But if the 
 principles of Zeno be true, then we must say the same of the 
 Old Academics and of the Peripatetics ; and as I do not know 
 which is the more wise of the two, I give my assent to neither. 
 What 1 when Antiochus in some points disagrees with the 
 Stoics whom he is so fond of, does he not show that these 
 principles cannot be approved of by a wise man 1 
 
 The Stoics assert that all offences are equal : but Antiochus 
 energetically resists this doctrine. At least, let me consider 
 before I decide which opinion I will embrace. Cut the mat- 
 ter short, says he, do at last decide on something. What 1 The 
 reasons which are given appear to me to be both shrewd and 
 nearly equal : may I not then be on my guard against com- 
 mitting a crime 1 for you called it a crime, Lucullus, to vio- 
 late a principle ; I, therefore, restrain myself, lest I should 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 87 
 
 assent to what I do not understand ; and this principle I have 
 in common with you. 
 
 Here, however, is a much greater difference. — Zeno thinks 
 that a happy life depends on virtue alone. What says Anti- 
 ochus ? He admits that this is true of a happy life, but not 
 of the happiest possible life. The first is a god, who thinks 
 that nothing can be wanting to virtue ; the latter is a mise- 
 rable man, who thinks that there are many things besides 
 virtue, some of which are dear to a man, and some even 
 necessary. But I am afraid that the former may be attri- 
 buting to virtue more than nature can bear ; especially since 
 Theophrastus has said many things with eloquence and 
 copiousness on this subject ; and I fear that even he may 
 not be quite consistent with himself. For though he admits 
 that there are some evils both of body and fortune, he never- 
 theless thinks that a man may be happy who is afflicted by 
 them all, provided he is wise. I am perplexed here ; at one 
 time the one opinion appears to me to be more probable, 
 and at another time the other does. And yet, unless one or 
 the other be true, I think virtue must be entirely trampled 
 under foot. 
 
 XLIV. However, they differ as to this principle. What 
 then ? Can we approve, as true, of those maxims on which they 
 agree ; namely, that the mind of the wise man is never in- 
 fluenced by either desire or joy 1 Come, suppose this opinion 
 is a probable one, is this other one so too ; namely, that it 
 never feels either alarm or grief? Cannot the wise fear? 
 And if his country be destroyed, cannot he grieve 1 That 
 seems harsh, but Zeno thinks it inevitable ; for he considers 
 nothing good except what is honourable. But you do not 
 think it true in the least, Antiochus. For you admit that 
 there are many good things besides honour, and many evils 
 besides baseness ; and it is inevitable that the wise man must 
 fear such when coming, and grieve when they have come. 
 But I ask when it was decided by the Old Academy that they 
 were to deny that the mind of the wise man could be agitated 
 or disturbed ?• They approved of intermediate states, and 
 asserted that there was a kind of natural mean in every agita- 
 tion. We have all read the treatise on Grief, by Crantor, a 
 disciple of the Old Academy. It is not large, but it is a golden 
 book, and one, as Panaetius tells Tubero, worth learniug by 
 
88 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 heart. And these men used to say that those agitations were 
 very profitably given to our minds by nature ; fear, in order 
 that we may take care ; pity and melancholy they called the 
 whetstone of our clemency; and anger itself that of our 
 courage. Whether they were right or wrong we may consider 
 another time. How it was that those stern doctrines of yours 
 forced their way into the Old Academy I do not know, but 
 I cannot bear them ; not because they have anything in them 
 particularly di agreeable to me ; for many of the marvellous 
 doctrines of the Stoics, which men call -rrapaho^a, are derived 
 from Socrates. But where has Xenocrates or where has 
 Aristotle touched these points ? For you try to make out 
 the Stoics to be the same as these men. Would they ever 
 say that wise men were the only kings, the only rich, the only 
 handsome men? that everything everywhere belonged tc 
 the wise man? that no one was a consul, or praetor, or 
 general, or even, for aught I know, a quinquevir, but the 
 wise man? lastly, that he was the only citizen, the only 
 free man? and that all who are destitute of wisdom are 
 foreigners, exiles, slaves, or madmen ? last of all, that the 
 writings of Lycurgus and Solon and our Twelve Tables are 
 not laws ? that there are even no cities or states except those 
 which are peopled by wise men ? Now these maxims, Lu- 
 cullus, if you agree with Antiochus, your own friend, must 
 be defended by you as zealously as the bulwarks of your city ; 
 but I am only bound to uphold them with moderation, just as 
 much as I think fit. 
 
 XLV. I have read in Clitomachus, that when Carneades 
 and Diogenes the Stoic were standing in the capitol before 
 the senate, Aulus Albonus (who was praetor at the time, in the 
 consulship of Publius Scipio and Marcus Marcellus, the same 
 Albonus who was consul, Lucullus, with your own grandfather, 
 a learned man, as his own history shows, which is written in 
 Greek) said jestingly to Carneades — " I do not, Carneades, 
 seem to you to be praetor because I am not wise, nor does this 
 seem to be a city, nor do the inhabitants seem to be citizens, for 
 the same reason." And he answered — " That is the Stoic 
 doctrine." Aristotle or Xenocrates, whom Antiochus wished to 
 follow, would have had no doubt that he was praetor, and Rome 
 a city, and that it was inhabited by citizens. But our friend 
 is, as I said before, a manifest Stoic, though he talks a little 
 nonsense. 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 89 
 
 But you are all afraid for me, lest I should descend to 
 opinions, and adopt and approve of something that I do not. 
 understand j which you would be very sorry for me to do. 
 What advice do you give me 1 Chrysippus often testifies that 
 there are three opinions orriy about the chief good which can 
 be defended ; he cuts off and discards all the rest. He says 
 that either honour is the chief good, or pleasure, or both com- 
 bined. For that those who say that the chief good is to be 
 free from all annoyance, shun the unpopular name of pleasure, 
 but hover about its neighbourhood. And those also do the 
 same who combine that freedom from annoyance with honour. 
 And those do not much differ from them who unite to honour 
 the chief advantages of nature. So he leaves three opinions 
 which he thinks may be maintained by probable arguments. 
 
 Be it so. Although I am not easily to be moved from the 
 definition of Polemo and the Peripatetics, and Antiochus, 
 nor have I anything more probable to bring forward. Still, 
 I see how sweetly pleasure allures our senses. I am inclined 
 to agree with Epicurus or Aristippus. But virtue recals me, 
 or rather leads me back with her hand ; says that these are 
 the feelings of cattle, and that man is akin to the Deity. I 
 may take a middle course ; so that, since Aristippus, as if 
 we had no mind, defends nothing but the body, and Zeno 
 espouses the cause of the mind alone, as if we were destitute 
 of body, I may follow Callipho, whose opinion Carneades used 
 to defend with such zeal, that he appeared wholly to approve 
 of it; although Clitomachus affirmed that he never could 
 understand what Carneades approved of. But if I were to 
 choose to follow him, would not truth itself, and all sound 
 and proper reason, oppose me 1 Will you, when honour con- 
 sists in despising pleasure, unite honour to pleasure, joining, 
 as it were, a man to a beast? 
 
 XLVI. There is now, then, only one pair of combatants 
 left — pleasure and honour ; between which Chrysippus, as far 
 as I can see, was not long in perplexity how to decide. If 
 you follow the one, many things are overthrown, especially 
 the fellowship of the human race, affection, friendship, justice, 
 and all other virtues, none of which can exist at all without 
 disinterestedness : for the virtue which is impelled to action 
 by pleasure, as by a sort of wages, is not really virtue, but 
 only a deceitful imitation and pretence of virtue. Listen, on 
 
90 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 the contrary, to those men who say that they do not even 
 understand the name of honour, unless we call that honour- 
 able which is accounted reputable by the multitude j that the 
 source of all good is in the body; that this is the law, and 
 rule, and command of nature ; and that he who departs from 
 it will never have any object in life to follow. Do you think, 
 then, that I am not moved when I hear these and innumer- 
 able other statements of the same kind 1 ? I am moved as 
 much as you are, Lucullus; and you need not think me less 
 a man than yourself. The only difference is that you, when 
 you are agitated, acquiesce, assent, and approve : you consider 
 the impression which you have received true, certain, com- 
 prehended, perceived, established, firm, and unalterable ; and 
 you cannot be moved or driven from it by any means what- 
 ever. I think that there is nothing of such a kind that, if I 
 assent to it, I shall not often be assenting to what is false ; 
 since there is no distinct line of demarcation between what is 
 true and what is false, especially as the science of dialectics 
 has no power of judging on this subject. 
 
 I come now to the third part of philosophy. There is an 
 idea advanced by Protagoras, who thinks that that is true to 
 each individual which seems so to him; and a completely 
 different one put forward by the Cyrenaics, who think that 
 there is no such thing as certain judgment about anything 
 except the inner feelings : and a third, different from either, 
 maintained by Epicurus, who places all judgment in the 
 senses, and in our notions of things, and in pleasure. But 
 Plato considered that the whole judgment of truth, and that 
 truth itself, being abstracted from opinions and from the 
 senses, belonged to the province of thought and of the intel- 
 lect. Does our friend Antiochus approve of any of these 
 principles ? He does not even approve of those who may be 
 called his own ancestors in philosophy: for where does he 
 follow Xenocrates, who has written a great many books on 
 the method of speaking, which are highly esteemed? — or 
 Aristotle himself, than whom there is no more acute or ele- 
 gant writer 1 He never goes one step without Chrysippus. 
 
 XL VI I. Do we then, who are called Academics, misuse the 
 glory of this name? or why are we to be compelled to follow 
 those men who differ from one another 1 In this very thing, 
 which the dialecticians teach among the elements of their art^ 
 
ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 91 
 
 How one ought to judge whether an argument be true or 
 false which is connected in this manner, u If it is day, it 
 shines," how great a contest there is; — Diodorus has one 
 opinion, Philo another, Chrysippus a third. Need I say 
 more 1 In how many points does Chrysippus himself differ 
 from Cleanthes, his own teacher 1 Again, do not two of the 
 very princes of the dialecticians, Antipater and Archidemus, 
 men most devoted to hypothesis, disagree in numbers of 
 things ? Why then, Lucullus, do you seek to bring me into 
 odium, and drag me, as it were, before the assembly 1 And 
 why, as seditious tribunes often do, do you order all the shops 
 to be shut? For what is your object when you complain that 
 all trades are being suppressed by us, if it be not to excite the 
 artisans ? But, if they all come together from all quarters, 
 they will be easily excited against you ; for, first of all, I will 
 cite all those unpopular expressions of yours when you called 
 all those, who will then be in the assembly, exiles, and slaves, 
 and madmen : and then I will come to those arguments which 
 touch not the multitude, but you yourselves who are here 
 present. For Zeno and Antiochus both deny that any of you 
 know anything. How so 1 you will say ; for we allege, on the 
 other hand, that even a man without wisdom comprehends 
 many things. But you affirm that no one except a wise man 
 knows one single thing. And Zeno professed to illustrate 
 this by a piece of action; for when he stretched out his 
 fingers, and showed the palm of his hand, " Perception," said 
 he, " is a thing like this." Then, when he had a little closed 
 his fingers, " Assent is like this." Afterwards, when he had 
 completely closed his hand, and held forth his fist, that, he 
 said, was comprehension. From which simile he also gave 
 that state a name which it had not before, and called it 
 KaraA^is. But when he brought his left hand against his 
 right, and with it took a firm and tight hold of his fist, 
 knowledge, he said, was of that character; and that was what 
 none but a wise man possessed. But even those who are 
 themselves wise men do not venture to say so, nor any one 
 who has ever lived and been a wise man. According to that 
 theory, you, Catulus, do not know that it is daylight; and 
 you, Hortensius, are ignorant that we are now in your villa. 
 
 Now, are these arguments less formidable than yours 1 
 They are not, perhaps, very refined ; and those others sho\J 
 
92 ACADEMIC QUESTIONS. 
 
 more aouteness. But, just as you said, that if nothing could 
 be comprehended, all the arts were destroyed at once, and 
 would not grant that mere probability was a sufficient foun- 
 dation for art ; so I now reply to you, that art cannot exist 
 without knowledge. Would Zeuxis, or Phidias, or Polycletus 
 allow that they knew nothing, when they were men of such 
 marvellous skill 1 But if any one had explained to them how 
 much power knowledge was said to have, they would cease to 
 be angry; they would not even be offended with us, when 
 they had learnt that we were only putting an end to what did 
 not exist anywhere ; but that we left them what was quite 
 sufficient for them. 
 
 And this doctrine is confirmed also by the diligence of our 
 ancestors, who ordained, in the first place, that every one 
 should swear "according to the opinion of his own mind;" 
 secondly, that he should be accounted guilty "if he know- 
 ingly swore falsely," because there was a great deal of igno- 
 rance in life ; thirdly, that the man who was giving his 
 evidence should say that " he thought," even in a case where 
 he was speaking of what he had actually seen himself. And that 
 when the judges were giving their decision on their evidence, 
 they should say, not that such and such a thing had been 
 done, but that such and such a thing appeared to them. 
 
 XLVIII. But since the sailor is making signals, and the 
 west wind is showing us too, by its murmur, that it is time 
 for us, Lucullus, to set sail, and since I have already said a 
 great deal, I must now conclude. But hereafter, when we 
 inquire into these subjects, we will discuss the great disagree- 
 ments between the most eminent on the subject of the ol> 
 scurity of nature, and the errors of so many philosophers who 
 differ from one another about good and evil so widely, that, 
 as more than one of their theories cannot be true, it is 
 inevitable that many illustrious schools must fall to the 
 ground, rather than the theories about the false impressions 
 of the eyes and the other senses, and sorites, or false syllo- 
 gism, — rods which the Stoics have made to beat themselves 
 with. 
 
 Then Lucullus replied, I am not at all sorry that we have 
 had this discussion ; for often, when we meet again, especially 
 in our Tusculan villas, we can examine other questions which 
 seem worth investigation. Certainly, said I; but what does 
 
ON THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 93 
 
 Catulus think? and Hortensius? I? said Catulus. I return 
 to my father's opinion, which he used to say was derived 
 from Carneades, and think that nothing can be perceived ; 
 but still I imagine that a wise man will assent to what is not 
 actually perceived — that is to say, will form opinions : being, 
 however, aware at the same time that they are only opinions, 
 and knowing that there is nothing which can be compre- 
 hended and perceived. And, practising that e7rox>) so as to 
 take probability for a guide in all things, I altogether assent 
 to that other doctrine, that nothing can be perceived. I see 
 your meaning, said I ; and I do not very much object to it. 
 But what is your opinion, Hortensius 1 ? He laughed, and 
 said, I suspend my judgment. I understand, said I ; for that 
 is the peculiar principle of the Academy. 
 
 So, after we had finished our discourse, Catulus remained 
 behind, and we went down to the shore to embark in our 
 
 A TREATISE ON THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 The following treatise was composed by Cicero a little 
 before the publication of his Tusculan Disputations. It con- 
 sists of a series of Dialogues, in which the opinions of the 
 different schools of Greek philosophy, especially the Epi- 
 cureans, Stoics, and Peripatetics, on the Supreme Good, as the 
 proper object or end {finis) of our thoughts and actions, are 
 investigated and compared. It is usually reckoned one of 
 the most highly finished and valuable of his philosophical 
 works ; though from the abstruse nature of some of the topics 
 dwelt upon, and the subtlety of some of the arguments 
 adduced, it is unquestionably the most difficult. "* " 
 
 He gives an account himself of the work and of his design 
 and plan in the following terms. (Epist. ad Att. xiii. 19.) 
 " What I have lately written is in the manner of Aristotle, 
 where the conversation is so managed that he himself has the 
 principal part. I have finished the five books De Finibus 
 Bonorum et Malorum, so as to give the Epicurean doctrine 
 
34 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE OS 
 
 to Lucius Torquatus, the Stoic to Marcus Cato, aud the 
 Peripatetic to Marcus Cato. For I considered -that their 
 being dead would preclude all jealousy." He does not, how- 
 ever, maintain the unity of scene or character throughout the 
 five books. In the first book he relates a discussion which 
 is represented as having taken place in his villa near Cumse. 
 in the presence of Caius Valerias Triarius, between himself 
 and Lucius Manlius Torquatus, who is spoken of as being 
 just about to enter his office as prcetor, a circumstance which 
 fixes the date of this imaginary discussion to B.C. 50. a time 
 agreeing with the allusion (B. ii. 18,) to the great power of 
 Pompey. In the first book he attacks the doctrines of the' 
 Epicurean school, and Torquatus defends them, alleging that 
 they had been generally misunderstood ; and in the second 
 book Cicero enumerates the chief arguments with which the 
 Stoics assailed them. 
 
 In the third book the scene is laid in the library of 
 Lucullus, where Cicero had accidentally met Cato ; and from 
 conversing on the books by which they were surrounded 
 they proceeded to discuss the difference between the ethics 
 of the Stoics, and those of the Old Academy and the Peri- 
 patetics ; Cicero insisting that the disagreement was merely 
 verbal and not real, and that Zeno was wrong in leaving 
 Plato and Aristotle and establishing a new school ; but Cato 
 asserts, on the other hand, that the difference is a real one, 
 and that the views held by the Stoics of the Supreme Good 
 are of a much loftier and purer character than those which 
 had been previously entertained. In the fourth bock Cicero 
 gives us the arguments with which the philosophers of the 
 New Academy assailed the Stoics. And this conversation is 
 supposed to have been held two years before that in the first 
 book : for at the beginning of Book IV. there is a reference 
 to the law for limiting the length of the speeches of counsel 
 passed in the second consulship of Pompey, B.C. 55, as being 
 only just passed. 
 
 In the fifth book we are carried back to B.C. 79, and the 
 scene is laid at Athens, where Cicero was at that time under 
 Antiochus and Demetrius. He and his brother Quintus. 
 Lucius ^Cicero his cousin, Pomponius Atticus, and Marcut 
 Pupius Piso are represented as meeting in the Academia ; 
 and Piso, at the request of his companions, lays open th« 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 95 
 
 precepts inculcated by Aristotle and his school on the sub- 
 ject of the Summum Bonunr; after which Cicero states the 
 objections of the Stoics to the Peripatetic system, and Piso 
 replies. While giving the opinions of these above-named 
 sects with great fairness and impartiality Cicero abstains 
 throughout from pronouncing any judgment of his own. 
 
 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 accu- 
 rate learning had previously handled in the Greek language, 
 that my labours would be found fault with on varioua 
 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 suf- 
 ficient 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. 1 And as both 
 you and others whom I considered competent judges approved 
 highly of that book, I have undertaken a larger work, fear- 
 ing 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, re- 
 quire 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 philosoihy at 
 •all, than they who fix a limit to things which are in their 
 1 It is not even known to what work Cicero is referring here. 
 
96 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 1 If it is a labour to us, who 
 will fix a limit to another person's industry? For as the 
 Chremes 1 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 1 " What," says such an one, " shall I rather read 
 the Synephebi of Caecilius, 1 or the Andria of Terence, than 
 either of these plays in the original of Menander 1 " But I 
 disagree with men of these opinions so entirely, that though 
 
 1 In the Heautontimorumenos. Act i. Sc. 1. 
 
 2 Csecilius Statius was the predecessor of Terence ; by birth an 
 Insubrian Gaul and a native of Milan. He died bo. 165, two years 
 Defore the representation of the Andria of Terence. He was considered 
 oy the Romans as a great master of the art of exciting the feelings. 
 And Cicero (de Opt. Gen. Die. 1.) speaks of him as the chief of th .' 
 Roman Comic writers. Horace says — 
 
 Vincere Crecilins crravitate, Terentius arte. 
 
TEE CHIEF GOOD AND fcvrL dl 
 
 Sjphoclea lias composed an Electra in the most admirable 
 manner possible, still T think the indifferent translation of it 
 by Atilius 1 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 1 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 1 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 1 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, 2 
 Antipater, 3 Mnesarchus, 4 Pansetius, 5 and many others, and 
 
 1 Marcus Atilius, (though Cicero speaks of him here as a tragedian,) 
 was chiefly celebrated as a comic poet. He was one of the earliest 
 writers of that class ; but nothing of his has come down to us. In 
 another place Cicero calls him " duris simusscriptor." (Epist. ad 
 Att. xiv. 20.) 
 
 2 Diogenes was a pupil of Chrysippus, and succeeded Zeno of Tarsus 
 as the head of the Stoic school at Athens. He was one of the embassy 
 sent to Kome by the Athenians, b.c. 155, and is supposed to have died 
 almost immediately afterwards. 
 
 3 Antipater was a native of Tarsus, and the pupil and successor 
 of Diogenes. Cicero speaks in very high terms of his genius. 
 (De Off. iii. 12.) 
 
 4 Mnesarchus was a pupil of Paneetius and the teacher of Antiochus 
 of Ascalon. 
 
 5 Panaetius was a Rhodian, a pupil of Diogenes and Antipater, 
 which last he succeeded as head of the Stoic school. He was a friend 
 of P. Scipio JSmilianus, and accompanied him on his embassy to the 
 kings of Egypt and Asia in alliance with Rome. He died before b.c. 111. 
 
 ACAD. ETC, H 
 
9S DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 especially the works of my own personal frieud Posidonius. 1 
 What shall we say of Theophrastus 1 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 ovei 
 the subjects on which Epicurus himself and other ancient 
 writers have previously written, and forbear to deliver their 
 sentiments respecting them 1 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 1 
 
 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 inter- 
 dicted 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 Afranius 2 from Menander. Nor 
 will I, like Lucilius, make any objection to everybody reading 
 my writings. I should be glad to have that Persius 3 for one 
 of my readers ; and still more to have Scipio and Rutilius ; 
 
 1 Posidonius was a native of Apamea, in Egypt, a pupil of Panaetius, 
 and a contemporary of Cicero. He came to Rome b.c. 51, having been 
 sent there as ambassador from Rhodes in the time of Marius. 
 
 * Lucius Afranius lived about 100 b.c His comedies were chiefly 
 x>gatce, depicting Roman life ; he borrowed largely from Menander, to 
 whom the Romans compared him. Horace says — 
 
 Dicitur Afrant toga convenisse Menandro. 
 Cicero praises his language highly (Brut. 45). 
 
 3 Caius Lucilius was the earliest of the Roman satirists, born at 
 Suessa Aurunca, b.c 148 ; he died at Naples, b.c 103. He served under 
 Scipio in the Numantine war. He was a very vehement and bold 
 satirist. Cicero alludes here to a saying of his, which he mentions 
 more expressly (De Orat. ii.), that he did not wish the ignorant to read 
 his works because they could not understand them : nor the learned 
 l>ecause they would be able to criticise them. 
 
 Persium non euro legere : Lselium Decimum volo. 
 This Persius being a very learned man ; in comparison with whom Laelius 
 vaa an ignoramus. 
 
THE CHTEF GOOD AND EVIL. 99 
 
 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 in- 
 ferior 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 trans^ 
 lated from bad Greek into worse Latin. And with those men 
 T 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 Scsevola, when he was prsetor % And 
 this topic has been handled by that same Lucilius with great 
 elegance and abundant wit ; where he represents Scsevola as 
 saying— 
 
 You have preferr'd, Albucius, to be eall'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 praetor, thus 
 
 Salute you as you wish, whene'er I see you, 
 
 With Greek address, 3> xalpe noble Titus, 
 
 Ye lictors, and attendants x^'p^Te. 
 
 2> x a *P« noble Titus. From this day 
 
 The great Albucius was my enemy. 
 
 But surely Sceevola was right. However, I can never suf- 
 ficiently 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 
 
 h2 
 
100 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 orna- 
 ment 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 con- 
 tend with those men who prefer reading Greek works, pro- 
 vided 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 read- 
 ing 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 1 What it is that nature follows as the chief of all 
 desirable things 1 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 Scaevola 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 
 
THE CHIEF tX)OD AND EVIL. 101 
 
 . for the display of acuteness, 'and oi*e too tliat' is c'f ' import- 
 ance as regards the citizens,) and do we read, and shall we 
 continue 10 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 I 
 to most people ; and you shall see that it is laid down by us 
 in such a w T ay 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 hap- 
 pened that both of them had come to my villa near Cumse 
 to pay me a visit, first of all we conversed a little about lite- 
 rature, 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 w r hich'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 
 
102 DF FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 oeliere^hat the opinions' Which he entertained do not appear 
 to you to be correct. See now, said I, how far you are mis- 
 taken, 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 aa 
 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 1 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 Phsedrus 
 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 Phsedrus. 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 1 ? In the first place, said 
 I, he is utterly wrong in natural philosophy, which is his prin- 
 cipal 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 I 
 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 T am going to mention are Epicurus's own. 
 
 For he thinks that those indivisible and solid bodies are i 
 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 «f the world, and all that is in the world. And not I 
 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 with- 
 out 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 inclina- 
 tion, 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 beauti- 
 fully ornamented world which we see around us. Even this, 
 
104 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 /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 Polysenus,' 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 tiSwXa, to the in- 
 roads of which it is owing not only that we see, but also that 
 we think ; and all that infiniteness, which they call dimpia, 
 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 
 XoyiK//, 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 ambi- 
 guous 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, 
 
 I 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: 
 
 1 Polyeenus, the son of Athenodorus was a native of Lampsacus : he 
 was a friend of Epicurus, and though he had previously obtained a high 
 reputation as a mathematician, he was persuaded by him at last tc 
 agree with him as to the worthlessness of geometry. 
 
TIIE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 pro- 
 curing 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 w T ho was consul with 
 Cnseus Octavius ; when he behaved w T ith such severity towards 
 that son whom he had allowed Decimus Silanus to adopt as 
 his own, as to command him, w T hen the ambassadors of the 
 Macedonians accused him of having taken bribes in his 
 province while he was praetor, 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 1 
 
 However, to say nothing of the dangers, and labours, and 
 even of the pain which every virtuous man willingly en- 
 counters 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, 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 1 
 And do not say to me, Why all these things are a pleasure to 
 m*. So, too, were those noble j^a&^sr^^e^he Torquati. 
 
106 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 Epicurus never asserts this in this manner; nor would yoiL 
 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 excel- 
 lent 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 
 be, 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, 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 1 especially 
 

 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 j 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 1 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 1 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 im- 
 portant 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 any 1 
 thing 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 satis- 
 faction. 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 sys- 
 tematic and orderly manner. We are inquiring, then, what 
 is the end, — what is the extreme point of good, which, in the 
 :pinion of all philosophers, ought to be such that everything 
 
108 DE FIXIBUS, A TREATISE OX 
 
 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 pro- 
 ceeds 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 uncor- 
 rupt 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 ratiocina- 
 tion, 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 w T ith 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 feet 
 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 1 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 pro- 
 cured? 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 plea- 
 sures 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. 
 
110 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 Now, as these are my sentiments, what reason can 1 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 1 
 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 1 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 1 What their 
 reason was I will examine presently; j 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 1 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 for- 
 midable 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 prin- 
 ciple is one of extensive application. For the very point 
 respecting which your whole school, and yourself most espe- 
 cially, who are such a diligent investigator of ancient in- 
 stances, 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 
 
TOE CHEF GOOD AND EVIL. Ill 
 
 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 dis- 
 cussing 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 sweet- 
 ness, 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 
 self, and in the absence of all annoyance, — but everything 
 which is a cause of our rejoicing is pleasure, just as every- 
 thing that gives us offence is pain, — accordingly, the ab- 
 sence 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 attain- 
 ment of pleasure, so, in every case, the removal of pain pro- 
 duces the succession of pleasure. And therefore Epicurus 
 would not admit that there was any intermediate state be- 
 tween 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 con- 
 sists in an absence of all pains; so that pleasure may after- 
 wards 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 hia liand stretched out ; and this attitude 
 
112 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 1 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 mo- 
 tion of pleasure. But if the highest pleasure is, as Epicurus 
 asserts, to be free from pain, then, Chrysippus, the first 
 admission was correctly made to you, that the hand, when it 
 was in that condition, was in want of nothing j 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 firm- 
 ness of mind which fears neither death nor pain, because 
 death is void of all sensation ; and pain, if it is of long dura- 
 tion, 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 improve- 
 ment to it 1 
 
 Imagine, on the other hfUxd, 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 senti- 
 ment 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 refer- 
 able 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 
 riXos, because it is referred to nothing else itself, but every- 
 thing 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 l ; sten 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 con- 
 sidered 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 legi- 
 timate object of desire and acquisition. And now you under- 
 stand 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 erro- 
 
 ACAD. ETC. , I 
 
114 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 neous 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 extin- 
 guishing 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 
 jbatred, 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 me- 
 lancholy and without fear. For what diversion can be either 
 more useful or more adapted for human life than that which 
 Epicurus employed 1 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 neces- 
 sary ; 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 oi 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 encoun- 
 tering 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 be- 
 cause 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 
 
 i2 
 
116 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 plea- 
 sure 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 
 rrfind, always make it anxious, and are of a turbulent charac- 
 ter, 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 evei 
 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 
 -then you were consul, have given information against them- 
 u elves. 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 
 Mid 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 1 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 re- 
 sources ; inasmuch as he cannot easily do what he endeavours 
 to do, nor obtain his objects if he does succeed in his en- 
 deavours. 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 power- 
 ful 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 desi- 
 rable 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 per- 
 mits 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. 
 
y 
 
 118 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 plea- 
 sure 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 imme- 
 diately, 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 recol- 
 lect. 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 recol- 
 lection. But there is a feeling implanted in us by which we 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL 119 
 
 bury adversity as it were in a perpetual oblivion, but dweh 
 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 j 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 pre- 
 sent 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 enj.oying tranquillity. / Be- 
 sides, such men as they do not recollect their past good for- 
 tune, 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 tor- 
 mented most especially when they find out, after it is too 
 
120 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 auda- 
 cious, wanton, intemperate, or idle, never continuing in the 
 same opinion ; on which account there is never any interrup- 
 tion 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 to kclXjov, 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 
 
 rniade not only without our objecting to them, but even with 
 o\ir 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 j 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 pre- 
 sent 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 enu- 
 merated ; 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 
 end most important events of such a man's life are managed 
 
 si 
 
UNIVERSITY 1 
 
 ■ 121 J 
 Cfi >^ 
 
 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 dis- 
 carded, 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 igno- 
 rance 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. 
 
122 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 w r ays. 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 dis- 
 play 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 men- 
 tioned, 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 con- 
 tempt 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 with- 
 out friendship, nor maintain friendship itself unless we love our 
 friends and ourselves equally,, therefore this very effect is pro- 
 duced in friendship, and friendship is combined with pleasure. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 123 
 
 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 ad- 
 mirably 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 inti- 
 midated 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 consi- 
 derations 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 impos- 
 sible that any friendship should be established. 
 
 XXI. Wherefore, if the tilings which I have been saying 
 
124 »E FIXIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 hate- 
 ful 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 appear- 
 ing 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 1 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 1 
 
 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. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 125 
 
 SECOND BOOK OF THE TREATISE ON THE CHIEF 
 GOOD AND EVIL. 
 
 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 yon not to fancy that I, like a professed 
 philosopher, am going to explain to yon the doctrines o&somo 
 particular school ; a course which I have never much ap- 
 proved 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 1 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 
 
126 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 chief good," they argue against this proposition in an uninter- 
 rupted 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, 
 aud can find no means of restraining that rapid discourse. 
 
 II. But every discourse which is concerned in the investi- 
 gation of any matter, and which proceeds on any system and 
 principle, ought first to establish the rule (as is done in law- 
 suits, 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 
 " Phaedrus," 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 some- 
 times 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 127 
 
 never referred to anything. So far was veiy 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, 1 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 1 said he. 
 
 Because all men feel that this is pleasure which moves the 
 senses when they receive it, and which has a certain agree- 
 ableness 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 ai»uing with a wise 
 
128 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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, iiSovrj in Greek, and voluptas in Latin. 
 
 What is it, then, that you ask 1 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 Hieronymus 1 of 
 Rhodes says is the chief good, to which he thinks that every- 
 thing 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 1 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 littje 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 1 said 
 he. Is it, asked I,^he same pleasure that he feels after his 
 thirst is extinguished 1 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 
 
 1 Hieronymus was a disciple of Ariatotle and a contemporary of 
 Arcesilaus. He lived down to the time of Ptolemy Philadelphus. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 delight- 
 ful 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 pain- 
 lessness 1 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 denned the chief good in this manner, to 
 uphold, and defend, and maintain the proposition, that the 
 whole of pleasure consists in freedom from pain 1 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 1 The very name of pleasure is odious, 
 infamous, and a just object of suspicion : therefore, you are 
 ail in the constant habit of saying that we do not understand 
 *diat Epicurus means when he speaks of pleasure. And 
 v/henever such an assertion is made to me, — and I hear it 
 advanced pretty often, — although I am usually a very peaceful 
 &rguer, 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 
 
 ACAD. ETC. K 
 
130 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 call rj&ovrj, 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 1 However, that you may know that I do 
 understand, first of all I tell you that voluptas is the same 
 thing that he calls rjSovr}. 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 r)bovrj 
 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 plea- 
 santness in the body. For when the man in Trabea 1 calls 
 an excessive pleasure of the mind joy, (l&titia,) he says much 
 the same as the other character in Ceecilius'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 Icetitia (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 i3 felt 
 which moves any one of the senses. Now trausfer this plea- 
 santness, if you please, to the mind ; for the verb juvo (to 
 please) is applied both to body and mind, and the word 
 iucundus is derived from it; provided you understand that 
 between the man who says, 
 
 I am transported with gladness now 
 
 That I am scarce myself .... 
 
 1 Trabea was a Roman comic poet, who flourished about 130 b.o. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 131 
 
 and him who says, 
 
 Now then at length my minds 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 I 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 tis 
 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 o-KoravoV because he 
 spoke with too much obscurity about natural philosophy ; 
 or when the obscurity of the subject itself, not of the lan- 
 guage, prevents what is said from being clearly understood, 
 as is the case in the Timseus of Plato. But Epicurus, as 
 I imagine, is both willing, if it is in his power, to speak intelli- 
 gibly, 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 1 But, if he 
 thinks that he ought to add, that pleasure which consists iu 
 1 Dark, obscure. 
 
 k2 ■ 
 
132 DE FIN [BUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 motion, (for this is the distinction he draws, that this 
 agreeable pleasure is pleasure in motion, but the pleasure oi 
 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 free- 
 dom from pain, and pleasure, the same thing 1 
 
 This, 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 1 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 1 
 
 VI. Then, said he, a truce, if you please, to all your ques- 
 tions ; 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 dialecti- 
 cians 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 time:, 
 when it is speaking so as to suit the multitude, to submit t:» 
 a very ordinary style. But while Epicurus, Torquatus, in 
 
JL 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 con- 
 ducting 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 Aris- 
 tippus 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 Mycenae, 
 All Minerva's Attic youth, 
 
 and the rest of the Greeks who are spoken of in these anapaests, 
 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 extre- 
 mities of goods, as, for instance, Aristotle, who united in his 
 idea the practice of virtue with the prosperity of an entire 
 life. Callipho 1 added pleasure to what is honourable. Dio- 
 dorus, 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 Aristipnus. 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 free- 
 dom from pain is the chief good, ever use the word " pleasure rt 
 
 We know nothing more of Callipho than what we derive from this 
 and one or two other notices of him by Cicero. 
 
134 DE FIKIBUS, A TREATISE OH 
 
 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 distin- 
 guish 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, Torquatus. For 
 who is there of you who has not learnt the tcvpuu &6£ai of 
 Epicurus, that is to say, his fundamental maxims 1 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 hav 3 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 1 — because he appeared to me, although he knew it him- 
 self, 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 
 
7T 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 13-J 
 
 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 consum- 
 mate 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 1 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, 1 — 
 
 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, 
 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 indi- 
 
 1 The Hymnis was a comedy of Menander, translated by CeecMus. 
 
136 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 gence. None of us imagine that debauched men of that sort 
 live pleasantly. You, however, rather mean to speak of re- 
 fined 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 Lselius, who, when a young man, was a pupil of Diogenes 
 the Stoic, and afterwards of Pansetius, 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 dis- 
 cerning heart must necessarily have a palate destitute of 
 discernment,) but because he thought it of but small 
 importance. 
 
 sorrel, how that man may boast himself, 
 By whom you're known and valued ! Proud of you, 
 That wise man Lselius would loudly shout, 
 Addressing all our epicures in order. 
 
 And it was well said by Lselius, 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 Bturgeons. 
 
 The man who says this is one who, as he attributes no import- 
 ance 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 
 

 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 137 
 
 be speaking untruly : he only denies that he has ever feasted 
 well. With such dignity and severe principle does he distin- 
 guish 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. Lselius always feasted well. How so ? Lucilius shall 
 tell you — 
 
 He feasted on well season'd, well arranged — 
 what 1 What was the chief part of his supper ? 
 
 Converse of prudent men, — 
 Well, and what else 1 
 
 with cheerful mind. 
 
 For he came to a banquet with a tranquil mind, desirous only 
 of appeasing the wants of nature. Lselius 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 1 
 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. 
 Laelius, then, was not preferring the flavour of sorrel to Gallo- 
 nius'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 1 
 
 But how is it that this philosopher speaks of three kinds 
 af appetites, — some natural and necessary, some natural but 
 flot necessary, and others neither natural nor necessary? In 
 the first place, he has not made a neat division ; for out of two 
 rinds he has made three. Now this is not dividing, but 
 creaking in pieces. If he had said that there are two kinds 
 >f 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 
 
138 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 speaks confusedly. We must submit to this as long as hia 
 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 
 appetites 1 dwell, who can deny that he may with propriety be 
 called appetitive 1 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 1 Although in this division I am altogether 
 on his side as to the facts, only I wish he would express him- 
 self 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, 
 
 1 It is hardly possible to translate this so as to give the force of tho 
 original. Cicero says, If cupiditaa is in a man he must be cupidvs, and 
 vre have no English word which will at all answer to this adjective in 
 this sense. 
 

 // 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 tne 
 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 state- 
 ment 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 incon- 
 sistent 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 diffi- 
 culties. 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 philo- 
 sopher, 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 
 
140 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 words. How many errors are there in them ! For by refer- 
 ence to which kind of pleasure will a puling infant judge of 
 the chief good ; pleasure in stability or pleasure in motion 1 — 
 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 denned 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 pro- 
 nounce 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 sepa- 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 141 
 
 rate 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 sensa- 
 tions, 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 men- 
 tioned just now the greatest of goods. And from this origi- 
 nated 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 accom- 
 paniment 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 denned 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 Aris- 
 tippus 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 honesjty. 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 enjoy- 
 ment of what are pointed out by nature as the principal 
 goods. 
 
 XII. But when Epicurus had given pleasure the highest 
 
142 DE FIXIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 sen- 
 tence, 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 plea- 
 sures? The sentence, however, of all these qualities, will 
 pronounce first of all, respecting pleasure, that there is nc 
 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 143 
 
 shall perceive to be the most richly endowed with what ia 
 honourable, and enriched, at the same time, with the pri- 
 mary 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 Ot 
 all, I will discard the principles of Aristippus, and of all the 
 Cyrenaics, — men who were not afraid to plaee 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 some- 
 times, 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 plea- 
 
144 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE OH 
 
 sure, 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 pos- 
 sible 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AXD EVlL. 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, ia 
 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, 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 iu 
 this one particular, that they have reason and intellect given 
 to them by nature, and a mind, active, vigorous, revolving 
 nany things at the same time with the greatest rapidity, and, 
 if L 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 
 
 ACAD. ETC. L 
 
146 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 them by nature, and conversation, and custom ; so that, set- 
 ting out with affection for his friends and relations, he pro- 
 ceeds further, and unites himself in a society, first of all of his 
 fellow-countrymen, and subsequently of all mortals j 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 deceit- 
 ful, such as fraud, perjury, cunning and injustice. 
 
 The same reason has in itself something large and magnifi- 
 cent, 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 tliree, 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 rash- 
 ness, 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, Torquatus, you have a picture of what 
 is honourable completely filled in and finished ; and it is con- 
 tained wholly in these four virtues which you also mentioned. 
 But your master Epicurus says that he knows nothing what- 
 ever 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 honour- 
 able; for, as custom has it, h« says that that alone is honour- 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 147 
 
 able 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 no 
 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 under- 
 stand 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 plea- 
 santly? 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 re- 
 port 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 foi 
 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 
 
 l2 
 
(48 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 philoso- 
 phers, 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 1 Because it is so ingenious as to be able 
 to devise pleasures in the most skilful manner. Why is jus- 
 tice extolled? or what is it that has given rise to that old 
 and much-worn proverb, " He is a man with whom you may 
 play ■ 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 prsetor he had been sitting as judge upon the 
 
 1 The Latin is "quicum in tenebris," — the proverb at full length 
 being, " Dignus quicum in teuebris mices." Micare was a game played, 
 (much the same as that now called La Mora in Italy,) by extending 
 the fingers and making the antagonist guess how many fingers wer* 
 •xtended by the two together. 
 
JP- 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 149 
 
 •jrial of some assassins, took money to influence his decision 
 jo undisguisedly, that the next year Publius Scsevola, being 
 j-ibune of the people, made a motion before the people, that 
 %n inquiry should be made into the case. In accordance with 
 which decree of the people, Cnseus Ceepio, the consul, was 
 ordered by the senate to investigate the affair. Tubulus im- 
 mediately 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 
 ; s merely wicked, but about one who mingles cunning with 
 ais wickedness, (as Quintus Pompeius 1 did when he repudiated 
 ■jhe treaty of Numantia,) and yet who is not afraid of every- 
 Uiing, but who has rather no regard for the stings of con- 
 science, 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 
 s done wrong by another ; for what else is the meaning of the 
 vord crafty {yersutus)% I recollect on one occasion being 
 •resent at a consultation held by Publius Sextilius Rufus, 
 vhen he reported the case on which he asked advice to his 
 fiends 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 
 liould come to his daughter. Sextilius denied that he had 
 lone so. He could deny it with impunity, for who was there 
 o convict him 1 None of us believed him ; and it was more 
 ikely that he should tell a lie whose interest it was to do so, 
 ,han 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 sw r orn to comply with the Voconian 2 law, he did 
 
 1 This was Quintus Pompeius, the first man who raised his family 
 „o importance at Rome. He was consul b.o. 141. Being commander 
 n Spain, he laid siege to Numantia ; and having lost great numbers 
 
 of his troop3 through cold and disease, he proposed to the Numan- 
 tines to come to terms. Publicly he required of them an unconditional 
 surrender, but in private he only demanded the restoration of the 
 prisoners and deserters, that they should give hostages and pay thirty 
 talents. The Numantines agreed to this, and paid part of the money, 
 but when Popilius Laenas arrived in Spain as his successor, he denied 
 the treaty, though it had been witnessed by his own officers. The 
 matter was referred to the senate, who on the evidence of Pompeius 
 declared the treaty invalid, and the war was renewed. 
 
 2 The Voconia lex was passed on the proposal of Quintus Voconiua 
 
150 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 pro- 
 visions 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 1 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 plea- 
 sure, 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 Annibal 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 
 fight ' courageously, if it should be necessary. If his exploits 
 
 Saxa, one of the tribunes, b.c. 169. One of its provisions was, that a 
 woman could not be left the heiress of any person who was rated in the 
 census at 100,000 sesterces; though she could take the inheritance 
 perfidei commissum. But as the law applied only to wills, a daughter 
 could inherit from a father dying intestate, whatever the amount of his 
 property might be. A person who was not census eould make a woman 
 his heir. There is, however, a good deal of obscurity and uncertainty 
 as to some of the provisions of this law. 
 
 1 There appears to be some corruption in the text here. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 Pom- 
 peius 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 
 Peducseus 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 
 Tiad 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 under- 
 stand 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 
 lias 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 
 
152 DB FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 Laelius, in our books on a 
 Republic. 
 
 XIX. Now apply the same arguments to modesty, or tem- 
 perance, which is a moderation of the appetites, in subordina- 
 tion 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, Torquatus, that that imperious ancestor ot 
 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 every- 
 thing 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 fur- 
 ther, 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 sc 
 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 
 
 / 
 
rr 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. . 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 sou, 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 
 r ^ictim in an uninterrupted succession from the same family, 
 j 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 1 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 1 
 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 ownTj 
 
 But how admirably did you seem to'speak, when on the 
 one side you drew a picture of a man loaded with the most 
 uumerous 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 1 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 
 
154 DE PINIBDS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL - 155 
 
 whole state. And out of regard for the memory of that 
 woman, her husband and her father were made consuls ■ the 
 first year of the republic. Lucius Virginius, a man of small 
 property and one of the people, sixty years after the reesta- 
 blishment 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, 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 1 2 Let these things be con- 
 fined 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 
 
 1 Spurius Lucretius Tricipitinus, the father of Lucretia, was made 
 consul as the colleague of Valerius Publicola, in the place of Brutus, 
 who had been slain in battle by Aruns, one of the sons of Tarquin. 
 
 2 Themista was a female philosopher, wife of a man named Leon- 
 t ous, or Leon, and a friend and correspondent of Epicurus. 
 
156 DE FLNIBUS, A TREATISE OX 
 
 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 bom 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 agree- 
 ably ; 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 1 
 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 them- 
 selves 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 whj 
 abstains from injustice in order to avoid suffering evil. You 
 know the line, I suppose — 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 157 
 
 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 con- 
 science, 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 1 Can we cat 
 that same Torquatus a brave man 1 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, 1 a most excellent man, ana 
 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 waj 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 if 
 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 
 
 1 He means when he was banished, and when Torquatus joined ill 
 promoting the measures for his rec*l- 
 
158 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 tc 
 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 impunitj 
 or licence 1 
 
 What shall I say more 1 What is your idea, Torquatus. 
 of this 1 — that you, a man of your name, of your abilities, oi 
 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 tc 
 deserve, when you have entered upon your magistracy, and 
 come forward to the assembly, (for then you will have tc 
 announce what principles you intend to observe in administer- 
 ing 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, ii 
 you say that in that magistracy you will do everything foi 
 the sake of pleasure ? and that you have never done anything 
 all your life except with a view to pleasure 1 Do you think, 
 say you, that I am so mad as to speak in that way before 
 ignorant people 1 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 1 
 
 XXIII. However, be it so. The name of pleasure certainly 
 has no dignity in it, and perhaps we do not exactly under- 
 stand 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 under- 
 stand you ; and cannot we understand what pleasure is, a 
 thing which is known to every sparrow 1 What will you say 
 if I compel you to confess that I not only do know what 
 
 Eleasure is (for it is a pleasant emotion affecting the senses), 
 ut also what you mean by the word ? For at one time you 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 1 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 Eoman 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 plea- 
 sure 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 appeal in court, 
 
160 DE PINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 1 
 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 1 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. Friend- 
 ship, 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 1 Will you abandon it ? what 
 sort of friendship is that 1 Will you preserve it 1 how will that 
 be expedient for you 1 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 b:>rn 
 for himself and for his own pleasures ? Will you go bail tj a 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 161 
 
 tyrant for your friend in a case which may affect yonr life, as 
 that Pythagorean 1 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 1 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 1 
 
 XXV. You, indeed, 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 culti- 
 vated friendship. As if any one denied that he was a good, 
 and courteous, and kind-hearted man j 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 it, 
 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 plea- 
 sure smaller. For some men live in such a manner that their 
 language is refuted by their lives ; and as others are considered 
 1 Cicero alludes here to the story of Damon, who, when his friena 
 Pythias was condemned to death by Dionysius of Syracuse, pledged his 
 life for his return in time to be put to death, if the tyrant would give 
 him leave to go home for the purpose of arranging bis affairs, and 
 Pythias did return in time. — See Cic. de Off. iii. 10 ; J" oat. Div. v. 22. 
 
 ACAD. ETC. il 
 
162 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 con Id 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 them- 
 selves, 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. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 163 
 
 Friendship has been sought for 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 1 Think of all 
 the circumstances which you are in the habit of recollectiDg ; 
 the protection which friends are to a man. You have suffi- 
 cient 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 gooodwill 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 com- 
 parison can there be between them and the utility of such 
 large sums of money 1 You see, then, if you measure friend- 
 ship 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 virtuet or friend- 
 ships 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, sa/ 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 circum- 
 stances, 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, 
 
 M 2 
 
1 64 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 en- 
 during in his case, which is in reality fleeting and perishable 1 
 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 
 Croesus 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 b*e 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 h«> surpassed 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 1G5 
 
 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 1 Happiness of life is placed in pleasure of body 
 (I will add of mind also, if you please, as long as that plea- 
 sure of the mind is derived from the pleasure of the body) 
 What ? who can secure this pleasure to a wise man in perpe- 
 tuity 1 For the circumstances by which pleasures are gene- 
 rated 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 hap- 
 piness 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 C<illonius, 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 
 p3 > 
 
1G6 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 good in pleasure, must judge of eveiy thing 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 con- 
 cerned, for nothing at all, if he can manage it. Let there bo 
 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 pos- 
 sible 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 disre- 
 garded. 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 1 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, Cnseus 
 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, ye 
 immortal gods, did that man use to bear, when all his limbs 
 seemed as if they were on fire. AVid 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 1 For if that 
 be the case I would have you think whether you are not re- 
 commending 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 shame 
 ml 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 w r ay 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 ho 
 
168 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON" 
 
 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 prin- 
 ciples and discoveries. But do you, as becomes the goodwill 
 which from your youth upwards you have constantly dis- 
 covered 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 Lacedaemonians at Mantinea, 1 and finding that he 
 had been rendered insensible by a mortal wound, when he 
 first came to himself, asked whether his shield was safel 
 When his weeping friends had answered him that it was, he 
 then asked whether the enemy was defeated 1 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 Lacedaemonians, put himself 
 and those three hundred men, whom he had led from Sparta, 
 in the way of the enemy of Thermopylae, 2 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, 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 con- 
 stantly 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 1 Jf you mean such past things as refer to 
 1 b.o. 363. 2 b.c. 480. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 1 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 I ^ 
 
 XXXI. You may twist yourself about in every direction 
 as you please, Torquatus, but you will not find in this excel- 
 lent 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 per- 
 sonal advantage was innate in the man; that it did not 
 require the invitation of pleasure, or the allurements of mer- 
 cenary 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 V 
 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 extin- 
 
170 DE FINIBUS, A. TREATISE ON 
 
 guished 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 accom- 
 plished 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 1 Can any day which has once passed recur 
 over again frequently. Most indubitably not ; or can any clay 
 like it recur 1 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 I And is a man to give injunc- 
 tions 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 1 These things are very incon- 
 sistent in a man who, in his mind, had travelled over innume- 
 rable 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 Epicuras'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 recol- 
 lect what I would rather not; but I cannot forget what I 
 should like toS) This was a very sensible answer. But still 
 th^~iar!tris~tKat 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. 1 
 
 1 The Greek line occurs in the Orestes, 207. 
 
 "*CL irSri/ia \i\Qt\ rwv kcucwv ws «7 yXvitv. 
 Virgil has the same idea — 
 
 Vos et Scyllseam rabiem, penitusque sonantea 
 
 Acce"stis scopulos, vos et Cyclopia saxa 
 
 Experti ; revocate animos, mcestumque timorem 
 
 Pellite : forsan et hsec olim meminisse juvabit. — JT.n. i/200. 
 Which Dry den translates — 
 
 "With me the rocks of Scylla have you tried, 
 
 Th' inhuman Cyclops and his den defied : 
 
 What greater ills hereafter can you bear ! 
 
 Resume your courage and dismiss your care ; 
 
 An hour will come with pleasure to relate 
 
 Your sorrows past as benefits of fate. 
 
172 DB PINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 hap- 
 piness 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 afreet 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 1 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 feel- 
 ings 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 main- 
 tained which you urge, namely, that all the pleasures and 
 pains of the mind are connected inseparably with the pleasures 
 and pains of the body 1 Is there, then, nothing which ever 
 delights you, (I know whom I am addressing,) is there 
 nothing, Torquatus, which eyer delights you for its own 
 sake ? I say nothing about dignity, honourableness, the 
 beauty of virtue, which I have mentioned before I will put 
 
^r 
 
 THE CHTKP GOOD AND EVIL. 172 
 
 all these things aside as of less consequence. But is theie 
 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 1 
 
 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 con- 
 nexion 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, 1 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, Torquatus, we must find out some- 
 thing 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 
 g l That is, of the past, the present, and the future. 
 
l74 DE FINTBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 1 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 1 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 1 
 
 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 honour- 
 able pursuits, of such a crowd of virtues, if they are all got 
 together for no other end but pleasure 1 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 sailed 1 
 over the land, if, when he had invaded Greece with such 
 
 1 This seems to refer to the Greek epigram — 
 
 Tbv yai-qs Ka\ irdurov dfxeKpdtLarauri KeKevdois, 
 
 Navryv riirelpov, treg6iropov ire\dyovs. 
 'Ev Tplacrais dopdruv kKaromdaiv %<rTsyev"Apys 
 "2,irdpTi\s ala-xvyead' ovpea nal ireXdyrj. 
 Which may be translated — \» 
 
 Him who the paths of land and sea disturb'd, 
 
 Sail'd o'er the earth, walk'd o'er the humbled waros, 
 Three hundred spears of dauntless Sparta curb'd. 
 Shame on you, land and sea, ye willing slaves 1 
 
yr 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 1 such as strength, health, activity, beauty ? And if 
 this is the case, how many qualities of the mind will likewise 
 seem so 1 For in the mind, the old philosophers — those most 
 learned men — thought that there was something heavenly and 
 J^ 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 1 The 
 Cyrenaic philosophers, indeed, would not object. Your sect is 
 more modest in this respect, though theirs is perhaps the 
 more sincere. 
 
176 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 However, let us contemplate with our minds, not, indeed, 
 these most importaDt 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 Poly- 
 cletus, 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 1 
 But what other cause can there be for such a blunder being 
 so widely and extensively diffused, except that he who deter- 
 mines 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 1 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 1 
 
 XXXV. Read, 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 unani- 
 mously 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 1 Do we not see 
 what a great confusion of everything would ensue 1 what 
 great disorder? Such a doctrine puts an end to all bene- 
 ficence, to all gratitude, which are the great bonds of agree- 
 ment. For if you do good to any one for your own sake, 
 
tt: 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 177 
 
 that is not to be considered a kindness, bnt 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 melan- 
 choly name, distresses. 1 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 
 arid most learned men. You are right, said he. Come, 
 then, said I. But it would be more fair for Triarius to give 
 
 1 The Latin is cerumnce : perhaps it is in allusion to this passage 
 that Juvenal says — 
 
 Et potiores 
 Hercnlis cerumnas credat, ssevosque labores 
 Et Venere et cosnis, et pluma Sardanapali. 
 
 Sat x. 331 
 ACAD. ETC. V 
 
178 T)E FINIBUS. A TREATISE OJf 
 
 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 
 hare 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. 
 
 THIRD BOOK OF THE TREATISE ON THE CHIEF 
 GOOD AND EVIL. 
 
 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 ojf 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 
 •tatements 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 dialec- 
 ticians 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 rheto- 
 ricians, 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 techni- 
 cal words, which are not understood by us, though in com- 
 mon 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 bor- 
 row 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 dis- 
 coverer 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, 
 
 n2 
 
130 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 who are now venturing to be the very first of our countrymen 
 to tjuch 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 ac- 
 counted 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 tod 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 re- 
 spect 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 dis- 
 pute 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 01 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 
 
3%- 
 
 THE CJIIKF GOOD 4ND EVIL. 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 1 said he ; for I presume you are 
 come from your own villa, and if I had known that you bad 
 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, Gato, 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 pecu- 
 liarly your business to take care that he shall be so educated 
 as to do credit to liis father, and to our friend Csepio, and to 
 you who are such a near relation of his. 1 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 Csepio, whc . 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 sen- 
 timent. 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 
 
 1 The great Lucullus, father of this young Lucullus, was married 
 to Servilia, half-sister to Cato, and daughter of Quintus Servilius Caepio, 
 who was killed in the Social war, having been decoyed into an ambush 
 by Pompaedius, b.c. 90 The young Lucullus was afterwards killed in 
 the battle of Philippi- 
 
182 DE FINIBUS. A TREATISE OX 
 
 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. How- 
 ever, 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 cer- 
 tainly it is natural for you, if it ever was so for any one, to 
 r 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 1 for our principles are the same, — it is only our lan- 
 guage 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 houourableness, which is, as it were, the light 
 of virtue, and utterly upsetting virtue herself. Those are all 
 I very fine words, said I, 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 hei - 
 self, without any particular learning or system, have done 
 mauy praiseworthy actions, have been educated by nature 
 herself better than they could have been educated bj philo- 
 sophy, if they had adopted any other philosophy except that 
 which ranks nothing whatever among the goods except what 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL, 183 
 
 If 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 con- 
 sider no one of them which classes anything destitute of vir- 
 tue 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 misera- 
 ble, 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 f 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 1 1 If virtue alone,— if that 
 thing alone w r hich 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, dis- 
 honourable, unbecoming, wrong, flagitious, and base, (to make 
 
181 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 this also manifest by giving it many names,) what else will 
 there be which you can say ought to be avoided 1 
 
 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 dis- 
 cussed in the Greek language, the very names of things ap- 
 peared strange which have now become sanctioned by daily 
 use, what do you think will be the case when we are dis- 
 cussing them in Latin 1 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 
 v 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 ex- 
 pressed 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 acrato- 
 phori, though it may be sufficient to translate these two par- 
 ticular 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 1 
 
 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 
 

 TZT 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 185 
 
 preserve himself and his existing condition, and to feel attach- 
 ment 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 disso- 
 lution. 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 con- 
 dition, 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 par- 
 ticular 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 KardXrjxf/is — that we think is naturally to be ac- 
 quired 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 ua 
 
186 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 
 _±o 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 ele- 
 ments of nature, which cannot well have any richness of 
 language employed upon them ; nor indeed am I thinking of 
 displaying any j but when one is speaking of more impor- 
 tant 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 appeal's 
 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 di- 
 gressed from -these first principles of nature, which every- 
 thing 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 a£ia ; and, on the other hand, 
 something not estimable, which is the contrary of the preced- 
 ing. 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 KaOrJKov) 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 ac- 
 cordance 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 ft proper understand 
 
-pr 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 187 
 
 ing of what there is which can be truly called good. Fc r 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 evvoia, 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 o/jLoXoyia, 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 attrac- 
 tions of nature ; for that is what follows, and arises subse- 
 quently, 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 jduties proceed from the first principles 
 of nature, it follows inevitably that wisdom itself must pro- 
 
188 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 ceed 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 
 1 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 
 opfirj, 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, in- 
 asmuch 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 never- 
 theless 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 Karop- 
 Owfxara, 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 be fal 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 
 iust 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 
 
-TIC 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 tcAos, 
 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 hin- 
 dered 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 for- 
 tunes, that is to say, the principle of accounting what is 
 honourable to be the sole good, may indeed easily be em- 
 bellished and enlarged upon at great length, with great rich- 
 ness 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 praise- 
 worthy ; but everything which is praiseworthy is honourable \ 
 — therefore, everything which is good is honourable." Does 
 not this appear properly deduced 1 Undoubtedly ; — for the 
 result w T hich was obtained from the two premises which were 
 assumed, you see was contained in them. But of the twe 
 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 what- 
 ever 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 1 — 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 
 
190 DE FIXIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 one. J 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 pro- 
 perly 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 favour- 
 able 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, vir - 
 tuously. 
 
 IX. Not that I am ignorant that the opinions of philoso- 
 phers have been various, of those I mean wno have placed 
 the chief good, that which I call the end, in tne 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 rein- 
 forcement, and on that account have each added to it one of 
 those other particulars which I have just enumerated. I, 
 
~irT 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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, aud 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 pru- 
 dence 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 con- 
 trary 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 com- 
 pliance ; which they call cViyevv^aTiKoV. 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 pro- 
 perly ; for whatever proceeds from a wise man must at once y 
 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 un iertaken, 
 and not only when they are accomplished. 
 
192 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 dis- 
 course. 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 dxf>eX.r)fia), 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 com- 
 bination, 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 d£i , 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 irdOrj, (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) 1 but the Greeks do call such a feeling Trddos. Let 
 us then translate it perturbation, which is by its very name 
 pointed out to be something vicious. Nor are these pertur 
 bations, 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, rjSovy, and which I prefer translating 
 
Tzzr 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 103 
 
 joy (Icetitia), rather than a pleasurable elation of an exult- 
 ing 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 1 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 Afri- 
 cani, or of that ancestor of mine whom you are always talk- 
 ing of, and of other brave men, and citizens of pre-eminent 
 virtue — does not feel his mind affected w r ith pleasure ? n/nfl _ — 
 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 
 
 ACAD. ETC. O 
 
194 f>V FTNIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 to every possible infamy, except that baseness of itself detect* 
 them by reason of its own intrinsic foulness 1 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 pre- 
 \ viously mentioned, that what is honourable is the sole good ; 
 it must unavoidably be understood that that which is honour- 
 able, 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 propen- 
 sities (vitia). For what the Greeks call Kaicta I prefer trans- 
 lating 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 phi- 
 losophy 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 w T ho 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 pre- 
 pared 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 
 suting in strict accordance with our usual way of speaking, 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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, T 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 /ca/aa by malitia, 1 then the usuage 
 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 refer- 
 ence to it a most admirable skill in dialectics, and the most 
 consummate eloquence ; because he has never ceased to con- 
 tend throughout the whole of this discussion, which turns 
 upon what is good and what is bad, that the controversy be- 
 tween 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 Peri- 
 patetics 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 every- 
 thing 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 
 1 " Malitia, badness of quality .... especially malice, ill-will, spite, 
 malevolence, artfulness, cunning, craft." — Riddle and Arnold, Lat. Diet 
 
 g2 
 
4i 
 
 196 DE FJXIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 advan- 
 tages ; 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 mul- 
 titude 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 dis- 
 cussed hereafter ; but can there possibly be a greater disagree- 
 ment 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 ^Egsean sea ; or an addition of a penny 
 amid the riches of Croesus ; 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 over- 
 whelmed by, and come to nothing when placed by the side of 
 he splendour and importance of virtue. And since oppor- 
 tunity, (for that is how we may translate evKaipia,) 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 197 
 
 that is how I translate KaTopOtocrus, and a right deed I call 
 KaropOoifxa,) — a right action, I say, and suitableness, and, in 
 short, the good itself, which depends on the fact of its being 
 in accordance^wfth 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 pre- 
 ferred 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 en- 
 joyment 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 prin- 
 ciples 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^ 
 
198 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE OX 
 
 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 ae 
 unquestionably the previous propositions are true and uncon- 
 trovertible, 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 ails 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 con- 
 sistency 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AKD EVIL. 19'if 
 
 the misery or happiness of life, differed from one another, bo 
 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 them- 
 selves 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 
 Trpo-qyiiivov, and on the other hand what he called airoTrpoijy 
 fxivov, as though writing in so copioas 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 mean- 
 ing 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 Trpoyryp.£vov, 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 
 7rporp/ix€va, or led forward. And we may translate the Greek 
 by production (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 irporp/fievov, prcepositum or 
 prcecipitum, 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 
 prcecipuum or prcepositum, must be neither good nor bad. 
 And therefore we define it as something indifferent, attended 
 with a moderate esteem. For that which they call aStd<popov. 
 it occurs to me to translate indifferens. Nor, indeed, was it 
 at all possible that there should be nothing left intermediate. 
 
200 DE FiNIBUS, A TREATISE OH 
 
 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 
 -' ^A w hich 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 versd. 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 reAi^a, 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 effi- 
 cient good. For, because wisdom is suitable action, it is of 
 that referential character which I have mentioned ; but jnas- 
 much as it brings and causes honourable actions, it may be so 
 far called efficient. 
 
 XVII. Now these things which we have spoken of as pre- 
 ferred, 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 some- 
 thing, 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 €v8o£i'a is more 
 properly called, in this place, good reputation than glory,) 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 cf 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 con- 
 clusion 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 justlv 
 
202 DE FINIBU8, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 maiij 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 circum- 
 stances which 1 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. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 203 
 
 Wherefore, as vice has not such power as to afford a justi- 
 fying 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 bear- 
 ing of their offspring, we seem to be hearing tho voice of 
 nature herself. ■ Wherefore, as it is evident that we are by 
 nature averse to pain j 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 recom- 
 mendation 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 
 
204 DE FIXIBUS, i TREATISE ON 
 
 appears that it has given it « arning to he on its gnar 1 ; 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 Greek 2 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 fel- 
 lowship 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 W3 not only to learn, but also to teach. 
 And as the principle is jy nature implanted in bulls to fight 
 1 The Greek proverb was, ifiov Qavovros ycua ixiyO-firu irvpi. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 205 
 
 in behalf of their calves with the greatest vigour and earnest- 
 ness, 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 pro- 
 tection. 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 advan- 
 tage 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 citizen- 
 ship 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 \v,ife 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 
 
20G DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON" 
 
 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 pre- 
 served, they have laid it down that all benefits and injuries, 
 which they call (hcpe^fxara and /SAa/xjaara, are likewise com- 
 mon ; 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 
 evxprjoDJfjLaTa and Svaxprjcrrj/xaTa,) 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^l^trtrtfreythinTr^ 
 that friendship is to be cultivated because it is one of that 
 class of things which is profitable. But although, in friend- 
 ship, 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 pur- 
 pose of appropriating it to oneself. But philosophers of this 
 school which I am speaking of, never approve of either friend- 
 ship or justice being exercised or sanctioned for the sake of 
 its usefulness : for they say that the same principles of use- 
 fulness 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 what- 
 ever is just and equitable is also honourable; and, recipro- 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 207 
 
 cally, 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 aw r ay 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 philo- 
 sophy, and not without reason, because the man who wishes 
 to live in a manner suitable to nature, must begin by study- . 
 ing the universal world, and the laws which govern it. Nor 
 can any one form a correct judgment of good and evil with- 
 out 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 under- 
 standing 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 incre- 
 dible 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 1 What is there which is posterior, which 
 does not agree with what has preceded it 1 What is there __ 
 
208 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 which follows, and does not correspond to what has gone 
 before ? What is there which is not connected with some- 
 thing else in such a manner, that if you only move one letter 
 the whole will fall to pieces 1 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 tc 
 make use of everything. He will also rightly be called beau- 
 tiful, 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 in- 
 vincible, 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 Croesus, 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 ? 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 209 
 
 FOURTH BOOK OF THE TREATISE ON THE 
 CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 
 
 I. And when he had made an end of saying these things, 
 I replied, Truly, 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, how- 
 ever, 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 1 ? 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 
 
 AXLLD. ETC. P 
 
210 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 I, if, 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 ad- 
 vance 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, 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 
 jv-hat 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 com- 
 
 i panionship 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 intc 
 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 considera- 
 tion 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 tho civil one, and which the 
 Greeks call ttoXltlkos, has been treated of in a dignified and 
 oopious manner by the ancient Peripatetics and Academicians, 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 211 
 
 who, agreeing in parts, differed from one another only in 
 words. 
 
 III. How many books have these men written on the re- 
 public! 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 fit- 
 ness 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 illus- 
 trated 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 pick- 
 ing 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 consola- 
 tions? 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 argu- 
 mentation. 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 
 
 p2 
 
212 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE Off 
 
 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 1 Shall he 
 set fire to it 1 ? 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 divid- 
 ing 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 con- 
 cluded by reason: then they follow an orderly arrangement; 
 and the conclusion at last shows what is true in the separate 
 ropositions. But what a great variety of arguments, which 
 ead 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 unsup- 
 ported by reason, nor reason when unsupported by our senses ; 
 but that, at the same time, we ought to keep the line between 
 
 -^Tei 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 213 
 
 tho two clearly marked? What shall I say more? Were not 
 all the precepts which the dialecticians now deliver and teach v 
 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 j and that not on two accounts only, as 
 Epicurus thinks, namely, to get rid of the fears of death and 
 of religion j 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 
 
214 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE OX 
 
 pleasure derived from the knowledge of things ; the only plea 
 sure 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 Peripa- 
 tetics very rich. 
 
 What numbers of facts have been investigated and accu- 
 mulated 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 unde- 
 niable 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 con- 
 cerned, 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 sum- 
 mit of goods, which contains all philosophy, has been care* 
 fully 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 1 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 exer- 
 cising 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 KaTopOoifxa, 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 signi- 
 fication of the definition, and that life which is passed in con- 
 formity 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 
 
216 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 want- 
 ing j 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 ot 
 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 prin- 
 ciple 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 philo- 
 sophers was easily superior to all the changes and injuries of 
 fortune. 
 
 But when these foundations ha4. been laid by nature, cer- 
 tain 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 217 
 
 any share of shame or modesty; and because he also covets 
 union and society with other men, and takes pains in every- 
 thing 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, arid modesty, and justice, and all virtue, was 
 brought to complete perfection. 
 
 VIII. You here, Cato, have a sketch of the philosophers 
 of whom I am speaking j 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 1 — 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 1 — or was he displeased w T ith 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 1 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 pre- 
 ferable, 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 
 
218 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 other circumstances of life, which consists of nothing bat 
 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 hap- 
 pier, 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 learn- 
 edly 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 Piato, 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 1 Would the advocate of a cause, when 
 summing up for a defendant, deny that exile or the confisca- 
 tion of his client's property was an evil ? — that these things 
 were to be rejected, though not to be fled from 1 — or would 
 he say that a judge ought not to be merciful? 
 
 But if he were speaking in the public assembly, — if Han- 
 nibal had arrived at the gates and had driven his javelin into 
 the wall, would he deny that it was an evil to be taken pri- 
 soner, 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 
 
^ 
 
 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 219 
 
 good fortune except in a wise man % What sort of a philo- 
 sophy, 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 innova- 
 tions 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 5 
 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, Pansetius — a noble and dignified man, 
 worthy of the intimacy which he enjoyed with Scipio and 
 LEelius — when he was writing toQuintusTubero 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 senti- 
 ments of his. 
 
 X. But, however, to come, Cato, more closely to what 
 you have been saying, let us treat this question more nar- 
 rowly, and compare what you have just said with those asser- 
 tions 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 dis- 
 cussion 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 1 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 w T hich 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 our- 
 selves in that character of which we ought to be. We are, 
 therefore, men : we consist of mind and body,— which are 
 
220 DE FINIBCS, A OiEATISE ON 
 
 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 esta- 
 blished in such a way as to acquire as many as possible of 
 those things which are in accordance with nature, and espe- 
 cially all the most important of them. This, then, is the chief 
 good which they aimed at. I have expressed it more dif- 
 fusely, — 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 1) 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 supposi- 
 tion 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 guardian- 
 ship 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 
 ia their minds, some in both. And then he argues that 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 con- 
 sisted 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 Croesus. But in those matters in 
 which so great an obscuration dees 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 pleasant- 
 ness were given to him, it would be good, because any addi- 
 tion has some power to produce what is agreeable; but if 
 that is not admitted, it does Lot 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 ' 
 lerious discourse % For who would not be deservedly ridi- 
 culed, if he were anxious whether he had another bottle or 
 
222 DE FINIBUg \ TREATISE ON 
 
 not 1 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 uOscured, 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 Croesus, 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 na- 
 tural desire which longs for those things which are according 
 to nature, then, when taken altogether, they must be. consider- 
 able 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 1 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 1 And what nature has ever been forgetful of its 
 original purpose and establishment 1 There has never been 
 one which does not observe this law from first to last How, 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 1 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 im- 
 portant 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 1 and what is the office and task of wisdom ? 
 What is it that ought to be finished and completed by her 1 
 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 1 For as it is agreed by all, that 
 the whole duty and office of wisdom is to be occupied about 
 
22i DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE OP 
 
 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, 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 dc not seem to me to pay sufficient attention tc 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 th? vine, with all its parts, to be in the best possiblo 
 condition, (however that is what we understand it to be, for 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 guardian- 
 ship. 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 incon- 
 sistency. For they assert that the natural appetite, which they 
 call bpixrj, and also duty, and even virtue herself, are all pro- 
 tectors 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 esta- 
 blished, 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 main- 
 tains those things which are the principles of nature as 
 having an influence on the object. For we have been looking 
 
 ACAD. etc. 4 
 
226 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 under- 
 stood but that no part of nature is to be neglected 1 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 1 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 par- 
 ticular 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 chit.? 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 
 Beek for a principle of duty, they are superior to Pyrrho ; and 
 as they do not admit the desire of those objects which offer 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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, Cato, you wish to make any reply to what 
 I have been saying, or unless we are getting tedious. Nei- 
 ther, said he ; for I wish this side of the question to be com- 
 pletely 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 sub- 
 ject of virtue with Cato, who is the most virtuous of men inV^ 
 every point % But, first of all, remark that that imposing t 
 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 
 
 Q2 
 
228 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 attrac- 
 tion in them : just as if this desire had no reference to the 
 acquisition of the chief good. But what can be less con- 
 sistent 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 1 For it is not the principle of action or 
 duty which impels them to desire those things which are 
 
T.H3 CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 " every- 
 thing 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 praise 
 worthy ; 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 1 And how will Callipho and Diodorus 
 be able to grant you what you ask, men who join to honour- 
 ableness something else which is not of the same genus 1 — 
 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 1 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 tc you that whatever ought 
 to be sought is therefore praiseworthy ; and that other argu- 
 ment 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 cir- 
 cumstances. 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 some- 
 thing besides to it in their definition of the chief good. For, 
 
230 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 every- 
 thing 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, re- 
 present 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 cor- 
 rected, 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 espe- 
 cially 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, Mid do not wander from the end 
 they propose to themselves. 
 

 THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 231 
 
 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 dialecti- 
 cians, you know, teach us that if the conclusions which follow 
 from any premises are false, the premises from which they 
 follow cannot be time. 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 con- 
 tradicted. What follows, then 1 — " All who are not wise are 
 equally miserable ; all wise men are perfectly happy : ail 
 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 Phoenician of yours (for you 
 know that the people of Citium, your clients, came from 
 Phoenicia), 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 con- 
 fess 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 we're 
 not a wise man, would be in the same circumstances as tha 
 tyrant Dionysius; for that to die was better for the one. 
 
232 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 01 
 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 ques- 
 tion 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 them- 
 selves nothing of that appetite of which we have already fre- 
 quently spoken, being neither called honourable nor praise- 
 worthy ; and some, again, are accompanied by pleasure in tho 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 233 
 
 case of every animal, and in the case of man also with reason. 
 And those of them which are suitable are honourable, beauti- 
 ful, 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 ail 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 doubt- 
 ful 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 every- 
 thing 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 1 — 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 dif- 
 ferent 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 splen- 
 dour 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 lan^ 
 guage with those men with whom he agreed in reality 1 
 
 /^^PN, 
 
234 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE OK 
 
 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, Marcus Cato, we heard that 
 you were a man exceedingly devoted to philosophy, a most 
 just citizen, an excellent judge, and a most conscientious wit- 
 ness, 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 Po- 
 lemo; 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. More- 
 over, 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 1 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 senti- 
 
THE CHIEB GOOD AXD EVIL. 235 
 
 ments, 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 Alcmseon 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 
 
23G DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 1 or when 1 or where J? 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 tije 
 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 mise- 
 rable 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 con- 
 siderable 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 com- 
 pleteness of their contraries can likewise be increased. But 
 no addition can be made to the perfection of virtue. There- 
 fore, 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 1 But this is evident, that different 
 vices are greater in different people. This is doubtful, whether 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 237 
 
 any addition can be made to that which yon 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, there- 
 fore, 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 main- 
 tain 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 1 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.-x^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 discrimina- 
 tion 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 1 He would deny it. What next 1 ? Suppose you ask 
 him whether the contraries of these things are bad 1 He 
 would deny that equally. Suppose you were to ask Zeno the 
 same question 1 He would give you the same answer, word 
 for word. Suppose further, that we, being full of astonish- 
 ment, 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 
 
238 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE Otf 
 
 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 1 He says that all 
 these ideas are monstrous, and that it is totally impossible for 
 any one to live on these principles ; J but that there is some ex- 
 travagant, some immense difference between what is honour- 
 able 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, Zeno, 
 that there was no difference whatever between these things. 
 And jiow I say the same, he replies; and that there is no dif- 
 ference whatever as respects virtues and vices. Well, I should 
 like to know who did not know that 1 
 
 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 Tvpot^^iva. (which you may translate by the Latin 
 producta, though I prefer prceposita or prcecipua, 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 i Why, then, when wo 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 239 
 
 are agreed as to facts, do we not prefer speaking in the ordi- 
 nary 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 diffi- 
 cult 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 1 " You deny that riches are a 
 good, but call them something to be preferred. What good 
 do you do by that 1 do you diminish avarice 1 But if we 
 mind words, then, in the first place, your expression, to be pre- 
 ferred, 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 conse- 
 quence 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 thingn 
 belongs to the foolish man, who is also insane, as you assert 
 
240 DE FISTIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 they call these' assertions 7rapa8o£a; we may call them mar- 
 vellous. And yet what marvel is there in them when you 
 come nearer to them 1 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 e^ual. 
 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; some- 
 thing 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 honour- 
 able 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 pru- 
 dence; which all men who have the management of any 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 241 
 
 business entrusted to ihem are bound to possess. And sj 
 even in this instance ofbnces 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 Scaevola, on whose motion he was condemned ; and 
 as if there were no difference at all between the things them- 
 selves which are the subject of the offences; so that, in pro- 
 portion 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 pro- 
 positions. 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 Panaatius, wishing to avoid their morose- 
 ness 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 Dicaearchus, 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 re- 
 quire of you to give me a hearing while I refute what you 
 have said ; but recollect that you approve of all our opinions, 
 
 ACAD. ETC. R 
 
242 DB FTN1BUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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. 
 
 v/ 
 
 FIFTH BOOK OF THE TREATISE ON THE CHIEF 
 GOOD AND EVIL. 
 
 4 
 
 I. One day when I had been hearing Antiochus lecture, as 
 I was in the habit of doing, Brutus, in company with 
 Marcus Piso, in that gymnasium which is called P&lemy's, 
 my brother Quintus being with me, and Titus Pomponius, 
 and Lucius Cicero, our cousin on the father's side as to re- 
 lationship, but our own brother as to affection, we determined 
 to take our afternoon's walk in the Academy, principally be- 
 cause 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 
 I ipylus 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 de- 
 serve 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 1 — 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 neighbour- 
 ing gardens not only rgcal 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 
 aow before us. There is our senate-house (I mean the Curis 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 243 
 
 Hostilia, 1 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 Lselius, and 
 more especially of my own grandfather. So great a power of 
 reminding one of circumstances exists in the places them- 
 selves, 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 unsub- 
 stantial one indeed, but still it did move me to a more vivid 
 recollection of (Edipus 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 Phsedrus, 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 v^ 
 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 Meta- 
 pontum, 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 
 
 1 The Curia Hostilia was built by Tullus Hostilius, and was origi- 
 nally the only place where a Senatus Consultuni could be passed, though 
 the senate met at times in other places. But, under Caesar, the Curia 
 Julia an immense edifice, had been built as the senate-hou&e. 
 
 b2 
 
244 DB FINIBU8, A TREATISE ON 
 
 whom T 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 1 is he glad to visit that spot where 
 Demosthenes and ^Eschines used to contend together 1 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 xPhalerum, where they say that 
 Demosthenes used to declaim to the waves, in order to accus- 
 tom 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 inclina- 
 tions 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, 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 1 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 (mean- 
 ing me) is present, this matter will perhaps not be quite so 
 uosy ; yet I will endeavour to call you back from this New 
 
TH£ CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 24o 
 
 Academy to that ancient one, in which (as you used to hear An- 
 tiochus 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, alTelegance 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, 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 doc 
 trine 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 enter- 
 tained 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 1 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 Antio- 
 chus, 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 
 
i4fi DE FINIBUS. A TREATISE ON 
 
 the form of the system, as is the case with most of the othef 
 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 ren- 
 dered 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 Barba- 
 rians ; and from Theophrastus w r e have learnt even their laws : 
 aud 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 natursi inclinations of 
 affairs, and what the influences of opportunities which re- 
 quired 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 
 jjods, appeared to them to be most worthy of a wise man ; 
 /and on these subjects they held very lofty and dignified 
 .. ' language. 
 
THE CHIEP GOOD AND EVIL. 247 
 
 V. But respecting the chief good, because there are two 
 kinds of books, — one addressed to the people, which they used 
 to call e£coTeptKw, the other written in a more polished style, 
 which they left behind in commentaries, — they appear not 
 always to say the same thing L and yet in their ultimate con- 
 clusion there is no variety m the language of the men whom 
 I have named, nor is there any disagreement between them. 
 But, as a h?ppy 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 cor- 
 rect, then wisdom cannot make life happy. Now, this seems 
 to me rather too tender (if I may say so) and delicate a doc- 
 trine, 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, 1 then, be content with these guides; for their suc- 
 cessors are wiser men, indeed, in my opinion, than the philo- 
 sophers 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 philoso- 
 pher: 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, cer- 
 tainly, 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, HiejKmy^- 
 mus ; and I do not kiiow why I should call him a Peripatetic, 
 for he defined tie chief good to be freedom from pain : and 
 
\ 
 
 248 DB FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 honour- 
 ableness 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 ke_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 
 I 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 con- 
 sists in, we had better employ the division of Carneades, which 
 our friend Antiochus prefers, and usually adopts. He there- 
 fore 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 tD 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 pro- 
 posed to be attained by the art another. Since, therefore, 
 prudence is the art of living, just as medicine is of health, or 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 219 
 
 steering of navigation, it follows unavoidably that that also 
 must have been established by, and must proceed from, some- 
 thing 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 op/xy. 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 pursu- 
 ing 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 honour- 
 able arises ; which can agree with some one of these threo 
 divisions ; so that it is honourable to do everything for tho 
 Bake of pleasure, even if you do not obtain it ; or else for the 
 
250 DE FTNIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 sake of avoiding pain, though you may not be able to com- 
 pass 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 de- 
 sirable ; 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 honour- 
 able, 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 bom for higher 
 purposes ; and nearly the same may be said of freedom from 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EViL. 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 argu- 
 ments 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 con- 
 duct 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 sepa- 
 rately. 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 tran- 
 quillity of the mind which they all tvOv/xia, deserved to be 
 separated from this discussion, because that tranquillity of the 
 mind is of itself a happy life. What we are inquiring, how- 
 ever, 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 
 iuquiry 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 
 
252 DB FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 all inqiiry 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 regu- 
 late its whole life, to preserve itself, and to be so disposed a*> 
 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 satis- 
 fied. For there is no hindrance to there being some things in 
 common to all other &pimals, 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. Where- 
 fore, 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL, 2o6 
 
 that is the case too, not only in animals, Out 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 01* 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 under- 
 stood, 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 
 ad ;uce 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 eneriiy 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 h'.mself, he must 
 
V 
 
 254: DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 think those things bad which are good, and, on the other hand,, 
 those things good which are bad ; that he mnst 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 them- 
 ?jelves. But some are influenced by pain, others by desire; 
 many again are carried away by passion, and while they know- 
 ingly run into evils, still fancy that they are consulting their 
 own interests most excellently; and, therefore, they unhesita- 
 tingly 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 meanf, 
 by it; but in regard to our own selves, it cannot even be 
 understood that we should love ourselves for the sake of 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 1 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 exces- 
 sively, (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 
 ondure 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, never* 
 theless preserved his life by the game which he could kill 
 with his arrows. 
 
 He, though slow, overtook the swift, 
 
 He stood and slew the flying — 
 
255 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 neg- 
 lected 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 differ- 
 ence) ; for a man will be able to depart from himself sooner 
 than he can lose the desire of those things which are advan- 
 tageous 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 con- 
 sists 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 admi- 
 rable 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 
 as 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 257 
 
 it ; nor is there any doubt what kind of face, eyes, ears and 
 other features are peculiar to man. But certainly it is neces- 
 sary 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 back- 
 wards, — 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 
 
 acad. etc. a 
 
/ 
 
 258 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE OX 
 
 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 con- 
 jecture 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 pro- 
 perly 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 some- 
 thing 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 move- 
 ments of mind. But in man the whole dominant power lies 
 in the mind; and the dominant power of the mind is reason: 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 259 
 
 and from this proceeds virtue, which is defined as the perfec- 
 tion 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 them- 
 selves 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 veiy 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 1 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 preserv- 
 ing 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 1 and 
 that its chief good must now consist in satisfying its nature, 
 since intellect and reason are by far the most excellent parts 
 
 s2 
 
26*0 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 of it? And so the chief of all the things which it has to 
 desire, and that which is derived from the original recom- 
 mendation 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 de- 
 scribed 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 ou* age advances, 
 we gradually, or I should rather say slowly, come to a kind 
 of knowledge of ourselves. Therefore, that original recom- 
 mendation 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 after- 
 wards 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVTL. 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 can- 
 not 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 know- 
 ledge 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_j 
 have all the things which I have mentioned in the most per- 
 fect 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 
 
262 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 prin- 
 cipal 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 re- 
 commendation 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 our- 
 selves, 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 pos- 
 sibly contrive it, to prevent that defect of the body from being 
 visible, or else to render it as little visible as possible 1 and 
 that they submit to great pain for the sake of curing any 
 such defect 1 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 rt)thing 
 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 263 
 
 Lis features are ;^ls there nothing in all these things which wo 
 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 1 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 1 
 
 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 1 And if we avoid what is unseemly, both in the 
 condition and motion of the body, why may w 7 e 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 mirid, the appear- 
 ance 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 know- 
 ledge ? 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 know- 
 ledge and science 1 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 
 
2G4 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 not seem to have been accnstomed 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, 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. 1 
 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 contem- 
 plation 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 1 Why should 1 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 1 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 interrup- 
 tion of any ideas of utility, and rejoices in the mere fact of 
 1 Pope's Homer, Odys. xii. 231. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 265 
 
 knowledge, even though it may possibly produce inconvenience. 
 But why need we seek for more instances to prove what is so 
 evident 1 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 
 imaginaiy 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 1 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 achieve- 
 ments, 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 philo- 
 sophers, 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 
 
266 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 Cnaeus Aufidius, a man of prae- 
 torian 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 espe- 
 cially, 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 child- 
 hood 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 Endy- 
 mion 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 & 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 bora 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 sleepless- 
 ness, 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 tneir 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. :£S 
 
 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, firs£ of all, as it appears to me, and 
 to those philosophers whose system we are at present discus- 
 sing, 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 
 
2G8 DE FIXIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 adven- 
 titious 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. I$ut 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 26i* 
 
 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 quali- 
 ties 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 1 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 Fregellae, 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 hear- 
 ing or reading when we are brought to the knowledge of 
 anything which has been done in a pious, or friendly, or 
 magnanimous spirit 1 Why should I speak of men like our- 
 selves, w r ho 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 
 
270 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 pre- 
 served 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 Jdsean 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 part- 
 nership in and communication of advantages, and the affec- 
 tion 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 271 
 
 justice, akin to which are piety, kindness, liberality, benevo- 
 .ence, courtesy, and all other qualities of the same kind. But .. y 
 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 ttoXltlkov, 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 per- 
 formed. 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 philo- 
 sophers 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 perfec- 
 tion : 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 
 
272 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 own sake, but still are not of the same class as the ciher 
 kind Nor, indeed, could any one ever arrive at the chief 
 good, if all those things which are external, although desir- 
 able, were contained in the chief good. 
 
 XXIV. How then, you will say, can it be true that every- 
 thing is referred to the chief good, if friendship, aud relation- 
 ship, and all other external things are not^contained in the 
 chief good 1 ? 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 admi- 
 rable 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 Han- 
 nibal, 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 Per^es as his prisoner, who was conveyed down on the 
 same river 1 
 
 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 magna- 
 nimous 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 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 in- 
 considerable 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, xind 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. 
 
 XXY. 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 j 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 Callipha, 
 
 ACAD. ETC. T 
 
274 DE FINIBUS, A TREATISE ON 
 
 and Diodorus after him, one of whom was devoted to plea- 
 sure, 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 anoth* from us, but have appro- 
 priated 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 de- 
 fence? I replied, — Indeed, 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 275 
 
 you ratli3r 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, com- 
 prehension, and knowledge 1 There is, said I, no great dis- 
 pute 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 mis- 
 fortunes j 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 per- 
 sons 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 pre- 
 sent 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. 
 
276 DE FINiBUS, A TREATISE 01T 
 
 ws call evils, but slight, and, indeed, exceedingly trifling ones. 
 Wherefore, if that man can be happy who is among disagree- 
 able things which ought to be rejected, he also may be so 
 who is among slight evils. And I say, Piso, if there is 
 any one who in causes is used to have a clear insight into 
 wiiat 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 1 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 1 ? 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;" wind;, indeed, he is in the habit of spout- 
 ing 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 under- 
 stand 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 pro- 
 nounce 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD SUTD EVIL. 277 
 
 little towards securing a perfectly happy one, but enough for 
 securing a tolerably happy one. 
 
 I have noticed, said iig-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 prsetor ; and who left them all in safety behind him, 
 and who saw his three daughters married, having been him- 
 self 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 1 
 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 
 2;ood 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 1 
 Do you not see how all these things agree together ? And, 
 n truth, (for I must avow what I feel,) the mutual depend- 
 ence of all these things on one another is marvellous : the 
 ast part corresponds to the first, the middle to each extremity, 
 tnd each extremity to the other. They see all that follows 
 rom, 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 
 
278 DE FIN .BUB A TREATISE ON 
 
 way. If you grant this conclusion, you must giant the pre- 
 mises ; 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; chilpUessness 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 ; feeble- 
 ness 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 1 For, suppose one person were blind, feeble, affiicter" 
 with grievous sickness, banished, childless, in indigence, aim 
 put to the torture ; what will you call him, Zeno ? Happy, 
 says he. Will you call him most perfectly happy 1 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 1 is that credible 1 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; what- 
 ever answer I give you, you will find yourself in embarrass- 
 ment. How so ? said he. Because, if they are evils, a man 
 
THE OH IFF GOOD AND EVIL. 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, Lucius ; for, as Theo- 
 phrastus 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 1 Why afterwards did he go to Tarentum to Archytas ; 
 and to the other Pythagoreans of Locri, Echecrates, Timseus, 
 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 1 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 1 And if he 
 placed that in the knowledge of things, still from that investiga- 
 tion of natural philosophy he sought to acquire equanimity ; 
 for he called the summum bonum evOvfXLa, and very often 
 dOaixfiia, 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 So- 
 crates, 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 
 
280 DE FINIBUS. A TREATISE ON 
 
 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 1 
 
 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 pre- 
 ference, 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 j you 
 do also, Chrysippus, in tht 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 im- 
 portance 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 con- 
 sider 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, 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AND EVIL. 281 
 
 Rome 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 1 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 musf 
 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 1 
 
 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 1 
 
 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 aycAaoros. They call 
 Poly crates 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 
 
282 PE FTXIBUa, A TEEATISE ON 
 
 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 Oroetes, 
 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 1 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 1 For who is there who can 
 venture to say, that it can happen to a wise man (even it 
 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 dishonour- 
 able, 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 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD AXD EVIL. 283 
 
 Carneades ; for the pain does not reach here," showing his 
 feet and his breast. Still he would have preferred being oux 
 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, 've all went into the town 
 to the house of Pomponius. 
 
 ? 
 if/ 
 
284 THE TUSCULAN PlOrU TATIONS. 
 
 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In the year a.u.c. 708, and the 62d year of Cicero's age, his 
 daughter, Tullia,Hied in childbed ; and her loss afflicted Cicero 
 to such a degree that he abandoned all public business, and, 
 leaving the city, retired to Asterra, which was a country house 
 that he had near Antium ; where, after a while, he devoted 
 himself to philosophical studies, and, besides other works, he 
 published his Treatise de Finibus, and also this Treatise called 
 the Tusculan Disputations, of which Middleton gives this con- 
 cise description : — 
 
 " The first book teaches us how to contemn the terrors of 
 death, and to look upon it as a blessing rather than an evil : 
 
 " The second, to support pain and affliction with a manly 
 fortitude ; 
 
 " The third, to appease all our complaints and uneasinesses 
 under the accidents of life ; 
 
 u The fourth, to moderate all our other passions ; 
 
 " And the fifth explains the sufficiency of virtue to make 
 men happy." 
 
 It was his custom in the opportunities of his leisure to take 
 some friends with him into the countiy, where, instead of 
 amusing themselves with idle sports or feasts, their diversions 
 were wholly, speculative, tending to improve the mind and 
 enlarge the understanding. In this manner he now spent five 
 days at his Tusculan villa in discussing with his friends the 
 several questions just mentioned. For, after employing the 
 mornings in declaiming and rhetorical exercises, Jthey used to 
 retire in the afternoon into a gallery, called the Academy, 
 which he had built for the purpose of philosophical con- 
 ferences, where, after the manner of the Greeks, he held a 
 school as they called it, and invited the company to call for any 
 subject that they desired to hear explained, which being pro- 
 ceed accordingly by some of the audience became immediately 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 285 
 
 the argument of that day's debate. These five conferences or 
 dialogues he collected afterwards into writing in the very 
 words and manner in which they really passed ; and published 
 them under the title of his Tusculan Disputations, from the 
 name of the villa in which they were held. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 ON THE CONTEMPT OP DEATH. 
 
 I. At a time when I had entirely, or to a great degree, 
 released myself from my labours as an advocate, and from my 
 duties as a senator, I had recourse again, Brutus, principally 
 by your advice, to those studies which never had been out of 
 my mind, although neglected at times, and which after a long 
 interval I resumed : and now since the principles and rules 
 of all arts which relate to living well depend on the study of 
 wisdom, which is called philosophy, I have thought it an em- 
 ployment worthy of me to illustrate them in the Latin tongue 
 not because philosophy could not be understood in the Greek 
 language, or by the teaching of Greek masters; but it has 
 always been my opinion, that our countrymen have, in some 
 instances, made wiser discoveries than the Greeks, with refer- 
 ence to those subjects which they have considered worthy of 
 devoting their attention to, and in others have improved upon 
 their discoveries, so that in one way or other we surpass them 
 on every point : for, with regard to the manners and habits of 
 private life, and family and domestic affairs, we certainly 
 manage them with more elegance, and better than they did ; 
 and as to our republic, that our ancestors have, beyond all 
 dispute, formed on better customs and laws. What shall I 
 say of our military affairs ; in which our ancestors have been 
 mos^ eminent in valour, and still more so in discipline ? Ai. 
 to those things which are attained not by study, but nature, 
 neither Greece, nor any nation, is comparable to us ; for what 
 people has displayed such gravity, such steadiness, such great- 
 ness of soul, probity, faith — such distinguished virtue of every 
 kind, as to be equal to our ancestors. In learni indeed, 
 and all kinds of literature, Greece did exci f waa 
 
2S6 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 easy to do so where there was no competition; for whilo 
 amongst the Greeks the poets were the most ancient species 
 of learned men, — since Homer and Hesiod lived before the 
 foundation of Rome, and Archilochus 1 was a contemporary of 
 .Romulus, — we received poetry much later. For it was about 
 five hundred and ten years after the building of Rome before 
 Livius 2 published a play in the consulship of C. Claudius, the 
 son of Caecus, and M. Tuditanus, a year before the birth of 
 Ennius, who was older than Plautus and Naevius. 
 
 II. It was, therefore, late before poets were either known 
 or received amongst us ; though we find in Cato de Originibus 
 that the guests used, at their entertainments, to sing the 
 praises of famous men to the sound of the flute ; but a speech 
 of Cato's shows this kind of poetry to have been in no great 
 esteem, as he censures Marcus Nobilior, for carrying poets 
 with him into his province: for that consul, as we know, 
 carried Ennius with him into iEtolia. Therefore the less 
 esteem poets were in, the less were those studies pursued: 
 though even then those who did display the greatest abilities 
 that way, were not very inferior to the Greeks. Do we imagine 
 that if it had been considered commendable in Fabius, 3 a man 
 of the highest rank, to paint, we should not have had many 
 
 1 Archilochus was a rrative of Paros, and flourished about 714 — 676, 
 "B.C His poems were chiefly Iambics of bitter satire. Horace speaks of 
 him as the inventor of Iambics, and calls himself his pupil. 
 
 Parios ego primus Iambos 
 Ostendi Latio, numeros animosque secutus 
 Archilochi, non res et agentia verba Lycamben, 
 
 Epist. I. xix. 25. 
 And in another place he says — 
 
 Archilochum proprio rabies armavit Iambo. — A. P. 74. 
 
 2 This was Livius Andronicus : he is supposed to have been a native 
 of Tarentum, and he was made prisoner by the Romans, during their 
 wars in Southern Italy; owing to which he became the slave of 
 M. Livius Salinator. He wrote both 'comedies and tragedies, of which 
 Cicero (Brutus 18) speaks very contemptuously, as "Livianae fabulae 
 non satis dignse quae iterum legantu^," — not worth reading a second 
 time. He also wrote a Latin Odyssey, and some hymns, and died pro- 
 bably about b.0. 221. 
 
 3 C. Fabius, surnamed Pictor, painted the temple of Salus, which the 
 dictator C. Junius Brutus Bubulus dedicated b.c. 302. The temple 
 was destroyed by fire in the reign of Claudius. The painting is highly 
 praised by Dionysius, xvi. 6. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 
 
 Polycleti and Parrhasii 1 Honour nourishes art, and glory is 
 the spur with all to studies; while those studies are always 
 ueglected in every nation, which are looked upon dis- 
 paragingly. The Greeks held skill in vocal and instrumental 
 music as a very important accomplishment, and therefore it 
 is recorded of Epaminondas, who, in my opinion, was the 
 greatest man amongst the Greeks, that he played excellently 
 on the flute ; and Themistocles some years before was deemed 
 ignorant because at an entertainment he declined the lyre 
 when it was offered to him. For this reason musicians 
 flourished in Greece ; music was a general study ; and who- 
 ever was unacquainted with it, was not considered as fully 
 instructed in learning. Geometry was in high esteem with 
 them, therefore none were more honourable than mathemati- 
 cians ; but we have confined this art to bare measuring and 
 calculating. 
 
 III. But on the contrary, we early entertained an esteem 
 for the orator ; though he was not at first a man of learning, 
 but only quick at speaking ; in subsequent times he became 
 learned ; for it is reported that Galba, Africanus, and Lgelius, 
 were men of learning; and that even Cato, who preceded 
 them in point of time, was a studious man : then succeeded 
 the Lepidi, Carbo, and Gracchi, and so many great orators 
 after them, down to our own times, that we were very little, 
 if at all, inferior to the Greeks. Philosophy has been at a 
 low ebb even to this present time, and has had no assistance 
 from our own language, and so now I have undertaken to 
 raise and illustrate it, in order that, as I have been of service; 
 to my countrymen, when employed on public affairs, I may, 
 if possible, be so likewise in my retirement ; and in this I 
 must take the more pains, because there are already many 
 books in the Latin language which are said to be written 
 inaccurately, having been composed by excellent men, only 
 not of sufficient learning : for indeed it is possible that, a man 
 may think well, and yet not be able to express his thoughts, 
 elegantly; but for any one to publish thoughts which he can 
 neither arrange skilfully nor illustrate so as to entertain his 
 reader, is an unpardonable abuse of letters and retirement : 
 they, therefore, read their books to one another, and no one 
 ever takes them up but those who wish to have the same 
 licence for careless wriHng allowed to themselves. Where* 
 
288 THE TIWUT.AN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 fore, if oratory has acquired any reputation from my in- 
 dustry, I shall take the more pains to open the fountains 
 of philosophy, from which all my eloquence has taken its 
 rise. 
 
 IV. But, as Aristotle, 1 a man of the greatest genius, and of 
 the most various knowledge, being excited by the glory of the 
 rhetorician Isocrates, 2 commenced teaching young men to 
 speak, and joined philosophy with eloquence: so it is my 
 design not to lay aside my former study of oratory, and yet to 
 
 (employ myself at the same time in this greater and more 
 fruitful art; for I have always thought, that to be able to 
 speak copiously and elegantly on the most important ques- 
 tions, was the most perfect philosophy. And I have so 
 diligently applied myself to this pursuit that I have already 
 ventured to have a school like the Greeks. And lately when 
 you left us, having many of my frieuds about me, I attempted 
 at my Tusculan villa what I could do in that way ; for as I 
 formerly used to practise declaiming, which nobody continued 
 longer than myself, so this is now to be the declamation of 
 my old age. I desired any one to propose a question which 
 he wished to have discussed : and then I argued that point 
 either sitting or walking, and so I have compiled the scholae, 
 as the Greeks call them, of five days, in as many books. We 
 proceeded in this manner: when he who had proposed the 
 subject for discussion had said what he thought proper, I 
 spoke against him ; for this is, you know, the old and Socratic 
 method of arguing against another's opinion; for Socrates 
 thought that thus the truth would more easily be arrived at. 
 But to give you a better notion of our disputations, I will not 
 barely send you an account of them, but represent them to 
 you as tiiey were carried on ; therefore let the introduction be 
 thus: — 
 
 V. A . To me death seems to be an evil. 
 
 M. What to those who are already dead? or to those wh- 
 | must die? 
 A. To both. 
 
 ' For an account of the ancient Greek philosophers, see the sketch 
 1 .he end of the volume. 
 
 Isocrates was born at Athens, b c. 436. He was a pupil of Gorgias, 
 Pr< I "us and Socratea He opened a school of rhetoric, at Athens, with 
 He died by his own hand at the age of 98. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 28i) 
 
 M. It is a misery then, because an evil % 
 
 A. Certainly. 
 
 M. Then those who have already died, and those who have 
 still got to die, are both miserable 1 
 
 A. So it appears to me. 
 
 M. Then all are miserable? 
 
 A. Every one. 
 
 M. And, indeed, if you wish to be consistent, all that are 
 already born, or ever shall be, are not only miserable, but 
 always will be so; for should you maintain those only to be 
 miserable, you would not except any one living, for all must 
 die ; but there should be an end of misery in death. But 
 seeing that the dead are miserable, we are born to eternal 
 misery, for they must of consequence be miserable who died a 
 hundred thousand years ago; or rather, all that have ever 
 been born. 
 
 A. So, indeed, I think. 
 
 M. Tell me, I beseech you, are you afraid of the three- 
 headed Cerberus in the shades below, and the roaring waves 
 of Cocytus, and the passage over Acheron, and Tantalus 
 expiring with thirst, while the water touches his chin ; and 
 Sisyphus, 
 
 Who sweats with arduous toil in vain 
 The steepy summit of the mount to gain] 
 
 Perhaps, too, you dread the inexorable judges, Minos and 
 Rhadamanthus ; before whom neither L. Crassus, nor M. Anto- 
 nius can defend you ; and where, since the cause lies before 
 Grecian judges, you will not even be able to employ Demos- 
 thenes : but you must plead for yourself before a very great 
 assembly. These things perhaps you dread, and therefore look 
 on death as an eternal evil. 
 
 VI. A. Do you take me to be so imbecile as to give credit 
 to such things 1 
 
 M. What 1 do you not believe them ? 
 
 A. Not in the least. 
 
 M. I am sorry to hear that. 
 
 A. Why, I beg? 
 
 M. Because I could have been very eloquent in speakir 
 against them. 
 
 A. And who could not on such a subject 1 or, what 4 
 
 ACAD. ETC U 
 
290 THE TUSCUIAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 is it to refute these monstrous inventions of the poets and 
 painters 1 l 
 
 M. And yet you have books of philosophers full of argu- 
 ments against these. 
 
 A. A great waste of time, truly ! for, who is so weak as to 
 be concerned about them % 
 
 M. If, then, there is no one miserable in the infernal 
 regions, there can be no one there at all. 
 
 A. I am altogether of that opinion. 
 
 M. Where, then, are those you call miserable? or what 
 place do they inhabit 1 for, if they exist at all, they must be 
 somewhere 1 
 
 A. I, indeed, am of opinion that they are nowhere. 
 
 M. Then they have no existence at all. 
 
 A. Even so, and yet they are miserable for this very 
 reason, that they have no existence. 
 
 M. I had rather now have you afraid' of Cerberus, than 
 speak thus inaccurately. 
 
 A. In what respect ? 
 
 M. Because you admit him to exist whose existence you 
 deny with the same breath. Where now is your sagacity? 
 when you say any one is miserable, you say that he who 
 does not exist, does exist. 
 
 A. I am not so absurd as to say that. 
 
 M. What is it that you do say, then % 
 
 A. I say, for instance, that Marcus Crassus is miserable in 
 being deprived of such great riches as his by death ; that 
 Cn. Pompey is miserable, in being taken from such glory and 
 honour ; and in short, that all are miserable who are deprived 
 of this light of life. 
 
 M. You have returned to the same point, for to be mise- 
 rable implies an existence ; but you just now denied that the 
 dead had any existence ; if, then, they have not, they can be 
 nothing ; and if so, they are not even miserable. 
 
 1 So Horace joins these two classes as inventors of all kinds of im- 
 probable fictions — 
 
 Pictoribus atque poetis 
 Qiridlibet audendi semper fuit sequa potestas. — A> P. 0. 
 Which Roscommon translates — 
 
 Painters and poets have been still allow'd 
 Their pencil apd their fancies unconnned. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 291 
 
 A . Perhaps I do not express what I mean, for I look upon 
 this very circumstance, not to exist after having existed, to 
 be very miserable. 
 
 M. What, more so than not to have existed at all ? there- 
 fore, those who are not yet born, are miserable because they 
 are not; and we ourselves, if we are to be miserable after 
 death, were miserable before we were born : but I do not 
 remember that I was miserable before I was born ; and 
 I should be glad to know, if your memory is better, what 
 you recollect of yourself before you were born. 
 
 VII. A. You are pleasant; as if I had said that those men 
 are miserable who are not born, and not that they are so who 
 are dead. * 
 
 M. You say, then, that they are so 1 . 
 
 A. Yes, I say that because they no longer exist after 
 having existed, they are miserable. 
 
 M. You do not perceive, that you are asserting contradic- 
 tions; for what is a greater contradiction, than that that 
 should be not only miserable, but should have any existence 
 at all, which does not exist % When you go out at the Capene 
 gate and see the tombs of the Calatini, the Scipios, Servilii, 
 and Metelli, do you look on them as miserable 1 
 
 A . Because you press me with a word, henceforward I will 
 not say they are miserable absolutely, but miserable on this 
 account, because they have no existence. 
 
 M. You do not say, then, " M. Crassus is miserable," but 
 only " Miserable M. Crassus." 
 
 A. Exactly so. 
 
 M. As if it did not follow, that whatever you speak of in 
 that manner, either is or is not. Are you not acquainted 
 with the first principles of logic 1 for this is the first thing 
 they lay down, Whatever is asserted, (for that is the best way 
 that occurs to me, at the moment, of rendering the Greek term, 
 d$LO}fj.a, if I can think of a more accurate expression hereafter 
 I will use it,) is asserted as being either true or false. When, 
 therefore, you say, " Miserable M. Crassus," you either say 
 this, " M. Crassus is miserable," so that some judgment may 
 be made whether it is true or false, or you say nothing at all. 
 
 A. Well, then, I now own that the dead are not miserable, 
 since you have drawn from me a concession, that they who 
 do not exist at all, cannot be miserable. What then 1 ? we that 
 
 u2 
 
292 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 are alive, are we not wretched, seeing we must die? for what 
 is there agreeable in life, when we must night and day reflect 
 that, at some time or other, we must die 1 
 
 VIII. M. Do you not, then, perceive how great is the evil 
 from which you have delivered human nature 1 
 
 A. By what means ? 
 
 M. Because, if to die were miserable to the dead, to live 
 would be a kind of infinite and eternal misery : now, how- 
 ever, I see a goal, and when I have reached it, there is nothing 
 more to be feared ; but you seem to me to follow the opinion 
 of Epicharmus, 1 a man of some discernment, and sharp enough 
 for a Sicilian. 
 
 A. What opinion? for I do not recollect it. 
 
 M. I will tell you if I can in Latin, for you know I am no 
 more used to bring in Latin sentences in a Greek discourse, 
 than Greek in a Latin one. 
 
 A. And that is right enough: but what is that opinion of 
 Epicharmus ? 
 
 M. I would not die, but yet 
 
 Am not concerned that I shall be dead. 
 
 A. I now recollect the Greek, but since you have obliged 
 me to grant that the dead are not miserable, proceed to con- 
 vince me that it is not miserable to be under a necessity of 
 dying. 
 
 M. That is easy enough, but I have greater things in hand. 
 A. How comes that to be so easy? and what are those 
 things of more consequence 1 
 
 M. Thus : because, if there is no evil after death, then 
 even death itself can be none ; for that which immediately 
 succeeds thatiis a state where you grant that there is no evil ; 
 so that even to be obliged to die can be no evil ; for that is 
 only the being obliged to arrive at a place where we allow that 
 , no evil is. 
 
 | A. I beg you will be more explicit on this point, for these 
 - subtle arguments force me sooner to admissions than to con- 
 viction. But what are those more important things about 
 which you say that you are occupied 1 
 
 1 Epicharmus was a native of Cos, but lived at Megara, in Sicily, and 
 when Megara was destroyed, removed to Syracuse, and lived at the 
 court of Hiero, where he became the first writer of comedies, so that 
 Horace ascribes the invention of comedy to him, and so does Theocritus 
 He lived to a great age. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 293 
 
 M. To teach you, if I can, that death is not only no evil, 
 but a good. 
 
 A. I do not insist on that, but snould be glad to hear you 
 argue it, for even though you should not prove your point, 
 yet you will prove that death is no evil : but I will not inter- 
 rupt you, I would rather hear a continued discourse. 
 
 M. What, if I should ask you a question, would you not 
 answer 1 
 
 A. That would look like pride; but I would rather you 
 should not ask but where necessity requires. 
 
 IX. M. I will comply with your wishes, and explain as 
 well as I can, what you require ; but not with any idea that, 
 like the Pythian Apollo, what I say must needs be certain and 
 indisputable ; but as a mere man, endeavouring to arrive at 
 probabilities by conjecture, for I have no ground to proceed 
 further on than probability. Those men may call their 
 statements indisputable who assert that what they say can be 
 perceived by the senses, and who proclaim themselves philo- 
 sophers by profession. 
 , A. Do as you please, we are ready to hear you. 
 V M. The first thing, then, is to inquire what death, which 
 seems to be so well understood, really is; for some imagine 
 death to be the departure of the soul from the body ; others 
 think that there is no such departure, but that soul and body 
 peri§h together, and that the soul is extinguished with 
 the body. Of those who think that the soul does depart 
 from the body, some believe in its immediate dissolution ; 
 others fancy that it continues to exist for a time ; and others 
 believe that it lasts for ever. There is great dispute even what 
 the soul is, where it is, and whence it is derived : with some, 
 the heart itself (cor) seems to be the soul, hence the expres- 
 sions, excordes, vecordes, Concordes; and that prudent Nasica, 
 who was twice consul, was called Corculus, i. e. wise-heart ; 
 and ^Elius Sextus is described as Egregie cordatus homo, 
 catus JEliu' Sextus — that great wise-hearted man, sage JElius. 
 Empedocles imagines the blood, which is suffused over the 
 heart, to be the soul ; to others, a certain part of the brain 
 seems to be the throne of the soul ; others neither allow the 
 heart itself, nor any portion of the brain, to be the soul ; but 
 think either that the heart is the seat and abode of the soul ; 
 or else that the brain is so Some would have the soul, or 
 
294 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 spirit, to be the anima, as our schools generally agree ; and 
 indeed the name signifies as much, for we use the expressions 
 animam agere, to live ; animam ejjlare, to expire ; animosi, 
 men of spirit; bene animati, men of right feeling; exanimi 
 sententia, according to our real opinion — and the very word 
 animus is derived from anima. Again, the soul seems to 
 Zeno the Stoic to be fire. 
 
 X. But what I have said as to the heart, the blood, the 
 brain, air, or fire being the soul, are common opinions : the 
 others are only entertained by individuals ; and indeed there 
 were many amongst the ancients who held singular opinions 
 on this subject, of whom the latest was Aristoxenus, a man 
 who was both a musician and a philosopher; he maintained a 
 certain straining of the body, like what is called harmony in 
 music, to be the soul ; and believed that, from the figure and 
 
 , nature of the whole body, varioiisniotions are excited, as 
 
 \ sounds are from an instrument.r- - ''lTea(m^ 
 system, and yet he said something, the nature of which, what- 
 ever it was, had been detailed and explained a great while 
 before by Plato. Xenocrates denied that the soul had any 
 figure, or anything like a body; but said it was a number, 
 the power of which, as Pythagoras had fancied, some ages 
 before, was the greatest in nature: his master^J&tcy-ima- 
 gined a three-fold soulj_a dominant portion of which, that 
 is to say7reason, he" had lodged in the head, as in a tower; 
 and the ot her tw o parts, namely, an ger and desir e, hr> made 
 subservient to this one, and allotted them distinct abodes, 
 placing- anger in the breast, and desire under the praeconiia. 
 But Dicsearchus, in that discourse of some learned disputants, 
 held at Corinth, which he details to us in three books ; in the 
 first book introduces many speakers ; and in the other two 
 he introduces a certain Pherecrates, an old man of Phthia, 
 who, as he said, was descended from Deucalion; asserting, 
 that there is in fact no such thing at all as a soul ; but that 
 it is a name, without a meaning ; and that it is idle to use 
 the expression, " animals," or " animated beings;" that neither 
 men nor beasts have minds or souls; but that all that power, 
 by which we act or perceive, is equally infused into every 
 living creature, and is inseparable from the body, for if it were 
 not, it would be nothing; nor is there anything whatever 
 really existing except body, which is a single and simple 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 2V5 
 
 thing, so fashioned, as to live and have its sensations in 
 consequence of the regulations of nature. Aristotle, a man 
 superior to all others, both in genius and industry (I always 
 except Plato), after having embraced these four known sorts 
 of principles, from which all things deduce their origin, ima- 
 gines that there is a certain fifth nature, from whence comes 
 the soul ; for to think, to foresee, to learn, to teach, to invent 
 anything, and many other attributes of the same kind, such as, 
 to remember, to love, to hate, to desire, to fear, to be pleased 
 or displeased j these, and others like them, exist, he thinks, 
 in none of those first four kinds : on such account he adds 
 a fifth kind, which has no name, and so by a new name he 
 calls the soul evSeAeyaa, as if it were a certain continued and 
 perpetual motion. 
 
 XI. If I have not forgotten anything unintentionally, 
 these are the principal opinions concerning the soul. I have 
 omitted Democritus, a very great man indeed, but one who 
 deduces the soul from the fortuitous concourse of small, 
 light, and round substances ; for, if you believe men of his 
 school, there is nothing which a crowd of atoms cannot 
 effect. Which of these opinions is true, some god must 
 determine. It is an important question for us, which has 
 the most appearance of truth. Shall we, then, prefer deter- 
 mining between them, or shall we return to our subject ? 
 
 A. I could wish both, if possible; but it is difficult to mix 
 them ; therefore, if without a discussion of them we can get If 
 rid of the fears of death, let us proceed to do so ; but if this / 
 is not to be done without explaining the question about souls, 
 let us have that now, and the other at another time. 
 
 M. I take that plan to be the best, which I perceive you 
 are inclined to; for reason will demonstrate that, whichever of 
 the opinions which I have stated is true, it must follow, then, 
 that death cannot be an evil; or that it must rather be 
 something desirable, for if either the heart, or the blood, or 
 the brain, is the soul, then certainly the soul, being corporeaj, 
 must perish with the rest of the body; if it is air, it will 
 perhaps be dissolved; if it is fire, it will be extinguished; if 
 it is Aristoxenus's harmony, it will be put out of tune. What 
 shall I say of Dicsearchus, who denies that there is any soul % 
 In all these opinions, there is nothing to affect any one after 
 death; for all feeling is lost with life and where there is no 
 
296 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 sensation, nothing can interfere to affect us. The opinions of 
 others do indeed bring us hope ; if it is any pleasure to you 
 to think that souls, after they leave the body, may go to 
 heaven as to a permanent home. 
 
 A. I have great pleasure in that thought, and it is what I 
 \most desire; and even if it should not be so, I should still be 
 very willing to believe it. 
 
 M. What occasion have you, then, for my assistance ? am I 
 superior to Plato in eloquence 1 Turn over carefully his book 
 that treats of the soul, you will have there all that you can 
 want. 
 
 A. I have, indeed, done that, and often; but, I know not how 
 it comes to pass, I agree with it whilst I am reading it, but 
 when I have laid down the book, and begin to reflect with my- 
 self on the immortality of the soul, all that agreement vanishes. 
 
 M. How comes that ? do you admit this, that souls either 
 exist after death, or else that they also perish at the moment 
 of death ? 
 
 A. I agree to that. An$ if they do exist, I admit that they 
 are happy; but if they perish, I cannot suppose them to be 
 unhappy, because, in fact, they have no existence at all. You 
 drove me to that concession but just now. 
 
 M. How, then, can you, or why do you, assert that you think 
 that death is an evil, when it either makes us happy, in the case 
 of the soul continuing to exist, or, at all events, not unhappy, 
 in the case of our becoming destitute of all sensation. 
 
 XII. A. Explain, therefore, if it is not troublesome to you, 
 iirst, i f you can, that souls do exist after death : secondly, 
 should you fail in that, (and it is a very difficult thing to 
 establish,) t)ip|. dpn.tfr is, free from all eyj l: for I am not 
 without my fears that this itself is an evil ; I do not mean 
 the immediate deprivation of sense, but the fact that we shall 
 hereafter suffer deprivation. 
 
 M. I have the best authority in support of the opinion you 
 desire to have established, which ought, and generally has, 
 great weight in all cases. And first, I have all antiquity on 
 that side, which the more near it is to its origin and divine 
 descent, the more clearly, perhaps, on that account did it dis- 
 cern the truth in these matters. This very doctrine, then, was 
 adopted by all those ancients, whom Ennius calls in the Sabine 
 tongue, Casci, namely, that in death there was a sensation, and 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT CF DEATH. 297 
 
 that, when men departed this life, they were not so entirely 
 destroyed as to perish absolutely. And this may appear from 
 many other circumstances, and especially from the pontifical 
 rites and fun era^f obsequies, which men of the greatest genius _ 
 would not have been so solicitous about, and would not have 
 guarded from any injury by such severe laws, but from a 
 firm persuasion that death was not so entire a destruction as 
 wholly to abolish and destroy everything, but rather a kind 
 of transmigration, as it were, and change of life, which was, 
 in the case of illustrious men and women, usually a guide to 
 heaven, while in that of others, it was still confined to the 
 earth, but in such a manner as still to exist. From this, and 
 the sentiments of the Romans, 
 
 In heaven Romulus with Gods now lives ; 
 as Ennius saith, agreeing with the common belief; hence, too 
 Hercules is considered so great and propitious a god amongst 
 the Greeks, and from them he was introduced among us, and 
 his worship has extended even to the very ocean itself. This 
 is how it was that Bacchus was deified, the offspring of 
 Semele; and from the same illustrious fame we receive Castor 
 and Pollux as gods, who are reported not only to have helped 
 the Romans to victory in their battles, but to have been the 
 messengers of their success. What shall we say of Ino, the 
 daughter of Cadmus 1 is she not called Leucothea by the 
 Greeks, and Matuta by us? Nay more; is not the whole of 
 heaven (not to dwell on particulars) almost filled with the 
 offspring of men 1 '* 
 
 Should I attempt to search into antiquity, and produce 
 from thence what the Greek writers have asserted, it would 
 appear that even- those who are called their principal gods, 
 were taken from among men up into heaven. 
 
 XIII. Examine the sepulchres of those which are shown 
 in Greece ; recollect, for you have been initiated, what lessons 
 are taught in the mysteries ; then will you perceive how ex- 
 tensive this doctrine is. But. they who were not acquainted 
 with natural philosophy, (for it did not begin to be in 
 vogue till many years later,) had no higher belief than what 
 natural reason could give them; they were not acquainted 
 with the principles and causes of things; they were often 
 induced by certain visions, and those generally in the night, 
 to think that loose men, who had departed from this life, were 
 
298 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 still alive. An 1 this may further be brought as an irrefragable 
 argument for is to believe that there are gods, — that there 
 never was any nation so barbarous, nor any people in 
 the world so savage, as to be without some notion of gods : 
 many have wrong notions of the gods, for that is the nature 
 and ordinary consequence of bad customs, yet all allow that 
 there is a certain divine nature and energy. Nor does this 
 proceed from the conversation of men, or the agreement of 
 philosophers ; it is not an opinion established by institutions 
 or by laws; but, no doubt, in every case the consent of all 
 nations is to be looked on as a law of nature. Who is there, 
 then, that does not lament the loss of his friends, principally 
 from imagining them deprived of the conveniences of life 1 
 Take away this opinion, and you remove with it all grief; for 
 no one is afflicted merely on account of a loss sustained by 
 himself. Perhaps we may be sorry, and grieve a little ; but 
 that bitter lamentation, and those mournful tears, have their 
 origin in our apprehensions that he whom we loved is 
 deprived of all the advantages of life, and is sensible of his 
 loss. And we are led to this opinion by nature, without any 
 arguments or any instruction. 
 
 XIV. But the greatest proof of all is, that nature herself 
 gives a silent judgment in favour of the immortality of the 
 soul, inasmuch as all are anxious, and that to a great degree, 
 about the things which concern futurity ; — 
 
 One plants what future ages shall enjoy, 
 as Statius saith in his Synephebi. What is his object in doing 
 so, except that he is interested in posterity 1 Shall the in- 
 dustrious husbandman, then, plant trees the fruit of which he 
 shall never see? and shall not the great man found laws, 
 institutions, and a republic 1 What does the procreation of 
 children imply — and our care to continue our names — and 
 our adoptions — and our scrupulous exactness in drawing up 
 wills— and the inscriptions on monuments, and panegyrics, but 
 that our thoughts run on futurity 1 There is no doubt but 
 a judgment may be formed of nature in general, from looking 
 at each nature in its most perfect specimens ; and what is a 
 more perfect specimen of a man, than those are who look on 
 themselves as born for the assistance, the protection, and the 
 preservation of others? Hercules has gone to heaven; he 
 never would have gone thither, had he not, whilst amongst 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT Of DEATH. 299 
 
 men, made that road for himself. These things are of old 
 date, and have, besides, the sanction of universal religion. 
 
 XV. What will you say 1 what do you imagine that so many 
 and such great men of our republic, who have sacrificed their 
 lives for its good, expected] Do you believe that they 
 thought that their names should not continue beyond their 
 lives 1 None ever encountered death for their country, but 
 under a firm persuasion of immortality ! Themistocles might 
 have lived at his ease ; so might Epaminondas ; and, not to 
 look abroad and amongst the ancients for instances, so might 
 I myself. But, somehow or other, there clings to our minds 
 a certain presage of future ages ; and this both exists most 
 firmly and appears most clearly, in men of the loftiest genius 
 and greatest souls. Take away this, and who would be so 
 mad as to spend his life amidst toils and dangers 1 — I speak 
 of those in power. What are the poet's views but to be 
 ennobled after death? What else is the object of these 
 lines — 
 
 Behold old Ennius here, who erst 
 Thy fathers' great exploits rehearsed ] 
 
 He is challenging the reward of glory from those men whose 
 ancestors he himself had ennobled by his poetry. And in 
 the same spirit he says in another passage — 
 
 Let none with tears my funeral grace, for I 
 Claim from my works an immortality. 
 
 Why do I mention poets 1 the very mechanics are desirous of 
 fame after death. Why did Phidias include a likeness of him- 
 self in the shield of Minerva, when he was not allowed to 
 inscribe his name on it 1 What do our philosophers think 
 on the subject 1 do not they put their names to those very 
 books which they write on the contempt of glory 1 If, then, 
 universal consent is the voice of nature, and if it is the 
 general opinion everywhere, that those who have quitted this 
 life are still interested in something; we also must subscribe 
 to that opinion. And if we think that men of the greatest 
 abilities and virtue see most clearly into the power of nature, 
 because they themselves are her most perfect work ; it is very 
 probable that, as every, great man is especially anxious to 
 benefit posterity, there is something of which he himself will 
 be sensible after death. 
 
 XVI. But as we are led by nature to think there are gods, 
 
300 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 and as we discover, by reason, of what description they are, 
 so, by the consent of all nations, we are induced to believe 
 that our souls survive; b ut where their habitation is, an d- of 
 what character th e y eventually are, must he Wm^d from 
 rea son. The want 6Tany certain reason on which to argue has 
 given rise to the idea of the shades below, and to those fears, 
 which you seem, not without reason, to despise : for as our 
 bodies fall to the ground, and are covered with earth (humus), 
 from whence we derive the expression to be interred (humari), 
 that has occasioned men to imagine that the dead continue, 
 during the remainder of their existence, under ground ; which 
 opinion has drawn after it many errors, which the poets 
 have increased ; for the theatre, being frequented by a large 
 crowd, among which are women and children, is wont to be 
 greatly affected on hearing such pompous verses as these — 
 
 Lo ! here I am, who scarce could gain this place, 
 Through stony mountains and a dreary waste ; 
 Through cliffs, whose sharpen'd stones tremendous hung, 
 Where dreadful darkness spread itself around : 
 
 and the error prevailed so much, though indeed at present it 
 seems to me to be removed, that although men knew that 
 the bodies of the dead had been burned, yet they conceived 
 such things to be done in the infernal regions as could not 
 be executed or imagined without a body ; for they could not 
 conceive how disembodied souls could exist; and, therefore, 
 they looked out for some shape or figure. This was the 
 origin of all that account of the dead in Homer. This was 
 the idea that caused my friend Appius to frame his Necro- 
 mancy ; and this is how there got about that idea of the lake 
 of Avernus, in my neighbourhood, — « 
 
 From whence the souls of undistinguish'd shape, ** 
 
 Clad in thick shade, rush from the open gate 
 
 Of Acheron, vain phantoms of the dead. 
 
 And they must needs have these appearances speak, which is 
 not possible without a tongue, and a palate, and jaws, and 
 without the help of lungs and sides, and without some shape 
 or figure ; for they could see nothing by their mind alone, 
 they referred all to their eyes. To withdraw the mind from 
 sensual objects, and abstract our thoughts from what we are 
 accustomed to, is an attribute of great genius : I am per- 
 suaded, indeed, that there were many such men in former 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 301 
 
 ages: but Phere^ydes 1 the Syrian is the first on record who 
 said that the souls of men were immortal; and he was a 
 philosopher of great antiquity in the reign of my namesake 
 Tullus. His disciple Pythagoras greatly confirmed this 
 opinion, who came into Italy in the reign of Tarquin the 
 Proud : and all that country which is called Great Greece 
 was occupied by his school, and he himself was held in high 
 honour, and had the greatest authority : and the Pythagorean 
 sect was for many ages after in such great credit, that all 
 learning was believed to be confined to that name. 
 
 XVII. But I return to the ancients. They scarcely ever gave 
 any reason for their opinion but what could be explained by 
 numbers or definitions. It is reported of Plato, that he came 
 into Italy to make himself acquainted with the Pythago- 
 reans; and that when there, amongst others, he made an 
 acquaintance with Archytas 2 and Timaeus, 3 and learned from 
 them all the tenets of the Pythagoreans; and that he not 
 only was of the same opinion with Pythagoras concerning the 
 immortality of the soul, but that he also brought reasons in 
 support of it ; which, if you have nothing to say against it, I 
 will pass over, and say no more at present about all this hope 
 of immortality. 
 
 A. What, will you leave me when you have raised my 
 expectations so high 1 I had rather, so help me Hercules ! be 
 mistaken with Plato, whom I know how much you esteem, 
 
 1 Pherecydes was a native of Scyros, one of the Cyclades ; and is said to 
 have obtained his knowledge from the secret books of the Phoenicians. 
 He is said also to have been a pupil of Pittacus, the rival of Thales, and 
 the master of Pythagoras. His doctrine was that there were three prin- 
 ce Mes, Zeus, or iEther, XOwv, or Chaos, and Xp6uos, or Time ; and four 
 elements, Fire, Earth, Air, and Water, from which everything that exists 
 was formed. — Vide Smith's Diet, (ir., and Rom. Biog. 
 
 2 Archytas was a native of Tarentum, and is said to have saved the 
 life of Plato by his influence with the tyrant Dionysius. He was espe- 
 cially great as a mathematician and geometrician, so that Horace 
 calls him 
 
 Maris et terrse numeroque carentis arenas 
 Mensorem. Od. i. 28. 1. 
 
 Plato is supposed to have learnt some of his views from him, and 
 Aristotle to nave borrowed from him every idea of the Categories. 
 
 3 This was not Tinueus the historian, but a native of Locri, who is 
 said also in the De Finibus (c. 29) to have been a teacher of Plato. 
 There is a treatise extant bearing his name, which is, however, probably 
 spurious, and only an abridgment of Plato's dialogue Timaeus. 
 
302 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 and whom I admire myself from what you say of him, than 
 be in the right with those others. 
 
 M. I commend you; for, indeed, I could myself willingly 
 be mistaken in his company. Do we, then, doubt, as we do in 
 other cases, (though I think here is very little room for doubt 
 in this case, for the mathematicians prove the facts to us,) 
 that the earth is placed in the midst of the world, being as it 
 w r ere a sort of point, which they call a Ktvrpov, surrounded by 
 the whoie heavens ; and that such is the nature of the four 
 principles, which are the generating causes of all things, that 
 they have equally divided amongst them the constituents of 
 all bodies ; moreover that earthy and humid bodies are carried 
 at equal angles, by their own weight and ponderosity, into the 
 earth and sea ; that the other two parts consist one of fire and 
 the other of air 1 As the two former are carried by their gravity 
 and weight into the middle region of the world ; so these7 oh" 
 the other hand, ascend by right lines into the celestial 
 regions ; either because, owing to their intrinsic nature, they 
 are always endeavouring to reach the highest place, or else 
 because lighter bodies are naturally repelled by heavier ; and 
 as this is notoriously the case, it must evidently follow, that 
 souls, when once they have departed from the body, whether 
 they are animal, (by which term I mean capable of breathing,) 
 or of the nature of fire, must mount upwards : but if the soul 
 is some number, as some people assert, speaking with more 
 subtlety than clearness, or if it is that fifth nature, for which 
 it would be more correct to say that we have not given a 
 name to, than that we do not correctly understand it — still it 
 is too pure and perfect, not to go to a great distance from 
 the earth. Something of this sort, then, we must believe the 
 soul to be, that we may not commit the folly of thinking that 
 so active a principle lies immerged in the heart or brain ; or, 
 as Empedocles would have it, in the blood. 
 
 XVIII. We will pass over Dicsearchus, 1 with his contem- 
 porary and fellow-disciple Aristoxenus, 2 both indeed men of 
 
 1 Dicsearchus was a native of Messana, in Sicily, thousjh he lived 
 chiefly in Greece ; he was one of the later disciples of Aristotle. He 
 was a great geographer, politician, historian, and philosopher, and died 
 ahout B.c. 285. 
 
 7 Aristoxenus was a native of Tarentum, and also a pupil of Aristotle. 
 We know nothing of his opinions except that he held the soul to be a 
 Itarmony of the body ; a doetrinc which had been already discussed by 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OP DEATH. 303 
 
 learning. One of them seems never even to have been affected 
 with grief, as he conld not pterceive that he had a soul ; while' 
 the other is so pleased with his musical compositions, that he 
 endeavours to show an analogy betwixt them and souls. Now, 
 we may understand harmony to arise from the intervals of 
 sounds, whose various compositions occasion many harmonies; 
 but I do not see how a disposition of members, and the figure 
 of a body without a soul, can occasion harmony; he had 
 better, learned as he is, leave these speculations to his master 
 Aristotle, and follow his own trade, as a musician; good 
 advice is given him in that Greek proverb, — 
 
 Apply your talents where you best are skill'd. 
 
 I will have nothing at all to do with that fortuitous concourse 
 of individual light and round bodies, notwithstanding Demo- 
 critus insists on their being warm, and having breath, that is 
 to say, life. But this soul, which is compo unded of either of 
 the four principles from which we assert that all things are 
 derived, is of inflamed air, as seems particularly to have been 
 the opinion of Pansetius, and must necessarily mount up- 
 wards; for air and fire have no tendency downwards, but 
 always ascend ; so should they be dissipated, that must be at 
 some distance from the earth ; but should they remain, and 
 preserve their original state, it is clearer still that they must 
 be carried heavenward ; and this gross and concrete air, which 
 is nearest the earth, must be divided and broken by them ; 
 for the soul is warmer, or rather hotter than that air, which 
 I just now called gross and concrete; and this may be made 
 evident from this consideration, — that our bodies, being com- 
 pounded of the earthy class of principles, grow warm by the 
 heat of the soul. 
 
 XIX. We may add, that the soul can the more easily 
 escape from this air, which I have often named, and break 
 through it; because nothing is swifter than the soul; no 
 swiftness is comparable to the swiftness of the soul ; which, 
 should it remain uncorrupt and without alteration, must 
 necessarily be carried on with such velocity as to penetrate 
 
 Plato in the Phgedo, and combated by Aristotle. He was a great musi- 
 cian, and the chief portions of his works which have come down to us 
 are fragments of some musical treatises. — Smith's Diet. Gr. and Rom. 
 Biog., to which source I must acknowledge my obligation for nearly the 
 5/hole of these biographical notes. 
 
30-4 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 and divide all this atmosphere, where clouds, and rain, and 
 winds are formed; which, in consequence of the exhalations 
 from the earth, is moist and dark; but, when the soul has 
 once got above this region, and fails in with, and recognises a 
 nature like its own, it then rests upon fires composed of a 
 combination of thin air and a moderate solar heat, and does 
 not aim at any higher flight. For then, after it has attained 
 a lightness and heat resembling its own, it moves no more, 
 but remains steady, being balanced, as it were, between two 
 equal weights. That, then, is its natural seat where it has 
 penetrated to something like itself; and where, wanting 
 nothing further, it may be supported and maintained by the 
 same aliment which nourishes and maintains the stars. 
 
 Now, as we are usually incited to all sorts of desires by 
 the stimulus of the body, and the more so, as we endeavour 
 to rival those who are in possession of what we long for, we 
 shall certainly be happy when, being emancipated from that 
 body, we at the same time get rid of these desires and this 
 rivalry : and, that which we do at present, when, dismissing all 
 other cares, we curiously examine and look into anything, we 
 shall then do with greater freedom; and we shall employ 
 ourselves entirely in the contemplation and examination of 
 things; because there is naturally in our minds a certain 
 insatiable desire to know the truth; and the very region 
 itself where we shall arrive, as it gives us a more intuitive 
 and easy knowledge of celestial things, will raise our desires 
 after knowledge, j For it was this beauty of the heavens, as 
 seen even here upon earth, which gave birth to that national 
 and hereditary philosophy, (as Theophrastus calls it,) which 
 was thus excited to a desire of knowledge. But those persons 
 will in a most especial degree enjoy this philosophy, who, 
 while they were only inhabitants of this world and enveloped 
 in darkness, were still desirous of looking into these things 
 with the eye of their mind. 
 
 XX. For, if those men now think that they have attained 
 something who have seen the mouth of the Pontus, and 
 those straits which were passed by the ship called Argo 
 because, 
 
 From Argos she did chosen men convey, 
 
 Bound to fetch back the golden fleece, their prey ; 
 
 or those who have seen the straits of the ocean, 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OP DEATH. \ 3 0oj 
 
 Where the swift waves divide the neighbouring shores 
 Of Europe, and of Afric. 
 
 What kind of sight do you imagine that will be, when the 
 whole earth is laid open to our view? and that, too, not only 
 in its position, form, and boundaries, nor those parts of it only 
 which are habitable, but those also that lie uncultivated, through 
 the extremities of heat and cold to which they are exposed;. 
 for not even now is it with our eyes that we view what we 
 see, for the body itself has no senses ; but (as the naturalists, 
 aye, and even the physicians assure us, who have opened our 
 bodies, and examined them), there are certain perforated 
 channels from the seat of the soul to the eyes, ears, and nose ; 
 so that frequently, when either prevented by meditation, or 
 the force of some bodily disorder, we neither hear nor see, 
 though our eyes and ears are open, and in good condition ; so 
 that we may easily apprehend that it is the soul itself which 
 sees and hears, and not those parts which are, as it were, but 
 windows to the soul ; by means of which, however, she can 
 perceive nothing, unless she is on the spot, and exerts herself. 
 How shall we account for the fact, that by the same power of 
 thinking we comprehend the most different things ; as colour, 
 taste, heat, smell, and sound 1 which the soul could never 
 know by her five messengers, unless everything was referred 
 to her, and she were the sole judge of all. And we shall 
 certainly discover these things in a more clear and perfect 
 degree when the soul is disengaged from the body, and has 
 arrived at that goal to which nature leads her ; for at present, 
 notwithstanding nature has contrived, with the greatest skill, 
 those channels which lead from the body to the soul, yet are 
 they, in some way or other, stopped up with earthy and 
 concrete bodies ; but when we shall be nothing but soul, then 
 nothing will interfere to prevent our seeing everything in its 
 real substance, and in its true character. 
 \JXX1. It is true, I might expatiate, did the subject require 
 it, on the many and various objects with which the soul will 
 be entertained in those heavenly regions ; when I reflect on 
 which, I am apt to wonder at the boldness of some philoso- 
 phers, who are so struck with admiration at the knowledge of 
 nature, as to thank, in an exulting manner, the first inventor 
 and teacher of natural philosophy, and to reverence him as a 
 God * for tfoey declare that they have been delivered by his 
 ACAD. etc. x 
 
306 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 means from the greatest tyrants, a perpetual terror, and a 
 fear that molested them by night and day. What is this 
 dread — this fear 1 what old woman is there so weak as to fear 
 these things, which you, forsooth, had you not been acquainted 
 with natural philosophy, would stand in awe of? 
 
 The hallow'd roofs of Acheron, the dread 
 Of Orcus, the pale regions of the dead. 
 
 And does it become a philosopher to boast that he is not 
 afraid of these things, and that he has discovered them to be 
 false 1 And from this we may perceive how acute these men 
 were by nature, who, if they had been left without any 
 instruction would have believed in these things. But now 
 they have certainly made a very fine acquisition in learning 
 that when the day of their death arrives they will perish 
 entirely ; and, if that really is the case, for I say nothing 
 either way, what is there agreeable or glorious in it 1 Not 
 that I see any reason why the opinion of Pythagoras and 
 Plato may not be true : but even although Plato were to 
 have assigned no reason for his opinion (observe how much I 
 esteem the man), the weight of his authority would have 
 borne me down - } but he has brought so many reasons, that 
 he appears to me to have endeavoured to convince others, 
 and certainly to have convinced himself. 
 
 XXII. But there are many who labour on the other side of 
 the question, and condemn souls to death, as if they were 
 criminals capitally convicted ; nor have they any other 
 reason to allege why the immortality of the soul appears to 
 them to be incredible, except that they are not able to 
 conceive what sort of thing the soul can be when disentangled 
 from the body; just as if they could really form a correct 
 idea as to what sort of thing it is, even when it is in the 
 body ; what its form, and size, and abode are ; so that were 
 they able to have a full view of all that is now hidden from 
 them in a living body, they have no idea whether the soul 
 would be discernible by them, or whether it is of so fine a 
 texture that it would escape their sight. Let those consider 
 this, who. say that they are unable to form any idea of the 
 soul without the body, and then they will see whether they 
 can form any adequate idea of what it is when it is in the 
 body. For my own part, when I reflect on the nature of the 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 307 
 
 soul, it appears to me a far more perplexing and obscure 
 question to determine what is its character while it is in the 
 body, a place which, as it were, does not belong to it, than to 
 imagine what it is when it leaves it, and has arrived at the free 
 eether, which is, if I may so say, its proper, its own habitation. 
 For unless we are to say that we cannot apprehend the 
 character or nature of anything which we have never seen, 
 we certainly may be able to form some notion of God, and of 
 the divine soul when released from the body. Dicaearchus, 
 indeed, and Aristoxenus, because it was hard to understand 
 the existence, and substance, and nature of the soul, asserted 
 that there was no such thing as a soul at all. It is, indeed, the 
 most difficult thing imaginable, to discern the soul by the 
 soul. And this, doubtless, is the meaning of the precept of 
 Apollo, which advises every one to know himself. For I do 
 not apprehend the meaning of the god to have been, that we 
 should understand our members, our stature, and form ; for 
 we are not merely bodies ; nor, when I say these things to 
 you, am I addressing myself to your body : when, therefore, 
 he says, " Know yourself," he says this, " Inform yourself of 
 the nature of your soul;" for the body is but a kind of 
 vessel, or receptacle of the soul, and whatever your soul does 
 is your own act. To know the soul, then, unless it had been 
 divine, would not have been a precept of such excellent 
 wisdom, as to be attributed to a god ; but even though the 
 soul should not know of what nature itself is, will you say 
 that it does not even perceive that it exists at all, or that it 
 has motion 1 on which is founded that reason of Plato's, which 
 is explained by Socrates in the Phsedrus, and inserted by me, 
 in my sixth book of the Republic. 
 
 XXIII. " That which is always moved is eternal ; but 
 that which gives motion to something else, and is moved 
 itself by some external cause, when that motion ceases, must 
 necessarily cease to exist. That, therefore, alone, which is 
 self-moved, because it is never forsaken by itself, can never 
 cease to be moved. Besides, it is the beginning and principle 
 of motion to everything else ; but whatever is a principle has 
 no _beginning t for al l ^things arise fronTthat principle, and it 
 cannot itself owe itsrise to anything else ; for then it would 
 not be a principle did it proceed from anything else. But if 
 it has no beginning, it never will have any end j for a principle 
 
 x2 
 
308 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 which is once extinguished, cannot itself be restored by 
 anything else, nor can it produce anything else from itself ; 
 inasmuch as all things must necessarily arise from some first 
 cause. And thus it comes about, that the first principle of 
 motion must arise from that thing which is itself moved by 
 itself; and that can neither have a beginning nor an end of 
 its existence, for otherwise the whole heaven and earth would 
 be overset, and all nature would stand still, and not be able to 
 acquire any force, by the impulse of which it might be first 
 set in motion. Seeing, then, that it is clear, that whatever 
 moves itself is eternal, can there be any doubt that the soul 
 is so 1 For everything is inanimate which is moved by an 
 external force ; but everything which is animate is moved by 
 an interior force, which also belongs to itself. For this is the 
 peculiar nature and power of the soul ; and if the soul be the 
 only thing in the whole world which has the power of self- 
 motion, then certainly it never had a beginning, and therefore 
 it is eternal." 
 
 Now, should all the lower order of philosophers, (for so I 
 think they may be called, who dissent from Plato and 
 Socrates and that school,) unite their force, they never would 
 be able to explain anything so elegantly as this, nor even to 
 understand how ingeniously this conclusion is drawn. The 
 soul, then, perceives itself to have motion, and alt the same 
 time that it gets that perception, it is sensible that it derives 
 that motion from its own power, and not from the agency of 
 another; and it is impossible that it should ever forsake 
 itself; and these premises compel you to allow its eternity, 
 unless you have something to say against them. 
 
 A. I should myself be very well pleased not to have even 
 a thought arise in my mind against them, so much am I 
 inclined to that opinion. 
 
 XXIV. M. Well then, I appeal to you, if the arguments 
 which prove that there is something divine in the souls of 
 men are not equally strong ? but if I could account-for the 
 origin of these divine properties, then I might also be able to 
 explain how they might cease to exist; for I think I, can 
 account for the manner in which the blood, and bile, and 
 phlegm, and bones, and nerves, and veins, and all the limbs, 
 and the shape of the whole body, were put together and 
 made; aye, and even as to the soul itself, were there nothing 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 309 
 
 more in it than a principle of life, then the life of a man might 
 be put upon the same footing as that of a vine or any other 
 tree, and accounted for as caused by nature ; for these things, 
 as we say, live. Besides, if desires and aversions were all that 
 belonged to the soul, it would have them only in common 
 with the beasts ; but it has, in the first place, memory, and 
 that, too, so infinite, as to recollect an absolute countless 
 number of circumstances, which Plato will have to be a recol- 
 lection of a former life ; for in that book which is inscribed 
 Menon, Socrates -asks a child some questions in geometry, 
 with reference to measuring a square; his answers are such 
 as a child would make, and yet the questions are so easy, that 
 while answering them, one by one, he comes to the same 
 point as if he had learned geometry. From whence Socrates 
 would infer, that learning is nothing more than recollection ; 
 and this topic he explains more accurately, in the discourse 
 which he held the very day he died ; for he there asserts that 
 any one who seeming to be entirely illiterate, is yet able to 
 answer a question well that is proposed to him, does in so doing 
 manifestly show that he is not learning it then, but recollect- 
 ing it by his memory. Nor is it to be accounted for in any 
 other way, how children come to have notions of so many and 
 such important things, as are implanted, and as it were sealed 
 up in their minds, (which the Greeks call hvoiat,) unless the 
 soul before it entered the body had been well stored with 
 "knowledge. And as it had no existence at all, (for this is the 
 invariable doctrine of Plato, who will not admit anything to 
 have a real existence which has a beginning and an end, and 
 who thinks that that alone does really exist which is of such 
 a character as what he calls ciSea, and we species,) therefore, 
 being shut up in the body, it could not while in the body 
 discover what it knows : but it knew it before, and brought 
 the knowledge with it, so that we are no longer surprised at 
 its extensive and multifarious knowledge : nor does the soul 
 clearly discover its ideas at its first resort to' this abode to 
 which it is so unaccustomed, and which is in so disturbed a 
 state; but after having refreshed and recollected itself, it 
 then by its memory recovers them ; and, therefore, to learn 
 :—■ r^iipa nothing more than to recollect. But I am in a par- 
 ticular manner surprised at memory ; for what is that faculty 
 by which we remember.] what is i$s force? what its nature? 
 
310 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 I am not inquiring how great a memory Simonides* may be 
 said to have had, or Theodectes, 2 or that Cineas, 3 who was 
 sent to Rome as ambassador from Pyrrhus, or in more modern 
 times Charmadas; 4 or very lately, Metrodorus, 6 the Scepsian, 
 --■■ or our own contemporary Hortensius : ti I am speaking of ordi- 
 nary memory, and especially of those men wlic are employed 
 in any important study or art, the great capacity of whose 
 minds it is hard to estimate, such numbers of things do they 
 remember. 
 
 XXV. Should you ask what this leads to, I think we may 
 understand what that power is, and whence we have it. It 
 certainly proceeds neither from the heart, nor from the blood, 
 nor from the brain, nor from atoms; whether it be air or 
 y lire, I know not, nor am I, as those men are, ashamed in cases 
 where I am ignorant, to own that I am so. If- in any other 
 obscure matter I were able to assert anything positively, then 
 1 would swear that the soul, be it air or fire, is divine. Just 
 think, I beseech you, — can you imagine this wonderful power 
 of memory to be sown in, or to be a part of the composition 
 
 1 The Simonides here meant, is the celebrated poet of Ceos, the per- 
 fecter of Elegiac poetry among the Greeks. He flourished about the 
 time of the Persian war. Besides his poetry, he is said to have been 
 the inventor of some method of aiding the memory. He died at the 
 court of Hiero, b.c. 467. 
 
 2 Theodectes was a native of Phaselis, in Pamphylia, a distinguished 
 rhetorician and tragic poet, and flourished in the time of Philip of 
 Macedon. .He was a pupil of Isocrates, and lived at Athens, and died 
 there at the age of 41. 
 
 3 Cineas was a Thessalian, and (as is said in the text) came to Rome 
 as ambassador from Pyrrhus after the battle of Heraclea, b.c. 280, and 
 his memory is said to have been so great that on the day after his 
 arrival he was able to address all the senators and knights by name. 
 He probably died before Pyrrhus returned to Italy, b.c. 276. 
 
 4 Charmadas, called also Charmides, was a fellow pupil with Philo, 
 the Larisssean of Clitomachus, the Carthaginian. He is said by some 
 authors to have founded a fourth academy. 
 
 4 Metrodorus was a minister of Mithridates the Great ; and employed 
 by him aa supreme judge in Pontus, and afterwards as an ambassador. 
 Cicero speaks of him in other places (De Orat. ii. 88) as a man of won- 
 derful memory. 
 
 6 Quintus Hortensius was eight years older than Cicero ; and, till 
 Cicero's fame surpassed his, he was accounted the most eloquent of all 
 the Romans. He was Verres's counsel in the prosecution conducted 
 against him by Cicero. Seneca relates that his memory was so great 
 that he could come out of an auction and repeat the catalogue b»?k- 
 wards. He died b.c. 50. * 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OP DEATH. 311 
 
 of the earth, or of this dark and gloomy atmosphere ? Though 
 you cannot apprehend what it is, yet you see what kind of 
 thing it is, or if you do not quite see that, yet you certainly 
 see how great it is. What then ? shall we imagine that there 
 is a kind of measure in the soul, into which, as into a vessel, 
 all that we remember is poured ? that indeed is absurd ; for 
 how shall we form any idea of the bottom, or of the shape or 
 fashion of such a soul as that ? and again how are we to con- 
 ceive how much it is able to contain? Shall we imagine the 
 soul to receive impressions like wax, and memoiy to^be marks 
 of the impressions made on the soul? What are the charac- 
 ters of the words, what of the facts themselves? and what 
 again is that prodigious greatness which can give rise to im- 
 pressions of so many things? -What, lastly, is that power 
 which investigates secret things, and is called invention and 
 contrivance? Does that man seem to be compounded of this 
 earthly, mortal, and perishing nature, who first invented 
 names for everything, which, if you will believe Pythagoras, 
 is the highest pitch of wisdom ? or he, who collected the dis- 
 persed inhabitants of the world, and united them in the 
 bonds of social life? or he, who confined the sounds of the 
 voice, which used to seem infinite, to the marks of a few- 
 letters? or he who first observed the courses of the planets, 
 their progressive motions, their laws ? These were all great 
 men; but they were greater still, who invented food, and 
 raiment, and houses ; who introduced civilization amongst us, 
 and armed us against the wild beasts; by whom we were 
 made sociable and polished, and so proceeded from the 
 necessaries of life to its embellishments. For we have pro- 
 vided great entertainments for the ears, by inventing and 
 modulating the variety and nature of sounds ; w r e have learnt 
 to survey the stars, not only those that are fixed, but also 
 those which are improperly called wandering ; and the man 
 who has acquainted himself with all their revolutions and 
 motions, is fairly considered to have a soul resembling the 
 soul of that Being who has created those stars in the heavens : 
 for when Archimedes described in a sphere the motions of 
 the moon, sun, and five planets, he did the very same thing 
 aa Plato's God, in his Timseus, who made the world; causing 
 nnn revol iitioi to adjust motions /differing as much as possible 
 in their slowness and velocity. /Now, allowing that what v/o 
 
312 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 see in the world could not be effected •without a God, Archi- 
 medes could not have imitated the same motions in his sphere 
 without a divine soul, ft 
 
 XXVI. To me, indeed, it appears that even those studies 
 which are more common and in greater esteem are not with- 
 out some divine energy : so that I do not consider that a 
 poet can produce a serious and sublime poem, without some 
 divine impulse working on his mind; nor do I think that 
 eloquence, abounding with sonorous words and fruitful sen- 
 tences, can flow thus, without something beyond mere human 
 power. But as to philosophy, that is the parent of all the 
 arts, what can we call that but, as Plato says, a gift, or as I 
 express it, an invention of the Gods 1 This it was which first 
 taught us the worship of the Gods ; and then led us on to 
 justice, which arises from the human race being formed into 
 society : and after that it imbued us with modesty, and 
 elevation of soul. This it was which dispersed darkness 
 from our souls, as it is dispelled from our eyes, enabling us 
 to see all things that are above or below, the beginning, end, 
 and middle of every thing. I am convinced entirely, that 
 that which could effect so many and such great things must 
 be a divine power. For what is memory of words and circum- 
 stances 1 what, too, is invention ? Surely they are things than 
 which nothing greater can be conceived in a God ! for I 
 do not imagine the Gods to be delighted with nectar and 
 ambrosia, or with Juventas presenting them with a cup ; nor 
 do I put any faith in Homer, who says that Ganymede was 
 carried away by the Gods, on account of his beauty, in order 
 to give Jupiter his wine. Too weak reasons for doing 
 Laomedon such injury ! These were mere inventions of 
 Homer, who gave his Gods the imperfections of men. I 
 would rather that he had given men the perfections of the 
 Gods ! those perfections, I mean, of uninterrupted health, 
 wisdom, invention, memory. Therefore the soul (which is, 
 as I say, divine,) is, as Euripides more boldly expresses it, a 
 God. And thus, if the divinity be air or fire, the soul of 
 man is the same : for as that celestial nature has nothing 
 earthly or humid about it, in like manner the soul of man is 
 also free from both these qualities : but if it is of that fifth 
 kind of nature, first introduced by Aristotle, then both Gods 
 and souls are of the same. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 313 
 
 XXVII. As this is my opinion, I have explained it. in 
 these very words, in my book on Consolation. 1 The origin of 
 the soul of man is not to be found -lipon earth, for there is 
 nothing in the soul of a mixed or concrete nature, or that has 
 any appearance of being formed or made out of the earth ; 
 nothing even humid, or airy, or fiery : for what i3 there in 
 natures of that kind which has the power of memory, under- 
 standing, or thought? which can recollect the past; foresee 
 the future: and comprehend the present? for these capabili- 
 ties are confined to divine beings; nor can we' discover any 
 source from which men could derive them, but from God. 
 There is therefore a peculiar nature and power in the soul, 
 distinct from those natures which are more known and 
 familiar to us. Whatever^ jthen, that is which thinks, an d 
 whHxJ^ nH^tfln^ing, anrl volition, and a principle of life, 
 is heavenly and divine, and on that account must nece ssarily 
 be eternal: nor can God himself, who is known to us, be" 
 conceived to" be anything else except a soul free and unem- 
 barrassed, distinct from all mortal concretion, acquainted with 
 everything, and giving motion to everything, and itself 
 endued with perpetual motion. 
 
 XXVIII. Of this kind and nature is the intellect of man. 
 Where, then, is this intellect seated, and of what character is 
 it? where is your own, and what is its character? are you 
 able to tell? If I have not faculties for knowing all that I 
 could desire to know, will you not even allow me to make use 
 of those which J have? The soul has not sufficient capacity 
 to comprehend itself; yet, the soul, like the eye, though it 
 has no distinct view of itself, sees other things : it does not 
 see (which is of least consequence) its own shape; perhaps 
 not, though it possibly may ; but we will pass that by : but 
 it certainly sees that it has vigour, sagacity, memory, motion, 
 and velocity ; these are all great, divine, eternal properties. 
 What its appearance is, or where it dwells, it is not necessary 
 even to inquire. As when we behold, first of all, the beauty 
 and brilliant appearance of the heavens; secondly, the vast 
 velocity of its revolutions, beyond power of our imagination 
 to conceive; then the vicissitudes of nights and days; the 
 
 ' This treatise is one which has not come down to us, but which had 
 been lately composed by Cicero in order to comfort himself for the 
 loss of his daughter. 
 
314 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 four-fold division of the seasons, so well adapted to the ripen- 
 ing of the fruits of the earth, and the temperature of our 
 bodies ; and after that we look up to the sun, the moderator 
 and governor of all these things; and view the moon, by the 
 increase and decrease of its light, marking, as it were, and 
 appointing our holy days ; and see the fiv** planets, borne on 
 in the same circle, divided into twelve parts, preserving the 
 same course with the greatest regularity, but with utterly 
 dissimilar motions amongst themselves; and the nightly 
 appearance of the heaven, adorned on all sides with stars; 
 then, the globe of the earth, raised above the sea, and placed 
 in the centre of the universe, inhabited and cultivated in its 
 two opposite extremities; one of which, the place of our 
 habitation, is situated towards the north pole, under the 
 seven stars : — 
 
 Where the cold northern blasts, with horrid sound, 
 
 Harden to ice the snowy cover'd ground, — 
 
 the other, towards the south pole, is unknown to us ; but is 
 called by the Greeks avTiyOova : the other parts are unculti- 
 vated, because they are either frozen with cold, or burnt up 
 with heat ; but where we dwell, it never fails in its season, 
 
 To yield a placid sky, to bid the trees 
 
 Assume the lively verdure of their leaves : 
 
 The vine to bud, and, joyful in its shoots, 
 
 Foretell the approaching vintage of its fruits : 
 
 The ripen'd corn to sing, whilst all around 
 
 Full riv'lets glide; and flowers deck the ground: — 
 
 then the multitude of cattle, fit part for food, part for tilling 
 the ground, others for carrying us, or for clothing us; and 
 man himself, made as it were on purpose to contemplate the 
 heavens and the Gods, and to pay adoration to them ; lastly, 
 the whole earth, and wide extending seas, given to man's use. 
 When we view these, and numberless other things, can we 
 doubt that they have some being who presides over them, or 
 has made them (if, indeed, they have been made, as is the 
 opinion of Plato, or if, as Aristotle thinks, they are eternal), 
 or who at all events is the regulator of so immense a 
 fabric and so great a blessing to men 1 Thus, though you see 
 not the soul of man, as you see not the .IJteity, yet, as by the 
 contemplation of his works you are led to acknowledge a God, 
 so you must own the divine power 'of the soul, from its 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OP DEATH. 315 
 
 rememoenng things, from its invention, from the quickness of 
 its motion, and from all the beauty of virtue. Where, then, is 
 it seated, you will say? 
 
 XXIX. In my opinion it is seated in the head, and I can 
 bring you reasons for my adopting that opinion. At present, 
 let the soul reside where it will, you certainly have one in 
 you. Should you ask what its nature is? It has one pecu- 
 liarly its own ; but admitting it to consist of fire, or air, it 
 does not affect the present question ; only observe this, that 
 as you are convinced there is a God, though you are ignorant 
 where he resides, and what shape he is of ; in like manner you 
 ought to feel assured that you have a soul, though you cannot 
 satisfy yourself of the place of its residence, nor its form. In 
 our knowledge of the soul, unless we are grossly ignorant of 
 natural philosophy, we cannot but be satisfied that it has 
 nothing but what is simple, unmixed, uncompounded, and 
 single ; and if this is admitted, then it cannot be separated, nor 
 divided, nor dispersed, nor parted, and therefore it cannot 
 perish ; for to perish implies a parting asunder, a division, a 
 disunion of those parts which, whilst it subsisted, were held 
 together by some band ; and it was because he was influenced 
 by these and similar reasons that Socrates neither looked out 
 for anybody to plead for him when he was accused, nor 
 begged any favour from his judges, but maintained a manly 
 freedom, which was the effect not of pride, but of the true 
 greatness of his soul : and on the last day of his life, he held 
 a long discourse on this subject; and a few days before, when 
 he might have been easily freed from his confinement, he 
 refused to be so, and when he had almost actually hold of 
 that deadly cup, he spoke with the air of a man not forced to 
 die, but ascending into heaven. 
 
 XXX. For so indeed he thought himself, and thus he 
 spoke: — "That there were two ways, and that the souls of 
 men, at their departure from the body, took different roads, 
 for those" which were polluted with vices, that are common to 
 men, and which had given themselves up entirely to unclean 
 desires, and had become so blinded by them as to have 
 habituated themselves to all manner of debauchery and 
 profligacy, or to have laid detestable schemes for the ruin 
 of their country, took a road wide of that which led to the 
 assembly of the Gods : but they who had preserved themselves 
 
316 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 upright and chaste, and free from the slightest contagion 
 of the body, and had always kept themselves as far as possible 
 at a distance from it, and whilst on earth, had proposed to 
 themselves as a model the life of the Gods, found the return 
 to those beings from whom they had come an easy one." 
 Therefore he argues, that all good and wise men should take 
 example from the swans, w ho are considered sacred to Apollo, 
 not without reason, but particularly because they seem to 
 have received the gift of divination from him, by which, fore- 
 seeing how happy it is to die, they lea ve this world wit h 
 si nging and joy . Nor can any one doubt of this, unless it 
 happens to us who think with care and anxiety about the 
 soul, (as is often the case with those who look earnestly at the 
 setting sun,) to lose the sight of it entirely : and so the mind's 
 eye viewing itself, sometimes grows dull, and for that reason 
 w r e become remiss in our contemplation. Thus our reasoning is 
 borne about, harassed with doubts and anxieties, not knowing 
 how to proceed, but measuring back again those dangerous 
 tracts which it has passed, like a boat tossed about on the 
 boundless ocean. But these reflections are of long standing, 
 and borrowed from the Greeks. But Cato left this world in 
 such a manner, as if he were delighted that he had found an 
 opportunity of dying; for that God who presides in us, for- 
 bids our departure hence without his leave. But when God 
 himself has given us a just cause, as formerly he did to Socrates, 
 and lately to Cato, and often to many others,— in such a case, 
 certainly every man of sense would gladly exchange this 
 darkness, for that light: not that he would forcibly br»\.k 
 from the chains that held him, for that would be against 
 the law; but like a man released from prison by a magistrate, 
 or some lawful authority, so he too would walk away, being 
 released and discharged by God. [ For the whole life of a 
 philosopher is, as the same philosopher says, a medita- 
 death. ) 
 
 XXXI. For what else is it that we do, when we cal : 
 minds from pleasure, that is to say, from our attention to 
 the body, from the managing our domestic estate, which is a 
 sort of handmaid and servant of the body, or from di 
 public nature, or from all other serious business w 
 What else is it, I say, that we do, but invite the soul 
 on itself 1 oblige it to converse with itselfanaTas fe 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OP DEATH. 317 
 
 sible. break off its acquaintance with the body? Now to sepa- 
 rate the soul from the body, is to learn to die, and nothing 
 else whatever. Wherefore take my advice ; and let us medi" 
 tate on this, and separate ourselves as far as possible from 
 the body, that is to say, let us accustom ourselves to die. 
 This will be enjoying a life like that of heaven even while we 
 remain on earth ; and when we are carried thither and re- 
 leased from these bonds, our souls will make their progress with 
 more rapidity : for the spirit which has always been fettered 
 by the bonds of the body, even when it is disengaged, ad- 
 vances more slowly, just as those do who have worn actual 
 fetters for many years : but when we have arrived at this 
 emancipation from the bonds of the body, then indeed we 
 shall begin to live, for this present life is really death, which 
 T could say a good deal in lamentation for if I chose. 
 
 A . You have lamented it sufficiently in your book on Con- 
 solation ; and when I read that, there is nothing which I 
 desire more than to leave these things: but that desire is 
 increased a great deal by what I have just heard. 
 
 M. The time will come, and that soon, and with equal 
 certainty whether you hang back or press forward ; for time 
 flies. But death is so far from being an evil, as it lately 
 appeared to you, that I am inclined to suspect, not that there 
 is no other thing which is an evil to man, but rather that 
 there is nothing else which is a real good to him ; if, at least, 
 it is true, that we become thereby either Gods ourselves, or 
 companions of the Gods. However, this is not of so much 
 consequence, as there are some of us here who will not allow 
 this. But I will not leave off discussing this point till I have 
 convinced you that death can, upon no consideration what- 
 ever, be an evil. 
 
 A. How can it, after what I now know? 
 
 M. Do you ask how it can? There are crowds of arguers 
 who contradict this; and those not only Epicureans, whom 
 I regard very little, but, some how or other, almost every 
 man of letters; and, above all, my favourite Dicscarchus 
 is very strenuous in opposing the immortality of the soul : 
 for he has written three books, which are entitled Les- 
 biacs, because the discourse was held at Mitylene, in which 
 he seeks to prove that souls are mortal. The Stoics, on the 
 other hand, allow us as long a time for enjoyment as the lifa 
 
318 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 of a raven ; they allow the soul to exist a great while, but are 
 against its eternity. 
 
 XXXII. Are you willing to hear then why, even allowing 
 this, death cannot be an evil. 
 
 A. As you please; but no one shall drive me from my 
 belief in mortality. 
 
 M. I commend you indeed, for that; though we should 
 not be too confident in our belief of anything; for we are 
 frequently disturbed by some subtle conclusion ; we give way 
 and change our opinions even in things that are more evi- 
 dent than this ; for in this there certainly is some obscurity. 
 Therefore, should anything of this kind happen, it is well to 
 be on our guard. 
 
 A. You are right in that, but I will provide against any 
 accident. 
 
 M. Have you any objection to our dismissing our friends 
 the Stoics? those, I mean, who allow that the souls exist after 
 they have left the body, but yet deny that they exist for ever. 
 
 A. We certainly may dismiss the consideration of those 
 men who admit that which is the most difficult point in the 
 whole question, namely, that a soul can exist independently 
 of the body, and yet refuse to grant that, which is not only 
 very easy to believe, but which is even the natural consequence 
 of the concession which they have made, that if they can exist 
 for a length of time, they most likely do so for ever. 
 
 M. You take it right ; that is the very thing : shall we 
 give, therefore, any credit to Panaetius, when he dissents from 
 his master, Plato? whom he everywhere calls divine, the 
 wisest, the holiest of men, the Homer of philosophers ; and 
 whom he opposes in nothing except this single opinion of the 
 soul's immortality : for he maintains what nobody denies, 
 that everything which has been generated will perish ; and 
 that even souls are generated, which he thinks appears from 
 their resemblance to those of the men who begot them ; for 
 that likeness is as apparent in the turn of their minds as in 
 their bodies. But he brings another reason ; that there is 
 nothing which is sensible of pain which is not also liable to 
 disease ; but whatever is liable to disease must be liable tc 
 death ; the soul is sensible of pain, therefore it is liable 
 to perish. 
 
 XXXIII. These arguments may be refuted; for they pro- 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OP DEATH. 319 
 
 ceed from his not knowing that while discussing the subject 
 of the immortality of the soul, he is speaking of the intellect, 
 which is free from all turbid motion ; but not of those parts of 
 the mind in which those disorders, anger and lust, have their 
 seat, and which he whom he is opposing, when, he argues 
 thus, imagines to be distinct and separate from the mind. 
 Now this resemblance is more remarkable in beasts, whose 
 souls are void of reason. But the likeness in men consists 
 more in the configuration of the bodies; and it is of no little 
 consequence in what bodies the soul is lodged ; for there are 
 many things which depend on the body that give an edge to 
 the soul, many which blunt it. / Aristotle indeed, says, that 
 all men of great genius are melancholy ; so that I should not 
 have been displeased to have been somewhat duller than 1 
 am. / He instances many, and, as if it were matter of fact, 
 brings his reasons for it : but if the power of those things 
 that proceed from the body be so great as to influence the 
 mind, (for they are the things, whatever they are, that occa- 
 sion this likeness,) still that does not necessarily prove why 
 a similitude of souls should be generated.) | I say nothing 
 about cases of unlikeness. I wish Panaetius could be here ; 
 he lived with Africanus; I would inquire of him which of 
 his family the nephew of Africanus's brother was like 1 Pos- 
 sibly he may in person have resembled his father ; but in his 
 manners, he was so like every profligate abandoned man, 
 that it was impossible to be more so. Who did the grandson 
 of P. Crassus, that wise, and eloquent, and most distin- 
 guished man resemble 1 Or the relations and sons of many 
 other excellent men, whose names there is no occasion to men- 
 tion 1 But what are we doing 1 Have we forgotten that our 
 purpose was, when we had sufficiently spoken on the subject 
 of the immortality of the soul, to prove that, even if the soul 
 did perish, there would be, even then, no evil in death 1 
 
 A. I remembered it very well; but I had no dislike to 
 your digressing a little from your original design, whilst you 
 were talking of the soul's immortality. 
 
 M. I perceive you have sublime thoughts, and are eager 
 to mount up to heaven. 
 
 XXXIV. I am not without hopes myself that such may be 
 our fate. But admit what they assert ; that the soul d >es 
 not continue to exist after death 
 
320 THE TUSCULAN DISFUTATIONS. 
 
 A. Should it be so, I see that we are then deprived of the 
 hopes of a happier life. 
 
 M. But what is there of evil in that opinion? For let the 
 soul perish as the body : is there any pain, or indeed any 
 feeling at all in the body after death % No one, indeed, asserts 
 that ; though Epicurus charges Democritus with saying so ; 
 but the disciples of Democritus deny it. No sense, therefore, 
 remains in the soul ; for the soul is nowhere ; where, then, 
 is the evil 1 for there is nothing but these two things. Is it 
 because the mere separation of the soul and body cannot be 
 effected without pain ? but even should that be granted, how 
 small a pain must that be ! Yet I think that it is false ; and 
 that it is very often unaccompanied by any sensation at all, 
 and sometimes even attended with pleasure : but certainly the 
 whole must be very trifling, whatever it is, for it is instan- 
 taneous. What makes us uneasy, or rather gives us pain, is 
 the leaving all the good things of life. But just consider, if 
 T might not more properly say, leaving the evils of life; only 
 there is no reason for my now occupying myself in bewailing 
 the life of man, and yet I might, with very good reason ; but 
 what occasion is there, when what I am labouring to prove is 
 that no one is miserable after death, to make life more mise- 
 rable by lamenting over it % I have done that in the book 
 which I wrote, in order to comfort myself as well as I could. 
 If, then, our inquiry is after truth, death withdraws us from 
 evil, not from good. This subject is indeed so copiously 
 handled by Hegesias, the Cyrenaic philosopher, that he is 
 said to have been forbid by Ptolemy from delivering his lec- 
 tures in the schools, because some who heard him made 
 away with themselves. There is too, an epigram of Calli- 
 maehus, 1 on Cleombrotus of Ambracia; who, without any 
 misfortune having befallen him, as he says, threw himself 
 
 1 The epigram is — 
 
 Efrras"HAie X°"jp e > K\€6/xfiporos"nix$paKtwrrjs 
 
 'flkar a<p' tyr}\ov reix*os ets 'AtSyv, 
 &£iov ovSev ISuiv Qa.v6.Tov Katcbv, aXka. YIKoltuvos 
 %v rd rrepl tyvxv* ypd-HH-' dva\e£dn*vos. 
 
 Which may be translated, perhaps— 
 
 Farewell, O sun, Cleombrotus exclai ,,> ' 1 
 
 Then plung'd from off a height bent K the soft; 
 Stung by pain, of no disgrace ashan 
 
 But mov'd Cy Plato's high philost 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 321 
 
 from a wall into the sea, after he had read a book of Plato's. 
 The book I mentioned of that Hegesias, is call >d Wz-oKapre- 
 p<Zv, or "A Man who starves himself," in which a man is 
 represented as killing himself by starvation, till he is pre- \ 
 vented by his friends, in reply to whom he recko; s up all the 
 miseries of human life : I might do the same, though not so 
 fully as he, who thinks it not worth any man's while to live. » 
 I pass over others. Was it even worth my while to live, 
 had I died before I was deprived of the comforts of my < 
 family, and of the honours which I received for my pul 
 services, would not death have taken me from the evil - 
 life, rather than from its blessings 1 
 
 XXXV. Mention, therefore, some one, who never knew 
 distress ; who never received any blow from fortune. The 
 great Metellus had four distinguished sons ; but Priam had 
 fifty, seventeen of which were born to him by Lis lawful 
 wife : Fortune had the same power over both, though she ex- 
 ercised it but on one: for Metellus was laid on his funeral 
 pile by a great company of sons and daughters, grandsons, 
 and grandaughters ; but Priam fell by the hand of an 
 enemy, after having fled to the altar, and having sees himself 
 deprived of all his numerous progeny. Had he died u_r to 
 the death of his sons and the ruin of his kingdom, 
 With all his mighty wealth elate, 
 Under rich canopies of state ; 
 would he then have been taken from good or from evil] It 
 would indeed, at that time, have appeared that he was being 
 taken away from good; yet surely, it would have turned 
 out advantageous for him; nor should we have had these 
 mournful verses, — 
 
 Lo ! these all perish'd in one flaming pile ; 
 The foe old Priam did of life beguile, 
 And with his blood, thy altar, Jove, defile. 
 As if anything better could have happened to him at that 
 time, than to lose his life in that manner ; but yet, if it had 
 befallen him sooner, it would, have prevented all those conse- 
 quences ; but even as it was it released him from any further 
 bense of them. The case of our friend Pompey l was » >me- 
 1 This is alluded to by Juvenal — 
 
 Provida Pompeio dederat Campania febres 
 Optandas • spH qinltSB nrbes et publica vota 
 Vicerunt. Igitur Fortuna ipsius et Urbis, 
 Servatum victo caput abstulit. — Sat. x. 283. 
 ACAD. ETC. Y 
 
322 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 thing better : once, when he had been very iL at Naples, the 
 Neapolitans on his recovery put crowns on their heads, as 
 did those of Puteoli ; the people nocked from the country to 
 congratulate him ; — it is a Grecian custom, and a foolish one; 
 still it is a sign of good fortune. But the question is, had he 
 died, would he have been taken from good, or from evil? 
 Certainly from evil. He would not have been engaged in a 
 war with his father-in-law; 1 he would not have taken up 
 arms before he was prepared ; he would not have left his own 
 house, nor fled from Italy; he would not, after the loss of his 
 army, have fallen unarmed into the hands of slaves, and been 
 put to death by them; his children would not have been 
 destroyed; nor would his whole fortune have come into the 
 possession of the conquerors. Did not he, then, who, if he had 
 died at that time would have died in all his glory, owe all 
 the great and terrible misfortunes into which he subsequently 
 fell to the prolongation of his life at that time? 
 
 XXXVI. These calamities are avoided by death, for even 
 though they should never happen, there is a possibility that 
 they may ; but it never occurs to a man, that such a disaster 
 may be^-I nim himself. Every one hopes to be as happy as 
 Melius : as if the number of the happy exceeded that of the 
 miserable ; or as if there were any certainty in human aflfairs ; 
 or again, as if there were more rational foundation for hope 
 than fear. But should we grant them even this, that men are 
 by death deprived of good things, would it follow that the 
 dead are therefore in need of the good things of life, and 
 are miserable on that account 1 ? Certainly they must neces- 
 sarily say so. Can he who does not exist, be in need of any- 
 thing? To be in need of, has a melancholy sound, because 
 it in effect amounts to this, — he had, but he has not ; he 
 regrets, he looks back upon, he wants. Such are, I suppose, 
 the distresses of one who is in need of. Is he deprived of 
 eyes ? to be blind -is misery. Is he destitute of children ? not 
 to have them is misery. These considerations apply to the 
 living, but the dead are neither in need of the blessings of 
 
 1 Pompey r s second wife was Julia, the daughter of Julius Cossar ; she 
 died the year before the death of Crassus, in Parthia. Virgil speaks of 
 Ceesar and Pompey as relations, using the same expression (socer) as 
 Cbero — 
 
 Aggeribus socer Alpinis at que arce Monoeci 
 
 Descendens, gener adversis instructus Eois.— /En. vi. 83). 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 32 S 
 
 life, nor of life itself. But when I am speaking of the dead I am 
 speaking of those who have no existence. But would any 
 one say of us, who do exist, that we want horns or wings? 
 Certainly not. Should it be asked, why not 1 ? the answer 
 would be, that not to have what neither custom nor nature 
 has fitted you for, would not imply a want of them, even 
 though you were sensible that you had them not. This argu- 
 ment should be pressed over and over again, after that point 
 has once been established, which if souls are mortal there can 
 be no dispute about — I mean, that the destruction of them 
 by death is so entire, as to remove even the least suspicion of 
 any sense remaining. When, therefore, this point is once 
 well grounded and established, we must correctly define what 
 the term, to want, means ; that there may be no mistake in 
 the word. To want, then, signifies this ; to be without that 
 which you would be glad to have : for inclination for a thing 
 is implied in the word want; excepting when we use the 
 word in an entirely different sense, as we do when we say that 
 a fever is wanting to any one. For it admits of a different 
 interpretation, when you are without a certain thing, and are 
 sensible that you are without it, but yet can easily dispense 
 with having it. " To want," then, is an expression which you 
 cannot apply to the dead, nor is the mere fact of wanting 
 something necessarily lamentable. The proper expression 
 ought to be. " that they want a good," and that is an evil. 
 , But a living man does not want a good, unless he is dis- 
 tressed without it ; and yet, we can easily understand how 
 any man alive can be without a kingdom. But this cannot 
 be predicated of you with any accuracy : it might have been 
 asserted of Tarquin, when he was driven from his kingdom : 
 but when such an expression is used respecting the dead it 
 is absolutely unintelligible. For to want, implies to be 
 sensible; but the dead are insensible; therefore the dead 
 can be in no want... 
 
 XXXVII. But what occasion is there to philosophize here, 
 in a matter with which we see that philosophy is but little 
 concerned? How often have not only our generals, but 
 whole armies, rushed on certain death ! but if it had been a 
 thing to be feared, L. Brutus would never have fallen in fight, 
 to prevent the return of that tyrant whom he had exeplled ; 
 nor would Decius the father have been slain in fighting with 
 
 y 2 
 
324 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 the Latins ; nor would his son, when engaged with the 
 Etruscans, nor his grandson with Pvrrhus, have exposed them- 
 selves to the enemy's darts. Spain would never have seen, in 
 one campaign, the Scipios fall fighting for their country ; nor 
 would the plains of Cannae have witnessed the death of 
 Paulus and Geminus ; or Venusia, that of Marcellus : nor 
 would the Latins have beheld the death of Albinus ; nor the 
 Lucanians, that of Gracchus. But are any of these miserable 
 now? nay, they were not so even at the first moment after 
 they had breathed their last : nor can any one be miserable 
 after he has lost all sensation. Oh, but the mere circumstance 
 of being without sensation is miserable. It might be so if 
 being without sensation were the same thing as wanting it ; 
 but as it is evident there can be nothing of any kind in that 
 which has no existence, what can there be. afflicting to that 
 which can neither feel want, nor be sensible of anything? 
 We might be said to have repeated this over too often, only 
 that here lies all that the soul shudders at, from the fear of 
 death. For whoever can clearly apprehend that which is as 
 manifest as the light, that when both soul and body are con- 
 sumed, and there is a total destruction, then that which was 
 an animal, becomes nothing ; will clearly see, that there is no 
 difference between a Hippocentaur, which never had existence, 
 and king Agamemnon ; and that M. Camillus is no more 
 concerned about this present civil war, than I was at the sack- 
 ing of Rome, when he was living. 
 
 XXX VI II. Why, then, should Camillus be affected with 
 the thoughts of these things happening three hundred and 
 fifty years after his time 1 And why should I be uneasy if I 
 were to expect that some nation might possess itself of this 
 city, ten thousand years hence 1 Because so great is our 
 regard for our country, as not to be measured by our own 
 feeling, but by its own actual safety. 
 
 Death, then, which threatens us daily from a thousand 
 accidents, and which, by reason of the shortness of life, can 
 never be far off, does not deter a wise man from making such 
 provision for his country and his family, as he hopes may last 
 for ever ; and from regarding posterity, of which he can never 
 have any real perception, as belonging to himself. Wherefore 
 a man may act for eternity, even though he be persuaded 
 that his soul is mortal ; not, indeed, from a desire of glory, 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 325 
 
 which he will be insensible of, but from a principle of virtue, 
 which glory will inevitably attend, though that is not his 
 object. The process, indeed, of nature is this; that just in the 
 same manner as our birth was the beginning of things with us, 
 so death will be the end ; and as we were no ways concerned 
 with anything before we were born, so neither shall we be 
 after we are dead ; and in this state of things where can the 
 evil be 1 since death has no connexion with either the living 
 or the dead ; the one have no existence at all, the other are 
 not yet affected by it. 'They who. make the least of death 
 consider it as having a great resemblance to sleep ; as if any 
 one would choose to live ninety years on condition that, at 
 the expiration of sixty, he should sleep out the remainder. 
 The very swine would not accept of life on those terms, much 
 less I : Endymion, indeed, if you listen to fables, slept once 
 on a time, on Latmus, a mountain of Caria, and for such a 
 length of time that I imagine he is not as yet awake. Do 
 you think that he is concerned at the Moon's being in diffi- 
 ^ulties, though it was by her that he was thrown into that 
 sleep, in order that she might kiss him while sleeping ; for what 
 should he be concerned for who has not even any sensation? 
 You look on sleep as an image of death, and you take that on 
 you daily ; and have you, then, any doubt that there is no 
 sensation in . death, when you see there is none in sleep, 
 w T hich is its near resemblance? 
 
 XXXIX. Away, then, with those follies which are little 
 better than the old women's dreams, such as that it is 
 miserable to die before our time. What time do you mean ? 
 That of nature 1 But she has only lent you life, as she might 
 lend you money, without fixing any certain time for its re- 
 payment. Have you any grounds of complaint, then, that 
 she recals it at her pleasure 1 for you received it on these 
 terms. They that complain thus, allow, that if a young child 
 dies the survivors ought to bear his loss with equanimity; 
 that if an infant in the cradle dies, they ought not even to 
 utter a complaint ; and yet nature has been more severe 
 with them in demanding back what she gave. They answer 
 by saying, that such have not tasted the sweets of life ; while 
 the other had begun to conceive hopes of great happiness, 
 and indeed had begun to realize them. Men judge better 
 in other things, and allow a part to be preferable to none ; 
 why do they not admit the same estimate in life 1 Though 
 
326 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 Callimachus does not speak amiss in saying, that more tears 
 had flowed from Priam than his son j yet they are thought 
 happier who die after they have reached old age. It would 
 be hard to say why; for I do not apprehend that any one, 
 if a longer life were granted to him, would find it happier. 
 There is nothing more agreeable to a man than prudence, 
 which old age most certainly bestows on a man, though it 
 may strip him of everything else ; but what age is long 1 01 
 what is there at all long to a man ? Does not 
 
 Old age, though unregarded, still attend 
 On childhood's pastimes, as the cares of men? 
 
 But because there is nothing beyond old age, we call that 
 long ; all these things are said to be long or short, according 
 to the proportion of time they were given us for. Aristotle 
 saith, there is a kind of insect near the river Hypanis, which 
 runs from a certain part of Europe into the Pontus, whose 
 life consists but of one day; those that die at the eighth hour, 
 die in full age ; those who die when the sun sets are very old, 
 especially when the days are at the longest. Compare our 
 longest life with eternity and we shall be found almost as 
 short-lived as those little animals. 
 
 XL. Let us, then, despise all these follies — for what softer 
 name can I give to such levities 1 — and let us lay the founda- 
 tion of our happiness in the strength and greatness of our 
 minds, in a contempt and disregard of all earthly things, 
 and in the practice of every virtue. For at present we are 
 enervated by the softness of our imaginations, so that, should 
 we, leave this world before the promises of our fortune-tellers 
 are made good to us, we should think ourselves deprived of 
 some great advantages, and seem disappointed and forlorn. 
 But if, through life, we are in continual suspense, still expect- 
 ing, still desiring, and are in continual pain and torture, good 
 Gods ! how pleasant must that journey be which ends in 
 security and ease ! How pleased am I with Theramenes ! 
 of how exalted a soul does he appear ! For, although we 
 never read of him without tears, yet that illustrious man is 
 not to be lamented in his death, who, when he had been 
 imprisoned by the command of the thirty tyrants, drank off, 
 at one draught, as if he had been thirsty, the poisoned cup, 
 and threw the remainder out of it with such force, that it 
 sounded as it fell ; and then, on hearing the sound of the 
 drops, he said, with a smile, " I drink this to the most excellent 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH, 327 
 
 Critias," who had been his most bitter enemy ; for it is 
 customary among the Greeks, at their banquets, to name the 
 person to whom they intend to deliver the cup. This cele- 
 brated man was pleasant to the last, even when he had 
 received the poison into his bowels, and truly foretold the 
 death of that man whom he named when he drank the poison, 
 and that death soon followed. Who that thinks death an 
 evil, could approve of the evenness of temper in this great 
 man at the instant of dying ? Socrates came, a few years 
 after, to the same/ prison and the same cup, by as great 
 iniquity on the part of his judges as the tyrants displayed 
 when they executed Theramenes. What a speech is that 
 which Plato makes him deliver before his judges, after they 
 had condemned him to death ! 
 
 XL I. u I am not without hopes, judges, that it is a 
 favourable circumstance for me that I am condemned to die ; 
 for one of these two things must necessarily happen, either 
 that death will deprive me entirely of all sense, or else, that 
 by dying I shall go from hence into some other place ; where- 
 fore, if all sense is utterly extinguished, and if death is like 
 that sleep which sometimes is so undisturbed as to be even 
 without the visions of dreams — in that case, ye good Gods ! 
 what gain is it to die ! or what length of days can be imagined 
 which would be preferable to such a night? And if the 
 constant course of future time is to resemble that night, who 
 is happier than I am 1 But if, on the other hand, what is said 
 be true, namely, that death is but a removal to those 
 regions where the souls of the departed dwell, then that state 
 must be more happy still, to have escaped from those who call 
 themselves judges, and to appear before such as are truly so, 
 Minos, Rhadamanthus, iEacus, Triptolemus, and to meet with 
 those who have lived with justice and probity I 1 Can thia 
 
 1 This idea is beautifully expanded by Byron : — 
 Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be 
 
 A land of souls beyond that sable shore 
 To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee 
 
 And sophist, madly vain of dubious lore, 
 How sweet it were in concert to adore 
 
 With those who made our mortal labours light, 
 To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more, 
 
 Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight, 
 The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the right. 
 
 Childe Harold % ii • 
 
328 
 
 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 VJ 
 
 change of abode appear otherwise than great to you 1 What 
 bounds can you set to the value of conversing with Orpheus, 
 and Museeus, and Homer, and Hesiod 1 I would even, were 
 it possible, willingly die often, in order to prove the certainty 
 of what I speak of. What delight must it be to meet with 
 Palamedes, arid Ajax, and others, who have been betrayed by 
 the iniquity of their judges ! Then, also, should I experience 
 the wisdom of even that king of kings, who led his vast 
 troops to Troy, and the prudence of Ulysses and Sisyphus : 
 nor should I then be condemned for prosecuting my inquiries 
 on such subjects in the same way in which I have done here 
 on earth. And even you, my judges, you, I mean, who have 
 voted for my acquittal, do not you fear death, for nothing 
 bad can befal a good man, whether he be alive or dead ; nor 
 are his concerns ever overlooked by the Gods, nor in my case 
 either has this befallen me by chance ; and I have nothing to 
 charge those men with who accused or condemned me, but 
 the fact that they believed that they were doing me harm." 
 In this manner he proceeded : there is no part of his speech 
 which I admire more than his last words : " But it is time," 
 says he, " for me now to go hence, that I may die ; and for 
 you, that you may continue to live. Which condition of the 
 two is the best, the immortal Gods know; but I do not 
 believe that any mortal man does." 
 
 XLII. Surely I would rather have had this man's soul, 
 than all the fortunes of those who sat in judgment on him ; 
 although that very thing which he says no one except the 
 Gods knows, namely, whether life or death is most preferable, 
 he knows himself, for he had previously stated his opinion on 
 it ; but he maintained to the last that favourite maxim of his, 
 of affirming nothing. And let us, too, adhere to this rule of 
 not thinking anything an evil, which is a general provision of 
 nature : and let us assure ourselves, that if death is an evil, 
 it is an eternal evil, for death seems to be the end of a 
 miserable life ; but if death is a misery, there can be no end of 
 that. But why do I mention Socrates, or Theramenes, men 
 distinguished by the glory of virtue and wisdom 1 when a 
 certain Lacedaemonian, whose name is not so much as known, 
 held death in such contempt, that, when led to it by the 
 ephori, he bore a cheerful and pleasant countenance ; and, 
 when he was asked by one of his enemies whether he despised 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 32£ 
 
 the laws of Lycurgus 1 " On the contrary," answered he, " I 
 am greatly obliged to him, for he has amerced me in a fine 
 which I can pay without borrowing, or taking up money at 
 interest." This .was a man worthy of Sparta ! and I am 
 almost persuaded of his innocence because of the greatness of 
 his soul. Our own city has produced many such. But why 
 should I name generals, and other men of high rank, when 
 Cato could write, that legions have marched with alacrity to 
 that place from whence they never expected to return 1 With 
 no less greatness of soul fell the Lacedaemonians at Ther- 
 mopylae, on whom Simonides wrote the following epitaph : — 
 Go, stranger, tell the Spartans, here we lie, 
 Who to support their laws durst boldly die. 1 
 
 What was it that Leonidas, their general, said to them 1 ? 
 ' ; March on with courage, my Lacedaemonians ; to-night, 
 perhaps, we shall sup in the regions below." This was a 
 brave nation whilst the laws of Lycurgus were in force. One 
 of them, when a Persian had said to him in conversation, 
 " We shall hide the sun from your sight by the number of 
 our arrows and darts;" replied, " We shall fight then in the 
 .shade." Do I talk of their men 1 how great was that Lace- 
 daemonian woman, who had sent her son to battle, and when 
 she heard that he was slain, said, " I bore him for that 
 purpose, that you might have a man who durst die for his 
 country." However, it is a matter of notoriety that the 
 Spartans were bold and hardy, for the discipline of a republic 
 has great influence. 
 
 XLIII. What, then, have we not reason to admire Theo- 
 doras the Cyrenean, a philosopher of no small distinction 1 
 who, when Lysimachus threatened to crucify him, bade him 
 keep those menaces for his courtiers: "to Theodorus it makes 
 no difference whether he rot in the air or under ground." 
 By which saying of the philosopher I am reminded to say 
 something of the custom of funerals and sepulture, and of 
 funeral ceremonies, which is, indeed, not a difficult subject, 
 especially if we recollect what has been before said about in- 
 sensibility. The opinion of Socrates respecting this matter 
 is clearly stated in the book which treats of his death ; oi 
 
 1 The epitaph in the original is, — 
 
 *£2 £eiv' ayyelKov AaKfBaifxoviois <5ti rrjSe 
 Kelfifda, tois Kehcov ir€id6fievoi vo/ii/xi-is. 
 
330 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 which we have already said so much; for when he had 
 discussed the immortality of the soul, and when the time 
 of his dying was approaching rapidly, being asked by Criton 
 how he would be buried, "I have taken a great deal of 
 pains," saith he, "my friends, to no purpose, for I have 
 not convinced our Criton, that I shall fly from hence, and 
 leave no part of me behind : notwithstanding, Criton, if you 
 can overtake me, wheresoever you get hold of me, bury me 
 as you please : but believe me, none of you will be able to 
 catch me when I have flown away from hence." That was 
 excellently said, inasmuch as he allows his friend to do as he 
 pleased, and yet shows his indifference about anything of this 
 kind. Diogenes was rougher, though of the same opinion , 
 but in his character of a Cynic, he expressed himself in a 
 somewhat harsher manner; he ordered himself to be thrown 
 anywhere without being buried. And when his friends 
 replied, " What, to the birds and beasts?" " By no means," 
 saith he ; " place my staff near me, that I may drive them 
 away." " How can you do that," they answer, " for you will 
 not perceive them?" "How am I then injured by being 
 torn by those animals, if I have no sensation ?" Anaxagoras, 
 when he was at the point of death, at Lampsacus, and was 
 asked by his friends, whether, if anything should happen to 
 him, he would not choose to be carried to Clazoniense, his 
 country, made this excellent answer, — " There is," says he, 
 "no occasion for that, for all places are at an equal distance 
 from the infernal regions." There is one thing to be obseived 
 with respect to the whole subject of burial, that it relates to 
 the body, whether the soul live or die. Now with regard to 
 the body, it is clear that whether the soul live or die, that 
 has no sensation. 
 
 XLIV. But all things are full of errors. Achilles drags 
 Hector, tied to his chariot; he thinks, I suppose, he tears 
 his flesh, and that Hector feels the pain of it; therefore, he 
 avenges himself on him, as he imagines ; but Hecuba bewails 
 this as a sore misfortune — 
 
 I saw (a dreadful sight 1) great Hector slain, 
 
 Dragg'd at Achilles' car along the plain. 
 
 What Hector? or how long will he be Hector? Accius is 
 better in this, and Achilles, too, is sometimes reasonable — 
 
 I Hector's body to his sire convey'd, 
 
 Hector I sent to the infernal shade. 
 
OX THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 331 
 
 Tt was not Hector that you dragged along, but a body that 
 had been Hector's. Here another starts from underground, 
 and will not suffer his mother to sleep — 
 
 To thee I call, my once loved parent, hear, 
 
 Nor longer with thy sleep relieve thy care ; 
 
 Thine eye which pities not is closed — arise, 
 
 Ling'ring I wait the unpaid obsequies. 
 
 When these verses are sung with a slow and melancholy tune, 
 so as to affect the whole theatre with sadness, one can scarce 
 help thinking those unhappy that are unburied — 
 
 Ere the devouring dogs and hungry vultures . . . 
 He is afraid he shall not have the use of his limbs so well if 
 they are torn to pieces, but is under no such apprehensions if 
 they are burned — 
 
 Nor leave my naked bones, my poor remains, 
 
 To shameful violence, and bloody stains. 
 
 I do not understand what he could fear who could pour forth 
 such excellent verses to the sound of the flute. We must, 
 therefore, adhere to this, that nothing is to be regarded after 
 we are dead, though many people revenge themselves on 
 their dead enemies. Thyestes pours forth several curses in 
 some good lines of Ennius, praying, first of all, that Atreus 
 may perish by a shipwreck, which is certainly a very terrible 
 thing, for such a death is not free from very grievous sensa- 
 tions. Then follow these unmeaning expressions : — 
 
 May 
 
 On the sharp rock his mangled carcase lie, 
 His entrails torn, to hungry birds a prey ; 
 May he convulsive writhe his bleeding side, 
 And with his clotted gore the stones be dyed. 
 The rocks themselves were not more destitute of feeling than 
 he who was hanging to them by his side; though Thyestes 
 imagines he is wishing him the greatest torture. It would 
 be torture indeed, if he were sensible ; but as he is not, it can 
 be none ; then how very unmeaning is this ! 
 
 Let him, still hovering o'er the Stygian wave, 
 Ne'er reach the body's peaceful port, the grave. 
 
 You see under what mistaken notions all this is said. He 
 imagines the body has its haven, and that the dead are at rest 
 in their graves. Pelops was greatly to blame in not having 
 informed and taught his son what regard was due to every- 
 thing. 
 
332 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 XLV. But what occasion is there to animadvert on tho 
 opinions of individuals, when we may observe whole nations 
 to fall into all sorts of errors 1 The Egyptians embalm their 
 dead, and keep them in their houses; the Persians dress 
 them over with wax, and then bury them, that they may 
 preserve their bodies as long as possible. It is customary 
 with the Magi, to bury none of their order, unless they have 
 been first torn by wild beasts. In Hyrcania, the people 
 maintain dogs for the public use, the nobles have their 
 own; and we know that they have a good breed of dogs; 
 but every one, according to his ability, provides himself with 
 some, in order to be torn by them ; and they hold that to be 
 the best kind of interment. Chrysippus, who is curious in 
 all kinds of historical facts, has collected many other things 
 of this kind, but some of them are so offensive as not to 
 admit of being related. All that has been said of burying, 
 is not worth our regard with respect to ourselves, though it 
 is not to be neglected as to our friends, provided we are 
 thoroughly aware that the dead are insensible ; but the living, 
 indeed, should consider what is due to custom and opinion, 
 only they should at the same time consider that the dead are 
 no ways interested in it. But death truly is then met with 
 the greatest tranquillity, when the dying man can comfort 
 himself with his own praise. No one dies too soon who has 
 finished the course of perfect virtue. I myself have known 
 many occasions when I have seemed in danger of immediate 
 death ; oh ! how I wish it had come to me, for I have gained 
 nothing by the delay. I had gone over and over again the 
 duties of life ; nothing remained but to contend with fortune. 
 If reason, then, cannot sufficiently fortify us to enable us to 
 feel a contempt for death, at all events, let our past life prove 
 that we have lived long enough, and even longer than was 
 necessary ; for notwithstanding the deprivation of sense, the 
 dead are not without that good which peculiarly belongs to 
 them, namely, the praise and glory which they have ac- 
 quired, even though they are not sensible of it. For although 
 there be nothing in glory to make it desirable, yet it follows 
 virtue as its shadow. And the genuine judgment of the 
 multitude on good men, if ever they form any, is more to 
 their own praise, than of any real advantage to the dead 
 I cannot say, however it may be received, that Lycurgus and 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 333 
 
 Solon have no glory from their laws, and from the political 
 jonstitution which they established in their country; or that 
 Themistocles and Epaminondas have not glory from their 
 martial virtue. 
 
 XL VI. For Neptune shall sooner bury Salamis itself with 
 his waters, than the memory of the trophies gained there ; 
 and the Boeotian Leuctrtf shall perish, sooner than the glory 
 of that great battle. And longer still shall fame be before it 
 deserts Curius, and Fabricius, and Calatinus, and the two 
 Scipios, and the two Africani, and Maximus, and Marcellus, 
 and Paulus, and Cato, and Leelius, and numberless other 
 heroes ; and whoever has caught any resemblance of them, 
 not estimating it by common fame, but by the real applause 
 of good men, may with confidence, when the occasion requires, 
 approach death, on which we are sure that even if the chief 
 good is not continued, at least no evil is^. Such a man would 
 even wish to die, whilst in prosperity : for all the favours that 
 could be heaped on him, would not be so agreeable to him, as 
 the loss of them would be painful.* That speech of the Lace- 
 daemonian seems to have the same meaning, who, when 
 Diagoras the Rhodian, who had himself been a conqueror at 
 the Olympic games, saw two of his own sons conquerors there 
 on the same day, approached the old man, and congratulating 
 him, said, " You should die now, Diagoras, for no greater 
 happiness can possibly await you." The Greeks look on these 
 as great things; perhaps they think too highly of them, or 
 rather they did so then. And so he who said this to Diagoras, 
 looking on it as something very glorious, that three men out 
 of one family should have been conquerors there, thought it 
 could answer no purpose to him, to continue any longer in 
 life, where he could only be exposed to a reverse of fortune. 
 
 I might h^ve given you a sufficient answer, as it seems to 
 
 me, on this point, in a few words, as you had allowed the 
 
 dead were not exposed to any positive evil ; but I have spoken 
 
 at greater length on the subject for this reason, because this* 
 
 is our greatest consolation in the losing and bewailing of our 
 
 friends. For we ought to bear with moderation any grief 
 
 which arises from ourselves, or is endured on our own 
 
 lest we should seem to be too much influenced by 
 
 e. But should we suspect our departed friends to bo 
 
 liose evils,' which they are generally imagined to be 
 
334 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 and to be sensible of them, then such a suspicion would give 
 us intolerable pain; and accordingly I wished, for my own 
 sake, to pluck up this opinion by the roots, and on that 
 account I have been perhaps somewhat more prolix than was 
 necessary. 
 
 XLVIL A. More prolix than was necessary? certainly 
 not, in my opinion. For I was induced by the former part 
 of your speech, to wish to die ; but, by the latter, sometimes 
 not to be unwilling, and at others to be wholly indifferent 
 about it. But the effect of your whole argument is, that I 
 am convinced that death ought not to be classed among the 
 evils. 
 
 M. Do you, then, expect that I am to give* you a regular 
 peroration, like the rhetoricians, or shall I forego that art 1 
 
 A. I would not have you give over an art which you have 
 set off to such advantage ; and you were in the right to do 
 so, for, to speak the truth, it also has set you off. But what is 
 that peroration 1 for I should be glad to hear it, whatever it is. 
 
 M. It is customary in the schools, to produce the opinions 
 of the immortal gods on death; nor are these opinions the 
 fruits of the imagination alone of the lecturers, but they have 
 the authority of Herodotus and many others. Cleobis and 
 Biton are the first they mention, sons of the Argive priestess ; 
 the story is a well-known one. "As it was necessary that she 
 should be drawn in a chariot to a certain annual sacrifice, 
 which was solemnized at a temple some considerable distance 
 from the town, and the cattle that were to draw the chariot 
 had not arrived, those two young men whom I have just 
 mentioned, pulling off their garments, and anointing their 
 bodies with oil, harnessed themselves to the yoke.' And in 
 this manner the priestess was conveyed to the temple ; 
 and when the chariot had arrived at the proper place, she is 
 said to have entreated the goddess to bestow on them, as a 
 reward for their piety, the greatest gift that a God could 
 confer on man. And the young men, after having feasted 
 with their mother, fell asleep ; and in the morning they were 
 found dead. 'Trophonius and Agamedes are said to have put- 
 up the same petition, for they having built a temple to 
 Apollo at Delphi, offered supplications to the god, and desired 
 of him some extraordinary reward for their care and labour, 
 particularizing nothing, but asking for whatever was best for 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 336 
 
 men. Accordingly, Apollo signified to them that he would 
 bestow it on them in three days, and on the third day at 
 daybreak they were found dead. And so they say that this 
 was a formal decision pronounced by that god, to whom the 
 rest of the deities have assigned the province of divining with 
 an accuracy superior to that of all the rest. 
 
 XLVIII. There is also a story told of Silenus, who, when, 
 taken prisoner by Midas, is said to have made him this 
 present for his ransom ; namely, that he informed him 1 that 
 never to have been born, was by far the greatest blessing 
 that could happen to man j and that the next best thing was, 
 to die very soon ; which very opinion Euripides makes use of 
 in his Cresphontes, saying, — 
 
 When man is born, 'tis fit, with solemn show, 
 We speak our sense of his approaching woe ; 
 With other gestures, and a different eye, 
 Proclaim our pleasure when he's bid to die. 2 
 
 There is something like this in Crantor's Consolation ; for he 
 says, that Terineeus of Elysia, when he was bitterly lamenting 
 the loss of his son, came to a place of divination to be in- 
 formed why he was visited with so great affliction, and 
 received in his tablet these three verses, — 
 
 Thou fool, to murmur at Euthynous' death ! 
 The blooming youth to fate resigns his breath : 
 The fate, whereon your happiness depends, 
 At once the parent and the son befriends. 3 
 
 On these and similar authorities they affirm that the question 
 has been determined by the Gods. Nay more ; Alcidamas, 
 an ancient rhetorician of the very highest reputation, wrote 
 
 1 This was expressed in the Greek verses — 
 
 , Apxft" M^ (J.r) (pwat (TTixGovioKTiy &pt(rrov, 
 cpvvra 5' orrcos &Kiara rrvKas 'Atoao 7reprjcraf 
 which by some authors are attributed to Homer. 
 
 2 This is the first fragment of the Cresphontes. — Ed. Yar. vii. p. 59-i ! 
 
 y E8ei yap i]/j.a.s cvWo^ou iroLovp.evovs 
 Tov (pvvra Bp-qvtlv, els 8V 6px fTCU KaK ^ 
 Tdv 8 av Qavovra Kal irovwv ir?Kavp.svov 
 Xaipopras (i(p7]idoivras iKirt/JLirtiv £6p.wv. 
 1 The Greek verses are quoted by Plutarch— 
 
 . . . 'Httov ur,TTi(, r}\l6ioi (pptves avhp&v 
 
 Y.v8vvoos KttTai uoipidiff Bavartt 
 Gvk i\v yap £wsii> Ka\bv axnqi ovre yovsvcu 
 
THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATION. 
 
 even in praise of death, which he endeavoured to establish by 
 an enumeration of the evils of life ; and his Dissertation has 
 a great deal of eloquence in it, but he was unacquainted with 
 the more refined arguments of the philosophers. By the 
 orators, indeed, to die for our country is always considered 
 not only as glorious, but even as happy ; they go back as far 
 as Erechtheus, 1 whose very daughters underwent death, for the 
 safety of their fellow-citizens: they instance Codrus, who 
 threw himself into the midst of his enemies, dressed like a 
 common man, that his royal robes might not "betray him ; 
 because the oracle had declared the Athenians conquerors, if 
 their king was slain. Menceceus 2 is not overlooked by them, 
 who, in compliance with the injunctions of an oracle, freely 
 shed his blood for his country. Iphigenia ordered herself to 
 be conveyed to' Aulis, to be sacrificed, that her blood might 
 be the cause of spilling that of her enemies. 
 
 XLIX. From hence they proceed to instances of a fresher 
 date. Harmodius and Aristogiton are in everybody's mouth ; 
 the memory of Leonidas the Lacedaemonian, and Epami- 
 nondas the Theban, is as fresh as ever. Those philosophers 
 were not acquainted with the many instances in our country — 
 to give a list of whom would take up too much time — who, 
 we see, considered death desirable as long as it was accom- 
 panied with honour. But, notwithstanding this is the correct 
 view of the case, we must use much persuasion, speak as if 
 we were endued with some higher authority, in order to 
 bring men to begin to wisli to die, or cease to be afraid of 
 death. For if that last day does not occasion an entire 
 extinction, but a change of abode only, what can be more 
 desirable ? and if it on the other hand destroys, and abso- 
 lutely puts an end to us, what can be preferable to the having 
 h, deep sleep fall on us, in the midst of the fatigues of life, and 
 being thus overtaken, to sleep to eternity 1 And, should this 
 
 1 This refers to the story that when Eumolpus, the son of Neptune, 
 whose assistance the Eleusinians had called in against the Athenians, 
 had been slain by the Athenians, an oracle demanded the sacrifice of one 
 of the daughters of Erechtheus, the King of Athens. And when one was 
 drawn by lot, the others voluntarily accompanied her to death. 
 
 2 Menoeceus was son of Creon, and in the war of the Argives against 
 Thebes, Teresias declared that the Thebans should conquer if Menoeceut? 
 would sacrifice himself for his country; and accordingly he killed him 
 <clf outside the gates of Thebes. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OP DEATH. 337 
 
 really be the case, then Ennius's language is more consistent 
 with wisdom than Solon's ; for our Ennius says — 
 
 Let none bestow upon my passing bier 
 One needless sigh or unavailing tear. 
 
 But the wise Solon says — 
 
 Let me not unlamented die, but o'er my bier 
 Burst forth the tender sigh, the friendly tear. 
 
 But let us, if indeed it should be our fate to know the time 
 which is appointed by the Gods for us to die, prepare our- 
 selves for it, with a cheerful and grateful mind, thinking 
 ourselves like men who are delivered from a jail, and released 
 from their fetters, for the purpose of going back to our 
 eternal habitation, which may be more emphatically called 
 our own ; or else to be divested of all sense and trouble. If, 
 on the other hand, we should have no notice given us of this 
 decree, yet let us cultivate such a disposition as to look on 
 that formidable hour of death as happy for us, though 
 shocking to our friends ; and let us never imagine anything 
 to be an evil, which is an appointment of the immortal Gods, 
 or of nature, the common parent of all. For it is not ^y 
 hazard or without design that we have been born and situated 
 as we have. On the contrary, beyond all doubt there is a 
 certain power, which consults the happiness of human nature ; 
 and this would neither have produced nor provided for a 
 being, which after having gone through the labours of life 
 was to fall into eternal misery by death. Let us rather infer, 
 that we have a retreat and haven prepared for us, which I 
 wish we could crowd all sail and arrive at ; but though the 
 winds should not serve, and we should be driven back, yet we 
 shall to a certainty arrive at that point eventually, though 
 somewhat later. But how can that be miserable for one 
 which all must of necessity undergo 1. I have given yoii a 
 peroration, that you might not think I had overlooked or 
 neglected anything. 
 
 A. I am persuaded you have not; and, indeed, that pero- 
 ration has confirmed me. 
 
 M. I am glad it has had that effect ; but it is now time to 
 consult our health ; to-morrow, and all the time we continue 
 
 1 The Greek is, 
 
 jU7]5e fioi &K.Aav<TTOS ddvaros u6\oi, dWoL <pl\oi(ri 
 irotiicrai[xi Qauwv &Kycu kolI arroyaxaf- 
 ACAD. ETC. K 
 
338 THE TUROUT.AN' DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 in this Tusculan villa, let us consider this subject ; and espe- 
 cially those portions of it which may ease our pain, alleviate 
 our fears, and lessen our desires, which is the greatest advan- 
 tage we can reap from the whole of philosophy. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 BEARING PAI 
 
 1. Neoptolemus, in Ennius, indeed, says, that the study of 
 philosophy was expedient for himy but that it required 
 limiting to a few subjects, for that to give himself up entirely 
 to it, was what he did not approve of. And for my part, 
 Brutus, I am perfectly persuaded that it is expedient for me 
 to philosophize ; for what can I do better, especially as I have 
 no regular occupation 1 but I am not for limiting my philo- 
 sophy to a few subjects, as he does; for philosophy is a 
 matter in which it is difficult to acquire a little knowledge 
 without acquainting yourself with many, or all its branches, 
 nor can you well take a few subjects without selecting them 
 out of a great number ; nor can any one, who has acquired 
 the knowledge of a few points, avoid endeavouring with the 
 same eagerness to understand more. But still, in a busy life, 
 and in one mainly occupied with military matters, such as 
 that of Neoptolemus was at that time, even that limited 
 degree of acquaintance with philosophy may be of great 
 use, and may yield fruit, not perhaps so plentiful as a 
 thorough knowledge of the whole of philosophy, but yet such 
 as in some degree may at times deliver us from the dominion 
 of our desires, our sorrows, and our fears ; just as the effect 
 of that discussion which we lately maintained in my Tus- 
 culan villa seemed to be, that a great contempt of death was 
 engendered ; which contempt is of no small efficacy towards 
 delivering the mind from fear ; for whoever dreads what can- 
 not be avoided, can by no means live with a quiet and tranquil 
 mind. But he who is under no fear of death, not only because 
 it is a thing absolutely inevitable, but also because he is per- 
 suaded that death itself hath nothing terrible in it, provides 
 himself with a very great resource towards a happy life. How- 
 ever, I am not ignorant, that many will argue strenuously 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 339 
 
 against us ; and, indeed, that is a thing which can never be 
 avoided, except by abstaining from writing at all. For if my 
 Orations, which were addressed to the judgment and appro- 
 bation of the people, (for that is a popular art, and the object 
 of oratory is popular applause.) have been criticised by some 
 people who are inclined to withhold their praise from every 
 thing but what they are persuaded they can attain to them- 
 selves, and who limit their ideas of good speaking by the 
 hopes which they conceive of what they themselves may 
 attain to, and who declare, when they are overwhelmed with 
 a flow of words and sentences, that they prefer the utmost 
 poverty of thought and expression to that plenty and copious- 
 ness; (from which arose the Attic kind of oratory, which 
 they who professed it were strangers to, though they have 
 now been some time silenced, and laughed out of the very 
 courts of justice;) what may I not expect, when at present I 
 cannot have the least countenance from the people, by whom 
 I used to be upheld before 1 For philosophy is satisfied with 
 a few judges, and of her own accord industriously avoids the 
 multitude, who are jealous of it, and utterly displeased with 
 it ; so that, should any one undertake to cry down the whole 
 of it, he would have the people on his side ; while, if he should 
 attack that school which I particularly profess, he would have 
 great assistance from those of the other philosophers. 
 
 II. But I have answered the detractors of philosophy in 
 general, in my Hortensius. And what I had to say in favour 
 of the Academics, is, I think, explained with sufficient accuracy 
 in my four books of the Academic Question. 
 
 But yet I am so far from desiring that no one should write 
 against me, that it is what I most earnestly wish ; for philo- 
 sophy would never have been in such esteem in Greece itself, 
 if it had not been for the strength which it acquired from the 
 contentions and disputations of the most learned men ; and 
 therefore I recommend all men who have abilities to follow 
 my advice, to snatch this art also from declining Greece, and 
 to transport it.to this city ; as our ancestors by their study 
 and industry have imported all their other arts, which were 
 worth having. Thus the praise of oratory, raised from a low 
 degree, is arrived at such perfection, that it must now decline, 
 and, as is the nature of all things, verge to its dissolution in 
 a very short time. Le f . philosophy then derive its birth in 
 
 z'2 
 
340 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 Latin language from this time, and let us lend it our assist- 
 ance, and bear patiently to be contradicted and refuted ; and 
 although those men may dislike such treatment who are 
 bound and devoted to certain predetermined opinions, and are 
 under such obligations to maintain them that they are forced, 
 for the sake of consistency, to adhere to them even though 
 they do not themselves wholly approve of them ; we, on the 
 other hand, who pursue only probabilities, and who cannot g3 
 beyond tb.it which seems really likely, can confute others 
 without obstinacy, and are prepared to be confuted ourselves 
 without resentment. Besides, if these studies are ever brought 
 home to us, we sh 11 not want even Greek libraries, in which 
 there is an infinite number of books, by reason of the mult: 1- 
 tude of authors among them; — for it is a common practice 
 with many to repeat the same things which have been written 
 by others, which serves no purpose, but to stuff their shelves : 
 and this will be our case, too, if many apply themselves to 
 this study. 
 
 III. But let us excite those, if possible, who have had a 
 liberal education, and are masters of an elegant style, and who 
 philosophize with reason and method. 
 
 For there is a certain class of them who would willingly be 
 called philosophers, whose books in our language are said to 
 be numerous, and which I do not despise, for indeed I never 
 read them : but still because the authors themselves declare 
 j that they write without any regularity, or method, or elegance, or 
 ornament, I do not care to read what must be so void of enter- 
 tainment. There is no one in the least acquainted with litsra- 
 ture, who does not know the style and sentiments of thatschaol ; 
 wherefore, since they are at no pains to express themselves 
 well, I do not see why they should be read by anybody except 
 by one another : let them read them, if they please, who are of 
 the same opinions : for in the same manner as all men read 
 Plato, and the other Socratics, with those who sprung from 
 them, even those who do not agree with their opinions, or are 
 very indifferent about them; but scarcely any one except 
 their own disciples, take Epicurus, or Metrodorus, into their 
 hands ; so they alone read these Latin books, who think that the 
 arguments contained in them are sound. But, in my opinion, 
 whatever is published, should be recommended to the reading 
 of every man of learning ; and though we may not succeed in 
 

 ON BEARING PAIN. 3i 
 
 this ourselves, yet nevertheless we must be sensible that this 
 ought to be the aim of every writer. And on this account 
 I have always been pleased with the custom of the Peripa- 
 tetics, aud Academics, of disputing on both sides of the 
 question ; not solely from its being the only method of dis- 
 covering what is probable on every subject, but also because 
 it affords the greatest scope for practising eloquence ; a method 
 that Aristotle first made use of, and afterward all the Aristo- 
 telians ; and in our own memory Philo, whom we have often 
 heard, appointed one time to treat of the precepts of the 
 rhetoricians, and another for philosophical discussion, to which 
 custom I was brought to • conform by my friends at my 
 Tusculum ; and accordingly our leisure time was spent in this 
 maimer. And therefore, as yesterday before noon, we applied 
 ourselves to speaking ; and in the afternoon went down into 
 the Academy : the discussions which were held there I have 
 acquainted you with, not in the manner of a narration, but 
 in almost the very same words which were employed in the 
 debate. 
 
 IV. The discourse, then, was introduced in this manner, 
 whilst we were walking, and it was commenced by some such 
 an opening as this. 
 
 A: It is not to be expressed how much I was delighted, or 
 rather edified, by your discourse of yesterday. For although 
 I am conscious to myself that I have never been too fond of 
 life, yet at times, when I have considered that there would be 
 an end to this life, and that I must some time or other part 
 with all its good things, a certain dread and uneasiness used 
 to intrude itself on my thoughts ; but now, believe me, I am 
 so freed from that kind of uneasiness, that there is nothing 
 that I think less worth any regard. 
 
 M. I am not at all surprised at that, for it is the effect of 
 philosophy, which is the medicine of our souls ; it banishes 
 all groundless apprehensions, frees us from desires, and drives 
 away fears : but it has not the same influence over all men ; 
 it is of very great influence when it falls in with a disposition 
 well adapted to it. For not only does Fortune, as the old 
 proverb says, assist the ?Wd, but reason does so in a still 
 greater degree ; for it, by certain precepts, as it were, 
 strengthens even courage itself. You were born naturally 
 great and soaring, and with a contempt for all things which 
 
312 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 portain to man alone; therefore a discourse aga.nst death 
 tock easy possession of a brave soul. But do you imagine 
 thai these same arguments have any force with those very 
 perso/is who have invented, and canvassed, and published 
 them, excepting indeed some very few particular persons 1 
 For how few philosophers will you meet with, whose life and 
 manners are conformable to the dictates of reason ! who look 
 on their profession, not as a means of displaying their learn- 
 ing, but as a rule for their own practice ! who follow their 
 own precepts, and comply with their own decrees ! You may 
 see some of such levity, and such vanity, that it would have 
 been better for them to have been ignorant ; some covetous of 
 money, some others eager for glory, many slaves to their lusts ; 
 so that their discourses and their actions are most strangely 
 at variance; than which nothing in my opinion can be more 
 unbecoming : for just as if one who professed to teach gram- 
 mar, should speak with impropriety ; or a master of music 
 sing out of tune ; such conduct has the worse appearance in 
 these men, because they blunder in the very particular with 
 xhich they profess that they are well acquainted : so a philo- 
 sopher, who errs in the conduct of his life, is the more infamous, 
 because he is erring in the very thing which he pretends to 
 teach, anl whilst he lays down rules to regulate life by, is 
 irregular in his own life. 
 
 V. A. Should this be the case, is it not to be feared that 
 you are dressing up philosophy in false colours? for what 
 stronger argument can there be that it is of little use, than 
 that some very profound philosophers live in a discreditable 
 manner 1 
 
 M. That, indeed, is no argument at all, for as all the fields 
 which are cultivated are not fruitful, (and this sentiment of 
 Accius is false, and asserted without any foundation, 
 
 The ground you sow on, is of small avail ; 
 Vo yield a crop good seed can never fail :) 
 
 it is not every mind which has been properly cultivated that 
 produces fruit ; — and to go on with the comparison, as a field, 
 although it may be naturally fruitful cannot produce a crop, 
 without dressing, so neither can the mind, without education; 
 such is the weakness of either without the other. Whereas 
 philosophy is the culture of the mind : this ft ia which plucks 
 up vices by the roots ; prepares the mind for the receiving of 
 
ON BEARING TAIN. 343 
 
 seeds, commits them to it, or, as I may say, sows them, in 
 the hope that, when come to maturity, they may produce a 
 plentiful harvest. Let us proceed, then, as we begun j say, if 
 you please, what shall be the subject of our disputation. 
 
 A. I look on pain to be the greatest of all evils. 
 
 M. What, even greater than infamy 1 
 
 A. I da/e not indeed assert that, and I blush to think I am 
 so soondriven from my ground. 
 
 J/^You would have had greater reason for blushing had 
 yotii persevered in it; for what is so unbecoming — what can 
 appear -worse to you, than disgrace, wickedness, immorality ? 
 To avoid which, what pain is there which we ought not (I will 
 not say to avoid shirking, but even) of our own accord to 
 encounter, and undergo, and even to court 1 
 
 A. I am entirely of that opinion; but notwithstanding 
 that pain is not the greatest evil, yet surely it is an evil. 
 
 M. Do you perceive, then, how much of the terror of pain 
 you have given up on a small hint 1 
 
 A. I see that plainly; but I should be glad to give up 
 more of it. 
 
 M. I will endeavour to make you do so, but it is a great 
 undertaking, and I must have a disposition on your part, 
 which is not inclined to offer any obstacles. 
 
 A. You shall have such : for as I behaved yesterday, so 
 now I will follow reason wherever she leads. 
 
 VI. M. First, taen, I will speak of the weakness of many 
 philosophers, and those too of various sects ; the head of whom, 
 both in authority and antiquity, was Aristippus, the pupil of 
 Socrates, who hesitated not to say, that pain was the greatest 
 of all evils. And after him Epicurus easily gave into this 
 effeminate and enervated doctrine. After him Hieronymus, 
 the Rhodian, said, that to be without pain was the chief 
 good, so great an evil did pain appear to him to be. The 
 rest, with the exceptions of Zeno, Aristo, Pyrrho, were 
 pretty much of the same opinion that you were of just 
 now, that it was indeed an evil, but that there were many 
 worse. When then nature herself and a certain' generous 
 feeling of virtue at once prevents you from persisting in the 
 assertion that pain is the chief evil, and when you were driven 
 from such an opinion when disgrace was contrasted with pain, 
 shall philosophy, the preceptress of life, cling to this ide3 
 
344: THE TTTSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 for so many ages I What duty of life, what praise, what 
 reputation would be of such consequence that a man should 
 be desirous of gaining it at the expense of submitting to 
 bodily pain, when he has persuadeS. himself that pain is the 
 greatest evil 1 On the other side, whai disgrace, what ignominy, 
 would he not submit to, that he might avoid pain, when per- 
 suaded that it was the greatest of evils ? Besides, what person, 
 if it be only true that pain is the greatest of evils, is not mise- 
 rable, not only when he actually feels pain, but also whenever 
 he is aware that it may befal him 1 And who is there whom 
 pain may not befal ? so that it is clear that there is absolutely 
 no one who can possibly be happy. Metrodorus, indeed, thinks 
 that man perfectly happy, whose body is free from all dis- 
 orders, and who has an assurance that it will always continue 
 so ; but who is there who can be assured of that 1 
 
 VII. But Epicurus, indeed, says such things that it should 
 seem that his design was only to make people laugh ; for he 
 affirms somewhere, that if a wise man were to be bumed, or 
 put to the tortue, — you expect, perhaps, that he is going to 
 say he would bear it, he would support himself under it with 
 resolution ! he would not yield to it, and that, by Hercules ! 
 Avould be very commendable, and worthy of that very Her- 
 cules whom I have just invoked : but even this will not 
 satisfy Epicurus, that robust and hardy man! No; his 
 wise man, even if he were in Phalaris's bull, would say, How 
 sweet it is ! how little do I regard it ! What sweet 1 is 
 it not sufficient, if it is not disagreeable? But those very 
 men who deny pain to be an evil, are not in the habit of 
 Haying that it is agreeable to any one to be tormented ; they 
 rather say, that it is cruel, or hard to bear, afflicting, un- 
 natural, but still not an evil : while this man who says that 
 it is the only evil, and the very worst of all evils, yet thinks 
 that a wise man would pronounce it sweet. I do not require 
 of you to speak of pain in the same words which Epicurus 
 uses — a man, as you know, devoted to pleasure : he may make 
 j 10 difference, if he pleases, between Phalaris's bull, and his 
 own bed : but I cannot allow the wise man to be so indif- 
 ferent about pain. If he bears it with courage, it is sufficient; 
 that he should rejoice in it, I do not expect; for pain is, 
 beyond all question, sharp, bitter, against nature, hard to 
 bubmit to, and to bear. Observe Philoctetes : We may allow 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 345 
 
 him to lament, for he saw Hercules himself groaning loudly 
 through extremity of pain on mount (Eta: the arrows with 
 which Hercules presented him, were then no consolation to 
 him, when 
 
 The viper's bite, impregnating his veins 
 With poison, rack'd him with its bitter pains. 
 
 And therefore he cries out, desiring help, and wishing to die, 
 
 Oh ! that some friendly hand its aid would lend, 
 My body from this rock's vast height to send 
 Into the briny deep ! I'm all on lire, 
 And by this fatal wound must soon expire. 
 
 It is hard to say that the man who was obliged to cry out 
 in this manner, was not oppressed with evil, and great evil 
 too. 
 
 VIIT. But let us observe Hercules himself, who was sub- 
 dued by pain at the very time when he was on the point of 
 attaining immortality by death. What words does Sophocles 
 here put in his mouth, in his Trachinige 1 who, when Deianira 
 had put upon him a tunic dyed in the centaur's blood, and it 
 stuck to his entrails, says, 
 
 What tortures I endure no words can tell, 
 Far greater these, than those which erst befel 
 From the dire terror of thy consort, Jove ; 
 E'en stern Eurystheus' dire command above ; 
 This of thy daughter, (Eneus, is the fruit, 
 Beguiling me with her envenom'd suit, 
 Whose close embrace doth on my entrails prey, 
 Consuming life ; my lungs forbid to play ; 
 The blood forsakes my veins, my manly heart 
 Forgets to beat; enervated, each part 
 Neglects its office, whilst my fatal doom 
 Proceeds ignobly from the weaver's loom. 
 The hand of foe ne'er hurt me, nor the fierce 
 Giant issuing from his parent earth. 
 Ne'er could the Centaur such a bl^w enforce, 
 No barbarous foe, nor all the Grecian force ; 
 This arm no savage people could withstand, 
 Whose realms I traversed to reform the land. 
 Thus, though I ever bore a manly heart, 
 I fall a victim to a woman's art. 
 IX. Assist, my son, if thou that name dost hear, 
 My groans preferring to thy mother's tear : 
 Convey her here, if, in thy pious heart. 
 Thy mother shares not an unequal part : 
 Proceed, be bold, thy father's fate bemoan, 
 Nations will join, you will not weep alone 
 
346 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 what a sight is this same briny source, 
 Unknown before, through all my labours' couree ! 
 That virtue, which could brave each toil but late, 
 With woman's weakness now bewails its fate. 
 Approach, my son ; behold thy father laid, 
 A wither'd carcase that implores thy aid ; 
 Let all behold ; and thou, imperious Jove, 
 On me direct thy lightning from above : 
 Now all its force the poison doth assume, 
 And my burnt entrails with its flame consume. 
 Crest-fallen, unembraced I now let fall 
 Listless, those hands that lately conquer' d all ; 
 When the Nemsean lion own'd their force, 
 And he indignant fell a breathless corse : 
 The serpent slew, of the Lernean lake, 
 As did the Hydra of its force partake : 
 By this, too, fell the Erymanthian boar : 
 E'en Cerberus did his weak strength deplore. 
 This sinewy arm did overcome with ease 
 That dragon, guardian of the golden fleece. 
 My many conquests let some others trace ; 
 It's mine to say, I never knew disgrace. 1 
 Can we, then, despise pain, when we see Hercules himself 
 giving vent to his expressions of agony with such impatience? 
 IX. Let us see what ^Eschylus says, who was not only 
 a poet, but a Pythagorean philosopher, also, for that is 
 the account which you have received of him ; how doth he 
 make Prometheus bear the pain he suffered for the Lemnian 
 theft, when he clandestinely stole away the celestial fire, and 
 bestowed it on men, and was severely punished by Jupiter 
 for the theft. Fastened to mount Caucasus, he speaks thus : 
 Thou heav'n-born race of Titans here fast bound, 1 
 Behold thy brother ! As the sailors sound 
 With care the bottom, and their ships confine 
 To some safe shore, with anchor and with line : 
 So, by Jove's dread decree, the god of fire 
 Confines me here the victim of Jove's ire. 
 With baneful art his dire machine he shapes ; 
 From such a god what mortal e'er escapes 1 
 When each third day shall triumph o'er the night, 
 Then doth the vulture, with his talons light, 
 Seize on my entrails; which, in rav'nous guise, 
 He preys on ! then with wing extended flies 
 Aloft, and brushes with his plumes the gore : 
 But when dire Jove my liver doth restore, 
 Back he returns impetuous to his prey, 
 Clapping his wings, he cuts th' ethereal way. 
 
 1 Soph. Trach. 1047. 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 547 
 
 Thus do I nourish with my blood this pest, 
 Confined my arms, unable to contest; 
 Entreating only, that in pity Jove 
 Would take my life, and this cursed plague remove. 
 But endless ages past, unheard my moan, 
 Sooner shall drops dissolve this very stone. 1 
 
 And therefore it scarcely seems possible to avoid calling a 
 man who is suffering, miserable; and if he is miserable, then 
 pain is an evil. 
 
 XI. A. Hitherto yon are on my side; I will see to that 
 by-and-by ; and, in the meanwhile, whence are those verses 1 
 I do not remember them. 
 
 M. I will inform yon, for you are in the right to ask. Do 
 you see that I have much leisure I 
 
 A. What then? 
 
 M. I imagine, when you were at Athens, you attended 
 frequently at the schools of the philosophers. 
 
 A. Yes, and with great pleasure. 
 
 M. You observed then, that, though none of them at that 
 time were very eloquent, yet they used to mix verses with 
 their harangues. 
 
 A. Yes, and particularly Dionysius, the Stoic, used to em- 
 ploy a great many. 
 
 M. You say right ; but they were quoted without any 
 appropriateness or elegance. But our friend Philo used to 
 give a few select lines and well adapted ; and in imitation of 
 him, ever since I took a fancy to this kind of elderly decla- 
 mation, I have been very fond of quoting our poets, and 
 where I cannot be supplied from them, I translate from the 
 Greek, that the Latin language may not want any kind of 
 ornament in this kind of disputation. 
 
 But do you not see how much harm is done by poets % 
 They introduce the bravest men lamenting over their mis- 
 fortunes : they soften our minds, and they are besides so 
 entertaining, that we do not only read them, but get them by 
 heart. Thus the influence of the poets is added to our want 
 of discipline at home, and our tender and delicate manner of 
 living, so that between them they have deprived virtue of all 
 its vigour and energy. Plato therefore was right in banishing 
 
 1 The lines quoted by Cicero here, appear to have come from the Latin 
 play of Prometheus by Accius ; the ideas are borrowed rather than 
 translated rom the Prometheus of ^Eschylus. 
 
348 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 them from his commonwealth, where he required the best 
 morals, and the best form of government. But we, who 
 have all our learning from Greece, read and learn these works 
 of theirs from our childhood ; and look on this as a liberal 
 and learned education. 
 
 XII. But why are we angry with the poets? we may find 
 some philosophers, those masters of virtue, who have taught 
 that pain was the greatest of evils. But you, young man, 
 when you said but just now that it appeared so to you, upon 
 being asked by me what appeared greater than infamy, 
 gave up that opinion at a word. Suppose I ask Epicurus the 
 same question. He will answer, that a trifling degree of pain 
 is a greater evil than the greatest infamy; for that there is 
 no evil in infamy itself, unless attended with pain. What 
 pain then attends Epicurus, when he says this very thing, 
 that pain is the greatest evil ; and yet nothing can be a 
 greater disgrace to a philosopher than to talk thus. There- 
 fore, you allowed enough when you admitted that infamy 
 appeared to you to be a greater evil than pain. And if you 
 abide by this admission, you will see how far pain should be 
 resisted : and that our inquiry should be not so much 
 whether pain be an evil ; as how the mind may be fortified for 
 resisting it. The Stoics infer from some petty quibbling 
 arguments, that it is no evil, as if the dispute was about a 
 word, and not about the thing itself. Why do you impose 
 upon me, Zeno 1 for when you deny what appears very dread- 
 ful to me to be an evil ; I am deceived, and am at a loss to 
 know why that which appeal's to me to be a most miserable 
 thing, should be no evil. The answer is, that nothing iH an evil 
 but what is base and vicious. You return to your trifling, for 
 you do not remove what made me uneasy. I know that pain 
 is not vice, — you need not inform me of that : but show me, 
 that it makes no difference to me whether I am in pain or 
 not. It has never anything to do, say you, with a happy life, 
 for that depends upon virtue alone ; but yet pain is to be 
 avoided. If I ask, why % it is disagreeable, against nature, 
 hard to bear, woful and afflicting. 
 
 XIII. Here are many words to express that by so many 
 different forms, which we call by the single word, evil. You 
 are defining pain, instead of removing it, when you say, it is 
 disagreeable, unnatural, scarcely possible to be endured or 
 
ON BEARING FAYX. 34# 
 
 borne : nor are you wrong in saying so; but ths man who 
 vaunts himself in such a manner should not give way in his 
 conduct, if it be true that nothing is good but what is honest, 
 and nothing evil but what is disgraceful. This would be 
 wishing, not proving. — This argument is a better one, and 
 has more truth in it, that all things which nature abhors are 
 to be looked upon as evil ; that those which she approves of, 
 are to be considered as good : for when this is admitted, and 
 the dispute about words removed, that which they with 
 reason embrace, and which we call honest, right, becoming, 
 and sometimes include under the general name of virtue, 
 appears so far superior to everything else, that all other things 
 which are looked upon as the gifts of fortune, or the good 
 things of the body, seem trifling and insignificant : and no 
 evil whatever, nor all the collective body of evils together, 
 appears to be compared to the evil of infamy. ,-AVherefore, if, 
 as you granted in the beginning, infamy is worse than pain, 
 pain is certainly nothing; for while it appears to you base 
 and unmanly to groan, cry out, lament, or faint under' pain — 
 while you cherish notions of probity, dignity, honour, and 
 keeping your eye on them, refrain yourself — pain will cer- 
 tainly yield to virtue, and by the influence of imagination, 
 will lose its whole force. — For you must either admit that 
 there is no such thing as virtue, or you must despise every 
 kind of pain. Will you allow of such a virtue as prudence, 
 without which no virtue whatever can even be conceived] 
 What then 1 will that suffer you to labour and take pains to 
 no purpose ? Will temperance permit you to do anything to 
 excess ? Will it be possible for justice to be maintained by 
 one who through the force of pain discovers .secrets, or be- 
 trays his confederates, or deserts many duties of life 1 ? Will 
 you act in a manner consistently with courage, and its at- 
 tendants, greatness of soul, resolution, patience, and contempt 
 for all worldly things 1 Can you hear yourself called a great 
 man, when you lie groveling, dejected, and deploring your 
 condition, with a lamentable voice; no one would call you 
 even a man, while in such a condition : you must therefore 
 either abandon all pretensions to courage, or else pain must 
 be put out of the question. 
 
 XIV. You know very well, that even though part of your 
 Corinthian furniture were gone, the remainder might be safe 
 
350 THE TUSCULAV DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 without that ; but if you lose one virtue (though virtue in 
 reality cannot be lost), still if, I say, you should acknowledge 
 that you were defic ; ent in one, you would be stripped of all. 
 Can you, then, call yourself a brave man, of a great soul, 
 endued with patience and steadiness above the frowns of for- 
 tune 1 or Philoctetes 1 for I choose to instance him, rather 
 than yourself, for he certainly was not a brave man, who lay 
 in his bed, which was watered with his tears, 
 
 Whose groans, bewailings, and whose bitter cries, 
 With grief incessant rent the very skies. 
 
 I do not deny pain to be pain ; for were that the case, in 
 what would courage consist 1 but I say it should be assuaged 
 by patience, if there be such a thing as patience : if there be 
 no such thing, why do we speak so in praise of philosophy ? 
 or why do we glory in its name 1 ? Does pain annoy us? let 
 it sting us to the heart : if you are without defensive armour, 
 bare your throat to it ; but if you are secured by Vulcanian 
 armour, that is to say by resolution, resist it; should you fail 
 to do so, that guardian of your honour, your courage, will 
 forsake and leave you. — By the laws of Lycurgus, and by 
 those which were given to the Cretans by Jupiter, or which 
 Minos established under the direction of Jupiter, as the poets 
 say, the youths of the state are trained by the practice of 
 hunting, running, enduring hunger and thirst, cold and heat. 
 The boys at Sparta are scourged so at the altars, that blood 
 follows the lash in abundance, nay, sometimes, as I used to 
 hear when I was there, they are whipped even to death ; and 
 yet not one of them was ever heard to cry out, or so much as 
 groan. What then 1 shall men not be able to bear what boys 
 do 1 and shall custom have such great force, and reason none 
 at all 1 
 
 XV. There is some difference betwixt labour and pain j 
 they border upon one another, but still there is a certain 
 difference between them. Labour is a certain exercise of the 
 mind or body, in some employment or undertaking of seriou? 
 trouble and importance ; but pain is a sharp motion in the 
 body, disagreeable to our senses. — Both these feelings, the 
 Greeks, whose language is more copious than ours, express by 
 the common name of IIoVos; therefore they call industrious 
 men, pains-taking, or rather fond of labour; we, more con- 
 veniently, call them laborious ; for labouring is one thing 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 351 
 
 and enduring pain another. You see, Greece, your barren- 
 ness of words, sometimes, though you think you are always 
 so rich in them. I say, then, that there is a difference 
 betwixt labouring and being in pain. When Caius Marina 
 had an operation performed for a swelling in his thigh, he 
 felt pain ; when he headed his troops in a very hot season, he 
 laboured. Yet these two feelings bear some resemblance to 
 one another; for the accustoming ourselves to labour makes 
 the endurance of pain more easy to us. — And it was be- 
 cause they were influenced by this reason, that the founders 
 of the Grecian form of government provided that the bodies 
 of their youth should be strengthened by labour, which 
 custom the Spartans transferred even to their women, who 
 in other cities lived more delicately, keeping within the walls 
 of their houses, but it was otherwise with the Spartans. 
 
 The Spartan women, with a manly air, 
 Fatigues and dangers with their husbands share : 
 They in fantastic sports have no delight, 
 Partners with them in exercise and tight. 
 
 And in these laborious exercises pain interferes sometimes; 
 they are thrown down, receive blows, have bad falls, and are 
 bruised, and the labour itself produces a sort of callousness to 
 pain. 
 
 XVI. As to military service, (I speak of our own, not of 
 that of the Spartans, for they used to march slowly to the 
 sound of the flute, and scarce a word of command was given 
 without an anapaest ;) you may see in the first place whence 
 the very name of an army (Exercitus) 1 is derived; and 
 secondly, how great the labour is of an army on its march ; 
 then consider that they carry more than a fortnight's provi- 
 sion, and whatever else they may want : that they carry the 
 burthen of the stakes, 2 for as to shield, sword, or helmet, they 
 look on them as no more encumbrance than their own limbs, 
 for they say that arms are the limbs of a soldier, and those 
 indeed they carry so commodiously, that when there is occa- 
 sion they throw down their burdens, and use their arms as 
 readily as their limbs. Why need I mention the exercises of 
 the legions? and how great the labour is which is under- 
 
 1 From Exerceo. 
 
 2 Each soldier carried a stake, to help form a palisade in front of the 
 camp. 
 
352 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 gone in the running, encounters, shouts! Hence it is, tha* 
 their minds are worked up to make so light of wounds in 
 action. Take a soldier of equal bravery, but undisciplined, 
 and he will seem a woman. Why is it that there is this 
 sensible difference betwixt a raw recruit and a veteran soldier? 
 The age of the young soldiers is for the most part in their 
 favour, but it is practice only that enables men to bear 
 labour, and despise wounds. Moreover, we often see, when 
 the wounded are carried off the field, the raw untried soldier, 
 though but slightly wounded, cries out most shamefully; but 
 the more brave experienced veteran only inquires for some 
 one to dress his wounds, and says, 
 
 Patroclus, to thy aid I must appeal. 
 
 Ere worse ensue, my bleeding wounds to heal ; 
 
 The sons of ^Esculapius are employ'd, 
 
 No room for me, so many are anuoy'd. 
 
 XVII. This is certainly Eurypylus himself. What an ex- 
 perienced man ! — Whilst his friend is continually enlarging 
 on his misfortunes, you may observe that he is so far from 
 weeping, that he even assigns a reason why he'should bear his 
 wounds with patience. 
 
 Who at his enemy a stroke directs, 
 
 His sword to light upon himself expects. 
 
 Patroclus, I suppose, will lead him off to his chamber to 
 bind up his wounds, at least if he be a man : but not a word 
 of that; he only inquires how the battle went. 
 
 Say how the Argives bear themselves in fight? 
 
 And yet no words can show the truth as well as those, your 
 deeds and visible sufferings. 
 
 Peace ! and my wounds bind up ; 
 but though Eurypylus could bear these afflictions, ^Esopus 
 could not, 
 
 Where Hector's fortune press'd our yielding troops ; 
 
 and he explains the rest, though in pain; so unbounded is 
 military glory in a brave man ! Shall, then, a veteran soldier 
 be able to behave in this manner, and shall a wise and learned 
 man not be able? Surely the latter might be able to bear 
 pain better, and in no small degree either : at present, how 
 ever, I am confining myself to what is engendered practice 
 and discipline. 1 am not yet come to speak of reason and 
 philosophy. You may often hear of old women living without 
 
ON BEARING rA!T». 353 
 
 victuals for three or four days : but take away a wrestler's 
 provisions but for one day, and he will implore the aid of 
 Jupiter Olympius, the very God for whom he exercises him- 
 self : he will cry out that he cannot endure it. Great is the 
 force of custom! Sportsmen will continue whole nights in 
 the snow: they will bear being almost frozen upon the 
 mountains. From practice boxers will not so much as utter 
 a groan, however bruised by the cestus. But what do you 
 think of those to whom a victory in the Olympic games 
 seemed almost on a par with the ancient consulships of the 
 Roman people 1 What wounds will the gladiators bear, who 
 are either barbarians, or the very dregs of mankind! How 
 do they, who are trained to it, prefer being wounded to basely 
 avoiding it ! How often do they prove that they consider 
 nothing but the giving satisfaction to their masters or to the 
 people! for when covered with wounds, they send to their 
 masters to learn their pleasure; if it is their will, they are 
 ready to lie down and die. What gladiator, of even moderate 
 reputation, ever gave a sigh? who ever turned pale? who 
 ever disgraced himself either in the actual combat, or even 
 when about to die 1 who that had been defeated ever drew in 
 his neck to avoid the stroke of death ? So great is the force of 
 practice, deliberation, and custom ! Shall this, then, be done by 
 
 A Samnite rascal, worthy of his trade; 
 
 and shall a man born to glory have so soft a part in his soul 
 as not to be able to fortify it by reason and reflection 1 J The 
 sight of the gladiators' combats is by some looked on as 'cruel 
 and inhuman, and I do not know, as it is at present managed, 
 but it may be so ; but when the guilty fought, we might 
 receive by our ears perhaps (but certainly by our eyes we 
 could not) better training to harden us against pain and 
 death. 
 
 XVIII. I have now said enough about the effects of exercise, 
 custom, and careful meditation ; proceed we now to consider 
 the force of reason, unless you have something to reply to 
 what has been said. 
 
 A. That I should interrupt you ! by no means; for your 
 discourse has brought me over to your opinion. Let the 
 Stoics, then, think it their business to determine whether pain 
 • >e an evil or not, while they endeavour to show by some 
 
 ACAD. ETC. A A 
 
354 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 strained and trifling conclusions, which are nothing to the 
 purpose, that pain is no evil. My opinion is, that whatever 
 it is, it is not so great as it appears ; and I say, that men are 
 influenced to a great extent by some false representations and 
 appearance of it, and that all which is really felt is capable of 
 being endured. Where shall I begin, then 1 shall I superfi- 
 cially go over wnat I said before, that my discourse may have 
 a greater scope 1 
 
 This, then, is agreed upon by all, and not only by learned 
 men, but also by the unlearned, that it becomes the brave 
 and magnanimous, those that have patience and a spirit above 
 this world, not to give way to pain. Nor has there ever been 
 any one who did not commend a man who bore it in this 
 manner. That, then, which is expected from a brave man, 
 and is commended when it is seen, it must surely be base in 
 any one to be afraid of at its approach, or not to bear when it 
 comes. But I would have you consider whether, as all the 
 right affections of the soul are classed under the name of 
 virtues, the truth is that this is not properly the name of 
 them all, but that they all have their name from that leading 
 virtue which is superior to all the rest : for the name, 
 " virtue," comes from mr, a man, and courage is the peculiar 
 distinction of a man : and this virtue has two principal 
 duties, to despise death and pain. We must, then, exert 
 these, if we would be men of virtue, or rather, if we would be 
 men, because virtue (virtus) takes its very name from vir, 
 man. 
 
 XIX. You may inquire, perhaps, how? and such an 
 inquiry is not amiss, for philosophy is ready with her 
 assistance. Epicurus offers himself to you, a man far from a 
 bad, or, I should rather say, a very good man ; he advises no 
 more than he knows. " Despise pain," says he. Who is it 
 saith this 1 Is it the same man who calls pain the greatest 
 of all evils 1 It is not, indeed, very consistent in him. Let 
 us hear what he says : — " If the pain is excessive it must 
 needs be short." I must have that over again, for I do not 
 apprehend what you mean exactly by " excessive " or " short." 
 That is excessive, than which nothing can be . greater ; that 
 is short, than which nothing is shorter. I do not regard 
 the greatness of any pain from which, by reason of the short- 
 ness of its continuance, I shall be delivered almost before it 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 366 
 
 reaches me. But, if the pain be as great as that of Philoc- 
 tetes, it will appear great indeed to me, bnt yet not the 
 greatest that I am capable of bearing j for the pain is con- 
 fined to my foot : but my eye may pain me, I may have a 
 pain in the head, or sides, or lungs, or in every part of me. 
 It is far, then, from being excessive ; therefore, says he, pain 
 of a long continuance has more pleasure in it than uneasiness. 
 Now I cannot bring myself to say so great a man talks non- 
 sense; but I imagine he is laughing at us. My opinion is; 
 that the greatest pain (I say the greatest, though it may be 
 ten atoms less than another) is not therefore short, because 
 acute j I could name to you a great many good men who 
 have been tormented many years with the acutest pains of 
 the gout. But this cautious man doth not determine the 
 measure of that greatness or of duration, so as to enable us 
 to know what he calls excessive, with regard to pain, or short, 
 with respect to its continuance. Let us pass him by, then, 
 as one who says just nothing at all ; and let us force him to 
 acknowledge, notwithstanding he might behave himself some- 
 what boldly under his cholic and his strangury, that no remedy 
 against pain can be had from him who looks on pain as the 
 greatest of all evils. We must apply, then, for relief else- 
 where, and nowhere better (if we seek for what is most con- 
 sistent with itself) than to those who place the chief good in 
 honesty, and the greatest evil in infamy. You dare not so 
 much as groan, or discover the least uneasiness in their 
 company, for virtue itself speaks to you through them. 
 
 XX. Will you, when you may observe children at Lace- 
 damion, and young men at Olympia, and barbarians in the 
 amphitheatre, receive the severest wounds, and bear them 
 without once opening their mouths, — will you, I say, if any 
 pain should by chance attack you, cry out like a woman ? 
 will you not rather bear it with resolution and constancy 1 
 and not cry, It is intolerable, nature cannot bear it. I hear 
 what you say, — Boys bear this because they are led thereto by 
 glory : some bear it through shame, many through fear, and 
 yet are we afraid that nature cannot bear what is borne by 
 many, and in such different circumstances? Nature not only 
 bears it, but challenges it, for there is nothing with her pre- 
 ferable, nothing which she desires more, than credit, and 
 reputation, and praise, and honour, and glory. I choose here 
 aa2 
 
356 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATI0N8. 
 
 to describe this one thing under many names, and I have 
 used many that you may have the clearer idea of it ; for 
 what I mean to say is, that whatever is desirable of itself, 
 proceeding from virtue, or placed in virtue, and commendable 
 on its own account, (which I would rather agree to call the 
 only good than deny it to be the chief good,) is what men 
 should prefer above all things. And as we declare this to be 
 the case with respect to honesty, so we speak in the contrary 
 manner of infamy ; nothing is so odious, so detestable, nothing 
 so unworthy of a man : and if you are thoroughly convinced 
 of this (*br, at the beginning of this discourse, you allowed 
 that there appeared to you more evil in infamy than in pain), 
 it follows that you ought to have the command over your- 
 self, though I scarcely know how this expression may seem 
 an accurate one, which appears to represent man as made up 
 of two natures, so that one should be in command and the 
 other be subject to it. 
 
 XXI. Yet this division does not proceed from ignorance ; 
 for the soul admits of a two-fold division, one of which par- 
 takes of reason, the other is without it ; when, therefore, we 
 are ordered to give a law to ourselves, the meaning is, that 
 reason should restrain our rashness. There is in the soul of 
 every man, something naturally soft, low, enervated in a 
 manner, and languid. Were there nothing besides this, men 
 would be the greatest of monsters ; but there is present to 
 every man reason, which presides over, and gives laws to all ; 
 which, by improving itself, and making continual advances, 
 becomes perfect virtue. It behoves a man, then, to take care 
 that reason shall have the command over that part which is 
 bound to practise obedience. In what manner 1 you will say. 
 Why, as a master has over his slave, a general over his army, 
 a father over his son. If that part of the soul which I have 
 called soft behaves disgracefully, if it gives itself up to 
 lamentations and womanish tears, then let it be restrained, 
 and committed to the care of friends and relations, for we 
 often see those persons brought to order by shame, whom no 
 reasons can influence. Therefore, we should confine those 
 feelings, like our servants, in safe custody, and almost with 
 chains. But those who have more resolution, and yet are not 
 utterly immovable, we should encourage with our exhorta- 
 tions, as we would good soldiers, to recollect themselves, and 
 
ON BEARING .-aIN. 367 
 
 maintain their honour. That wisest man of all Greece, in the 
 Niptne, does not lament too much over his wounds, or 
 rather, he is moderate in his grief : — 
 
 Move slow, my friends, your hasty speed refrain, 
 
 Lest by your motion you increase my pain. 
 
 Pacuvius is better in this than Sophocles, for in the one 
 Ulysses bemoans his wounds too vehemently; for the very 
 people who carried him after he was wounded, though his 
 grief was moderate, yet, considering the dignity of the man, 
 did not scruple to say, 
 
 And thou, Ulysses, long to war inured, 
 
 Thy wounds, though great, too feebly hast endured. 
 
 The wise poet understood that custom was no contemptible 
 instructor how to bear pain. But the same hero complains 
 with more decency, though in great pain, — 
 
 Assist, support me, never leave me so ; 
 Unbind my wounds, oh ! execrable woe ! 
 
 He begins to give way, but instantly checks himself : — 
 
 Away, begone, but cover first the sore ; 
 
 For your rude hands but make my pains the more. 
 
 Do you observe how he constrains himself; not that his 
 bodily pains were less, but because he checks the anguish of 
 his mind 1 Therefore, in the conclusion of the Niptrse, he 
 blames others, even when he himself is dying : — 
 
 Complaints of fortune may become the man, 
 None but a woman will thus weeping stand. 
 
 And so that soft place in his soul obeys his reason, just as 
 an abashed soldier does his stern commander. 
 
 XXII. The man, then, in whom absolute wisdom exists (such 
 a man, indeed, we have never as yet seen, but the philosophers 
 have described in their writings what sort of man he will be, 
 if he should exist) ; such a man, or at least that perfect and 
 absolute reason which exists in him, will have the same au- 
 thority over the inferior part as a good parent has over his 
 dutiful children, he will bring it to obey his nod, without 
 any trouble or difficulty. He will rouse himself, prepare and 
 arm himself to oppose pain as he would an enemy. If you 
 inquire what arms he will provide himself with ; they will be 
 contention, encouragement, discourse with himself; he will 
 say thus to himself, Take care that you are guilty of nothing 
 base, languid, or unmanly. He will turn over in his mind 
 
358 THE TUSCULA^ : DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 all the different kinds of honour. Zeno of Elea will occur to 
 him, who suffered everything rather than betray his confede- 
 rates in the design of putting an end to the tyranny. He 
 will reflect on Anaxarchus, the pupil of Democritus, who 
 having fallen into the hands of Nicocreon king of Cyprus, 
 without the least entreaty for mercy, or refusal, submitted to 
 every kind of torture. Calanus the Indian will occur to 
 him, an ignorant man and a barbarian, born at the foot of 
 Mount Caucasus, who committed himself to the flames by his 
 own free, voluntary act. But we, if we have the tooth-ache, 
 or a pain in the foot, or if the body be any ways affected, 
 cannot bear it. For our sentiments of pain, as well as 
 pleasure, are so trifling and effeminate, we are so enervated 
 and relaxed by luxuries, that we cannot bear the sting of a 
 bee without crying out. But Caius Marius, a plain country- 
 man, but of a manly soul, when he had an operation per- 
 formed on him, as I mentioned above, at first refused to be 
 tied down; and he is the first instance of any one's having 
 had an operation performed on him without being tied down. 
 Why, then, did others bear it afterwards 1 Why, from the 
 force of example. You see, then, that pain exists more in 
 opinion than in nature, and yet the same Marius gave a proof 
 that there is something very sharp in pain, for he would not 
 submit to have the other thigh cut. So that he bore his 
 pain with resolution as a man ; but, like a reasonable person, 
 he was not willing to undergo any greater pain without some 
 necessary reason. The whole, then, consists in this, that you 
 should have command over yourself. I have already told you 
 what kind of command this is ; and by considering what is most 
 consistent with patience, fortitude, and greatness of soul, a 
 man not only restrains himself, but somehow or other miti- 
 gates even pain itself. , " 
 
 XXIII. Even' as in a battle, the dastardly and timorous 
 soldier throws away his shield on the first appearance of an 
 enemy, and runs as fast as he can, and on that account loses 
 his life sometimes, though he has never received even one 
 wound, when he who stands "his ground has nothing of the 
 sort happeir to him ; so, they who cannot bear the appear- 
 ances of pain, throw themselves away, and give themselves up 
 to affliction and dismay ; but they that oppose it, often come 
 off more than a match for it. For the body has a certain 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 350 
 
 resemblance to the soul: as burdens are more easily borne 
 the more the body is exerted, while they crush us if we give 
 way; so the soul by exerting itself resists the whole weight 
 that would oppress . it ; but if it yields, it is so pressed, that 
 it cannot support itself. And if we consider things truly, the 
 soul should exert itself in every pursuit, for that is the only 
 security for its doing its duty. "But this should be princi- 
 pally regarded in pain, that we must not do anything timidly, 
 or dastardly, or basely, or slavishly, or effeminately, and 
 above all things we must dismiss and avoid that Philoctetean 
 sort of outcry. A man is allowed sometimes to groan, but 
 yet seldom; but it is not permissible even in a woman to 
 howl ; for such a noise as this is forbidden, by the twelve 
 tables, to be used even at funerals. Nor does a wise or brave 
 man ever groan, unless when he exerts himself to give his 
 resolution greater force, as they who run in the stadium 
 make as much noise as they can. The wrestlers, too, do the 
 same when they are training; and the boxers, when they aim 
 a blow with the cestus at their adversary, give a groan, not 
 because they are in pain, or from a sinking of their spirits, 
 but because their whole body is put upon the stretch by the 
 throwing out of these groans, and the blow comes the 
 stronger. 
 
 ^XXIV. What! they who would speak louder than ordi- 
 nary, are they satisfied with working their jaws, sides, or 
 tongue, or stretching the common organs of speech and 
 utterance 1 the whole body and every muscle is at full 
 stretch, if I may be allowed the expression, every nerve is 
 exerted to assist their voice. I have actually seen the knees 
 of Marcus Antonius touch the ground when he was speaking 
 with vehemence for himself, with relation to the Varian law. 
 For as the engines you throw stones or darts with, throw 
 them out with the greater force the more they are strained 
 and drawn back ; so it is in speaking, running, or boxing, the 
 more people strain themselves, the greater their force. Since, 
 therefore, this exertion has so much influence — if in a moment 
 of pain groans help to strengthen the mind, let us use them ; 
 but if they be groans of lamentation, if they be the expression 
 of weakness or abjectness, or unmanly weeping, then I should 
 scarcely call him a man who yielded to them. For even 
 supposing that such groaning could give any ease, it still 
 
360 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 should be considered, whether it were consistent with a brave 
 and resolute man. But, if it does not ease our pain, why 
 should we debase ourselves to no purpose ? for what is more 
 unbecoming in a man than to cry like a woman ? But this 
 precept which is laid down with respect to pain is not con- 
 tined to it; we should apply this exertion of the soul to 
 everything else. Is anger inflamed 1 is lust excited 1 we 
 must have recourse to the same citadel, and apply to the 
 same arms ; but since it is pain which we are at present dis- 
 cussing, we will let the other subjects alone. To bear pain, 
 then, sedately and calmly, it is of great use to consider with 
 all our soul, as the saying is, how noble it is to do so, for we 
 are naturally desirous (as I said before, but it cannot be too 
 often repeated) and very much inclined to what is honour- 
 able, of which, if we discover but the least glimpse, there is 
 nothing which we are not prepared to undergo and suffer to 
 attain it. From this impulse of our minds, this desire for 
 genuine glory and honourable conduct, it is that such dangers 
 are supported in war, and that brave men are not sensible of 
 their wounds in action, or if they are sensible of them, prefer 
 death to the departing but the least step from their honour. 
 The Decii saw the shining swords of their enemies when they 
 were rushing into the battle. But the honourable character 
 and the glory of the death which they were seeking, made all 
 fear of death of little weight. Do you imagine that Epami- 
 nondas groaned when he perceived that his life was flowing 
 out with his blood 1 No ; for he left his country triumphing 
 over the Lacedsemonians, whereas he had found it in sub- 
 jection to them. These are the comforts, these are the things 
 that assuage the greatest pain. 
 
 XXV. You may ask, how the case is in peace 1 what is to 
 be done at home I how we are to behave in bed 1 You bring 
 me back to the philosophers, who seldom go to war. Among 
 these, Dionysius of Heraclea, a man certainly of no resolu- 
 tion, having learned fortitude of Zeno, quitted it on being in 
 pain ; for, being tormented with a pain in his kidneys, in be- 
 wailing himself he cried out, that those things were false 
 which he had formerly conceived of pain. And when his 
 fellow-disciple, Cleanthes, asked him why he had changed his 
 opinion, he answered, " That the case of any man who had 
 applied so much time to philosophy, and yet was unable to 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 361 
 
 bear pain, might be a sufficient prooi that pain is an evil. 
 That he himself had spent many years at philosophy, and yet 
 could not bear pain. It followed, therefore, that pain was an 
 evil." It is reported that Cleanthes on that struck his foot 
 on the ground, and repeated a verse out of the Epigona>— 
 
 Amphiaraus, hear'st thou this belcw ] 
 
 He meant Zeno: he was sorry the other had degenerated 
 from him. 
 
 But it was not so with our friend Posidonius, whom I have 
 often seen myself, and I will tell you what Pompey used U 
 say of him : that when he came to Rhodes, after his departure 
 from Syria, he had a great desire to hear Posidonius, but was 
 informed that he was very ill of a severe fit of the gout ; yet 
 he had great inclination to pay a visit to so famous a philo- 
 sopher. Accordingly, when he had seen him, and paid his 
 compliments, and had spoken with great respect of him, he 
 tsaid he was very sorry that he could not hear him lecture. 
 But indeed you may, replied the other, nor will I suffer any 
 bodily pain to occasion so great a man to visit me in vain. 
 On this Pompey relates that, as he lay on his bed, he dis- 
 puted with great dignity and fluency on this very subject — 
 That nothing was good but what was honest ; and that in his 
 paroxysms he would often say, * Pain, it is to no purpose, not- 
 withstanding you are troublesome, I will never acknowledge 
 you an evil." And in general all celebrated and notorious 
 afflictions become endurable by disregarding them. 
 
 XXVI. Do we not observe, that where those exercises called 
 gymnastic are in esteem, those who enter the lists never con- 
 cern themselves about dangers : that where the praise of 
 riding and hunting is highly esteemed, they who practise 
 these arts decline no pain. What shall I say of our own 
 ambitious pursuits, or desire of honours'? What fire have 
 not candidates run through to gain a single vote ] Therefore 
 Africanus had always in his hands Xenophon, the pupil of 
 Socrates, being particularly pleased with his saying, that 
 the same labours were not equally heavy to the general and 
 to the common man, because the honour itself made the 
 labour lighter to the general. But yet, so it happens, that 
 even with the illiterate vulgar, an idea of honour is of great 
 influence, though they cannot understand what it is. They 
 
332 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 are led by report and common opinion to look on that os 
 honourable, which has the general voice. Not that I would 
 have you, should the multitude be ever so fond of you, rely 
 on their judgment, nor approve of everything which they 
 think right j you must use your own judgment. If you are 
 satisfied with yourself when you have approved of what is 
 right, you will not only have the mastery over yourself, 
 (which I recommend to you just now,) but over everybody, 
 and everything. Lay this down, then, as a rule, that a great 
 
 V capacity, and lofty elevation of soul, which distinguishes 
 itself most by despising and looking down with contempt on 
 pain, is the most excellent of all things, and the more so, if 
 it does not depend on the people, and does not aim at ap- 
 plause, but derives its satisfaction from itself. Besides, to me 
 indeed everything seems the more commendable the less the 
 people are courted, and the fewer eyes there are to see it. 
 Not that you should avoid the public, for every generous 
 action loves the public view; yet no theatre for virtue is 
 equal to a consciousness of it. 
 
 XXVII. And let this be principally considered, tfiat this 
 bearing of pain, which I have often said is to be strengthened 
 by an exertion of the soul, should be the same in everything. 
 For you meet with many who, through a desire of victory, 
 or for glory, or to maintain their rights, or their liberty, have 
 boldly received wounds, and borne themselves up under them ; 
 and yet those very same persons, by relaxing that intense? 
 ness of their minds, were unequal to bearing the pain of 
 a disease. For they did not support themselves under their 
 former sufferings by reason or philosophy, but by inclination 
 and glory. Therefore some barbarians and savage people are 
 able to fight very stoutly w T ith the sword, but cannot bear 
 sickness like men : but the Grecians, men of no great cou- 
 ' rage, but as wise as human nature will admit of, cannot look 
 an enemy in the face, yet the same will bear to be visited 
 with sickness tolerably, and with a sufficiently manly spirit ; 
 and the Cimbrians and Celtiberians are very alert in battle, 
 but bemoan themselves in sickness; for nothing can be con- 
 sistent which has not reason for its foundation. But when 
 you see those who are led by inclination or opinion, not 
 retarded by pain in their pursuits, nor hindered by it from 
 succeeding in them, you may conclude, either that pain is no 
 
ON GRIEF OP MIND. 3G3 
 
 evil, or that, notwithstanding you may choose to call an 
 evil whatever is disagreeable and contrary to nature, yet 
 it is so very trifling an evil, that it may so effectually 
 be got the better of by virtue as quite to disappear. And 
 I would have you think of this night and day; for this 
 argument will spread itself, and take up more room some- 
 time or other, and not be confined to pain alone ; for if the 
 motives to all our actions are to avoid disgrace and acquire 
 honour, we may not only despise the stings of pain, but the 
 storms of fortune, especially if we have recourse to that retreat 
 which was pointed out in our yesterday's discussion : for as, 
 if some God had advised a man who was pursued by pirates 
 to throw himself overboard, saying, There is something at 
 hand to receive you; either a dolphin will take you up, as it 
 did Arion of Methymna ; or those horses sent by Neptune to 
 Pelops (who are said to have carried chariots so rapidly as to 
 be borne up by the waves) will receive you, and convey you 
 wherever you please; cast away all fear: so, though your 
 pains be ever so sharp and disagreeable, if the case is not 
 such that it is worth your while to endure them,- you see 
 whither you may betake yourself. I think this will do for 
 the present. But perhaps you still abide by your opinion. 
 
 A. Not in the least, indeed; and I hope I am freed by 
 these two days' discourses from the fear of two things that 
 I greatly dreaded. 
 
 M. To-morrow then for rhetoric, as we were saying ; but 
 I see we must not drop our philosophy. 
 
 A. No, indeed, we will have the one in the forenoon, and 
 this at the usual time. 
 
 M. It shall be so, and I will comply with your very laudable 
 inclinations. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 GRIEF OP MIND. 
 
 I. What reason shall I assign, Brutus, why, as we consist 
 of mind and body, the art of curing and preserving the body 
 should be so much sought after, and the invention of it, as 
 being so useful, should be ascribed to the immortal Gods; 
 but the medicine of the mind should not have been so much 
 
 ') 
 
364 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 the object of inquiry, whilst it was unknown, nor so much 
 attended to and cultivated after its discovery, nor so well 
 received or approved of by some, and accounted actually 
 disagreeable, and looked upon with an envious eye by many] 
 Is it because we, by means of the mind, judge of the pains 
 and disorders of the body, but do not, by means of the body, 
 arrive at any perception of the disorders of the mind 1 
 Hence it comes that the mind only judges of itself, when 
 that very faculty by which it is judged is in a bad state. 
 Had nature given us faculties for discerning and viewing 
 herself, and could we go through life by keeping our eye on 
 her — our best guide — there would be no reason certainly why 
 any one should be in want of philosophy or learning : but, 
 as it is, she has furnished us only with some feeble rays 
 of light, which we immediately extinguish so completely by 
 evil habits and erroneous opinions, that the light of nature 
 is nowhere visible. The seeds of virtues are natural to our 
 constitutions, and, were they suffered to come to maturity, 
 would naturally conduct us to a happy life ; but now, as soon 
 as we are born and received into the world, we are instantly 
 familiarized with all kinds of depravity and perversity of 
 opinions ; so that we may be said almost to suck in error 
 with our nurse's milk. When we return to our parents, and 
 are put into the hands of tutors and governors, we are imbued 
 with so many errors, that truth gives place to falsehood, and 
 nature herself to established opinion. 
 
 II. To these we may add the poets; who, on account of 
 the appearance they exhibit of learning and wisdom, are 
 heard, read, and got by heart, and make a deep impression on 
 our minds. But when to these are added the people, who are 
 as it were one great body of instructors, and the multitude, 
 who declare unanimously for what is wrong, then are wo 
 altogether overwhelmed with bad opinions, and revolt entirely 
 from nature; so that they seem to deprive us of our best 
 guide, who have decided that there is nothing better for man, 
 nothing more worthy of being desired by him, nothing more 
 excellent than honours and commands, and a high reputation 
 with the people ; which indeed every excellent man aims at ; 
 but whilst he pursues that only true honour, which nature 
 has in view above all other objects, he finds himself busied in 
 arrant trifles, and in pursuit of no conspicuous form of virtue* 
 
ON GRIEF OF PAIN. 365 
 
 but only some shadowy representation of glory. For glory is 
 a real and express substance, not a mere shadow. It consists 
 in the united praise of good men, the free voice of those who 
 form a true judgment of preeminent virtue ; it is, as it were, 
 the very echo of virtue ; and being generally the attendant 
 on laudable actions, should not be slighted by good men. 
 But popular fame, which would pretend to imitate it, is hasty 
 and inconsiderate, and generally commends wicked and im- 
 moral actions, and throws discredit upon the appearance and 
 beauty of honesty, by assuming a resemblance of it. And it 
 is owing to their not being able to discover the difference 
 between them that some men, ignorant of real excellence, and 
 in what it consists, have been the destruction of their country 
 and of themselves. And thus the best men have erred, not so 
 much in their intentions, as by a mistaken conduct. What, 
 is no cure to be attempted to be applied to those who are 
 carried away by the love of money, or the lust of pleasures, 
 by which they are rendered little short of madmen, which is 
 the case of all weak people 1 or is it because the disorders of 
 the mind are less dangerous than those of the body? or 
 because the body will admit of a cure, while there is no 
 medicine whatever for the mind 1 
 
 III. But there are more disorders of the mind than of the 
 body, and they are of a more dangerous nature ; for these 
 very disorders are the more offensive, because they belong to 
 the mind, and disturb it ; and the mind, when disordered, is, 
 as Ennius says, in a constant error; it can neither bear nor 
 endure anything, and is under the perpetual influence of 
 desires. Now, what disorders can be worse to the body than 
 these two distempers of the mind (for I overlook others), 
 weakness and desire *? But how, indeed, can it be maintained 
 that the mind cannot prescribe for itself, when she it is who 
 has invented the medicines for the body, when, with regard 
 to bodily cures, constitution and nature have a great share, 
 nor do all, who suffer themselves to be cured, find that effect 
 instantly; but those minds which are disposed to be cured, 
 and submit to the precepts of the wise, may undoubtedly 
 recover a healthy state 1 Philosophy is certainly the medicine 
 of the soul, whose assistance we do not seek from abroad, as 
 in bodily disorders, but we ourselves are bound to exert our 
 utmost energy and power in order to effect our cure. "Rut as 
 
3G6 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 to philosophy in general, I have, I think, in my " Hortensius," 
 sufficiently spoken of the credit and attention which it 
 deserves : since that, indeed, I have been continually either 
 disputing or writing on its most material branches : and I 
 have laid down in these books all the discussions which 
 took place between myself and my particular friends at my 
 Tusculan Villa : but as I have spoken in the two former of 
 pain and death, this book shall be devoted to the account of 
 the third day of our disputations. 
 
 We came down into the Academy when the day was already 
 declining towards afternoon/ and I asked one of those who 
 were present to propose a subject for us to discourse on; and 
 then the business was carried on in this manner. 
 
 IV. A. My opinion is, that a wise man is subject to 
 grief 
 
 M. What, and to the other perturbations of mind, as 
 fears, lusts, anger % For these are pretty much like what the 
 Greeks call iraS-q. I might call them diseases, and that would 
 be a literal translation, but it is not agreeable to our way of 
 speaking. For envy, delight, and pleasure, are all called by 
 the Greeks diseases, being affections of the mind not in sub- 
 ordination to reason : but we, I think, are right, in calling the 
 same motions of a disturbed soul perturbations, and in very 
 seldom using the term diseases ; though, perhaps, it appears 
 otherwise to you. 
 
 A. I am of your opinion. 
 
 M. And do you think a wise man subject to these % 
 
 A. Entirely, I think. 
 
 M. Then that boasted wisdom is but of small account, if it 
 differs so little from madness 1 
 
 A. What '? does every commotion of the mind seem to you 
 to be madness ? 
 
 M. Not to me only ; but I apprehend, though I have often 
 been surprised at it, that it appeared so to our ancestors many 
 ages before Socrates : from whom is derived all that philosophy 
 which relates to life and morals. 
 
 A. How so? 
 
 M. Because the name madness 1 implies a sickness of the 
 mind and disease, that is to say an unsoundness, and an 
 
 1 Insania — from in, a particle of negative force in composition, anJ 
 tanus, healthy, sound. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 367 
 
 unhealthiness of mind, which they call madness. But the 
 philosophers call all perturbations of the soul diseases, and 
 their opinion is that no fool is ever free from these : but all 
 that are diseased are unsound ; and the minds of all fools are 
 diseased; therefore all fools are mad. For they held that 
 soundness of the mind depends on a certain tranquillity and 
 steadiness ; and a mind which was destitute of these qualities 
 they called insane, because soundness was inconsistent with a 
 perturbed mind just as much as with a disordered body. 
 
 V. Nor were they less ingenious in calling the state of the 
 soul devoid of the light of the mind, " a being out of one's 
 mind," "a being beside oneself." From whence we may 
 understand, that they who gave these names to things were 
 of the same opinion with Socrates, that all silly people were 
 unsound, which the Stoics have carefully preserved as being 
 derived from him ; for whatever mind is distempered, (and as 
 I just now said, the philosophers call all perturbed motions of 
 the mind distempers.,) is no more sound than a body is when 
 in a fit of sickness. Hence it is, that wisdom is the sound- 
 ness of the mind, folly a sort of unsoundness, which is 
 insanity, or a being out of one's mind : and these are much 
 better expressed by the Latin words than the Greek ; which 
 you will find the case also in many other topics. But we will 
 discuss that point elsewhere : let us now attend to our present 
 subject. The very meaning of the word describes the whole 
 thing about which we are inquiring, both as to its substance 
 and character. For we must necessarily understand by 
 " sound," those whose minds are under no perturbation from 
 any motion as if it were a disease. They who are differently 
 affected we must necessarily call " unsound." So that nothing 
 is better than what is usual in Latin, to say, that they who 
 are run away with by their lust or anger, have quitted the 
 command over themselves; though anger includes lust, for 
 anger is defined to be the lust of revenge. They, then, who 
 are said not to be masters of themselves, are said to be so 
 because they are not under the government of reason, to 
 which is assigned by nature the power over the whole soul. 
 Why the Greeks should call this fxavla, I do not easily appre- 
 hend; but we define it much better than they, for we dis- 
 tinguish this madness {insania), which, being allied to folly, 
 is more extensive, from what we call furor, or raving. Th« 
 
Z6S THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 Greeks indeed would do so too, but they have no one word 
 that will express it: what we call furor, they call /xcXay^oA/a, 
 as if the reason were affected only by a black bile, and not 
 disturbed as often by a violent rage, or fear, or grief. Thus 
 we say Athamas, Alcmaeon, Ajax, and Orestes, were raving 
 (furere) : because a person affected in this manner was not 
 allowed, by the twelve tables, to have the management of his 
 own affairs ; therefore the words are not, if he is mad (insanus), 
 but, if he begins to be raving (furiosus). For they looked 
 upon madness to be an unsettled humour, that proceeded 
 from not being of sound mind; yet such a person might 
 perform his ordinary duties, and discharge the usual and 
 customary requirements of life : but they considered one that 
 was raving as afflicted with a total blindness of the mind, 
 which, notwithstanding it is allowed to be greater than mad- 
 ness, is nevertheless of such a nature, that a wise man may be 
 subject to raving (furor), but cannot possibly be afflicted by 
 insanity (insania). But this is another question : let us now 
 return to our original subject. 
 
 VI. I think you said that it was your opinion that a wise 
 man was liable to grief. 
 
 A. And so, indeed, I think. 
 
 M. It is natural enough to think so, for we are not the off- 
 spring of flints : but we have by nature something soft and 
 tender in our souls, which may be put into a violent motion 
 by grief, as by a storm ; nor did that Crantor, who was one of 
 the most distinguished men that our Academy has ever pro- 
 duced, say this amiss : " I am by no means of their opinion 
 who talk so much in praise of I know not what insensibility, 
 which neither can exist, nor ought to exist : I would choose," 
 says he, " never to be ill ; but should I be so, still I should 
 choose to retain my sensation, whether there was to be an 
 amputation, or any other separation of anything from my 
 body. For that insensibility cannot be but at the expense of 
 some unnatural ferocity of mind, or stupor of body." But let 
 us consider whether to talk in this manner be not allowing 
 that we are weak, and yielding to our softness. Notwith- 
 standing, let us be hardy enough, not only to lop off every 
 arm of our miseries, but even to pluck up every fibre of their 
 roots : yet still something perhaps may be left behind, so 
 deep does folly strike its roots : but whatever may be left, it 
 
ON GIUEF OF MIND. 369 
 
 will be no more than is necessary. But let us be persuaded 
 of this, that unless the mind be in a sound state, -which philo- 
 sophy alone can effect, there can be no end of our miseries. 
 Wherefore, as we begun, let us submit ourselves to it for a 
 cure ; we shall be cured if we choose to be. I shall advance 
 something further. I shall not treat of grief alone, though 
 that indeed is the principal thing ; but, as I originally pro- 
 posed, of every perturbation of the mind, as I termed it, 
 disorder, as the Greeks call it : and first, with your leave, I 
 shall treat it in the manner of the Stoics, whose method is to 
 reduce their arguments into a very small space ; afterwards I 
 shall enlarge more in my own way. 
 
 VII. A man of courage is also ruM of faith ; I do not use 
 the word confident, because, owing to an erroneous custom of 
 speaking, that word has come to be used in a bad sense, 
 though it is derived from confiding, which is commendable. 
 But he who is full of faith, is certainly under no fear; for 
 there is an inconsistency between faith and fear. Now who- 
 ever is subject to grief is subject to fear; for whatever things 
 we grieve at when present, we dread when hanging over us 
 and approaching. Thus it comes about, that grief is incon- 
 sistent with courage : it is very probable, therefore, that 
 whoever is subject to grief, is also liable to fear, and to a 
 broken kind of spirits and sinking. Now whenever these 
 befal a man, he is in a servile state, and must own that he is 
 overpowered : for whoever admits these feelings, must admit 
 timidity and cowardice. But these cannot enter into the 
 mind of a man of courage; neither therefore can grief: but 
 the man of courage is the only wise man; therefore grief 
 cannot befal the wise man. It is besides necessaiy, that who- 
 ever is brave, should be a man of great soul ; that whoever is 
 a man of a great soul, should be invincible : whoever is in- 
 vincible looks down with contempt on all things here, and 
 considers them beneath him. But no one can despise those 
 things on account of which he may be affected with grief : 
 from whence it follows, that a wise man is never affected with 
 grief: for all wise men are brave; therefore a wise man is not 
 subject to grief. And as the eye, when disordered, is not in 
 a good condition for performing its office properly; and as 
 the other parts, and the whole body itself, when unsettled, 
 cannot perform their office and business ; so the mind, wheu 
 
 ACAD. ETC. B B 
 
370 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 disordered, is but ill-fitted to perform its duty. The jffice of 
 the mind is to use its reason well ; but the mind of a wise 
 man is always in condition to make the best use of his reason, 
 and therefore is never out of order. But grief is a disorder of 
 the mind ; therefore a wise man will be always free from it. 
 
 VIII. And from these considerations we may get at a very 
 probable definition of the temperate man, whom the Greeks 
 call <T(xxf>poiv, and they call that virtue cruxf>poo-uvr}v, which I 
 at one time call temperance, at another time moderation, and 
 sometimes even modesty; but I do not know whether that 
 virtue may not be properly called frugality, which has a more 
 confined meaning with the Greeks; for they call frugal men 
 XP^o-t/>tov?, which implies only that they are useful : but our 
 name has a more extensive meaning ; for all abstinence, all 
 innocency, (which the Greeks have no ordinary name for, 
 though they might use the word a/3Aa'/?eia, for innocency is 
 that disposition of mind which would offend no one,) and 
 several other virtues, are comprehended under frugality ; but 
 if this quality were of less importance, and confined in as 
 small a compass as some imagine, the surname of Piso 1 would 
 not have been in so great esteem. But as we allow him not 
 the name of a frugal man (frugi), who either quits his post 
 through fear, which is cowardice ; or who reserves to his own 
 use what was privately committed to his keeping, which is 
 injustice; or who fails in his military undertakings through 
 rashness, which is folly; for that reason the word frugality 
 takes in these three virtues of fortitude, justice, and pru- 
 dence, though it is indeed common to all virtues, for they are 
 all connected and knit together. Let us allow, then, frugality 
 itself to be another and fourth virtue ; for its peculiar property 
 seems to be, to govern and appease all tendencies to too eager 
 a desire after anything, to restrain lust, and to preserve a 
 decent steadiness in everything. The vice in contrast to this 
 is called prodigality (nequitia). Frugality, I imagine, is de- 
 rived from the word fruge, the best thing which the earth 
 produces; nequitia is derived (though this is perhaps rather 
 more strained, still let us try it ; we shall only be thought to 
 have been trifling if there is nothing in what we say) from 
 the fact of everything being to no purpose (nequkquam) in such 
 
 1 The man who first received this surname was L. Calpurniu? Pis), 
 who was consul, b.c. 133, in the Servile >Ya;. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 371 
 
 a man; from which circumstance he is caller' aino I^ikil, 
 nothing. Whoever is frugal, then, or, if it is more agreeable 
 to you, whoever is moderate and temperate, such a one must 
 of course be consistent ; whoever is consistent, must be quiet ; 
 the quiet man must be free from all perturbation, therefore 
 from grief likewise : and these are the properties of a wise 
 man ; therefore a wise man must be free from grief. 
 
 IX. So that Dionysius of Heraclea is right when, upon this 
 complaint of Achilles in Homer — 
 
 Well hast thou spoke, but at the tyrant's name 
 My rage rekindles, and my soul's in flame : 
 'Tis just resentment, and becomes the brave, 
 Disgraced, dishonour'd like the vilest slave 1 — 
 
 he reasons thus : Is the hand as it should be, when it is 
 affected with a swelling 1 or is it possible for any other mem- 
 ber of the body, when swollen or enlarged, to be in any other 
 than a disordered state 1 Must not the mind, then, w T hen it is 
 puffed up, or distended, be out of order 1 But the mind of a 
 wise man is always free from every kind of disorder ; it never 
 swells, never is puffed up : but the mind when in anger is in 
 a different state. A wise man therefore is never angry ; for 
 when he is angry, he lusts after something ; for whoever is 
 angry naturally has a longing desire to give all the pain he 
 can to the person who he thinks has injured him ; and who- 
 ever has this earnest desire must necessarily be much pleased 
 w T ith the accomplishment of his wishes ; hence he is delighted 
 with his neighbour s misery ; and as a wise man is not capable 
 of such feelings as these, he is therefore not capable of anger. 
 But should a wise man be subject to grief, he may likewise 
 be subject to anger ; for as he is free from anger, he must 
 likewise be free from grief. Again, could a wise man be sub- 
 ject to grief, he might also be liable to pity, or even might be 
 open to a disposition towards envy (invidentia) ; I do not 
 say to envy (invidia), for that can only exist by the very act 
 of envying : but we may fairly form the word invidentia 
 from invidendo, and so avoid the doubtful name invidia; 
 for this word is probably derived from in and video, look- 
 
 1 The Greek is— 
 
 'AAAci fj.oi olSdveTat Kpab"n) x°"^V fonrof' iiteivov 
 Mvhffojjjai os j.C acrv(pT)\ov eV 'Apyeiouriu epe|e»>. — II- ix. 642. 
 I have given Pope's translation in the text. 
 B B 2 
 
372 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 ing too closely into another's fortune; as it is said in the 
 Melanippus, 
 
 Who envies me the flower of my children 1 ? 
 where the Latin is invidit Jlorem. It may appear not good 
 Latin, but it is very well put by Accius ; for as video governs 
 an accusative case, so it is more correct to say invideo Jlorem 
 than fiori. We are debarred from saying so by common 
 usage : the poet stood in his own right, and expressed him- 
 self with more freedom. 
 
 X. Therefore compassion and envy are consistent in the 
 same man ; for whoever is uneasy at any one's adversity, is 
 also uneasy at another's prosperity : as Theophrastus while 
 he laments the death of his companion Callisthenes, is at 
 the same time disturbed at the success of Alexander; and 
 therefore he says, that Callisthenes met with a man of the 
 greatest power and good fortune, but one who did not know 
 how to make use of his good fortune. And as pity is an 
 uneasiness which arises from the misfortunes of another, so 
 envj is an uneasiness that proceeds from the good success of 
 another : therefore whoever is capable of pity, is capable of 
 envy. But a wise man is incapable of envy, and consequently 
 incapable of pity. But were a wise man used to grieve, to 
 pity also would be familiar to him ; therefore to grieve, is a 
 feeling which cannot affect a wise man. Now, though these 
 reasonings of the Stoics, and their conclusions, are rather 
 strained and distorted, and ought to be expressed in a less 
 stringent and narrow manner, yet great stress is to be laid on 
 the opinions of those men who have a peculiarly bold and 
 manly turn of thought and sentiment. For our friends the 
 Peripatetics, notwithstanding all their erudition, gravity, and 
 fluency of language, do not satisfy me about the moderation 
 of these disorders and diseases of the soul which they insist 
 upon ; for every evil, though moderate, is in its nature great. 
 But our object is to make out that the wise man is free from 
 all evil ; for as the body is unsound if it is ever so slightly 
 affected, so the mind under any moderate disorder loses its 
 soundness : therefore the Romans have, with their usual 
 accuracy of expression, called trouble, and anguish, and vexa- 
 tion, on account of the analogy between a troubled mind and 
 u diseased body, disorders. The Greeks call all perturbation 
 jf mind by pretty nearly the same name ; for they name every 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 37 3 
 
 turbid motion of the soul irdOos, that is to say, a distemper. 
 But we have given them a more proper name; for a disorder 
 of the mind is very like a disease of the body. But lust does 
 not resemble sickness ; neither does immoderate joy, which is 
 an elated and exulting pleasure of the mind. Fear, too, is 
 not very like a distemper, though it is akin to grief of mind, 
 but properly, as is also the case with sickness of the body, so 
 too sickness of mind has no name separated from pain. And 
 therefore I must explain the origin of this pain, that is to 
 say, the cause that occasions this grief in the mind, as if it 
 were a sickness of the body. For as physicians think they 
 have found out the cure, when they have discovered the cause 
 of the distemper; so we shall discover the method of curing 
 melancholy, when the cause of it is found out. 
 
 XI. The whole cause, then, is in opinion ; and this observa- 
 tion applies not to this grief alone, but to every other disorder 
 of the mind, which are of four sorts, but consisting of many 
 parts. For as every disorder or perturbation is a motion of 
 the mind, either devoid of reason, or in despite of reason, or 
 in disobedience to reason, and as that motion is excited by an 
 opinion of either good or evil ; these four perturbations are 
 divided equally into two parts : for two of them proceed from 
 an opinion of good, one of which is an exulting pleasure, 
 that is to say, a joy elated beyond measure, arising from an 
 opinion of some present great good; the other is a desire 
 which may fairly be called even a lust, and is an immoderate 
 inclination after some conceived great good, without any 
 obedience to reason. Therefore these two kinds, the exulting 
 pleasure, and the lust, have their rise from an opinion of good, 
 as the other two, fear and grief, have from an opinion of evil. 
 For fear is an opinion of some great evil impending over us, 
 and grief is an opinion of some great evil present; and, 
 indeed, it is a freshly conceived opinion of an evil so great, 
 that to grieve at it seems right : it is of that kind, that he 
 who is uneasy at it thinks he has good reason to be so. Now 
 we should exert our utmost efforts to oppose these perturba- 
 tions — which are, as it were, so many furies let loose upon us, 
 and urged on by folly — if we are desirous to pass this share of 
 life that is allotted to us with ease and satisfaction. But of 
 the other feelings I shall speak elsewhere; our business at 
 present is to drive away grief if we can, for that shall be the 
 
374 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 object of our present discussion, since you have said that it 
 was your opinion that a wise man might be subject to grief, 
 which I can by no means allow of; for it is a frightful, 
 miserable, and detestable thing, which we should fly from with 
 our utmost efforts — with all our sails and oars, as I may say. 
 
 XII. That descendant of Tantalus, how does he appear to 
 you 1 he who sprung from Pelops, who formerly stole Hip- 
 podamia from her father-in-law, king (Enomaus, and married 
 her by force 1 He who was descended from Jupiter himself, 
 how broken-hearted and dispirited does he not seem ! — 
 
 Stand off, my friends, nor come within my shade, 
 That no pollutions your sound hearts pervade, 
 So foul a stain my body doth partake. 
 Will you condemn yourself, Thyestes, and deprive yourself of 
 life, on account of the greatness of another's crime 1 What 
 do you think of that son of Phoobus? do you not look upon 
 him as unworthy of his own father's light ? 
 Hollow his eyes, his body worn away, 
 His furrow'd cheeks his frequent tears betray ; 
 His beard neglected, and his hoary hairs 
 Rough and uncomb'd, bespeak his bitter cares. 
 foolish iEetes, these are evils which you yourself have been 
 the cause of, and are not occasioned by any accidents with 
 which chance has visited you ; and you behaved as you did, 
 even after you had been inured to your distress, and after the 
 first swelling of the mind had subsided ! whereas grief con- 
 sists (as I shall show) in the notion of some recent evil ; but 
 your grief, it is very plain, proceeded from the loss of your 
 kingdom, not of your daughter, for you hated her, and 
 perhaps with reason, but you could not calmly bear to part 
 with your kingdom. But surely it is an impudent grief 
 which preys upon a man for not being able to command 
 those that are free. Dionysius, it is true, the tyrant of 
 Syracuse, when driven from his country taught a school at 
 Corinth ; so incapable was he of living without some autho- 
 rity. But what could be more impudent than Tarquin % 
 who made war upon those who could not bear his tyranny; 
 and when he could not recover his kingdom by the aid of the 
 forces of the Veientians and the Latins, is said to have 
 betaken himself to Cuma, and to have died in that city, of 
 old age and grief ! 
 
 XIII. Do you, then, think that it can befal a wise man to 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 375 
 
 be oppressed with grief, that is to say, with misery I for, as 
 all perturbation is misery, grief is the rack itself. Lust is 
 attended with heat, exulting joy with levity, fear with mean- 
 ness, but grief with something greater than these; it con- 
 sumes, torments, afflicts, and disgraces a man ; it tears him, 
 preys upon his mind, and utterly destroys him : if we do 
 not so divest ourselves of it as to throw it completely off, we 
 cannot be free from misery. And it is clear that there must 
 be grief where anything has the appearance of a present sore 
 and oppressing evil. Epicurus is of opinion, that grief arises 
 naturally from the imagination of any evil ; so that whosoever 
 is eye-witness of any great misfortune, if he conceives that 
 the like may possibly befal himself, becomes sad instantly 
 from such an idea. The Cyrenaics think that grief is not 
 engendered by every kind of evil, but only by unexpected, 
 unforeseen evil ; and that circumstance is, indeed, of no small 
 effect on the heightening of grief; for whatsoever comes of a 
 sudden appears more formidable. Hence these lines are de- 
 servedly commended — 
 
 I knew my son, when first he drew his breath, 
 Destined by fate to an untimely death ; 
 And when I sent him to defend the Greeks, 
 War was his business, not your sportive freaks. 
 
 XIV. Therefore, this ruminating beforehand upon future 
 evils which you see at a distance, makes their approach more 
 tolerable; and on this account, what Euripides makes 
 Theseus say, is much commended. You will give me leave 
 to translate them, as is usual with me — 
 
 I treasured up what some learn'd sage did tell, 
 
 And on my future misery did dwell ; 
 
 I thought of bitter death, of being drove 
 
 Far from my home by exile, and I strove 
 
 With every evil to possess my mind, 
 
 That, when they came, I the less care might find. 1 
 
 But Euripides says that of himself, which Theseus said he 
 had heard from some learned man, for the poet had been a 
 
 1 This is from the Theseus — 
 
 *E7C() 5e tovto irapa crocpov rivos paOkv 
 €Jj (ppovriias vovv (Tv/x(popds r e[}aKX.6p.7)V 
 <pvyds t ipavry irporrridels irdrpas ip.ys. 
 Qavdrovs t* awpovs, ical kclkwv &\Aas 6$ovs 
 &s, et rt irdcrxoip.' a>v il>6!-a£6y ttotc 
 Mr] puti veoprov irpocnreahu p.uk\oy tidicoi. 
 
376 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 pupil of Anaxagoras, who, as they relate, on hearing of the 
 death of his son, said, " I knew that my son was mortal ; " 
 which speech seems to intimate that such things afflict those 
 men who have not thought on them before. Therefore, there 
 is no doubt but that all those things which arc considered evils 
 are the heavier from not being foreseen. Though, notwith- 
 standing this is not the only circumstance which occasions 
 the greatest grief, still, as the mind, by foreseeing and pre- 
 paring for it, has great power to make all grief the less, a 
 man should at all times consider all the events that may 
 befal him in this life ; and certainly the excellence and divine 
 nature of wisdom consists in taking a near view of, and 
 gaining a thorough acquaintance with, all human affairs, in 
 not being surprised when anything happens, and in thmking, 
 before the event, that there is nothing but what may come 
 to pass. 
 
 Wherefore eVry man, 
 When his affairs go on most swimmingly, 
 E'en then it most behoves to arm himself 
 Against the coming storm : loss, danger, exile, 
 Returning ever, let him look to meet ; 
 His son in fault, wife dead, or daughter sick : 
 All common accidents, and may have happen'd, 
 That nothing shall seem new or strange. But if 
 Aught has fall'n out beyond his hopes, all that 
 Let him account clear gain. 1 
 
 XV Therefore, as Terence has so well expressed what he 
 borrowed from philosophy, shall not we, from whose fountains 
 he drew it, say the same thing in a better manner, and abide 
 by it with more steadiness 1 Hence came that steady coun- 
 tenance, which, according to Xantippe, her husband Socrates 
 always had; so that she said that she never observed any 
 difference in his looks when he went out, and when he came 
 home. Yet the look of that old Roman, M. Crassus, who, as 
 Lucilius says, never smiled but once in his lifetime, was not 
 of this kind, but placid and serene, for so we are told. He, 
 indeed, might well have had the same look at all times who 
 never changed his mind, from which the countenance derives 
 its expression. So that I am ready to borrow of the Cyre- 
 naics those arms against the accidents and events of life, by 
 means of which, by long premeditation, they break the faroe 
 * Ter. rhorra. II. i. 11. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 377 
 
 of all approaching evils ; and at the same time, T think that 
 those veiy evils themselves arise more from opinion than 
 nature, for, if they were real, no forecast could make them 
 lighter. But I shall speak more particularly on these""" 
 matters after I have first considered Epicurus's opinion, who 
 thinks that all people must necessarily be uneasy who believe 
 themselves to be in any evils, let them be either foreseen and 
 expected, or habitual to them ; for, with him, evils are not 
 the less by reason of their continuance, nor the lighter for 
 having been foreseen ; and it is folly to ruminate on evils to 
 come, or such as, perhaps, never may come ; every evil is 
 disagreeable enough when it does come ; but he who is con- 
 stantly considering that some evil may befal him, is loading 
 himself with a perpetual evil, and even should such evil 
 never light on him, he voluntarily takes upon himself unne- 
 cessary miseiy, so that he is under constant uneasiness, 
 whether he actually suffers any evil, or only thinks of it. But 
 he makes the alleviation of grief depend on two things, a 
 ceasing to think on evil, and a turning to the contemplation 
 of pleasure. For he thinks that the mind may possibly be 
 under the power of reason, and follow her directions ; he 
 forbids us, therefore, to mind trouble, and calls us off from 
 sorrowful reflections : he throws a mist over our eyes to 
 hinder us from the contemplation of misery. Having sounded 
 a retreat from this statement, he drives our thoughts on 
 again, and encourages them to view and engage the whole 
 mind in the various pleasures with which he thinks the life 
 of a wise man abounds, either from reflecting on the past, or 
 from the hope of what is to come. I have said these things 
 in my own way, the Epicureans have theirs : however, let us 
 examine what they say; how they say it is of little conse- 
 quence. 
 
 XVI. In the first place, they are wrong in forbidding men 
 to premeditate on futurity, and blaming their wish to do so ; 
 for there is nothing that breaks the edge of grief and lightens 
 it more, than considering, during one's whole life, that there is 
 nothing which it is impossible should happen ; or, than consi- 
 dering what human nature is, on what conditions life was 
 given, and how we may comply with them. The effect of 
 which is, that we are always grieving, but that we never do so ; 
 for whoever reflects on the nature of things, the various turns 
 
378 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 of life, and the weakness of human nature, grieves, indeed, at 
 that reflection; but while so grieving he is, above all other 
 times, behaving as a wise man : for he gains these two things 
 by it ; one, that while he is considering the state of human 
 nature he is performing the especial duties of philosophy, and 
 is provided with a triple medicine against adversity: in the 
 first place, because he has long reflected that such things 
 might befal him, and this reflection by itself contributes 
 much towards lessening and weakening all misfortunes ; and, 
 secondly, because he is persuaded that we should bear all the 
 accidents which can happen to a man, with the feelings and 
 spirit of a man ; and lastly, because he considers that what 
 is blameable is the only evil ; but it is not your fault 
 that something has happened to you which it was impossible 
 for man to avoid. For that withdrawing of our thoughts 
 which he recommends when he calls us off from contemplating 
 our misfortunes, is an imaginary action ; for it is not in our 
 power to dissemble or to forget those evils which lie heavy on 
 us ; they tear, vex, and sting us — they burn us up, and leave 
 no breathing-time ; and do you order us to forget them, (for 
 such forgetfulness is contrary to nature,) and at the same time 
 deprive us of the only assistance which nature affords, the 
 being accustomed to them 1 for that, though it is but a slow 
 medicine (I mean that which is brought by lapse of time), is 
 still a very effectual one. You order me to employ my 
 thoughts on something good, and forget my misfortunes. 
 You would say something worthy a great philosopher, if you 
 thought those things good which are best suited to the 
 dignity of human nature. 
 
 XVII. Should Pythagoras, Socrates, or Plato, say to me, 
 Why are you dejected, or sad? Why do you faint, and 
 yield to fortune, which, perhaps, may have power to harass 
 and disturb you, but should not quite unman you 1 There 
 is great power in the virtues ; rouse them if they chance to 
 droop. Take fortitude for your guide, which will give you 
 such spirits, that you will despise everything that can befal 
 man, and look on it as a trifle. Add to this temperance, 
 which is moderation, and which was just now called frugality, 
 which will not suffer you to do anything base or bad — for 
 what is worse or baser than an effeminate man ? Not even 
 justice will suffer you to act in this manner, though she 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 379 
 
 seems to have the least weight in this affair; but still, 
 notwithstanding, even she will inform you that you are 
 doubly unjust when you both require what does not belong 
 to you, inasmuch as though you who have been born mortal, 
 demand to be placed in the condition of the immortals, and 
 at the same time you take it much to heart that you are to 
 restore what was lent you. What answer will you make to 
 prudence, who informs you that she is a virtue sufficient of 
 herself both to teach you a good life, and also to secure you 
 a happy one 1 And, indeed, if she were fettered by external 
 circumstances, and dependent on others, and if she did not 
 originate in herself and return to herself, and also embrace 
 everything in herself, so as to seek no adventitious aid from 
 any quarter, I cannot imagine why she should appear de- 
 serving of such lofty panegyrics, or of being sought after with 
 such excessive eagerness. Now, Epicurus, if you call me 
 back to such goods as these, I will obey you, and follow you, 
 and use you as my guide, and even forget, as you order me, 
 all my misfortunes ; and I will do this the more readily from 
 a persuasion that they are not to be ranked amongst evils at 
 all. But you are for bringing my thoughts over to pleasure. 
 What pleasures 1 pleasures of the body, I imagine, or such as 
 are recollected or imagined on account of the body. Is this 
 all? Do I explain your opinion rightly? for your disciples 
 are used to deny that we understand at all what Epicurus 
 means. This is what he says, and what that subtle fellow, 
 old Zeno, who is one of the sharpest of them, used, when I 
 was attending lectures at Athens, to enforce and talk so 
 loudly of; saying that he alone was happy who could enjoy 
 present pleasure, and who was at the same time persuaded 
 that he should enjoy it without pain, either during the whole 
 or the greatest part of his life ; or if, should any pain inter- 
 fere, if it was very sharp, then it must be short ; should it be 
 of longer continuance, it would have more of what was sweet 
 than bitter in it ; that whosoever reflected on these things 
 would be happy, especially if satisfied with the good things 
 which he had already enjoyed, and if he were without fear of 
 death, or of the Gods. 
 
 XVIII. You have here a representation, of a happy life 
 according to Epicurus, in the words of Zeno, so that there is 
 no room for contradiction in any point What then I Can 
 
380 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 the proposing and thinking of such a life make Thyestes 
 grief the less, or iEetes's, of whom I spoke above, or Tela- 
 mon's, who was driven from his country to penury and 
 banishment 1 in wonder at whom men exclaimed thus : — 
 
 Is this the man surpassing glory raised ] 
 
 Is this that Telamon so highly praised 
 
 By wondering Greece, at whose sight, like the sun, 
 
 All others with diminish'd lustre shone? 
 
 Now, should any one, as the same author says, find his 
 spirits sink with the loss of his fortune, he must apply to 
 those grave philosophers of antiquity for relief, and not to 
 these voluptuaries : for what great abundance of good do 
 they promise 1 Suppose that we allow that to be without 
 pain is the chief good ? yet that is not called pleasure. But 
 it is not necessary at present to go through the whole : the 
 question is, to what point are we to advance in order to abate 
 our grief 1 Grant that to be in pain is the greatest evil; 
 whosoever, then, has proceeded so far as not to be in pain, is 
 he, therefore, in immediate possession of the greatest good ? 
 Why, Epicurus, do we use any evasions, and not allow in our 
 own words the same feehng to ,be pleasure, which you are 
 used to boast of with such assurance 1 Are these your words 
 or not 1 This is what you say in that book which contains 
 all the doctrine of your school ; for I will perform, on this 
 occasion, the office of a translator, lest any one should 
 imagine that I am inventing anything. Thus you speak : 
 * Nor can I form any notion of the chief good, abstracted 
 from those pleasures which are perceived by taste, or from 
 what depends on hearing music, or abstracted from ideas 
 raised by external objects visible to the eye, or by agreeable 
 motions, or from those other pleasures which are perceived 
 by the whole man by means of any of his senses ; nor can it 
 possibly be said that the pleasures of the mind are excited 
 only by what is good ; for I have perceived men's minds to 
 be pleased with the hopes of enjoying those things which I 
 mentioned above, and with the idea that it should enjoy them 
 without any interruption from pain." And these are his 
 exact words, so that any one may understand what were the 
 pleasures with which Epicurus was acquainted. Then he 
 speaks thus, a little lower down : " I have often inquired of 
 those who have been called wise men, what would be the 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 381 
 
 remaining good if they should exclude from consideration all 
 these pleasures, unless they meant to give us nothing but 
 words ? I could never learn anything from them ; and 
 unless they choose that all virtue and wisdom should vanish 
 and come to nothing, they must say with me, that the only 
 road to happiness lies through those pleasures which I men- 
 tioned above." What follows is much the same, and his whole 
 book on the chief good everywhere abounds with the same 
 opinions. Will you, then, invite Telamon to this kind of life 
 to ease his grief? and should you observe any one of your 
 friends under affliction, would you rather prescribe him a 
 sturgeon than a treatise of Socrates 1 or advise him to listen 
 to the music of a water-organ rather than to Plato 1 or lay 
 before him the beauty and variety of some garden, put a 
 nosegay to his nose, burn perfumes before him, and bid him 
 crown himself with a garland of roses and woodbines 1 Should 
 you add one thing more, you would certainly wipe out all 
 his grief. 
 
 XIX. Epicurus must admit these arguments; or he must 
 take out of his book what I just now said was a literal trans- 
 lation; or rather he must destroy his whole book, for it is 
 crammed full of pleasures. We must inquire, then, how we 
 can ease him of his grief, who speaks in this manner : — 
 
 My present state proceeds from fortune's stings ; 
 
 By birth I boast of a descent from kings ; 
 
 Hence may you see from what a noble height 
 
 I'm sunk by fortune to this abject plight. 
 What! to ease his grief, must we mix him a cup of sweet 
 wine, or something of that kind? Lo ! the same poet presents 
 us with another sentiment somewhere else : — 
 
 I, Hector, once so great, now claim your aid. 
 We should assist her, for she looks out for help. 
 
 Where shall I now apply, where seek support •* 
 
 "Where hence betake me, or to whom resort 1 
 
 No means remain of comfort or of joy, 
 
 In flames my palace, and in ruins Troy ; 
 
 Each wall, so late superb, deformed nods, 
 
 And not an altar 's left t' appease the gods. 
 
 You know what should follow, and particularly this : — 
 Of father, country, and of friends bereft, 
 Not one of all these sumptuous temples left ; 
 "Which, whilst the fortune of our house did stand, 
 With rich-wrought ceilings spoke the artist's hand. 
 
382 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 excellent poet! though despised by those who sing the 
 verses of Euphorion. He is sensible that all things which 
 come on a sudden are harder to be borne. Therefore, when 
 he had set off the riches of Priam to the best advantage, 
 which had the appearance of a long continuance, what does 
 he add?— 
 
 Lo, these all perish'd in one blazing pile ; 
 The foe old Priam of his life beguiled, 
 And with his blood, thy altar, J ove, denied. 
 
 admirable poetry! There is something mournful in the 
 subject, as well as in the words and measure. We must 
 drive away this grief of her's: how is that to be done? 
 Shall we lay her on a bed of down: introduce a singer; 
 shall we burn cedar, or present her with some pleasant 
 liquor, and provide her something to eat 1 ? Are these the 
 good things which remove the most afflicting grief? for 
 you but just now said you knew of no other good. I should 
 agree with Epicurus that we ought to be called off from grief 
 to contemplate good things, if we could only agree upon what 
 was good. 
 
 XX. It may be said, What! do you imagine Epicurus 
 really meant this, and that he maintained anything so 
 sensual? Indeed I do not imagine so, for I am sensible that 
 k/ he has uttered many excellent things and sentiments, and 
 delivered maxims of great weight. Therefore, as I said 
 before, I am speaking of his acuteness, not of his morals. 
 Though he should hold those pleasures in contempt, which 
 he just now commended, yet I must remember wherein 
 he places the chief good. For he was not contented with 
 barely saying this, but he has explained what he meant : 
 he says, that taste, and embraces, and sports, and music, 
 and those forms which affect the eyes with pleasure, are the 
 chief good. Have I invented this? have I misrepresented 
 him? I should be glad to be confuted \ for what am I endea- 
 vouring at, but to clear up truth in every question ? Well, 
 but the same man says, that pleasure is at its height where 
 pain ceases, and that to be free from all pain is the very 
 greatest pleasure. Here are three very great mistakes in a 
 very few words. One is, that he contradicts himself; for, but 
 just now, he could not imagine anything good, unless the 
 senses were in a manner tickled with some pleasure; buO 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 383 
 
 now he says that to be free from pain is the highest pleasure. 
 Can any one contradict himself more 1 ? The next mistake is, 
 that where there is naturally a threefold division, the first, to 
 be pleased ; next, to be in pain ; the last, to be affected neither 
 by pleasure nor pain : he imagines the first and the last to be 
 the same, and makes no difference betwixt pleasure and a 
 cessation of pain. The last mistake he falls into in common 
 with some others ; which is this : that as virtue is the most 
 desirable thing, and as philosophy has been investigated with 
 a view to the attainment of it, he has separated the chief 
 good from virtue. But he commends virtue, and that fre- 
 quently; and indeed C. Gracchus, when he had made the 
 largest distributions of the public money, and had exhausted 
 the treasury, nevertheless spoke much of defending the trea- ( 
 sury. What signifies what men say, when we see what thev 
 do? That Piso, who was surnamed Frugal, had always 
 harangued against the law that was proposed for distributing 
 the corn, but when it had passed, though a man of consular l 
 dignity, he came to receive the corn. Gracchus observed 
 Piso standing in the court, and asked him, in the hearing of i 
 the people, how it was consistent for him to take corn by a I 
 law he had himself opposed? " Itwas," said he, " against your 
 distributing my goods to every man as you thought proper ; . 
 but, as you do so, I claim my share." Did not this grave ' 
 and wise man sufficiently show that the public revenue was . 
 dissipated by the Sempronian law 1 Eead Gracchus's speeches,, 
 and you will pronounce him the advocate of the treasury^ 
 Epicurus denies that any one can live pleasantly who does 
 not lead a life of virtue ; he denies that fortune has any power 
 over a wise man : he prefers a spare diet to great plenty, and^ 
 maintains that a wise man is always happy. All these things 
 become a philosopher to say, but they are not consistent with 
 pleasure. But the reply is, that he doth not mean that plea- 
 sure : let him mean any pleasure, it must be such a one as 
 makes no part of virtue. But suppose we are mistaken as 
 to his pleasure, are we so too as to his pain? I maintain 
 therefore the impropriety of language which that man uses 
 when talking of virtue, who would measure every great evil 
 by pain 
 
 XXI. And indeed the Epicureans, those best of men, for 
 there is no order of men more innocent. comx>lain. that I take 
 
384 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 great pains to inveigh against Epicurus. We are rivals, I 
 appose, for some honour or distinction. I place the chief 
 good in the mind, he in the body ; I in virtue, he in pleasure ; 
 and the Epicureans are up in arms, and implore the assistance 
 of their neighbours, and many are ready to fly to their aid. 
 But, as for my part, I declare that I am very indifferent about 
 the matter, and that I consider the whole discussion which 
 they are so anxious about at an end. For what ! is the con- 
 tention about the Punic war? on which very subject, though 
 M. Cato and L. Lentulus were of different opinions, still there 
 was no difference betwixt them. But these men behave with 
 too much heat, especially as the opinions which they would 
 uphold are no very spirited ones, and such as they dare not 
 plead for either in the senate, or before the assembly of the 
 people, or before the army, or the censors : but, however, I 
 will argue with them another time, and with such a disposi- 
 tion that no quarrel shall arise between us; for I shall be 
 ready to yield to their opinions when founded on truth. 
 Only I must give them this advice: That were it ever so 
 true, that a wise man regards nothing but the body; or, to 
 express myself with more decency, never does anything ex- 
 cept what is expedient, and views all things with exclusive 
 reference to his own advantage ; as such things are not very 
 commendable, they should confine them to their own breasts, 
 and leave off talking with that parade of them. 
 
 XXII. What remains is the opinion of the Cyrenaics, who 
 think that men grieve when anything happens unexpectedly. 
 And that is, indeed, as I said before, a great aggravation of 
 a misfortune ; and I know that it appeared so to Chrysippus, 
 "Whatever falls out unexpected is so much the heavier." 
 But the whole question does not turn on this ; though the 
 sudden approach of an enemy sometimes occasions more 
 confusion than it would if you had expected him, and a sud- 
 den storm at sea throws the sailors into a greater fright than 
 one which they have foreseen; and it is the same in many 
 other cases. But when you carefully consider the nature of 
 what was expected, you will find nothing more, than that all 
 things which come on a sudden appear greater; and this 
 upon two accounts : first of all, because you have not 
 time to consider how great the accident is; and secondly, 
 because you are probably persuaded that you could have 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 385 
 
 guarded against it had you foreseen it, and therefore the 
 misfortune, having been seemingly encountered by your own 
 fault, makes your grief the greater. That it is so, time 
 evinces; which, as it advances, brings with it so much miti- 
 gation, that though the same misfortunes continue, the grief 
 not only becomes the less, but in some cases is entirely removed. 
 Many Carthaginians were slaves at Rome, and many Mace- 
 donians when Perseus their king was taken prisoner. I saw, 
 too, when I was a young man, some Corinthians in the Pelo- 
 ponnesus. They might all have lamented with Andromache, — 
 
 All these I saw . . . ; 
 
 but they had perhaps given over lamenting themselves, for by 
 their countenances, and speech, and other gestures, you might 
 have taken them for Argives or Sicyonians. And I myself 
 was more concerned at the ruined walls of Corinth, than the 
 Corinthians themselves were, whose minds by frequent reflec- 
 tion and time had become callous to such sights. I have 
 read a book of Clitomachus, which he sent to his fellow- 
 citizens, who were prisoners, to comfort them after the 
 destruction of Carthage ; there is in it a treatise written by 
 Carneades, which, as Clitomachus says, he had inserted into 
 his book ; the subject was, " That it appeared probable that 
 a wise man would grieve at the state of subjection of hi? 
 country," and all the arguments whicli Carneades used against 
 this proposition are set down in the book. There the philo- 
 sopher applies such a strong medicine to a fresh grief, as 
 would be quite unnecessary in one of any continuance ; nor, 
 if this very book had been sent to the captives some years 
 after, would it have found any wounds to cure, but only 
 scars ; for grief, by a gentle progress and slow degrees, wears 
 away imperceptibly. Not that the circumstances which gave 
 rise to it are altered, or can be, but that custom teaches what 
 reason should, that those things which before seemed to be of 
 some consequence, are of no such great importance after all. 
 
 XXIII. It may be said, What occasion is there to apply to 
 reason, or to any sort of consolation such as we generally 
 make use of, to mitigate the grief of the afflicted i For we 
 have this argument always at hand, that nothing ought to 
 appear unexpected. But how will any one be enabled to 
 bear his misfortunes the better by knowing that it is un- 
 
 acad. etc. a c 
 
SS6 THE TUSCULAtf DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 avoidable that such things should happen to man ? Saving 
 this subtracts nothing from the sum of the grief: it only 
 asserts that nothing has fallen out but what might have been 
 / anticipated ; and yet this manner of speaking has some little 
 consolation in it, though I apprehend not a great deal. There- 
 fore those unlooked-for things have not so much force as to 
 give rise to all our grief; the blow perhaps may fall the 
 heavier, but whatever happens does not appear the greater on 
 that account ; no, it is the fact of its having happened lately, 
 and not of its having befallen us unexpectedly, that makes it 
 seem the greater. There are two ways then of discerning the 
 
 \J truth, not only of things that seem evil, but of those that 
 . liave the appearance of good. For we either inquire into the 
 
 V mature of the thing, of what description, and magnitude, and 
 importance it is, — as sometimes with regard to poverty, the 
 burden of which we may lighten when by our disputations 
 we show how few things nature requires, and of what a 
 trifling kind they are, — or, without any subtle arguing, we 
 refer them to examples, as here we instance a Socrates, there 
 a Diogenes, and then again that line in Csecilius, 
 Wisdom is oft conceal'd in mean attire. 
 
 For as poverty is of equal weight with all, what reason can 
 be given, why what was borne by Fabricius should be spoken 
 of by any one else as unsupportable when it falls upon them- 
 selves ? Of a piece with this is that other way of comforting, 
 \s which consists in pointing out that nothing has happened but 
 what is common to human nature; for this argument doth 
 ziot only inform us what human nature is, but implies that 
 all things are tolerable which others have borne and are 
 bearing. 
 
 XXIV. Is poverty the subject 1 they tell you of many who 
 have submitted to it with patience. Is it the contempt of 
 honours 1 they acquaint you with some who never enjoyed 
 any, and were the happier for it ; and of those who have pre- 
 ferred a private retired life to public employment, mentioning 
 their names with respect; they tell you of the verse 1 of that 
 
 1 This refers to the speech of Agamemnon in Euripides, in the Tpht 
 genia in Aulis — 
 
 ZrjAo) (re, yfpov, 
 frjAw 8' avtipwi' hi a.Kiv?>*vov 
 Qlov ^eWpa<r', dyuws, <xk\(7]s — V. 15. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 3S7 
 
 most powerful king, who praises an old man, and pronounces 
 him happy, because he was unknown to fame, and seemed 
 likely to arrive at the hour of death in obscurity and without 
 notice. Thus too they have examples for those who are 
 deprived of their children; they who are under any great 
 grief are comforted by instances of like affliction; and thus 
 the endurance of every misfortune is rendered more easy by 
 the fact of others having undergone the same, and the fate of 
 others causes what has happened to appear less important 
 than it has been previously thought, and reflection thus dis- 
 covers to us how much opinion had imposed on us. And 
 this is what that Telamon declares, " I, when my son was 
 born," etc. ; and thus Theseus, u I on my future misery 
 did dwell;" and Anaxagoras, " I knew my son was mortal." 
 All these men, by frequently reflecting on human affairs, had 
 discovered that they were by no means to be estimated b^ 
 the opinion of the multitude; and indeed it seems to me to 
 be pretty much the same case with those who consider before- 
 hand as with those who derive their remedies from time, 
 excepting that a kind of reason cures the one, and the other 
 remedy is provided by nature; by which we discover (and 
 this contains the whole marrow of the matter) that what was 
 imagined to be the greatest evil, is by no means so great as 
 to defeat the happiness of life. And the effect of this is, that 
 the blow is greater by reason of its not having been foreseen, 
 and not, as they suppose, that when similar misfortunes befal 
 two different people, that man only is affected with grief 
 whom this calamity has befallen unexpectedly. So that some 
 persons, under the oppression of grief, are said to have borne 
 it actually worse for hearing of this common condition of 
 man, that we are born under such conditions as render it 
 impossible for a man to be exempt from all evil. 
 
 XXV.' For this reason Carneades, as I see our friend 
 Antiochus writes, used to blame Chrysippus for commending 
 these verses of Euripides, — 
 
 Man. doom'd to care, to pain, disease, and strife, 
 "Walks his short journey thro' the vale of life : 
 Watchful attends the cradle and the grave, 
 And passing generations longs to save : 
 Last, dies himself: yet wherefore should we mourn 1 
 For man must to his kindred dust return; 
 QO 2 
 
388 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 Submit to the destroying hand of fate, 
 As ripen'd ears the harvest-sickle wait. 1 
 
 He would not allow a speech of this kind to avail at all to 
 the cure of our grief, for he said it was a lamentable case 
 itself, that we were fallen into the hands of such a cruel fate ; 
 and that a speech like that, preaching up comfort from the 
 
 j misfortunes of another, was a comfort adapted only to those 
 
 J of a malevolent disposition. But to me it appears far other- 
 wise ; for the necessity of bearing what is the common con- 
 
 ., dition of humanity forbids your resisting the will of the 
 Gods, and reminds you that you are a man ; which reflection 
 greatly alleviates grief; and the enumeration of these examples 
 is not produced with a view to please those of a malevolent 
 disposition, but in order that any one in affliction may be 
 induced to bear what he observes many others have previously 
 borne with tranquillity and moderation. For they who are 
 falling to pieces, and cannot hold together through the great- 
 ness of their grief, should be supported by all kinds of 
 assistance. From whence Chrysippus thinks that grief is 
 called Xxm-q, as it were Xvacs, that is to say, a dissolution of 
 the whole man. The whole of which I think may be pulled 
 up by the roots, by explaining, as I said at the beginning, the 
 cause of grief; for it is nothing else but an opinion and 
 judgment formed of a present acute evil. And thus any 
 bodily pain, let it be ever so grievous, may be endurable 
 where any hopes are proposed of some considerable good; 
 and we receive such consolation from a virtuous and illus- 
 trious life, that they who lead such lives are seldom attacked 
 by grief, or but slightly affected by it. 
 
 XXVI. But as besides this opinion of great evil there is 
 this other added also, that we ought to lament what has 
 
 \J happened, that it is right so to do, and part of our duty; 
 then is brought about that terrible disorder of mind, grief. 
 And it is to this opinion that we owe all those various and 
 horrid kinds of lamentation, that neglect of our persons, 
 
 • This is a fragment from the Hypsipyle — 
 
 "E<pv filv ovSeh oaris ov irovsi f3poruV 
 
 0Ct7TT6i T6 TtKVO. X&Tfp' ad KTaTOJ V€Ot, 
 
 avrds re 6inj<rKei. Kat rdS' &x6ovrai fipoToi 
 els yr)v (pcpovrfs yrjf dvayKalus 8' $x* 1 
 (ilov 6epl£eiv wcttc Ka.pirift.ov ardxvv. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 33£ 
 
 that womanish tearing of our cheeks, that striking on our 
 thighs, breasts, and heads. Thus Agamemnon, in Homer and 
 in Accius, — 
 
 Tears in his grief his uncomb'd locks ; ' 
 from whence comes that pleasant saying of Bion, that the 
 foolish king in his sorrow tore away the hairs of his head, 
 imagining that his grief would be alleviated by baldness. 
 But men do all these things from being persuaded that they 
 ought to do so. And thus iEschines inveighs against Demos- 
 thenes for sacrificing within seven days after the death of his 
 daughter. But with what eloquence, with what fluency does 
 he attack him ! what sentiments does he collect ! what words 
 does he hurl against him ! You may see by this that an 
 orator may do anything ; but nobody would approve of such 
 licence if it were not that we have an idea innate in our 
 minds, that every good man ought to lament the loss of a 
 relation as bitterly as possible. And it is owing to this that 
 some men, when in sorrow, betake themselves to deserts, as 
 Homer says of Bellerophon ; — 
 
 Distracted in his mind, 
 
 Forsook by heaven, forsaking human kind, 
 
 Wide o'er the Aleian field he chose to stray, 
 
 A long, forlorn, uncomfortable way ! 2 
 
 And thus Niobe is feigned to have been turned into stone, 
 from her never speaking, I suppose, in her grief. But they 
 imagine Hecuba to have been converted into a bitch, from 
 her rage and bitterness of mind. There are others who love 
 to converse with solitude itself, when in grief, as the nurse in 
 Ennius, — 
 
 Fain would I to the heavens and earth relate 
 
 Medea's ceaseless woes and cruel fate. 3 
 
 XXVII. Now all these things are done in grief, from a 
 persuasion of their truth, and propriety, and necessity; and 
 it is plain, that those who behave thus, do so from a convic- 
 tion of its being their duty ; for should these mourners by 
 chance drop their grief, and either act or speak for a moment 
 
 1 TloWas £k K€(pa\ris irpodeKvfxuovs cAkcto x aiTas ' — "• x « 15. 
 
 2 "Htoi 5 KaTnrtSiov rb 'AAtjW olos a\a.TO 
 
 tv 0v(jl6v Kar&c&v, irarov avQpdnroiv aAeeiVeoj/. — II. vi. 201. 
 
 3 This is a translation from Euripides — 
 
 "riad' Ipepos fi' wrrjKde yij Te k ovpav$ 
 
 Af'£ut p.oAov<rri tevpo MySeias nix***- — Med. 57. 
 
J 
 
 J 
 
 f ' 
 \ n 
 
 390 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 in a more calm or cheerful manner, they presently check 
 themselves and return to their lamentations again, and blame 
 themselves for having been guilty of any intermissions from 
 their grief. And parents and masters generally correct 
 children not by words only, but by blows, if they show any 
 levity by either word or deed when the family is under 
 affliction, and, as it were, oblige them to be sorrowful. What ? 
 does it not appear, when you have ceased to mourn, and 
 have discovered that your grief has been ineffectual, that 
 the whole of that mourning was voluntary, on your part 1 
 What does that man say, in Terence, who punishes him- 
 self, the Self-tormentor ? 
 
 (I think I do my son less harm, Chremes, 
 
 As long as I myself am miserable. 
 
 He determines to be miserable : and can any one determine 
 on anything against his will 1 
 
 I well might think that I deserved all evil. 
 He would think he deserved any misfortune, were he 
 otherwise than miserable ! Therefore, you see the evil is 
 in opinion, not in nature. How is it, when some things do 
 of themselves prevent your grieving at them ? as in Homer, 
 so many died and were buried daily, that they had not 
 leisure to grieve : where you find these lines, — 
 
 The great, the bold, by thousands daily fall, 
 And endless were the grief to weep for all. 
 Eternal sorrows what avails to shed ] 
 Greece honours not with solemn fasts the dead : 
 Enough when death demands the brave to pay 
 The tribute of a melancholy day. 
 One chief with patience to the grave resign'd, 
 Our care devolves on others left behind. 1 
 
 Therefore it is in our own power to lay aside grief upon 
 occasion ; and is there any opportunity (seeing the thing is 
 in our own power) that we should let slip of getting rid of 
 care and grief? It was plain, that the friends of Cnseus 
 Pompeius, when they saw him fainting under his wounds, 
 at the very moment of that most miserable and bitter 
 
 1 AirjV yap iroWol Ka\ iTrr}rpi/j.ot tfuara itdvra 
 iriirrovaiv, it6t€ KeV tis dvairveixTfie irSvoio ; 
 ak\a xph T & v y^ v Kara8airT(fji.€V, os kg ddmr)(Tiy 
 njAfc'a dvfidv $x ov ™> * 7r ' tf/MTi ZaKpxxrdvTas. — 
 
 Horn. II. xix. 220. 
 
ON GRIEF OF WIND. 391 
 
 sight were under great uneasiness how they themselves, 
 surrounded by the enemy as they were, should escape, and 
 were employed in nothing but encouraging the rowers and 
 aiding their escape ; but when they reached Tyre, they began 
 to grieve and lament over him. Therefore, as fear with them 
 prevailed over grief, cannot reason and true philosophy have 
 the same effect with a wise man 1 
 
 XXVIII. But what is there more effectual to dispel grief 
 than the discovery that it answers no purpose, and has been 
 undergone to no account? Therefore, if we can get rid 
 of it, we need never have been subject to it. It must be 
 acknowledged, then, that men take up grief wilfully and 
 knowingly ; and this appears from the patience of those who, 
 after they have been exercised in afflictions and are better 
 able to bear whatever befals them, suppose themselves 
 hardened against fortune ; as that person in Euripides — 
 
 Had this the first essay of fortune been, 
 And I no storms thro' all my life had seen, 
 Wild as a colt I'd broke from reason's sway ; 
 But frequent griefs have taught me to obey. 1 
 
 As, then, the frequent bearing of misery makes grief the 
 lighter, we must necessarily perceive that the cause and 
 original of it does not lie in the calamity itself. Your prin* 
 cipal philosophers, or lovers of wisdom, though they have 
 not yet arrived at perfect wisdom, are not they sensible that 
 they are in the greatest evil 1 For they are foolish, and 
 foolishness is the greatest of all evils, and yet they lament 
 not. How shall we account for this? Because opinion is 
 not fixed upon that kind of evil ; it is not our opinion that it 
 is right, meet, and our duty to be uneasy because we are 
 not all wise men. Whereas this opinion is strongly affixed 
 to that uneasiness where mourning is concerned, which is the 
 greatest of all grief. Therefore Aristotle, when he blames 
 some ancient philosophers for imagining that by their genius 
 
 1 This is one of the fragments of Euripides which we are unable ta 
 assign to any play in particular; it occurs Var. Ed. Tr. Inc. 167. 
 
 El \xsv tSI? "f\fw.p irpciyrou jj* KaKOVfitvcp 
 Kal jxfy fiaKpau 8rj 5ta irSvoou IvavcrroKovv 
 €t/c3s acpaSd^eiu $r av, cos veofyya 
 vdKoi/, x° L ^ LV01 ' dprius SeSey/j-evov' 
 vvv 8' a/*/3Ajk elfii, Kal Kar-qprvKws kclkAv. 
 
812 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 they had brought philosophy to the highest perfection, says, 
 they must be either extremely foolish or extremely vain ; but 
 that he himself could see that great improvements had been 
 made therein in a few years, and that philosophy would in a 
 little time arrive at perfection. And Theophrastus is reported 
 to have reproached nature at his death for giving to stags 
 and crows so long a life, which was of no use to them, but 
 allowing only so short a span to men, to whom length of days 
 would have been of the greatest use; for if the life of man 
 could have been lengthened, it would have been able to 
 provide itself with all kinds of learning, and with arts in the 
 greatest perfection. He lamented, therefore, that he was 
 dying just when he had begun to discover these. What? 
 does not every grave and distinguished philosopher acknow 
 ledge himself ignorant of many things, and confess that 
 there are many things which he must learn over and over 
 again ? and yet, though these men are sensible that they are 
 standing still in the very midway of folly, than which 
 nothing can be worse, they are under no great affliction, 
 because no opinion that it is their duty to lament is ever 
 mingled with this knowledge. What shall we say of those 
 who think it unbecoming in a man to grieve 1 amongst whom 
 we may reckon Q. Maximus, when he buried his son that had 
 been consul, and L. Paulus, who lost two sons within a few 
 days of one another. Of the same opinion was M. Cato, 
 who lost his son just after he had been elected prsetor, and 
 many others, whose names I have collected in my book on 
 Consolation. Now what made these men so easy, but their 
 persuasion that grief and lamentation was not becoming in 
 a man 1 Therefore, as some give themselves up to grief 
 from an opinion that it is right so to do, they refrained 
 themselves, from an opinion that it was discreditable ; from 
 which we may infer that grief is owing more to opinion than 
 nature. 
 
 XXIX. It may be said, on the other side, W T ho is so mad as 
 to grieve of his own accord 1 Pain proceeds from nature ; 
 which you must submit to, say they, agreeably to what even 
 your own Crantor teaches, for it presses and gains upon you 
 unavoidably, and cannot possibly be resisted. So that the 
 very same Oileus, in Sophocles, who had before comforted 
 Telamon on the death of Ajax, on hearing of the death of 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 393 
 
 his own son is broken-hearted. On this alteration of his 
 mind we have these lines ; — 
 
 Show me the man so well by wisdom taught 
 That what he charges to another's fault, 
 When like affliction doth himself betide, 
 True to his own wise counsel will abide. 1 
 
 Now when they urge these things, their endeavour is to prove 
 that natnre is absolutely and wholly irresistible ; and yet the 
 same people allow that we take greater grief on ourselves than 
 nature requires. What madness is it then in us to require the 
 same from others] But there are many reasons for our taking 
 grief on us. The first is from the opinion of some evil, on 
 the discovery and certainty of which grief comes of course. 
 Besides, many people are persuaded that they are doing some- 
 thing very acceptable to the dead when they lament bitterly 
 over them. To these may be added a kind of womanish super- 
 stition, in imagining that when they have been stricken by 
 the afflictions sent by the gods, to acknowledge themselves 
 afflicted and humbled by them is the readiest way of appeas- 
 ing them. But most men appear to be unaware what con- 
 tradictions these things are full of. They commend those 
 who die calmly, but they blame those who can bear the loss 
 of another with the same calmness, as if it were possible that 
 it should be true, as is occasionally said in love speeches, that 
 any one can love another more than himself. There is ; 
 indeed, something excellent in this, and, if you examine it, 
 something no less just than true, that we love those who 
 ought to be most dear to us as well as we love ourselves; but 
 to love them more than ourselves is absolutely impossible ; 
 nor is it desirable in friendship that I should love my friend 
 more than myself, or that he should love me so; for this 
 would occasion much confusion in life, and break in upon all 
 the duties of it. v - 
 
 XXX. But we will speak of this another time : at present 
 
 1 This is only a fragment preserved by Stobseus — 
 
 Tovs 5' ttv fieyitTTOvs /cat arocpuyrdrovs <ppev) 
 roiovcrS' ISois tiv, 616s ioTt vvv 68e, 
 Ka\<2s kok&s irpaaffomi crv/xTrapaivcaat' 
 <$to.u Se 8ai[xa>v avSpds evrvxovs t6 Trplv 
 lAdtmy' ipeiffrj tov fiiov iraXlvrpoirov^ 
 •I a iroWa <ppov$a Ka\ kokcSs etpij/xeva. 
 
394 THE TUSCULAX DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 it is sufficient not to attribute our misery to the loss of out 
 friends, nor to love them more than, if they themselves could 
 be sensible of our conduct, they would approve of, or at least 
 not more than we do ourselves. Now as to what they say, 
 that some are not at all appeased by our consolations; and 
 moreover as to what they add, that the comforters themselves 
 acknowledge they are miserable when fortune varies the attack 
 and falls on them, — in both these cases the solution is easy : 
 for the fault here is not in nature, but in our own folly; and 
 much may be said against folly. But men who do not admit 
 of consolation seem to bespeak misery for themselves ; and 
 they who cannot bear their misfortunes with that temper 
 which they recommend to others, are not more faulty in 
 this particular than most other persons; for we see that 
 covetous men find fault with others who are covetous; as 
 do the vain-glorious with those who appear too wholly de- 
 voted to the pursuit of glory. For it is the peculiar cha- 
 
 y racteristic of folly to perceive the vices of others, but to forget 
 its own. But since we find that grief is removed by length 
 of time, we have the greatest proof that the strength of it 
 V depends not merely on time, but on the daily consideration 
 of it. For if the cause continues the same, and the man be 
 the same, how can there be any alteration in the grief, if there 
 is no change in what occasioned the grief, nor in him who 
 grieves 1 Therefore it is from daily reflecting that there is 
 
 yj no real evil in the circumstance for which you grieve, and not 
 from the length of time, that you procure a remedy for your 
 grief. 
 J XXXI. Here some people talk of moderate grief ; but if 
 such be natural, what occasion is there for' consolation 1 for 
 nature herself will determine the measure of it; but if it 
 depends on and is caused by opinion, the whole opinion 
 should be destroyed. I think that it has been sufficiently 
 said, that grief arises from an opinion of some present evil, 
 which includes this belief, that it is incumbent on us to grieve. 
 To this definition Zeno has added very justly, that the opinion 
 of this present evil should be recent. Now this word recent 
 they explain thus ; — those are not the only recent things which 
 happened a little while ago, but as long as there shall be any 
 force or vigour or freshness in that imagined evil, so long 
 it is entitled to the name of recent. Take the case oi: 
 
 4 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND 395 
 
 Artemisia, the wife of Mausolus king «rf Caria, who made that 
 noble sepulchre at Halicarnassus j whilst she lived she lived 
 in grief, and died of it, being worn out by it, for that 
 opinion was always recent with her : but you cannot call 
 that recent, which has already begun to decay through 
 time. Now the duty of a comforter is, to remove grief 
 entirely, to quiet it, or draw it off as much as you can, or 
 else to keep it under, and prevent its spreading any further, 
 and to divert one's attention to other matters. There are 
 some who think with Cleanthes, that the only duty of a com- 
 forter is to prove, that what one is lamenting is by no means 
 an evil. Others, as the Peripatetics, prefer urging that the 
 evil is not great. Others, with Epicurus, seek to divert your 
 attention from the evil to good : some think it sufficient to 
 show, that nothing has happened but what you had reason to 
 expect, and this is the practice of the Cyrenaics. But Chry- 
 sippus thinks that the main thing in comforting is, to remove 
 the opinion from the person who is grieving, that to grieve is 
 his bounden duty. There are others who bring together all 
 these various kinds of consolations, for people are differently 
 affected; as I have done myself in my book on Consolation : 
 for as my own mind was much disordered, I have attempted 
 in that book to discover every method of cure. But the 
 proper season is as much to be attended to in the cure of the 
 mind, as of the body; as Prometheus in iEschylus, on its 
 being said to him, 
 
 I think, Prometheus, you this tenet hold, 
 
 That all men's reason should their rage control ; 
 
 answers, 
 
 Yes, when one reason properly applies ; 
 Ill-timed advice will make the storm but rise. 1 
 
 XXXII. But the principal medicine to be applied in conso- 
 lation, is to maintain either that it is no evil at all, or a very 
 inconsiderable one : the next best to that is, to speak of the 
 common condition of life, having a view, if possible, to the 
 state of the person whom you comfort particularly. Tho 
 third is, that it is folly to wear oneself out with grief which 
 
 1 il/c. Ovkovv TlpofiriOev tovto yiyvctxriceis '6ri 
 opyrjs voaovffys clalv iarool \6yoi. 
 Ho. idi> tis eV KCLipco ye fxaXBaffcrri Keap 
 
 Kal fii] <r<ppiywvTa dvfiov l<rx va ' lv V £'?• — 
 
 Much. Prom. v. 378. 
 
393 THK TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 can avail nothing. For the comfort of Cleanthes is suitable 
 only for a wise man, who is in no need of any comfort at all ; 
 for could you persuade one in grief, that nothing is an evil 
 but what is base, you would not only cure him of grief, but 
 folly. But the time for such precepts is not w r ell chosen. 
 Besides, Cleanthes does not seem to me sufficiently aware 
 that affliction may very often proceed from that very thing 
 which he himself allows to be the greatest misfortune. For 
 what shall we say ? When Socrates had convinced Alcibiades, 
 as we are told, that he had no distinctive qualifications as a 
 man different from other people, and that in fact there was 
 no difference betwixt him, though a man of the highest rank, 
 and a porter ; and when Alcibiades became uneasy at this, 
 and entreated Socrates, with tears in his eyes, to make him a 
 man of virtue, and to cure him of that mean position ; what 
 shall we say to this, Cleanthes ? Was there no evil in what 
 afflicted Alcibiades thus? What strange things does Lycon 
 say? who, making light of grief, says that it arises from trifles, 
 from things that affect our fortune or bodies, not from the 
 evils of the mind. What, then — did not the grief of Alcibiades 
 proceed from the defects and evils of the mind? I have 
 already said enough of Epicurus's consolation. 
 
 XXXIII. Nor is that consolation much to be relied on, 
 though it is frequently practised, and sometimes has some effect, 
 namely, " That you are not alone in this." — It has its effect, as 
 I said, but not always, nor with every person; for some reject 
 it, but much depends on the application of it ; for you ought 
 rather to show, not how men in general have been affected 
 with such evils, but how men of sense have borne them. As 
 to Chrysippus's method, it is certainly founded in truth ; but 
 it is difficult to apply it in time of distress. It is a work of 
 no small difficulty to persuade a person in affliction that he 
 grieves, merely because he thinks it right so to do. Certainly 
 then, as in pleadings we do not state all cases alike, (if I may 
 adopt the language of lawyers for a moment,) but adapt 
 what we have to say to the time, to the nature of the subject 
 under debate, and to the person ; so too in alleviating grief, 
 regard should be had to what kind of cure the party to be 
 comforted can admit of. But, somehow or other, we have 
 rambled from what you originally proposed. For your ques- 
 tion was concerning a wise man, with whom nothing can 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIXD. 397 
 
 have the appearance of evil, that is not dishonourable : or at 
 least, anything else would seem so small an evil, that by his 
 wisdom he would so over-match it, as to make it wholly dis- 
 appear; and such a man makes no addition to his grief 
 through opinion, and never conceives it right to torment 
 himself above measure, nor to wear himself out with grief, 
 which is the meanest thing imaginable. Keason, however, it 
 seems, has demonstrated, (though it was not directly our 
 object at the moment to inquire whether anything can be 
 called an evil except what is base,) that it is in our power 
 to discern, that all the evil which there is in affliction has 
 nothing natural in it, but is contracted by our own voluntary 
 judgment of it, and the error of opinion. 
 
 XXXIV. But the kind of affliction of which I have treated 
 is that which is the greatest ; in order that when we have 
 once got rid of that, it may appear a business of less conse- 
 quence to look after remedies for the others. For there are 
 certain things which are usually said about poverty ; and also 
 certain statements ordinarily applied to retired and undistin- 
 guished life. There are particular treatises on banishment, 
 on the ruin of one's country, on slavery, on weakness, on 
 blindness, and on every incident that can come under the 
 name of an evil. The Greeks divide these into different 
 treatises and distinct books : but they do it for the sake of 
 employment : not but that all such discussions are full of 
 entertainment ; and yet, as physicians, in curing the whole 
 body, attend to even the most insignificant part of the body 
 which is at all disordered, so does philosophy act, after it has 
 removed grief in general, (still if any other deficiency exists, 
 should poverty bite, should ignominy sting, should banishment 
 bring a dark cloud over us, or should any of those things which 
 I have just mentioned appear,) — there is for each its appro- 
 priate consolation: which you shall hear whenever you please. 
 But we must have recourse again to the same original prin- 
 ciple, that a wise man is free from all sorrow, because it is vain, 
 because it answers no purpose, because it is not founded 
 in nature, but on opinion and prejudice, and is engendered 
 by a kind of invitation to grieve, when once men have 
 imagined that it is their duty to do so. When then we 
 ave subtracted what is altogether voluntary, that mourn- 
 ful uneasiness will be removed; yet some little anxiety, 
 
398 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 some slight pricking will still remain. They may indeed 
 call this natural, provided they give it not that horrid, 
 solemn, melancholy name of grief, which can by no means 
 consist with wisdom. But how various, and how bitter, are 
 the roots of grief ! Whatever they are, I propose, after 
 having felled the trunk, to destroy them all; even if it 
 should be necessaiy, by allotting a separate dissertation to 
 each, for I have leisure enough to do so, whatever time it 
 may take up. But the principle of every uneasiness is the 
 same, though they may appear under different names. For 
 envy is an uneasiness ; so are emulation, detraction, anguish, 
 sorrow, sadness, tribulation, lamentation, vexation, grief, 
 trouble, affliction, and despair. The Stoics define all these 
 different feelings, and all those words which I have mentioned 
 belong to different things, and do not, as they seem, express 
 the same ideas ; but they are to a certain extent distinct, as 
 I shall make appear perhaps in another place. These are 
 those fibres of the roots, which, as I said at first, must be 
 traced back and cut off, and destroyed, so that not one shall 
 remain. You say it is a great and difficult undertaking : — who 
 denies it 1 But what is there of any excellency which has not 
 its difficulty I — Yet philosophy undertakes to effect it, pro- 
 vided we admit its superintendence. But enough of this : 
 the other books, whenever you please, shall be ready for you 
 here, or any where else. 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 
 
 I. I have often wondered, Brutus, on many occasions, at the 
 ingenuity and virtues of our countrymen ; but nothing has 
 surprised me more than their development in those studies, 
 which, though they came somewhat late to us, have been 
 transported into this city from Greece. For the system of 
 auspices, and religious ceremonies, and courts of justice, and 
 appeals to the people, the senate, the establishment of an 
 army of cavalry and infantry, and the whole military disci- 
 pline, were instituted as early as the foundation of the city by 
 royal authority, partly too by laws, not without the assist- 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE HIND. 399 
 
 ance of the Gods. Then with what a surprising and incredible 
 progress did our ancestors advance towards all kind of excel- 
 lence, when once the republic was freed from the regal 
 power ! Not that this is a proper occasion to treat of the 
 manners and customs of our ancestors, or of the discipline 
 and constitution of the city; for I have elsewhere, parti- 
 cularly in the six books I wrote on the Republic, given a 
 sufficiently accurate account of them. But whilst I am on 
 this subject, and considering the study of philosophy, I meet 
 with many reasons to imagine that those studies were brought 
 to us from abroad, and not merely imported, but preserved and 
 improved; for they had Pythagoras, a man of consummate 
 wisdom and nobleness of character, in a manner, before their 
 eyes ; who was in Italy at the time that Lucius Brutus, the 
 illustrious founder of your nobility, delivered his country from 
 tyranny. As the doctrine of Pythagoras spread itself on all 
 sides, it seems probable to me, that it reached this city ; and this 
 is not only probable of itself, but it does really appear to have 
 been the case from many remains of it. For who can imagine 
 that, when it nourished so much in that part of Italy which 
 was called Magna Grsecia, and in some of the largest and 
 most powerful cities, in which, first the name of Pythagoras, 
 and then that of those men who were afterwards his followers, 
 was in so high esteem; who can imagine, I say, that our 
 people could shut their ears to what was said by such learned 
 men 1 Besides, it is even my opinion, that it was the great 
 esteem in which the Pythagoreans were held, that gave rise 
 to that opinion amongst those who came after him, that king 
 Numa was a Pythagorean. For, being acquainted with the 
 doctrine and principles of Pythagoras, and having heard 
 from their ancestors that this king was a very wise and just 
 man, and not being able to distinguish accurately between 
 times and periods that were so remote, they inferred from his 
 being so eminent for his wisdom, that he had been a pupil of 
 Pythagoras. 
 
 II. So far we proceed on conjecture. As to the vestiges 
 of the Pythagoreans, though I might collect many, I shall 
 use but a few; because they have no connexion with our 
 present purpose. For, as it is reported to have been a custom 
 with them to deliver certain precepts in a more abstruse 
 manner in verse, and to bring their minds from severe 
 
400 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 thought to a more composed state by songs and musical 
 instruments; so Cato, a writer of the very highest authority, 
 says in his Origins, that it was customary with our ancestors 
 for the guests at their entertainments, every one in his turn, 
 to celebrate the praises and virtues of illustrious men in song 
 to the sound of the flute ; from whence it is clear that poems 
 and songs were then composed for the voice. And, indeed, 
 it is also clear that poetry was in fashion from the laws of 
 the Twelve Tables, wherein it is provided, that no song should 
 be made to the injury of another. Another argument of the 
 erudition of those times is, that they played on instruments 
 before the shrines of their Gods, and at the entertainments 
 of their magistrates; but that custom was peculiar to the 
 sect I am speaking of. To me, indeed, that poem of Appius 
 Ca>cus, which Pansetius commends so much in a certain letter 
 of his which is addressed to Quintus Tubero, has all the 
 marks of a Pythagorean author. We have many things 
 deiived from the Pythagoreans in our customs ; which I pass 
 over, that we may not seem to have learned that elsewhere 
 which we look upon ourselves as the inventors of. But to 
 return to our purpose. How many great poets as well as 
 orators have sprung up among us ! and in what a short 
 time ! so that it is evident that our people could arrive at 
 any learning as soon as they had an inclination for it. But 
 of other studies I shall speak elsewhere if there is occasion, as 
 I have already often done. 
 
 III. The study of philosophy is certainly of long standing 
 with us ; but yet I do not find that I can give you the names 
 of any philosopher before the age of Lselius and Scipio : in whose 
 younger days we find that Diogenes the Stoic, and Carneades 
 the Academic, were sent as ambassadors by the Athenians to 
 our senate. And as these had never been concerned in public 
 affairs, and one of them was a Cyrenean, the other a Baby- 
 lonian, they certainly would never have been forced from their 
 studies, nor chosen for that employment, unless the study of 
 philosophy had been in vogue witn some of the great men at 
 that time ; who, though they might employ their pens on 
 other subjects, some on civil law, others on oratory, others on 
 the history of former times, yet promoted this most extensive 
 of all arts, the principle of living well, even more by their 
 life than by their writings. So that of that true and elegant 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OP THE MIND. 401 
 
 philosophy, (which was derived from Socrates, and is still 
 preserved by the Peripatetics, and by the Stoics, though they 
 express themselves differently in their disputes with the 
 Academics,) there are few or no Latin records; whether this 
 proceeds from the importance of the thing itself, or from 
 men's being otherwise employed, or from their concluding 
 that the capacity of the people was not equal to the appre- 
 hension of them. But, during this silence, C. Amafinius 
 arose and took upon himself to speak ; on the publishing of 
 whose writings the people were moved, and enlisted them- 
 selves chiefly under this sect, either because the doctrine was 
 more easily understood, or because they were invited thereto 
 by the pleasing thoughts of amusement, or that, because 
 there was nothing better, they laid hold of what was offered 
 them. And after Amafinius, when many of the same senti- 
 ments had written much about them, the Pythagoreans spread 
 over all Italy : but that these doctrines should be so easily 
 understood and approved of by the unlearned, is a great 
 proof that they were not written with any great subtlety, 
 and they think their establishment to be owing to this. 
 
 IV. But let every one defend his own opinion, for every 
 one is at liberty to choose what he likes ; I shall keep to my 
 old custom ; and being under no restraint from the laws of 
 any particular school, which in philosophy every one must 
 necessarily confine himself to, I shall always inquire what 
 has the most probability in every question, and this system, 
 which I have often practised on other occasions, I have 
 adhered closely to in my Tusculan Disputations. Therefore, 
 as I have acquainted you with the disputations of the three 
 former days, this book shall conclude the discussion of the 
 fourth day. When we had come down into the Academy, as 
 we had done the former days, the business was carried on thus. 
 
 M. Let any one say, who pleases, what he would wish to 
 have discussed. 
 
 A. I do not think a wise man can possibly be free from 
 every perturbation of mind. 
 
 M. He seemed by yesterday's discourse to be free from 
 grief; unless you agreed with us only to avoid taking up 
 time. 
 
 A. Not at all on that account, for I was extremely satisfied 
 with your discourse. 
 
 ACAD. ETC. D D 
 
402 THE TCSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 M. You do not think, then, that a wise man is subject to 
 grief? 
 
 A. No, by no means. 
 
 M. But if that cannot disorder the mind of a wise man, 
 nothing else can. For what 1 can such a man be disturbed 
 by fear 1 Fear proceeds from the same things when absent, 
 which occasion grief when present. Take away grief then, 
 and you remove fear. 
 
 The two remaining perturbations are, a joy elate above 
 measure, and lust; and, if a wise man is not subject to these, 
 his mind will be always at rest. 
 
 A. I am entirely of that opinion 
 
 M. Which, then, shall we do 1 shall I immediately crowd 
 all my sails ? or shall I make use of my oars, as if I were just 
 endeavouring to get clear of the harbour 1 
 
 A. What is it that you mean; for I do not exactly com 
 prehend you ? 
 
 V. M. Because, Chrysippus and the Stoics, when they 
 discuss the perturbations of the mind, make great part of 
 their debate to consist in definitions and distinctions ; while 
 they employ but few words on the subject of curing the 
 mind, and preventing it from being disordered. Whereas 
 the Peripatetics bring a great many things to promote the 
 cure of it, but have no regard to their thorny partitions and 
 definitions. — My question, then, was, whether I should instantly 
 unfold the sails of my eloquence, or be content for a while to 
 make less way with the oars of logic % 
 
 A. Let it be so; for by the employment of both these 
 means the subject of our inquiry will be more thoroughly 
 discussed. 
 
 M. It is certainly the better way; and should anything 
 be too obscure, you may examine that afterwards. 
 
 A. I will do so; but those very obscure points, you will, 
 as usual, deliver with more clearness than the Greeks. 
 
 M. I will indeed endeavoia* to do so ; but it well requires great 
 attention, lest, by losing one word, the whole should escape 
 you. What the Greeks call iraB-q, we choose to name pertur- 
 bations (or disorders) rather than diseases; in explaining 
 which, I shall follow, first, that very old description of Pytha- 
 goras, and afterwards that of Plato ; for they both divide tho 
 mind into two parts, and make one of these partake of reason, 
 
OX OTHER PERTURBATIONS OP THE MIND. 403 
 
 and the other they represent without it. In that which par- 
 takes of reason they place tranquillity, that is to say, a placid 
 and undisturbed constancy; to the other they assign the 
 turbid motions of anger and desire, which are contrary and 
 opposite to reason. Let this, then, be our principle, the spring 
 of all our reasonings. But notwithstanding, I shall use the 
 partitions and definitions of the Stoics in describing these 
 perturbations; who seem to me to have shown very great 
 acuteness on this question. 
 
 VI. Zeno's definition, then, is this: "a perturbation" 
 (which he calls a 7rd6o<;) " is a commotion of the mind repug- 
 nant to reason, and against nature." Some of them define 
 it even more briefly, saying that a perturbation is a somewhat 
 too vehement appetite ; but by too vehement they mean an 
 appetite that recedes further from the constancy of nature. 
 But they would have the divisions of perturbations to arise 
 from two imagined goods, and from two imagined evils ; and 
 thus they become four : from the good proceed lust and joy — 
 joy having reference to some present good, and lust to some 
 future one. They suppose fear and grief to proceed from 
 evils : fear from something future, — grief from something 
 present; for whatever things are dreaded as approaching, 
 always occasion grief when present. But joy and lust depend 
 on the opinion of good ; as lust, being inflamed and pro- 
 voked, is carried on eagerly tow r ards what has the appearance 
 of good; and joy is transported and exults on obtaining what 
 was desired : for we naturally pursue those things that have 
 the appearance of good, and avoid the contrary. Wherefore, 
 as soon as anything that has the appearance of good presents 
 itself, nature incites us to endeavour to obtain it. Now, 
 where this strong desire is consistent and founded on pru- 
 dence, it is by the Stoics called fiovXrjais, and the name which 
 we give it is volition ; and this they allow to none but their 
 wise man, and define it thus : Volition is a reasonable desire ; 
 but whatever is incited too violently in opposition to reason, 
 that is a lust, or an unbridled desire, which is discoverable in 
 all fools. — And, therefore, when we are affected so as to be 
 placed in any good condition, we are moved in two ways ; for 
 when the mind is moved in a placid and calm motion, con- 
 sistent with reason, that is called joy; but when it exults 
 with a vain, wanton exultation, or immoderate joy, then that 
 
404 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 feeling may be called immoderate ecstasy or transport, which 
 they define to be an elation of the mind without reason. — 
 And as we naturally desire good things, so in like manner we 
 naturally seek to avoid what is evil; and this avoidance of 
 which, if conducted in accordance with reason, is called cau- 
 tion ; and this the wise man alone is supposed to have : but 
 that caution which is not under the guidance of reason, but is 
 attended with a base and low dejection, is called fear. — Fear is, 
 therefore, caution destitute of reason. But a wise man is not 
 affected by any present evil ; while the grief of a fool proceeds 
 from being affected with an imaginary evil, by which his mind 
 is contracted and sunk, since it is not under the dominion of 
 reason. This, then, is the first definition, which makes grief 
 to consist in a shrinking of the mind, contrary to the dictates 
 of reason. Thus, there are four perturbations, and but three 
 calm rational emotions ; for grief has no exact opposite. 
 VII. But they insist upon it that all perturbations depend 
 / on opinion and judgment; therefore they define them more 
 strictly, in order not only the better to show how blameable 
 they are, but to discover how much they are in our power. 
 Grief, then, is a recent opinion of some present evil, in which 
 it seems to be right that the mind should shrink and be 
 dejected. Joy is a recent opinion of a present good, in which 
 it seems to be right that the mind should be elated. Fear is 
 an opinion of an impending evil, which we apprehend will be 
 intolerable. Lust is an opinion of a good to come, which 
 would be of advantage were it already come, and present with 
 us. But however I have named the judgments and opinions 
 of perturbations, their meaning is, not that merely the per- 
 turbations consist in them, but that the effects likewise of 
 these perturbations do so; as grief occasions a kind of painful 
 pricking, and fear engenders a recoil or sudden abandonment 
 of the mind; joy gives rise to a profuse mirth, while lust is 
 the parent of an unbridled habit of coveting. But that 
 imagination, which I have included in all the above defini- 
 tions, they would have to consist in assenting without war- 
 rantable grounds. Now, every perturbation has many subor- 
 dinate parts annexed to it of the same kind. Grief is attended 
 with enviousness (invidentia) — I use that word for instruction 
 sake, though it is not so common; because envy (invidia) 
 takes in not only the person who envies, but the person too 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 40i> 
 
 who is envied ; — emulation, detraction, pity, vexation, mourn- 
 ing, sadness, tribulation, sorrow, lamentation, solicitude, dis- 
 quiet of mind, pain, despair, and many other similar feelings, 
 are so too. Under fear are comprehended sloth, shame, 
 terror, cowardice, fainting, confusion, astonishment. — In 
 pleasure they comprehend malevolence, that is pleased at 
 another's misfortune, delight, boastfulness, and the like. To 
 lust they associate anger, fury, hatred, enmity, discord, wants, 
 desire, and other feelings of that kind. 
 
 But they define these in this manner : 
 
 VIII. Enviousness (invidentia), they say, is a grief arising 
 from the prosperous circumstances of another, w T hich are in 
 no degree injurious to the person who envies : for where any 
 one grieves at the prosperity of another, by which he is 
 injured, such a one is not properly said to envy, — as when 
 Agamemnon grieves at Hector's success ; but where any one, 
 who is in no way hurt by the prosperity of another, is in 
 pain at his success, such an one envies indeed. Now the 
 name "emulation" is taken in a double sense, so that the 
 same word may stand for praise and dispraise : for the imita- 
 tion of virtue is called emulation — (however, that sense of it 
 I shall have no occasion for here, for that carries praise with 
 it) ; — but emulation is also a term applied to grief at another's 
 enjoying what I desired to have, and am without. Detrac- 
 tion (and I mean by that, jealousy) is a grief even at another's 
 enjoying what I had a great inclination for. Pity is a grief 
 at the misery of another who suffers wrongfully ; for no one 
 is moved by pity at the punishment of a parricide, or of a 
 betrayer of his country. Vexation is a pressing grief. Mourn- 
 ing is a grief at the bitter death of one who was dear to you. 
 Sadness is a grief attended with tears. Tribulation is a pain- 
 ful grief. Sorrow, an excruciating grief. Lamentation, a 
 grief where we loudly bewail ourselves. Solicitude, a pensive 
 grief. Trouble, a continued grief. Affliction, a grief that 
 harasses the body. Despair, a grief that excludes all hope of 
 better things to come. But those feelings wdiich are included 
 under fear, they define thus : — There is sloth, which is a 
 Iread of some ensuing labour : shame and terror, which affect 
 'ie body; hence blushing attends shame; a paleness, and 
 
 •emor, and chattering of the teeth, attend terror : cowardice, 
 
 hich is an apprehension of some approaching evil : dread, a 
 
406 THJ TUSCULAN LISPUTATIOXS. 
 
 fear that unhinges the mind; whence comes that line of 
 Ennius, — 
 
 Then dread discharged all wisdom from my mind : 
 
 fainting is the associate and constant attendant on dread : 
 confusion, a fear that drives away all thought : alarm, a con- 
 tinued fear. 
 
 IX. The different species into which they divide pleasure 
 come under this description ; so that malevolence is a plea- 
 sure in the misfortunes of another, without any advantage to 
 yourself : delight, a pleasure that soothes the mind by agree- 
 able impressions on the ear. What is said of the ear, may be 
 applied to the sight, to the touch, smell, and taste. All feel- 
 ings of this kind are a sort of melting pleasure that dissolves 
 the mind. Boastfulness is a pleasure that consists in making 
 an appearance, and setting off yourself with insolence. — The 
 subordinate species of lust they define in this manner. Anger 
 is a lust of punishing any one who, as we imagine, has injured 
 us without cause. Heat is anger just forming and beginning 
 to exist, which the Greeks call Ov/xaxrLs. Hatred is a settled 
 anger. Enmity is anger waiting for an opportunity of re- 
 venge. Discord is a sharper anger conceived deeply in the 
 mind and heart. Want, an insatiable lust. Regret is when 
 one eagerly wishes to see a person who is absent. Now here 
 they have a distinction ; so that with them regret is a lust 
 conceived on hearing of certain things reported of some one, 
 or of many, which the Greeks call Karrr/op^/xaTa, or predica- 
 ments ; as that they are in possession of riches and honours : 
 but want is a lust for those very honours and riches. — But 
 these definers make intemperance the fountain of all these 
 perturbations; which is an absolute revolt from the mind 
 and right reason : a state so averse to all rules of reason, that 
 the appetites of the mind can by no means be governed and 
 restrained. As, therefore, temperance appeases these desires, 
 making them obey right reason, and maintains the well- 
 weighed judgments of the mind ; so intemperance, which is 
 in opposition to this, inflames, confounds, and puts every 
 state of the mind into a violent motion. Thus, grief and 
 fear, and every other perturbation of the mind, have their 
 rise from intemperance. 
 
 X. Just as distempers and sickness are bred in the body 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 407 
 
 from the corruption of the blood, and the too great abundance 
 of phlegm and bile ; so the mind is deprived of its health, 
 and disordered with sickness, from a confusion of depraved 
 opinions, that are in opposition to one another. From these 
 perturbations arise, first, diseases, which they call voary/jara ; 
 and also those feelings which are in opposition to these diseases, 
 and which admit certain faulty distastes or loathings ; then 
 come sicknesses, which are called ap/awo-r^ara by the Stoics ; 
 and these two have their opposite aversions. Here the Stoics, 
 especially Chrysippus, give themselves unnecessary trouble to 
 show the analogy which the diseases of the mind have to those 
 of the body : but, overlooking all that they say as of little 
 consequence, I shall treat only of the thing itself. Let us 
 then understand perturbation to imply a restlessness from the 
 variety and confusion of contradictory opinions; and that 
 when this heat and disturbance of the mind is of any stand- 
 ing, and has taken up its residence, as it were, in the veins 
 and marrow, then commence diseases and sickness, and those 
 aversions which are in opposition to these diseases and sick- 
 nesses. 
 
 XI. What I say here may be distinguished in thought, 
 though they are in fact the same ; inasmuch as they both 
 have their rise from lust and joy. For should money be the 
 object of our desire, and should we not instantly apply to 
 reason, as if it were a kind of Socratic medicine to heal this 
 desire, the evil glides into our veins, and cleaves to our bowels, 
 and from thence proceeds a distemper or sickness, which, when 
 it is of any continuance, is incurable, and the name of this 
 disease is covetousness. It is the same with other diseases; 
 as the desire of glory, a passion for women, to which the 
 Greeks give the name of <j»iXoyweia ; and thus all other diseases 
 and sicknesses are generated. But those feelings ; which are 
 the contrary of these, are supposed to have fear for their 
 foundation, as a hatred of women, such as is displayed in the 
 Woman-hater of Atilius : or the hatred of the whole human 
 species, as Timon is reported to have done, whom they called 
 the Misanthrope. Of the same kind is inhospitality; and all 
 these diseases proceed from a certain dread of such things as 
 they hate and avoid. But they define sickness of mind to be 
 an overweening opinion, and that fixed and deeply implanted 
 m the heart, of something as very desirable, which is by ad 
 
408 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 means so. What proceeds from aversion, they define thus : a 
 vehement idea of something to be avoided, deeply implanted, 
 and inherent in our minds, when there is no reason for avoid- 
 ing it ; and this kind of opinion is a deliberate belief that one 
 understands things of which one is wholly ignorant. Now, 
 sickness of the mind has all these subordinate divisions, 
 avarice, ambition, fondness for women, obstinacy, gluttony, 
 drunkenness, covetousness, and other similar vices. But 
 avarice is a violent opinion about money, as if it were vehe • 
 mently to be desired and sought after, which opinion is 
 deeply implanted and inherent in our minds ; and the defini- 
 tion of all the other similar feelings resembles these. But 
 the definitions of aversions are of this sort; inhospitality is 
 a vehement opinion, deeply implanted and inherent in your 
 mind, that you should avoid a stranger. Thus too the 
 hatred of women, like that felt by Hippolytus, is defined, 
 and the hatred of the human species like that displayed by 
 Timon. 
 
 XII. But to come to the analogy of the state of body and 
 mind, which I shall sometimes make use of, though more 
 sparingly than the Stoics : some men are more inclined to 
 particular disorders than others. And, therefore, we say, that 
 some people are rheumatic, others dropsical, not because they 
 are so at present, but because they are often so : some are 
 inclined to fear, others to some other perturbation. Thus in 
 some there is a continual anxiety, owing to which they are 
 anxious; in some a hastiness of temper, which differs from 
 anger, as anxiety differs from anguish : for all are not anxious 
 who are sometimes vexed; nor are they who are anxious 
 always uneasy in that manner : as there is a difference betwixt 
 being drunk, and drunkenness; and it is one thing to be a 
 lover, another to be given to women. And this disposition of 
 particular people to particular disorders is very common: 
 for it relates to all perturbations; it appears in many vices, 
 though it has no name : some are therefore said to be envious, 
 malevolent, spiteful, fearful, pitiful, from a propensity to 
 those perturbations, not from their being always carried away 
 by them. Now this propensity to these particular disorders 
 may be called a sickness, from analogy with the body; 
 meaning, that is to say, nothing more than a propensity 
 towards sickness. But with regard to whatever is good, as 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE BOND. 409 
 
 some are more inclined to different good qualities than others, 
 we may call this a facility or tendency : this tendency to evil 
 is a proclivity or inclination to falling : but where anything is 
 neither good nor bad, it may have the former name. 
 
 XIII. Even as there may be, with respect to the body, a 
 disease, a sickness, and a defect ; so it is with the mind. They 
 call that a disease where the whole body is corrupted : they 
 call that sickness, where a disease is attended with a weak- 
 ness : and that a defect, where the parts of the body are not 
 well compacted together; from whence it follows, that the 
 members are mis-shapen, crooked, and deformed. So that 
 these two, a disease and sickness, proceed from a violent con- 
 cussion and perturbation of the health of the whole body ; 
 but a defect discovers itself, even when the body is in perfect 
 health. But a disease of the mind is distinguishable only in 
 thought from a sickness. But a viciousness is a habit or 
 affection discordant and inconsistent with itself through life. 
 Thus it happens, that in the one case a disease and sickness 
 may arise from a corruption of opinions ; in the other case 
 the consequence may be inconstancy and inconsistency. For 
 every vice of the mind does not imply a disunion of parts ; as 
 is the case with those who are not far from being wise men : 
 with them there is that affection which is inconsistent with 
 itself whilst it is foolish, but it is not distorted, nor depraved. 
 But diseases and sicknesses are parts of viciousness : but it is 
 a question whether perturbations are parts of the same : for 
 vices are permanent affections : perturbations are such as are 
 restless ; so that they cannot be parts of permanent ones. As 
 there is some analogy between the nature of the body and 
 mind in evil, so is jthere in good : for the distinctions of the 
 body are beauty, strength, health, firmness, quickness of 
 motion; the same may be said of the mind. The body is 
 said to be in a good state, when all those things on which 
 health, depends are consistent : the same may be said of the 
 mind, when its judgments and opinions are not at variance 
 with one another. And this union is the virtue of the mind : 
 which, according to some people, is temperance itself ; others 
 make it consist in an obedience to the precepts of temperance, 
 and a compliance with them, not allowing it to be any distinct 
 species of itself : but be it one or the other, it is to be found 
 only in a wise man. But there is a certain soundness of 
 
410 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 mind, which even a fool may have, when the perturbation of 
 his mind is removed by the care and management of his 
 physicians. And, as what is called beauty arises from an 
 exact proportion of the limbs, together with a certain sweet- 
 ness of complexion, so the beauty of the mind consists in an 
 equality and constancy of opinions and judgments, joined to a 
 certain firmness and stability, pursuing virtue, or containing 
 within itself the very essence of virtue. Besides, we give the 
 very same names to the faculties of the mind, as we do to the 
 powers of the body, the nerves, and other powers of action. 
 Thus the velocity of the body is called swiftness : a praise 
 which we ascribe to the mind, from its running over in its 
 thoughts so many things in so short a time. 
 
 XIV. Herein indeed the mind and body are unlike : that 
 though the mind when in perfect health may be visited by 
 sickness, as the body may, yet the body may be disordered 
 without our fault, the mind cannot. For all the disorders 
 and perturbations of the mind proceed from a neglect of 
 reason; these disorders, therefore, are confined to men; the 
 beasts are not subject to such perturbations, though they act 
 sometimes as if they had reason. There is a difference, too, 
 betwixt ingenious and dull men; the ingenious, like the 
 Corinthian brass, which is long before it receives rust, are 
 longer before they fall into these perturbations, and are 
 recovered sooner: the case is different with the dull. Nor 
 does the mind of an ingenious man fall into every kind of 
 perturbation, for it never yields to any that are brutish and 
 savage : and some of their perturbations have at first even the 
 appearance of humanity, as mercy, grief, and fear. But the 
 sicknesses and diseases of the mind are thought to be harder 
 to eradicate, than those leading vices which are in opposition 
 to virtues : for vices may be removed, though the diseases of 
 the mind should continue, which diseases are not cured with 
 that expedition with which vices are removed. I have now 
 acquainted you with the arguments which the Stoics put 
 forth with such exactness : which they call logic, from their 
 close arguing; and since my discourse has got clear of these 
 rocks, I will proceed with the remainder of it, provided I 
 have been sufficiently clear in what I have already said, con- 
 sidering the obscurity of the subject I have treated. 
 
 A. Clear enough; but should there be occasion for a more 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 411 
 
 exact inquiry, I shall take another opportunity of asking 
 you : I expect you now to hoist your sails as you just now 
 called them, and proceed on your course. 
 
 XV. M. Since I have spoken before of virtue in other 
 places, and shall often have occasion to speak again (for a 
 great many questions that relate to life and manners arise 
 from the spring of virtue) ; and since, as I say, virtue consists 
 in a settled and uniform affection of mind, making those persons 
 praiseworthy who are possessed of her; she herself also, inde- 
 pendent of anything else, without regard to any advantage, 
 must be praiseworthy ; for from her proceed good inclinations, 
 opinions, actions, and the whole of right reason; though 
 virtue may be denned in few words to be right reason itself. 
 The opposite to this is viciousness (for so I choose to translate 
 what the Greeks call KaKia, rather than by perverseness ; for 
 perverseness is the name of a particular vice ; but viciousness 
 includes all), from whence arise those perturbations, which, as 
 I just now said, are turbid and violent motions of the mind, 
 repugnant to reason, and enemies in a high degree to the 
 peace of the mind, and a tranquil life : for they introduce 
 piercing and anxious cares, and afflict and debilitate the mind 
 through fear ; they violently inflame our hearts with exag- 
 gerated appetite ; which is in reality an impotence of mind, 
 utterly irreconcilable with temperance and moderation, which 
 we sometimes call desire, and sometimes lust; and which, 
 should it even attain the object of its wishes, immediately 
 becomes so elated, that it loses all its resolution, and knows 
 not what to pursue ; so that he was in the right who said, 
 " that exaggerated pleasure was the very greatest of mistakes." 
 Virtue then alone can effect the cure of these evils. 
 
 XVI. For what is not only more miserable, but more base 
 and sordid, than a man afflicted, weakened, and oppressed 
 with grief? And little short of this misery is one who dreads 
 some approaching evil, and who, through faintheartedness, is 
 under continual suspense. The poets, to express the great- 
 ness of this evil, imagine a stone to hang over the head of 
 Tantalus, as a punishment for his wickedness, his pride, and 
 his boasting. And this is the common punishment of folly ; 
 for there hangs over the head of every one whose mind revolts 
 from reason some similar fear. And as these perturbations 
 of the mind, grief and fear, are of a most wasting nature ; so 
 
4 
 
 \ 
 
 412 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 those two others, though of a more merry cast, (I mean lust, 
 which is always coveting something with eagerness, and 
 empty mirth, which is an exulting joy,) differ very little from 
 madness. Hence you may understand what sort of person he 
 is whom we call at one time moderate, at another modest or 
 temperate, at another constant and virtuous; while some- 
 times we include all these names in the word frugality, as the 
 crown of all. For if that word did not include all virtues, it 
 would never have been proverbial to say, that a frugal man 
 does everything rightly; but when the Stoics apply this 
 saying to their wise man, they seem to exalt him too much, 
 and to speak of him with too much admiration. 
 
 XVII. Whoever, then, through moderation and constancy, 
 is at rest in his mind, and in calm possession of himself, so as 
 neither to pine with care, nor be dejected with fear, nor to be 
 inflamed with desire, coveting something greedily, nor relaxed 
 by extravagant mirth, — such a man is that identical wise man 
 whom we are inquiring for, he is the happy man : to whom 
 nothing in this life seems intolerable enough to depress him ; 
 nothing exquisite enough to transport him unduly. For 
 what is there in this life that can appear great to him, who 
 has acquainted himself with eternity, and the utmost extent 
 of the universe ? For what is there in human knowledge, or 
 the short span of this life, that can appear great to a wise 
 man 1 whose mind is always so upon its guard, that nothing 
 can befal him which is unforeseen, nothing which is unexpected, 
 nothing, in short, which is new. Such a man takes so exact 
 a survey on all sides of him, that he always knows the proper 
 place and spot to live in free from all the troubles and annoy- 
 ances of life, and encounters every accident that fortune can 
 bring upon him with a becoming calmness. Whoever con- 
 ducts himself in this manner, will be free from grief, and from 
 every other perturbation : and a mind free from these feelings 
 renders men completely happy : whereas a mind disordered 
 and drawn off from right and unerring reason, loses at once, 
 not only its resolution, but its health. — Therefore the 
 thoughts and declarations of the Peripatetics are soft and 
 effeminate, for they say that the mind must necessarily 
 be agitated, but at the same time they lay down certain 
 bounds beyond which that agitation is not to proceed. And 
 do you set bounds to vice 1 or is it no vice to disobey reason 1 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 413 
 
 does not reason sufficiently declare, that there is no real good 
 which you should desire too ardently, or the possession of 
 which you should allow to transport you : and that there is 
 no evil that should be able to overwhelm you, or the sus- 
 picion of which should distract you 1 and that all these things 
 assume too melancholy or too cheerful an appearance through 
 our own error 1 But if fools find this error lessened by time, 
 so that, though the cause remains the same, they are not 
 affected in the same manner, after some time, as they were at 
 first ; why surely a wise man ought not to be influenced at 
 all by it. But what are those degrees by which we are to 
 limit it 1 Let us fix these degrees in grief, a difficult sub- 
 ject, and one much canvassed. — Fannius writes that P. 
 Rutilius took it much to heart, that his brother was refused 
 the consulship : but he seems to have been too much affected 
 by this disappointment ; for it was the occasion of his death : 
 he ought, therefore, to have borne it with more moderation. 
 But let us suppose, that wiiilst he was bearing this with 
 moderation, the death of his children had intervened; here 
 would have started a fresh grief, which, admitting it to be 
 moderate in itself, yet still must have been a great addition 
 to the other. Now to these let us add some acute pains of 
 body, the loss of his fortune, blindness, banishment; suppos- 
 ing, then, each separate misfortune to occasion a separate 
 additional grief, the whole would be too great to be support- 
 able. 
 
 XVIII. The man who attempts to set bounds to vice, acts 
 like one who should throw himself headlong from Leucate, 
 persuaded that he could stop himself whenever he pleased. 
 Now, as that is impossible, so a perturbed and disordered 
 mind cannot restrain itself, and stop where it pleases. Cer- 
 tainly whatever is bad in its increase, is bad in its birth : now 
 grief, and all other perturbations, are doubtless baneful in 
 their progress, and have therefore no small share of evil at 
 the beginning ; for they go on of themselves when once they 
 depart from reason, for every weakness is self-indulgent, and 
 indiscreetly launches out, and does not know where to stop. 
 So that it makes no difference whether you approve of mode- 
 rate perturbations of mind, or of moderate injustice, moderate 
 cowardice, and moderate intemperance. For whoever prescribes 
 bounds to vice, admits a part of it, which, as it is odious of 
 
414 THI] TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 itself, becomes the more so as it stands on slippery ground, and 
 being once set forward, glides on headlong, and cannot by any 
 means be stopped. 
 
 XIX. Why should I say more? Why should I add that 
 the Peripatetics say that these perturbations, which we insist 
 upon it should be extirpated, are not only natural, but were 
 given to men by nature for a good purpose 1 They usually 
 talk in this manner. In the first place, they say much in 
 praise of anger; they call it the whetstone of courage, and 
 they say that angry men exert themselves most against an 
 enemy or against a bad citizen : that those reasons are of 
 little weight which are the motives of men who think thus, 
 as, — It is a just war, it becomes us to fight for our laws, our 
 liberties, our country ; they will allow no force to these argu- 
 ments unless our courage is warmed by anger. — Nor do they 
 confine their argument to warriors : but their opinion is, that 
 no one can issue any rigid commands without some bitterness 
 and anger. In short, they have no notion of an orator either 
 accusing or even defending a client, without he is spurred on 
 by anger. And though this anger should not be real, still 
 they think his words and gestures ought to wear the appear- 
 ance of it, so that the action of the orator may excite the 
 anger of his hearer. And they deny that any man has ever 
 been seen, who does not know what it is to be angry : and 
 they name what we call lenity, by the bad appellation of 
 indolence : nor do they commend only this lust, (for anger is, 
 as I defined it above, the lust of revenge,) but they maintain 
 that kind of lust or desire to be given us by nature for very 
 good purposes : saying that no one can execute anything well 
 but what he is in earnest about. Themistocles used to walk 
 in the public places in the night, because he could not sleep : 
 and when asked the reason, his answer was, that Miltiades' 
 trophies kept him awake. Who has not heard how Demos- 
 thenes used to watch ; who said that it gave him pain, if any 
 mechanic was up in a morning at his work before him? 
 Lastly, they urge that some of the greatest philosophers would 
 never have made that progress in their studies, without some 
 ardent desire spurring them on. — We are informed that 
 Pythagoras, Democritus, and Plato, visited the remotest parts 
 of the world ; for they thought that they ought to go where- 
 ever anything was to be learned. Now it is not conceivable 
 
OX OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 415 
 
 that these things could ' be effected by anything but by the 
 greatest ardour of mind. 
 
 XX. They say that even grief, which we have already said 
 ought to be avoided as a monstrous and fierce beast, was ap- 
 pointed by nature, not without some good purpose : in order 
 that men should lament when they had committed a fault, well 
 knowing they had exposed themselves to correction, rebuke, 
 and ignominy. For they think that those who can bear 
 ignominy and infamy without pain, have acquired a complete 
 impunity for all sorts of crimes : for with them, reproach is 
 a stronger check than conscience. From whence we have 
 that scene in Afranius, borrowed from common life ; for when 
 the abandoned son saith, Wretched that I am ! the severe 
 father replies, 
 
 Let him but grieve, no matter what the cause. 
 
 And they say the other divisions of sorrow have their use ; 
 that pity incites us to hasten to the assistance of others, and 
 to alleviate the calamities of men who have undeservedly 
 fallen into them: that even envy and detraction are not 
 without their use ; as when a man sees that another person 
 has attained what he cannot, or observes another to be equally 
 successful with himself : that he who should take away fear, 
 would take away all industry in life ; which those men exert 
 in the greatest degree who are afraid of the laws and of 
 the magistrates, who dread poverty, ignominy, death, and 
 pain. But while they argue thus, they allow indeed of these 
 feelings being retrenched, though they deny that they either 
 can, or should be plucked up by the roots : so that their 
 opinion is that mediocrity is best in everything. When they 
 reason ■ in this manner, what think you ? is what they say 
 worth attending to or not 1 
 
 A. I think it is j I wait, therefore, to hear what you will 
 say in reply to them. 
 
 XXI. M. Perhaps I may find something to say,— but I will 
 make this observation first : do you take notice with what 
 modesty the Academics behave themselves % for they speak 
 plainly to the purpose. The Peripatetics are answered by 
 the Stoics; they have my leave to fight it out; who. think 
 myself no otherwise concerned than to inquire for what 
 may seem to be most probable. Our present business is, 
 then, to see if we can meet with anything in this question 
 
41b* THE TfJSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 which is the probable, for beyond such approximation to 
 truth as that human nature cannot proceed. The definition 
 of a perturbation, as Zeno, I think, has rightly determined it, 
 is thus : That a perturbation is a commotion of the mind 
 against nature, in opposition to right reason ; or more briefly 
 thus, that a perturbation is a somewhat too vehement appe- 
 tite; and when he says somewhat too vehement, he means 
 such as is at a greater distance from the constant course of 
 nature. What can I say to these definitions'? the greater 
 part of them we have from those who dispute with sagacity 
 and acuteness : some of them expressions, indeed, such as the 
 "ardours of the mind," and "the whetstones of virtue," savour- 
 ing of the pomp of rhetoricians. As to the question, if a brave 
 man can maintain his courage without becoming angry; it may 
 be questioned with regard to the gladiators : though we often 
 observe much resolution even in them ; they meet, converse, 
 they make objections and demands, they agree about terms, so 
 that they seem calm rather than angry. But let us admit a 
 man of the name of Placideianus, who was one of that trade, 
 to be in such a mind, as Lucilius relates of him, 
 
 If for his blood you thirst, the task be mine ; 
 
 His laurels at my feet he shall resign ; 
 
 Not but I know, before I reach his heart, 
 
 First on myself a wound he will impart. 
 
 I hate the man ; enraged I tight, and straight 
 
 In action we had been, but that I wait 
 
 Till each his sword had fitted to his hand, 
 
 My rage I scarce can keep within command. 
 XXII. But we see Ajax in Homer advancing to meet 
 Hector in battle cheerfully, without any of this boisterous 
 wrath. For he had no sooner taken up his arms, than the 
 first step which he made inspired his associates with joy, his 
 enemies with fear : so that even Hector, as he is represented 
 by Homer, 1 trembling condemned himself for having chal- 
 
 1 Cicero alludes here to II. vii. 211, which is thus translated by Pope — 
 His massy javelin quivering in his hand, 
 He stood the bulwark of the Grecian band ; 
 Through every Argive heart new transport ran, 
 All Troy stood trembling at the mighty man : 
 E'en Hector paused, and with new doubt oppress'd, 
 Felt his great heart suspended in his breast; 
 'Twas vain to seek retreat, and vain to fear, 
 Himself had challenged, and the foe drew near. 
 But Melmoth (Note on the Familiar Letters of Cicero, book ii. Let. 23) 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. '11 7 
 
 lenged him to fight. Yet these heroes conversed together, 
 calmly and quietly, before they engaged; nor did they show- 
 any anger or outrageous behaviour during the combat. Nor 
 do I imagine that Torquatus, the first who obtained this sur- 
 name, was in a rage when he plundered the Gaul of his 
 collar: or that Marcellus' courage at Clastidium was only 
 owing to his anger. I could almost swear, that Africanus, 
 with whom we are better acquainted, from our recollection of 
 him being more recent, was no ways inflamed by anger, when 
 he covered Alien us Pelignus with his shield, and drove his 
 sword into the enemy's breast. There may be some doubt 
 of L. Brutus, whether he was not influenced by extraordi- 
 nary hatred of the tyrant, so as to attack Aruns with more 
 than usual rashness ; for I observe that they mutually killed 
 each other in close fight. Why, then, do you call in the 
 assistance of anger ? would courage, unless it began to get 
 furious, lose its energy? What? do you imagine that Her- 
 cules, whom the very courage which you would try to 
 represent as anger raised to heaven, was angry when he 
 engaged the Erymanthian boar, or the Nemean lion ? or was 
 Theseus in a passion when he seized on the horns of the 
 Marathonian bull? Take care how you make courage to 
 depend in the least on rage. For anger is altogether irrational, 
 and that is not courage which is void of reason. 
 
 XXIII. We ought to hold all things here in contempt ; 
 death is to be looked on with indifference ; pains and labours 
 must be considered as easily supportable. And when these 
 sentiments are established on judgment and conviction, then 
 will that stout and firm courage take place : unless you attri- 
 bute to anger whatever is done with vehemence, alacrity, and 
 
 rightly accuses Cicero of having misunderstood Homer, who " by no 
 means represents Hector as being thus totally dismayed at the ap- 
 proach of his adversary; and indeed it would have been inconsistent 
 with the general character of that hero to have described him under 
 such circumstances of terror." 
 
 Tdv 5e teal 'Apyetot jxiy eyr]6eov elaopoowres, 
 Tp&as 8e rpo/xos alvos virriAvdf: yvla zkolgtov, 
 "EKTopi 8' avTty dv/j.6s ivl arr)6ea(Ti •Karraxrasv. 
 
 But there is a great difference, as Dr. Clarke remarks, between dvubt 
 ivL <rnfj0€(T(n ird-raxraey and KapSirj e£a> (TT7/0eW edpuxrKev, or Tpo/xos alvos 
 \nri]\vQ<: yvta. — The Trojans, says Homer, trembled at the sigiit of Ajax, 
 and even Hector hnnseif felt some emotion in his bieast. 
 
 ACAD. ETC- E K 
 
418 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 spirit. To me, indeed, that very Scipio 1 who was chief priest, 
 that favourer of the saying of the Stoics, " that no private 
 man could be a wise man," does not seem to be angry with 
 Tiberius Gracchus, even when he left the consul in a hesitating 
 frame of mind, and, though a private man himself, com- 
 manded, with the authority of a consul, that all who meant 
 well to the republic should follow him. I do not know 
 whether I have done anything in the republic that has the 
 appearance of courage ; but if I have, I certainly did not do 
 it in wrath. Doth anything come nearer madness than 
 anger? And indeed Ennius has well defined it as the begin- 
 ning of madness. The changing colour, the alteration of our 
 voice, the look of our eyes, our manner of fetching our breath, 
 the little command we have over our words and actions, how 
 little do all these things indicate a sound mind ! What can 
 make a worse appearance than Homer's Achilles, or Aga- 
 memnon, during the quarrel. And as to Ajax, anger drove 
 him into downright madness, and was the occasion of his 
 death. Courage, therefore, does not want the assistance of 
 anger ; it is sufficiently provided, armed, and prepared of 
 itself. We may as well say that drunkenness, or madness, 
 are of service to courage, because those who are mad or 
 drunk often do a great many things with unusual vehemence. 
 Ajax was always brave, but still he was most brave when he 
 was in that state of frenzy : 
 
 The greatest feat that Ajax e'er achieved 
 Was, when his single arm the Greeks relieved. 
 Quitting the field ; urged on by rising rage, 
 Forced the declining troops again t'engage. 
 
 Shall we say, then, that madness has its use 1 
 
 XXIV. Examine the definitions of courage : you will find 
 it does not require the assistance of passion. Courage is, 
 then, an affection of mind, that endures all things, being 
 itself in proper subjection to the highest of all laws; or, it 
 may be called a firm maintenance of judgment in supporting 
 or repelling everything that has a formidable appearance, or 
 a knowledge of what is formidable or otherwise, and maintain- 
 
 1 Cicero means Scipio Nasica, who in the riots consequent on the 
 re-election of Tiberius Gracchus to the tribunate, b.c. 133, having called 
 in vain on the consul, Mucius ScoBvola, to save the republic, attacked 
 Gracchus himself, who was slain in the tumult 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 419 
 
 ing invariably a stable judgment of all such things, so as to 
 bear them, or despise them ; or, in fewer words according to 
 Chrysippus : (for the above definitions are Sphserus's, a man of 
 the first ability as a layer down of definitions, as the Stoics 
 think : but they are all pretty much alike, they give us only 
 common notions, some one way, and some another.) But 
 what is Chrysippus's definition 1 Fortitude, says he, is the 
 knowledge of all things that are bearable : or an affection of 
 the mind, which bears and supports everything in obedience 
 to the chief law of reason, without fear. Now, though we 
 should attack these men in the same manner as Carneades 
 used to do, I fear they are the only real philosophers: for 
 which of these definitions is there which does not explain 
 that obscure and intricate notion of courage which every 
 man conceives within himself 1 And when it is thus ex- 
 plained, what can a warrior, a commander, or an orator, want 
 more 1 and no one can think that they will be unable to 
 behave themselves courageously without anger. What? do 
 not even the Stoics, who maintain that all fools are mad, 
 make the same inferences'? for, take away perturbations, 
 especially a hastiness of temper, and they will appear to talk 
 very absurdly. But what they assert is this : they say that 
 all fools are mad, as all dunghills stink ; not that they always 
 do so, but stir them, and you will perceive it. And in like 
 manner, a warm-tempered man is not always in a passion : 
 but provoke him, and you will see him run mad. Now, that 
 very warlike anger, which is of such service in war, what is 
 the use of it to him when he is at home with his wife, children, 
 and family 1 Is there, then, anything that a disturbed mind 
 can do better than one which is calm and steady ? or can 
 any one be angry without a perturbation of mind? Our 
 people, then, were in the right, who, as all vices depend on our 
 manners, and nothing is worse than a passionate disposition, 
 called angry men the only morose men. 1 
 
 XXV. Anger is in no wise becoming in an orator, though it 
 is not amiss to affect it. Do you imagine that I am angry when 
 in pleading I use any extraordinary vehemence and sharp- 
 ness? What ? when I write out my speeches after all is over 
 and past, am I then angry while writing ? or do you think 
 
 1 Morosus is evidently derived from mores — " Morosus, mos, stubborn- 
 ness, selfwill, etc." — Riddle and Arnold, Lat. Diet. 
 
 E E 2 
 
420 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 iEsopus was ever angry when he acted, or Accius was so 
 when he wrote ] Those men, indeed, act very well, but the 
 orator acts better than the player, provided he be really an 
 orator; but then they carry it on without passion, and with 
 a composed mind. But what wantonness is it to commend 
 lust 1 You produce Themistocles and Demosthenes ; to these 
 you add Pythagoras, Democritus, and Plato. What, do you 
 then call studies lust 1 But these studies of the most excel- 
 lent and admirable things, such as those were which you 
 bring forward on all occasions, ought to be composed and 
 tranquil; and what kind of philosophers are they who com- 
 mend grief, than which nothing is more detestable? Afranius 
 has said much to this purpose — 
 
 Let him but grieve, no matter what the cause. 
 But he spoke this of a debauched and dissolute youth ; but 
 we are inquiring into the conduct of a constant and wise 
 man. We may even allow a centurion, or standard-bearer, 
 to be angry, or any others, whom, not to explain too far the 
 mysteries of the rhetoricians, I shall not mention here; for 
 to touch the passions, w r here reason cannot be come at, may 
 have its use; but my inquiry, as I often repeat, is about a 
 wdse man. 
 
 XXVI. But even envy, detraction, pity, have their use. 
 Why should you pity rather than assist, if it is in your 
 power to do so 1 Is it because you cannot be liberal without 
 pity 1 ? We should not take sorrows on ourselves upon 
 another's account; but we ought to relieve others of their 
 grief if we can. But to detract from another's reputation, 
 or to rival him with that vicious emulation, which resembles 
 an enmity, of what use can that conduct be 1 Now envy 
 implies being uneasy at another's good because one does 
 not enjoy it oneself; but detraction is the being uneasy at 
 another's good, merely because he enjoys it. How can it be 
 right that you should voluntarily grieve, rather than take the 
 trouble of acquiring what you want to have ; for it is madness 
 in the highest degree to desire to be the only one that has 
 any particular happiness. But who can with correctness 
 speak in praise of a mediocrity of evils'? Can any one in 
 i horn there is lust or desire, be otherwise than libidinous or 
 iesirous? or can a man who is occupied by anger avoid being 
 angry? or can one who is exposed to any vexation escape 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 42 i 
 
 being vexed? or if he is under the influence of fear, must he 
 not be fearful? Do we look, then, on the libidinous, the 
 angry, the anxious, and the timid man, as persons of wisdom, 
 of excellence? of which I could speak very copiously and 
 diffusely, but I wish to be as concise as possible. And so 
 I will merely say that wisdom is an acquaintance with all 
 divine and human affairs, and a knowledge of the cause of 
 everything. Hence it is, that it imitates what is divine, and 
 looks upon all human concerns as inferior to virtue. Did 
 you, then, say that it was your opinion that such a man was 
 as naturally liable to perturbation as the sea is exposed to 
 winds? What is there that can discompose such gravity 
 and constancy ? Anything sudden or unforeseen ? How 
 can anything of this kind befal one, to whom nothing is 
 sudden and unforeseen that can happen to man ? Now, as to 
 their saying that redundancies should be pared off, and only 
 what is natural remain; what, I pray you, can be natural, 
 which may be too exuberant ? 
 
 XXVII. All these assertions proceed from the roots of 
 errors, which must be entirely plucked up and destroyed, 
 not pared and amputated. But as I suspect that your 
 inquiry is not so much respecting the wise man as concerning 
 yourself, (for you allow that he is free from all perturbations, 
 and you would willingly be so too yourself,) let us see what 
 remedies there are which may be applied by philosophy to ^ 
 the diseases of the mind. There is certainly some remedy ; 
 nor has nature been so unkind to the human race, as to have 
 discovered so many things salutary to the body, and none 
 which are medicinal to the mind. She has even been kinder 
 to the mind than to the body; inasmuch as you must seek \ 
 abroad for the assistance which the body requires; while 
 the mind has all that it requires within itself. But in 
 proportion as the excellency of the mind is of a higher and 
 more divine nature, the more diligence does it require ; and 
 therefore reason, when it is well applied, discovers what is 
 best, but when it is neglected it becomes involved in many 
 errors. I shall apply, then, all my discourse to you; for 
 ;hough you pretend to be inquiring about the wise man, your 
 nquiry may possibly be about yourself. Various, then, are 
 he cures of those perturbations which I have expounded, for \ 
 very disorder is not to be appeased the same way; — one 
 
i2'2 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 J medicine must be applied to the man who mourns, another 
 to the pitiful, another to the person who envies, for there is 
 this difference to be maintained in all the four perturbations ; 
 we are to consider whether our discourse had better be 
 directed to perturbations in general, which are a contempt of 
 reason, or a somewhat too vehement appetite; or whether 
 it would be better applied to particular descriptions, as, for 
 instance, to fear, lust, and the rest, and whether it appears 
 preferable to endeavour to remove that which has occasioned 
 the grief, or rather to attempt wholly to eradicate every kind 
 of grief. As, should any one grieve that he is poor, the 
 question is, would you maintain poverty to be no evil, or 
 would you contend that a man ought not to grieve at any- 
 thing? Certainly this last is the best course; for should 
 you not convince him with regard to poverty, you must 
 allow him to grieve ; but if you remove grief by particular 
 arguments, such as I used yesterday, the evil of poverty is in 
 some manner removed. 
 
 XXVIII. But any perturbation of the mind of this sort 
 may be, as it were, wiped away by this method of appeasing 
 the mind, if you succeed in showing that there is no good in 
 \y that which has given rise to joy and lust, nor any evil in 
 that which has occasioned fear or grief. But certainly the 
 most effectual cure is to be achieved by showing that all 
 perturbations are of themselves vicious, and have nothing 
 natural or necessary in them. As we see grief itself is easily 
 softened when we charge those who grieve with weakness 
 and an effeminate mind ; or when we commend the gravity 
 and constancy of those who bear calmly whatever befals them 
 here, as accidents to which all men are liable; and, indeed, 
 this is generally the feeling of those who look on these as real 
 evils, but yet think they should be borne with resignation. 
 One imagines pleasure to be a good, another money ; and yet 
 the one may be called off from intemperance, the other from 
 covetousness. The other method and address, which, at the 
 r same time that it removes the false opinion, withdraws the 
 disorder, has more subtilty in it; but it seldom succeeds, 
 and is not applicable to vulgar minds, for there are some 
 diseases which that medicine can by no means remove. For, 
 should any one be uneasy because he is without virtue, 
 without, courage, destitute of a sense of duty, or honesty ; his 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 4*?.? 
 
 auxiety proceeds from a real evil, and yet we must apply 
 another method of cure to him ; and such a one as all the 
 philosophers, however they may differ about other things, 
 agree in. For they must necessarily agree in this, that com- 
 motions of the mind in opposition to right reason are vicious ; 
 and that even admitting those things to be evils, which occa- 
 sion fear or grief, and those to be goods which provoke desire 
 or joy, yet that very commotion itself is vicious; for we 
 mean by the expressions magnanimous and brave, one who is 
 resolute, sedate, grave, and superior to everything in this life : 
 but one who either grieves, or fears, or covets, or is trans- 
 ported with passion, cannot coma under that denomination ; 
 for these things are consistent only with those who look on 
 the things of this world as things with which their minds are 
 unequal to contend. 
 
 XXIX. Wherefore, as I before said, the philosophers have 
 all one method of cure, so that we need say nothing about 
 what sort of thing that is which disturbs the mind, but we 
 must speak only concerning the perturbation itself. Thus, 
 first, with regard to desire itself, when the business is only to 
 remove that, the inquiry is not to be, whether that thing be 
 good or evil which provokes lust, but the lust itself is to be 
 removed; so that whether whatever is honest is the chief 
 good, or whether it consists in pleasure, or in both these 
 things together, or in the other three kinds of goods, yet 
 should there be in any one too vehement an appetite for even 
 virtue itself, the whole discourse should be directed to the 
 deterring him from that vehemence. But human nature, 
 when placed in a conspicuous point of view, gives us every 
 argument for appeasing the mind, and to make this the more 
 distinct, the laws and conditions of life should be explained in 
 our discourse. Therefore, it was not without reason that 
 >ocrates is reported, when Euripides was exhibiting his play 
 ailed Orestes, to have repeated the first three verses of that 
 ragedy— 
 
 What tragic story men can mournful tell, 
 Whate'er from fate or from the gods befel, 
 That human nature can support l 
 
 ' In the original they run thus : — 
 
 OdK iariv ovdeu Seivdu 58* shruv tiros, 
 OuSe irddos, ot>8e ^v/j.<popoL 6e-f]\aro? 
 *h'ff ouk ay &,.oit' &xOhj dvdpdrrov tpixris. 
 
424 THE TL'SCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 But, in order to persuade those to whom any misfortune lias 
 happened, that they can and ought to bear it, it is very 
 useful to set before them an enumeration of other persons 
 who have borne similar calamities. Indeed, the method of 
 appeasing grief was explained in my dispute of yesterday, 
 and in my book on Consolation, which I wrote in the midst 
 of my own grief ; for I was not myself so wise a man as to 
 be insensible to grief, and I used this, notwithstanding Chry- 
 sippus's advice to the contrary, who is against applying a 
 medicine to the agitations of the mind while they are fresh ; 
 but I did it, and committed a violence on nature, that the 
 greatness of my grief might give way to the greatness of the 
 medicine. 
 
 XXX. But fear borders upon grief, of which I have already 
 said enough ; but I must say a little more on that. Now, as 
 grief proceeds from what is present, so does fear from future 
 evil ; so that some have said that fear is a certain part of 
 grief : others have called fear the harbinger of trouble, which, 
 as it were, introduces the ensuing evil. Now, the reasons 
 that make what is present supjportable, make what is to come 
 very contemptible ; for, with regard to both, we should take 
 care to do nothing low or grovelling, soft or effeminate, mean 
 or abject. But, notwithstanding we should speak of the in- 
 constancy, imbecility, and levity of fear itself, yet it is of very 
 great service to speak contemptuously of those very things of 
 which we are afraid. So that it fell out very well, whether it 
 was by accident or design, that I disputed the first and second 
 day on death and pain, — the two things that are the most 
 dreaded : now, if what I then said was approved of, we are 
 in a great degree freed from fear. And this is sufficient, as 
 far as regards the opinion of evils. 
 
 XXXI. Proceed we now to what are goods — that is to say, 
 to joy and desire. To me, indeed, one thing alone seems to 
 embrace the question of all that relates to the perturbations 
 of the mind — the fact, namely, that all perturbations are in 
 our own power; that they are taken up upon opinion, and 
 are voluntary. This error, then, must be got rid of; this 
 opinion must be removed : and, as with regard to imagined 
 evils, we are to make them more supportable, so with respect 
 to goods, we are to lessen the violent effects of those things 
 wirier are called great and joyous. But one thing is to be 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 425 
 
 observed, that equally relates both to good and evil : ' that, 
 should it be difficult to persuade any one that none of those 
 things which disturb the mind are to be looked on as good or 
 evil, yet a different cure is to be applied to different feelings ; 
 and the malevolent person is to be corrected by one way of 
 reasoning, the lover by another, the anxious man by another, 
 and the fearful by another : and it would be easy for any one 
 who pursues the best approved method of reasoning, with 
 regard to good and evil, to maintain that no fool can be 
 affected with joy, as he never can have anything good. But, 
 at present, my discourse proceeds upon the common received 
 notions. Let, then, honours, riches, pleasures, and the rest, 
 be the very good things which they are imagined to be ; yet 
 a too elevated and exulting joy on the possession of them is 
 unbecoming; just as though it might be allowable to laugh, 
 to giggle would be indecent. Thus, a mind enlarged by joy 
 is as blameable as a contraction of it by grief; and eager 
 longing is a sign of as much levity in desiring as immoderate 
 joy is in possessing; and, as those who are too dejected are said 
 to be effeminate, so they who are too elated with joy are pro- 
 perly called volatile ; and as feeling envy is a part of grief, and 
 the being pleased with another's misfortune is a kind of joy 
 both these feelings are usually corrected by showing the wild- 
 ness and insensibility of them : and as it becomes a man to be 
 cautious, but it is unbecoming in him to be fearful ; so to be 
 pleased is proper, but to be joyful improper. I have, in order 
 that I might be the better understood, distinguished pleasure 
 from joy. I have already said above, that a contraction of 
 the mind can never be right, but that an elation of it may; 
 for the joy of Hector in Nsevius is one thing, — 
 
 'Tis joy indeed to hear my praises sung 
 
 By you, who are the theme of honour's tongue : 
 
 but that of the character in Trabea another : — " The kind 
 procuress, allured by my money, will observe my nod, will 
 watch my desires, and study my will. If I but move the 
 door with my little finger, instantly it flies open; and if 
 Chrysis should unexpectedly discover me, she will run with 
 joy to meet me, and throw herself into my arms." 
 
 Now he will tell you how excellent he thinks this : — 
 
 Not even fortune herself is so fortunate. 
 
i'26 THE TL'SCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 XXXII. Any one who attends the least to the subject will 
 be convinced how unbecoming this joy is. And as they are 
 very shameful who are immoderately delighted with the 
 enjoyment of venereal pleasures, so are they very scandalous 
 who lust vehemently after them. And all that which is com- 
 monly called love (and, believe me, I can find out no other 
 name to call it by) is of such a trivial nature that nothing, I 
 think, is to be compared to it : of which Caecilius says — 
 
 I hold the man of every sense bereaved, 
 Who grants not Love to be of Gods the chief: 
 Whose mighty power whate'er is good effects, 
 Who gives to each his beauty and defects : 
 Hence, health and sickness ; wit and folly, hence, 
 The God that love and hatred doth dispense ! 
 An excellent corrector of life this same poetry, which thinks 
 that love, the promoter of debauchery and vanity, should 
 have a place in the council of the Gods ! I am speaking of 
 comedy, which could not subsist at all without our approving 
 of these debaucheries. But what said that chief of the Argo- 
 nauts in tragedy 1 — 
 
 My life I owe to honour less than love. 
 What, then, are we to say of this love of Medea ? — what a 
 train of miseries did it occasion ! and yet the same woman 
 has the assurance to say to her father, in another poet, that 
 she had a husband — 
 
 Dearer by love than ever fathers were. 
 
 XXXIII. However, we may allow the poets to trifle, in 
 whose fables we see Jupiter himself engaged in these de- 
 baucheries : but let us apply to the masters of virtue, — the 
 philosophers who deny love to be anything carnal; and in 
 this they differ from Epicurus, who, I think, is not much 
 mistaken. For what is that love of friendship 1 How comes 
 it that no one is in love with a deformed young man, or a 
 handsome old one ? I am of opinion that this love of men 
 had its rise from the Gymnastics of the Greeks, where these 
 kinds of loves are admissible and permitted; therefore Ennius 
 spoke well : — 
 
 The cen>ure of this crime to those is due, 
 
 Who naked bodies first exposed to view. 
 Now, supposing them chaste, which I think is hardly pos» 
 Bible, they are uneasy and distressed, and the more so because 
 they contain and refrain themselves. But, to pass over the 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 427 
 
 love of women, where nature has allowed more liberty, who 
 can misunderstand the poets in their rape of Ganymede, or 
 not apprehend what Laius says, and what he desires, in 
 Euripides ? Lastly, what have the principal poets and the 
 most learned men published of themselves in their poems 
 and songs 1 What doth Alcseus, who was distinguished in 
 his own republic for his bravery, write on the love of young 
 men? and as for Anacreon's poetry, it is wholly on love. But 
 Ibycus of Rhegium appears, from his writings, to have had 
 this love stronger on him than all the rest. 
 
 XXXIV. Now we see that the loves of all these writers 
 were entirely libidinous. There have arisen also some amongst 
 us philosophers (and Plato is at the head of them, whom 
 Dicsearchus blames not without reason), who have coun- 
 tenanced love. The Stoics in truth say, not only that their 
 wise man may be a lover, but they even define love itself as 
 an endeavour to originate friendship out of the appearance of 
 beauty. Now, provided there is any one in the nature of 
 things without desire, without care, without a sigh, — such a 
 one may be a lover ; for he is free from all lust : but I have 
 nothing to say to him, as it is lust of which I am now speak- 
 ing. But should there be any love, — as there certainly is, — 
 which is but little, or perhaps not at all, short of madness, 
 such as his is in the Leucadia, — 
 
 Should there be any God whose care I am : 
 it is incumbent on all the Gods to see that he enjoys his 
 amorous pleasure. 
 
 Wretch that I am ! 
 
 Nothing is more true, and he says very appropriately — 
 What, are you sane, who at this rate lament 1 ? 
 
 He seems even to his friends to be out of his senses : then how 
 
 tragical he becomes ! 
 
 Thy aid, divine Apollo, I implore, 
 
 And thine, dread ruler of the wat'ry store ! 
 
 Oh ! all ye winds, assist me ! 
 
 He thinks that the whole world ought to apply itself to help 
 
 his love: he. excludes Venus alone as unkind to him. 
 Thy aid, Yenus, why should I invoke 1 
 
 He thinks Venus too much employed in her own lust, to aave 
 
 regard to anything else, as if he himself had not said and 
 
 committed these shameful things from lust. 
 
428 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 XXXV. Now the cure for one who is affected in this man- 
 ner, is to show, how light, how contemptible, how very trifling 
 he is in what he desires ; how he may turn his affections to 
 another object, or accomplish his desires by some other means, 
 or else to persuade him that he may entirely disregard it; 
 sometimes he is to be led away to objects of another kind, to 
 study, business, or other different engagements and concerns : 
 very often the cure is effected by change of place, as sick 
 people, that have not recovered their strength, are benefited 
 by change of air. Some people think an old love may be 
 driven out by a new one, as one nail drives out another : but 
 above all things the man thus afflicted should be advised 
 what madness love is : for of all the perturbations of the 
 mind, there is not one which is more vehement ; for, (without 
 charging it with rapes, debaucheries, adultery, or even incest, 
 the baseness of any of these being very blameable ; not, I say, 
 to mention these,) the very perturbation of the mind in love 
 is base of itself, for, to pass over all its acts of downright mad- 
 ness, what weakness do not those very things which are 
 looked upon as indifferent argue? 
 
 Affronts and jealousies, jars, squabbles, wars, 
 Then peace again. — The man who seeks to fix 
 These restless feelings, and to subjugate 
 Them to some regular law, is just as wise 
 As one who'd try to lay down rules by which 
 Men should go mad. 1 
 
 Now is not this inconstancy and mutability of mind enough 
 to deter any one by its own deformity? We are to demon- 
 strate, as was said of every perturbation, that there are no 
 such feelings which do not consist entirely of opinion and 
 judgment, and are not owing to ourselves. For if love were 
 natural, all would be in love, and always so, and all love the 
 same object; nor would one be deterred by shame, another 
 by reflection, another by satiety. 
 
 XXXVI. Anger, too, when it disturbs the mind any time, 
 leaves no room to doubt its being madness : by the instigation 
 of which, we see such contention as this between brothers : 
 
 Where was there ever impudence like thine 1 
 Who on thy malice ever could refine 1 2 
 
 » This passage is from the Eunuch of Terence, Act i. sc. 1, 14. 
 * These verses are from the Atreus of Accius. 
 
OX OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 429 
 
 You know what follows: for abuses are thrown out bt these 
 orothers, with great bitterness, in every other verse: so that 
 you may ea«l y know them for the sons of Atreus, of that 
 Atreus who invented a new punishment for his brother: 
 I who his cruel heart to gall am bent, 
 Some new, unheard-of torment must invent. 
 Now what were these inventions? Hear Thyestes. 
 My impious brother fain would have me eat 
 My children, and thus serves them up for meat 
 To what length now will not anger go? even as far as mad 
 ness. Iherefore we say properly enough, that angry men 
 have given up their power, that is, they are out of the power 
 of advice, reason, and understanding : for these ought to have 
 power over the whole mind. Now you should put those out 
 of the way whom they endeavour to attack, till they have 
 recollected themselves; but what does recollection here imply 
 but getting together again the dispersed parts of their mind 
 into their proper place ? or else you must beg and entreat them, 
 if they have the means of revenge, to defer it to another 
 opportunity, till their anger cools. But the expression of 
 cooling implies, certainly, that there was a heat raised in their 
 minds in opposition to reason: from which consideration that 
 saying of Archytas is commended: who being somewhat pro- 
 voked at his steward, "How would I have treated you," said 
 he, « if I had not been m a passion ?" 
 
 XXXVII. Where then are they who say that anger has its 
 use? Can madness be of any use? But still it is natural 
 Can anything be natural that is against reason? or how is it 
 if anger is natural, that one person is more inclined to an*er 
 h.m another? or that the lust of revenge should cease before 
 it has revenged itself? or that any one should repent of what 
 kw'L b m a i r 8i011 \ "\ WG See that Alexander the 
 Z \A C Srf ly keep his hands from himself, 
 tthen he had killed his favourite Clytus: so great was his 
 compunction! Now who, that is acqnainted ^rithtiiae 
 instances, can doubt that this motion of the mind is alto! 
 gether in opinion and voluntary? for who can doubt that 
 disorders .of the mind, such as covetousness, and a desire of 
 glory, arise from a great estimation of those things, by which 
 the mmd is disordered? from whence we may understand, 
 that every perturbation of the mind is funded in opinion 
 
430 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 And if boldness, that is to say, a firm assurance of mind, is a 
 kind of knowledge and serious opinion, not hastily taken up : 
 then diffidence is a fear of an expected and impending evil : 
 and if hope is an expectation of good, fear must of course be 
 an expectation of evil. Thus fear and other perturbations 
 are evils. Therefore as constancy proceeds from knowledge, 
 so does perturbation from error. Now they who are said to 
 be naturally inclined to anger, or to pity, or to envy, or to 
 any feeling of this kind ; their minds are constitutionally, as 
 it were, in bad health, yet they are curable, as the disposition 
 of Socrates is said to have been ; for when Zopyrus, who pro- 
 fessed to know the character of every one from his person, 
 had heaped a great many vices on him in a public assembly, 
 he was laughed at by others, who could perceive no such vices 
 in Socrates : but Socrates kept him in countenance, by declar- 
 ing that such vices were natural to him, but that he had got 
 the better of them by his reason. Therefore, as any one who 
 has the appearance of the best constitution, may yet appear 
 to be naturally rather inclined to some particular disorder, so 
 different minds may be more particularly inclined to different 
 diseases. But as to those men who are said to be vicious, not 
 by nature, but their own fault; their vices proceed from 
 wrong opinions of good and bad things, so that one is more 
 prone than another to different motions and perturbations. 
 But, just as it is in the case of the body, an inveterate disease 
 is harder to be got rid of than a sudden disorder ; and it is 
 more easy to cure a fresh tumour in the eyes, than to remove 
 a defluxion of any continuance. 
 
 XXXVIII. But as the cause of perturbations is now dis- 
 covered, for all of them arise from the judgment or opinion, 
 or volition, I shall put an end to this discourse. But we 
 ought to be assured, since the boundaries of good and evil are 
 now discovered, as far as they are discoverable by man, that 
 nothing can be desired of philosophy greater, or more useful, 
 than the discussions which we have held these four days. 
 For besides instilling a contempt of death, and relieving pain 
 so as to enable men to bear it ; we have added the appeasing 
 of grief, than which there is no greater evil to man. For 
 though every perturbation of mind is grievous, and diners 
 but little from madness : yet we are used to say of others, 
 when they are under any perturbation, as of fear, joy, or 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 431 
 
 desire, that they are agitated and disturbed ; but of those who 
 give themselves up to grief, that they are miserable, afflicted, 
 wretched, unhappy. So that it doth not seem to be by 
 accident, but with reason proposed by you, that I should dis- 
 cuss grief, and the other perturbations separately ; for there 
 lies the spring and head of all our miseries : but the cure of 
 grief, and of other disorders, is one and the same, in that they 
 are all voluntary, and founded on opinion ; we take them 
 on ourselves because it seems right so to do. Philosophy 
 undertakes to eradicate this error, as the root of all our evils : 
 let us therefore surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and 
 suffer ourselves to be cured ; for whilst these evils have pos- 
 session of us, we not only cannot be happy, but cannot be 
 right in our minds. We must either deny that reason can 
 effect anything, while, on the other hand, nothing can be done 
 right without reason ; or else, since philosophy depends on 
 the deductions of reason, we must seek from her, if we would 
 be good or happy, every help and assistance for living well 
 and happily. 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 
 
 I. This fifth day, Brutus, shall put an end to our Tusculan 
 Disputations : on which day we discussed your favourite 
 subject. For I perceive from that book which you wrote for 
 me, with the greatest accuracy, as well as from your frequent 
 conversation, that you are clearly of this opinion, that virtue 
 is of itself sufficient for a happy life : and though it may be 
 difficult to prove this, on account of the many various strokes 
 of fortune, yet it is a truth of such a nature, that we should 
 endeavour to facilitate the proof of it. For among all the 
 topics of philosophy, there is not one of more dignity or im- 
 portance. For as the first philosophers must have had some 
 inducement, to neglect everything for the search of the best 
 state of life : surely, the inducement must have been the 
 hope of living happily, which impelled them to devote so 
 
432 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 much care and pains to that study. Now, if virtue was -lis* 
 covered and carried to perfection by them ; and if virtue is a 
 sufficient security for a happy life : who can avoid thinking 
 the work of philosophising excellently recommended by them, 
 and undertaken by me? But if virtue, as being subject to 
 such various and uncertain accidents, were but the slave of 
 fortune, and were not of sufficient ability to support herself ; 
 I am afraid that it would seem desirable rather to offer up 
 prayers than to rely on our own confidence in virtue, as the 
 foundation for our hope of a happy life. And, indeed, when I 
 reflect on those troubles, with which I have been so severely 
 exercised by fortune, I begin to distrust this opinion J and 
 sometimes even to dread the weakness and frailty of human 
 nature, for I am afraid lest, when nature had given us infirm 
 bodies, and had joined to them incurable diseases, and in- 
 tolerable pains, she perhaps also gave us minds partici- 
 pating in these bodily pains, and harassed also with troubles 
 and uneasinesses, peculiarly their own. But here I correct 
 myself, for forming my judgment of the power of virtue 
 more from the weakness of others, or of myself perhaps, than 
 from virtue itself : for she herself (provided there is such a 
 thing as virtue, and your uncle Brutus has removed all doubt 
 of it) has everything that can befal mankind in subjection to 
 her; and by disregarding such things, she is far removed from 
 being at all concerned at human accidents ; and, being free 
 from every imperfection, she thinks that nothing which is 
 external to herself can concern her. But we, who increase 
 every approaching evil by our fear, and every present one by 
 t our grief, choose rather to condemn the nature of things, than 
 our own errors. 
 
 II. But the amendment of this fault, ancLof all our other 
 vices and offences, is to be sought for in philosophy : and as 
 my own inclination and desire led me, from my earliest youth 
 upwards, to seek her protection j so, under my present misfor- 
 tunes, I have had recourse to the same port from whence I 
 set out, after having been tossed by a violent tempest. 
 Philosophy, thou guide of life! thou discoverer of virtue, 
 and expeller of vices! what had not only I myself, but the 
 whole life of man been without you 3 To you it is that we 
 owe the origin of cities; you it was who called together the 
 dispersed race of men into social life; you united them 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPFY LIFE. 433 
 
 together, first, by placing them near one another, then by 
 marriages, and lastly, by the communication of speech and 
 languages. You have been the inventress of laws ; 3'ou have 
 been our instructress in morals and discipline : to you we fly 
 for refuge ; from you we implore assistance ; and as I formerly 
 submitted to you in a great degree, so now I surrender up 
 myself entirely to you. For one day spent well, and agree- 
 ably to your precepts, is preferable to an eternity of error. 
 Whose assistance, then, can be of more service to me than 
 yours, when you have bestowed on us tranquillity of life, and 
 removed the fear of death? But Philosophy is so far from 
 l>eing praised as muclTas she has deserved by mankind, that 
 fihe is wholly neglected by most men, and actually evil spoken 
 of by many. Can any person speak ill of the parent of 
 life, and dare to pollute himself thus with parricide ! and be 
 so impiously ungrateful as to accuse her, whom he ought to 
 reverence, even were he less able to appreciate the advantages 
 which he might derive from her? But this error, I imagine, 
 and this darkness, has spread itself over the minds of ignorant 
 men, from their not being able to look so far back, and from 
 their not imagining that those men by whom human life was 
 first improved, were philosophers : for though we see phiio- \> 
 sophy to have been of long standing, yet the name must be 
 acknowledged to be but modern. *-V> 
 
 III. But indeed, who can dispute the antiquity of philo- 
 sophy, either in fact or name ? for it acquired this excellent 
 name from the ancients, by the knowledge of the origin and 
 causes of everything, both divine and human. Thus those 
 seven 2o^>oi, as they were considered and called by the 
 Greeks, have always been esteemed and called wise men by 
 us: and thus Lycurgus many ages before, in whose time, 
 before the building of this city, Homer is said to have lived, 
 as well as Ulysses and Nestor in the heroic ages, are all 
 handed down to us by tradition as having really been what 
 they were called, wise men ; nor would it have been said that 
 Atlas supported the heavens, or that Prometheus was bound 
 to Caucasus, nor would Cepheus, with his wife, his son-in- 
 law, and his daughter, have been enrolled among the constel- 
 lations, but that their more than human knowledge of the 
 heavenly bodies had transferred their names into an erroneous 
 fable. From whence, all who occupied themselves in the 
 
 ACAD. ETC. . F F 
 
434 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATION. 
 
 contemplation of nature, were both considered and called, 
 wise men : and that name of than continued to the age of 
 Pythagoras, who is reported to have gone to Phlius, as we 
 find it stated by Heraclides Ponticus, a very learned man, 
 and a pupil of Plato, and to have discoursed very learnedly 
 and copiously on certain subjects, with Leon, prince of the 
 Phliasii — and when Leon, admiring his ingenuity and elo- 
 quence, asked him what art he particularly professed ; his 
 answer was, that he was acquainted with no art, but that he 
 was a philosopher. Leon, surprised at the novelty of the 
 name, inquired what he meant by the name of philosopher, 
 and in what philosophers differed from other men : on which 
 Pythagoras replied, " That the life of man seemed to him to 
 resemble those games, which were celebrated with the greatest 
 possible variety of sports, and the general concourse of all 
 Greece. For as in those games there were some persons 
 whose object was glory, and the honour of a crown, to be 
 attained by the performance of bodily exercises : so others 
 were led thither by the gain of buying and selling, and mere 
 views of profit : but there was likewise one class of persons, 
 and they were by far the best, whose aim was neither 
 applause nor profit, but who came merely as spectators 
 through curiosity, to observe what was done, and to see in 
 what manner things were carried on there. And thus, said 
 he, we come from another life and nature unto this one, just 
 as men come out of some other city, to some much frequented 
 mart ; some being slaves to glory, others to money ; and 
 there are some few who, taking no account of anything else, 
 earnestly look into the nature of things : and these men call 
 themselves studious of wisdom, that is, philosophers; and as 
 there it is the most reputable occupation of all to be a looker- 
 On, without making any acquisition, so in life, the contem- 
 plating things, and acquainting oneself with them, greatly 
 •jxceeds every other pursuit of life." 
 
 IV. Nor was Pythagoras the inventor only of the name, 
 but he enlarged also the thing itself, and, when he came into 
 Italy after this conversation at Phlius, he adorned that 
 Greece, which is called Great Greece, both privately and 
 publicly, with the most excellent institutions and arts ; but 
 of his school and system, I shall, perhaps, find another 
 opportunity to speak. But numbers and motions, and tfau 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 435 
 
 beginning and end of all things, were the subjects of the 
 ancient philosophy down to Socrates, who was a pupil of 
 Archelaus, who had been the disciple of Anaxagoras. These 
 made diligent inquiry into the magnitude of the stars, their 
 distances, courses, and all that relates to the heavens. But 
 Socrates was the first who brought down philosophy from the 
 heavens, placed it in cities, introduced it into families, and 
 obliged it to examine into life and morals, and good and evil. 
 And his different methods of discussing questions, together 
 with the variety of his topics, and the greatness of his 
 abilities, being immortalized by the memoiy and writings of 
 Plato, gave rise to many sects of philosophers of different 
 sentiments : of all which I have principally adhered to that 
 one which, in my opinion, Socrates himself followed; and 
 argue so as to conceal my own opinion, while I deliver others 
 from their errors, and so discover what has the greatest 
 appearance of probability in every question. And the custom 
 Carneades adopted with great copiousness and acuteness, and 
 I myself have often given in to it on many occasions else- 
 where, and in this manner, too, I disputed lately, in my 
 Tusculan villa ;~indeed I have sent you a book of the four 
 former days' discussions ; but the jifth dayy when we had 
 seated ourselves as before, what we were to dispute on was 
 proposed thus : — < v 
 
 V. A. I do not think virtue can possibly be sufficient for 
 a happy life. 
 
 M. But my friend Brutus thinks so, whose judgment, with 
 submission, I greatly prefer to yours. 
 
 A. I make no doubt of it; but your regard for him is not 
 the business now; the question is now what is the real character 
 of that quality of which I have declared my opinion. I wish 
 you to dispute on that. 
 
 M. What ! do you deny that virtue can possibly be suffi- 
 cient for a happy life? 
 
 A. It is what I entirely deny. 
 
 M. What! is not virtue sufficient to enable us to live 
 as we ought, honestly, commendably, or, in fine, to live well ? 
 A. Certainly sufficient. 
 
 M. Can you, then, help calling any one miserable, who lives 
 ill % or will you deny that any one who you allow lives well, 
 must inevitably live happily % 
 
 F F 2 
 
43 6 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 A. Why may I not ? for a man may be upright in his life, 
 honest, praiseworthy, even in the midst of torments, and 
 therefore live well. Provided you understand what I mean 
 by well j for when I say well, I mean with constancy, and 
 dignity, and wisdom, and courage ; for a man may display all 
 these qualities on the rack ; but yet the rack is inconsistent 
 with a happy life. 
 
 M. What then 1 is your happy life left on the outside of 
 the prison, whilst constancy, dignity, wisdom, and the other 
 virtues, are surrendered up to the executioner, and bear 
 -njaishment and pain without reluctance ! 
 
 A. You must look out for something new, if you would do 
 any good. These things have very little effect on me, not 
 merely from their being common, but principally because, 
 like certain light wines, that will not bear water, these argu- 
 ments of the Stoics are pleasanter to taste than to swallow. 
 As when that assemblage of virtues is committed to the rack, 
 it raises so reverend alTpectacIebefore our eyes, that happi- 
 ness seems to hasten on towards them, and not to suffer them 
 to be deserted by her. But when you take your attention off 
 from this picture and these images of the virtues, to the 
 truth and the reality, what remains without disguise is, the 
 question whether any one can be happy in torment 1 Where- 
 fore let us now examine that point, and not be' under any 
 apprehensions, lest the virtues should expostulate and com- 
 plain, that they are forsaken by happiness. For if prudence 
 is connected with every virtue, then prudence itself discovers 
 this, that all good men are net therefore happy ; and she 
 recollects many things of Marcus Atilius, 1 Quintus Csepio, 
 Marcus Aquilius; 3 and prudence herself, if these representa- 
 tions are more agreeable to you than the things themselves 
 restrains happiness, when it is endeavouring to throw itseii 
 
 1 This was Marcus Attfius Regulus, the story of whose trea* 
 ment by the Carthaginians in the first Punic War is well known t 
 everybody. 
 
 2 This Avas Quintus Servilius Caepio, who, b.c. 105, was destroy?' 
 with his army, by the Cimbri, — it was believed as a judgment for tl 
 covetousness which he had displayed in the plunder of Tolosa. 
 
 3 This was Marcus Aquilius, who, in the year b.c. 8S, was sent agains 
 Mithridates as one of the consular legates : and being defeated, w« 
 delivered up to the king by the inhabitants of .Mitylene. Mithridftte* 
 nut him to death by pouring molten gold do»vn his ihroat. 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY UFE. 437 
 
 into torments, and denies that it has any connexion with pain 
 and torture. 
 
 VI. M. I can easily bear with your behaving in this 
 manner, though it is not fair in you to prescribe to me, 
 how you would have me carry on this discussion ; but I ask 
 you if I have effected anything or nothing in the preceding 
 days % 
 
 A. Yes, something was done, some little matter indeed. 
 
 M. But if that is the case, this question is settled, and 
 almost put an end to. 
 
 A. How so 1 
 
 M. Because turbulent motions and violent agitations of 
 the mind, when it is raised and elated by a rash impulse, 
 getting the better of reason, leave no room for a happy life. 
 For who that fears either pain or death, the one of which is 
 always present, the other always impending, can be otherwise 
 than miserable 1 Now supposing the same person, which is 
 often the case, to be afraid of poverty, ignominy, infamy, or 
 weakness, or blindness; or lastly, slavery, which doth not 
 only befal individual men, but often even the most powerful 
 nations; now can any one under the apprehension of these 
 evils be happy 1 What shall we say of him who not only 
 dreads these evils as impending, but actually feels and bears 
 them at present 1 Let us unite in the same person, banish- 
 ment, mourning, the loss of children; now how can aify one 
 who is broken down and rendered sick in body and mind by 
 such affliction be otherwise than very miserable indeed 1 
 What reason again can there be, why a man should not 
 rightly enough be called miserable, wmom we see inflamed 
 and raging with lust, coveting everything with an insatiable 
 desire, and in proportion as he derives more pleasure from 
 anything, thirsting the more violently after them 1 And as 
 to a man vainly elated, exulting with an empty joy, and 
 boasting of himself without reason, is not he so much the 
 more miserable in proportion as he thinks himself happier 'I 
 Therefore, as these men are miserable, so on the other hand 
 those are happy, who are alarmed by no fears, wasted by no 
 griefs, provoked by no lusts, melted by no languid pleasures 
 that arise from vain and exulting joys. We look on the sea 
 as calm when not the least breath of air disturbs its waves ; 
 and in like manner the placid and quiet state of the mind is 
 
£38 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 discovered when unmoved by any perturbation. Now if 
 there be any one who holds the power of fortune, and every- 
 thing human, everything that can possibly befal any man, as 
 supportable, so as to be out of the reach of fear or anxiety , 
 and if such a man covets nothing, and is lifted up by no vain 
 joy of mind, what can prevent his being happy? and if these 
 are the effects of virtue, why cannot virtue itself make men 
 happy? 
 
 VII. A. But the other of these two propositions is unde- 
 niable, that they who are under no apprehensions, who are 
 no ways uneasy, who covet nothing, who are lifted up by no 
 vain joy, are happy : and therefore I grant you that; but as 
 for the other, that is not now in a fit state for discussion ; for 
 it has been proved by your former arguments that a wise 
 man is free from every perturbation of mind. 
 
 M. Doubtless, then, the dispute is over; for the question 
 appears to have been entirely exhausted. 
 
 A. I think indeed that that is almost the case. 
 
 M. But yet, that is more usually the case with the mathe- 
 maticians than philosophers. For when the geometricians 
 teach anything, if what they have before taught relates to 
 their present subject, they take that for granted which has 
 been already proved ; and explain only what they had not 
 written on before. But the philosophers, whatever subject 
 they have in hand, get together everything that relates to it ; 
 notwithstanding they may have dilated on it somewhere else. 
 Were not that the case, why should the Stoics say so much 
 on that question, whether virtue was abundantly sufficient to 
 a happy life 1 ? when it would have been answer enough, that 
 they had before taught," that nothing was good but what was 
 honourable; for as this had been proved, the consequence 
 must be, that virtue was sufficient to a happy life : and each 
 premise may be made to follow from the admission of the 
 other, so that if it be admitted that virtue is sufficient to 
 secure a happy life, it may also be inferred that nothing is 
 good except what is honourable. They however do not pro- 
 ceed in this manner; for they would separate books about 
 what is honourable, and what is the chief good : and when 
 they have demonstrated from the one that virtue has powei 
 enough to make life happy, yet they treat this point sepa- 
 rately; for everything, and es;ecially a subject of sucb 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 439 
 
 great consequence, should be supported by arguments and 
 exhortations which belong to that alone. For you should 
 have a care how you imagine philosophy to have uttered any- 
 thing more noble, or that she has promised anything more 
 fruitful or of greater consequence : for, good Gods ! doth she 
 not engage, that she will render him who submits to her 
 laws so accomplished as to be always armed against fortune, 
 and to have every assurance within himself of living well and 
 happily ; that he shall, in short, be for ever happy. But let 
 us see what she will perform ? In the meanwhile I look upon 
 it as a great thing, that she has even made such a promise. 
 For Xerxes, who was loaded with all the rewards and gifts of 
 fortune, not satisfied with his armies of horse and foot, nor 
 the multitude of his ships, nor his infinite treasure of gold, 
 offered a reward to any one who could find out a new plea- 
 sure : and yet, when it was discovered, he was not satisfied 
 with it, nor can there ever be an end to lust. I wish we 
 could engage any one by a reward, to produce something the 
 better to establish us in this belief. 
 
 VIII. A. I wish that indeed myself; but I want a little 
 information. For I allow, that in what you have stated, the 
 one proposition is the consequence of the other ; that as, if 
 what is honourable be the only good, it must follow, that a 
 happy life is the effect of virtue : so that if a happy life con- 
 sists in virtue, nothing can be good but virtue. But your 
 friend Brutus, on the authority of Aristo and Antiochus, 
 does not see this : for he thinks the case would be the same, 
 even if there were anything good besides virtue. 
 
 M. What then 1 do you imagine that I am going to argue 
 against Brutus 1 
 
 A. You may do what you please : for it is not for me to 
 prescribe what you shall do. 
 
 M. How these things agree together shall be examined 
 somewhere else : for I frequently discussed that point with 
 Antiochus, and lately with Aristo, when, during the period of 
 my command as general, I was lodging with him at Athens. 
 For to me it seemed that no one could possibly be happy 
 under any evil : but a wise man might be afflicted with evil, 
 if there are any things arising from body or fortune, deserving 
 the name of evils These things were said, which Antiochus 
 lias inserted in his books in many places : that virtue itself 
 
440 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 was sufficient to make life happy, but yet not perfectly 
 happy : and that many things derive their names from the 
 predominant portion of them, though they do not include 
 everything, as strength, health, riches, honour, and glory: 
 which qualities are determined by their kind, not their num- 
 ber : thus a happy life is so called from its being so in a 
 great degree, even though it should fall short in some point. 
 To clear this up, is not absolutely necessary at present, 
 though it seems to be said without any great consistency : 
 for I cannot imagine what is wanting to one that is happy, 
 to make him happier, for if anything be wanting to him he 
 cannot be so much as happy ; and as to what they say, that 
 everything is named and estimated from its predominant 
 portion, that may be admitted in some things. But when 
 they allow three kinds of evils ; when any one is oppressed 
 with every imaginable evil of two kinds, being afflicted with 
 adverse fortune, and having at the same time his body worn 
 out and harassed with all sorts of pains, shall we say that 
 such a one is but little short of a happy life, to say nothing 
 about the happiest possible life 1 
 
 IX. This is the point which Theophrastus was unable to 
 maintain : for after he had once laid down the position, that 
 stripes, torments, tortures, the ruin of one's country, banish- 
 ment, the loss of children, had great influence on men's living 
 miserably and unhappily, he durst not any longer use any high 
 and lofty expressions, when he was so low and abject in his 
 opinion. How ri£ht he was is not the question; he certainly 
 was consistent. Therefore I am not for objecting to con- 
 sequences where the premises are admitted. But this most 
 elegant and learned of all the philosophers, is not taken to task 
 very severely when he asserts his three kinds of good ; but 
 he is attacked by every one for that book which he wrote on 
 a happy life, in which book he has many arguments, why one 
 who is tortured and racked cannot be happy. For in that 
 book he is supposed to say, that' a man who is placed on 
 the wheel, (that is a kind of torture in use among the 
 Greeks,) cannot attain to a completely happy life. He no- 
 where, indeed, says so absolutely, but what he says amounts 
 to the same thing. Can I, then, find fault with him ; after 
 having allowed, that pains of the body are evils, that the ruin 
 of a man's fortunes is an evil, if he should say that every good 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 441 
 
 man is not happy, when all those things which he reckons as 
 evils may befal a good man 1 ? The same Theophrastus is 
 found fault with by all the books and schools of the philoso- 
 phers, for commending tljat sentence in his Callisthenes : 
 
 Fortune, not wisdom, rules the life of man. 
 They say, never did philosopher assert anything so languid. 
 They are right, indeed, in that : but I do not apprehend any- 
 thing could be more consistent : for if there are so many good 
 things that depend on the body, and so many foreign to it 
 that depend on chance and fortune, is it inconsistent to say 
 that fortune, which governs everything, both what is foreign 
 and what belongs to the body, has greater power than counsel. 
 Or would we rather imitate Epicurus 1 who is often excellent 
 in many things which he speaks, but quite indifferent how 
 consistent he may be, or how much to the purpose he is 
 speaking. He commends spare diet, and in that he speaks as 
 a philosopher ; but it is for Socrates or Antisthenes to say so, 
 and not for one who confines all good to pleasure. He denies 
 that any one can live pleasantly unless he lives honestly, 
 wisely, and justly. Nothing is more dignified than this 
 assertion, nothing more becoming a philosopher, had he not 
 measured this very expression of living honestly, justly, and 
 wisely, by pleasure. What could be better than to assert that 
 fortune interferes but little with a wise man 1 But does he 
 talk thus, who after he has said that pain is the greatest evil, 
 "or the only evil, might himself be afflicted with the sharpest 
 pains all over his body, e\en at the time he is vaunting him- 
 self the most against fortune 1 ? And this very thing, too, 
 Metrodorus has said, but in better language : " I have anti- 
 cipated you, Fortune ; I have caught you, and cut off every 
 access, so that you cannot possibly reach me." This would be 
 excellent in the mouth of Aristo the Ohian, or Zeno the Stoic, 
 who held nothing to be an evil but what was base ; but for 
 you, Metrodorus, to anticipate the approaches of fortune, who 
 confine all that is good to your bowels and marrow, — for you 
 to say so, who define the chief good by a strong constitution 
 of body, and a well assured hope of its continuance, — for you 
 to cut off every access of fortune 1 Why, you may instantly 
 be deprived of that good. Yet the simple are taken with 
 these propositions, and a vast crowd is led away by such sen- 
 tences to become their followers. 
 
442 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 X. But it is the duty of one who would argue ac curately, 
 to consider not what is said, but what is said consistently. As 
 in that very opinion which we have adopted in this discussion, 
 namely, that every good man is always happy ; it is clear 
 what I mean by good men : I call those both wise and good 
 men, who are provided and adorned with every virtue. Let 
 us see, then, who are to be called happy. I imagine, indeed, 
 that those men are to be called so, who are possessed of good 
 without any alloy of evil : nor is there any other notion con- 
 nected with the word that expresses happiness, but an absolute 
 enjoyment of good without any evil. Virtue cannot attain 
 this, if there is anything good besides itself : for a crowd of 
 evils would present themselves, if we were to allow poverty, 
 obscurity, humility, solitude, the loss of friends, acute pains 
 of the body, the loss of health, weakness, blindness, the ruin 
 of one's country, banishment, slavery, to be evils : for a wise 
 man may be afflicted by all these evils, numerous and impor- 
 tant as they are, and many others also may be added ; for 
 they are brought on by chance, which may attack a wise man : 
 but if these things are evils, who can maintain that a wise 
 man is always happy, w r hen all these evils may light on him at 
 the same time? I therefore do not easily agree with my 
 friend Brutus, nor with our common masters, nor those 
 ancient ones, Aristotle, Speusippus, Xenocrates, Polemon, who 
 reckon all that I have mentioned above as evils, and yet they 
 say that a wise man is always happy ; nor can I allow them, 
 because they are charmed with this beautiful and illustrious 
 title, which w r ould very well become Pythagoras, Socrates, and 
 Plato, to persuade my mind, that strength, health, beauty, 
 riches, honours, power, with the beauty of which they aro 
 ravished, are contemptible, and that all those things which are 
 the opposites of these are not to be regarded. Then might 
 they declare openly, with a loud voice, that neither the 
 attacks of fortune, nor the opinion of the multitude, nor 
 pain, nor poverty, occasion them any apprehensions ; and that 
 they have everything within themselves, and that there is 
 nothing whatever which they consider as good but what ia 
 within their own power. Nor can I by any means allow the 
 same person, who falls into the vulgar opinion of good and 
 evil, to make use of these expressions, which can only become 
 a great and exalted man. Struck with which glory, up starts 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT I OR A HAP1T LIFE. 443 
 
 Epicurus, who, with submission to the Gods, thinks a wise 
 man always happy. He is much charmed with the dignity of 
 this opinion, but he never would have owned that, had he 
 attended to himself: for what is there more inconsistent, than 
 for one who could say that pain was the greatest or the only 
 evil, to think also that a wise man can possibly say in the 
 midst of his torture, How sweet is this! We are not, there- 
 fore, to form our judgment of philosophers from detached 
 sentences, hut from their consistency with themselves, and 
 their ordinary manner of talking. 
 
 XI. A. You compel me to be of your opinion ; but have 
 a care that you are not inconsistent yourself. 
 
 M. In what respect? 
 
 A. Because I have lately read your fourth book on Good 
 and Evil : and in that you appeared to me, while disputing 
 against Cato, to be endeavouring to show, which in my 
 opinion means to prove, that Zeno and the Peripatetics differ 
 only about some new words ; but if we allow that, what 
 reason can there be, if it follows from the arguments of 
 Zeno, that virtue contains all that is necessary to a happy 
 life, that the Peripatetics should not be at liberty to say the 
 same? For, in my opinion, regard should be had to the 
 thing, not to words. 
 
 M. What? you would convict me from my own words, 
 and bring against me what I had said or written elsewhere. 
 You may act in that manner with those who dispute by 
 established rules : we live from hand to mouth, and say any- 
 thing that strikes our mind with probability, so that we are 
 the only people who are really at liberty. But, since I just 
 now spoke of consistency, I do not think the inquiry in this 
 place is, if the opinion of Zeno and his pupil Aristo be true, 
 that nothing is good but what is honourable ; but, admitting 
 that, then, whether the whole of a happy life can be rested on 
 virtue alone. Wherefore, if we certainly grant Brutus this, 
 that a wise man is always happy, how consistent he is, is 
 his own business : for who indeed is more worthy than him- 
 self of the glory of that opinion ? Still we may maintain 
 that such a man is more happy than any one else. 
 
 XII. Though Zeno the Cittisean, a stranger and an incon- 
 siderable coiner of words, appears to have insinuated himself 
 into the old philosophy; still the prevalence of this opinion 
 
44 4 THE T'JSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 is due to the authority of Plato, who often makes use of this 
 expression, " that nothing but virtue can be entitled to the 
 name of good," agreeably to what Socrates says in Plato's 
 Gorgias; for it is there related that when some one asked 
 him if he did not think Archelaus the son of Perdiccas, who 
 was then looked upon as a most fortunate person, a very 
 happy man : " I do not know," replied he, " for I never con • 
 versed with him." " What, is there no other way you can 
 know it by 1 ?" ."None at all." "'You cannot, then, pro- 
 nounce of the great king of the Persians, whether he is 
 happy or not 1 ?" "How can I, when I do not know how 
 learned or how good a man he is]" "What! do you imagine 
 that a happy life depends on that 1 " " My opinion entirely is, 
 that good men are happy, and the wicked miserable." " Is 
 Archelaus, then, miserable ! " " Certainly, if unjust." Now 
 does it not appear to you, that he is here placing the whole of 
 a happy life in virtue alone 1 But what does the same man 
 say in his funeral oration 1 " For," saith he, " whoever has 
 everything that relates to a happy life so entirely dependent 
 on himself as not to be connected with the good or bad 
 fortune of another, and not to be affected by, or made in any 
 degree uncertain by, what befals another; and whoever is 
 such a one has acquired the best rule of living ; he is that 
 moderate, that brave, that wise man, who submits to the gain 
 and loss of everything, and especially of his ^children, and 
 obeys that old precept; for he will never be too joyful or too 
 sad, because he depends entirely upon himself." 
 
 XIII. From Plato, therefore, all my discourse shall be 
 deduced, as if from some sacred and hallowed fountain. 
 Whence can I, then, more properly begin than from nature, 
 the parent of all ? For whatsoever she produces (I am not 
 speaking only of animals, but even of those things which 
 have sprung from the earth in such a manner as to rest on 
 their own roots) she designed it to be perfect in its respective 
 kind. So that among trees and vines, and those lower plants 
 and trees which cannot advance themselves high above the 
 earth, some are evergreen, others are stripped of their leaves 
 in winter, and, warmed by the spring season, put them out 
 afresh, and there are none of them but what are so quickened 
 by a certain interior motion, and their own seeds enclosed in 
 overy one, so as to yield flowers, fruit, or berries, that all may 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 445 
 
 have every perfection that belongs to it, provided no violence 
 prevents it. But the force of nature itself may be more 
 easily discovered in animals, as she has bestowed sense on 
 them. For some animals she has taught to swim, and 
 designed to be inhabitants of the water; others she has 
 enabled to fly, and has willed that they should enjoy the 
 boundless air ; some others she has made to creep, others to 
 walk. Again, of these very animals, some are solitary, some 
 gregarious, some wild, others tame, some hidden and buried 
 beneath the earth, and every one of these maintains the law 
 of nature, confining itself to what was bestowed on it, and 
 unable to change its manner of life. And as every animal 
 has from nature something that distinguishes it, which every 
 one maintains and never quits; so man has something far 
 more excellent, though everything is said to be excellent by 
 comparison. But the human mind, being derived from the 
 divine reason, can be compared with nothing but with the 
 Deity itself, if I may be allowed the expression. This, then, 
 if it is improved, and when its perception is so preserved as 
 not to be blinded by errors, becomes a perfect understanding, 
 that is to say, absolute reason, which is the very same as 
 virtue. And if everything is happy which wants nothing, 
 and is complete and perfect in its kind, and that is the y 
 peculiar lot of virtue; certainly all who are possessed of 
 virtue are happy, xind in this I agree with Brutus, and also 
 with Aristotle, Xenocrates, Speusippus, Polemon. 
 
 XIV. To me such are the only men who appear completely 
 happy ; for what can he want to a complete happy life who 
 relies on his own good qualities, or how can he be happy who 
 does not rely on them % But he who makes a threefold 
 division of goods must necessarily be diffident, for how can 
 he depend on having a sound body, or that his fortune shall 
 continue 1 but no one can be happy without an immovable, 
 fixed, and permanent good. What, then, is this opinion of 
 theirs ? So that I think that saying of the Spartan may be 
 applied to them, who, on some merchant's boasting before 
 him, that he had despatched ships to every maritime coast, 
 replied, that a fortune which depended on ropes was not very 
 desirable. Can there be any doubt that whatever may be 
 lost, cannot be properly classed in the number of those things 
 which complete a happy life ? for of all that constitutes a , 
 
s/ 
 
 44G THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 happy life, nothing will admit of withering, or growing old, or 
 wearing out, or decaying ; for whoever is apprehensive of any 
 loss of these things cannot be happy ; the happy man should 
 be safe, well fenced, well fortified, out of the reach of all 
 annoyance, not like a man under trifling apprehensions, but 
 free from all such. As he is not called innocent who but 
 slightly offends, but he who offends not at all; so it is he 
 alone who is to be considered without fear who is free from 
 all fear, not he who is but in little fear. For what else is 
 courage but an affection of mind, that is ready to undergo 
 perils, and patient in the endurance of pain and labour 
 without any alloy of fear 1 Now this certainly could not be 
 the case, if there were anything else good but what depended 
 on honesty alone. But how can any one be in possession of 
 that desirable and much-coveted security (for I now call a 
 freedom from anxiety a security, on which freedom a happy 
 life depends) who has, or may have, a multitude of evils 
 attending him 1 How can he be brave and undaunted, 
 and hold everything as trifles which can befal a man, for so a 
 wise man should do, unless he be one who thinks that every- 
 thing depends on himself? Could the Lacedaemonians without 
 this, when Philip threatened to prevent all their attempts, 
 have asked him, if he could prevent their killing themselves? 
 Is it not easier, then, to find one man of such a spirit as we 
 are inquiring after, than to meet with a whole city of such 
 men 1 Now, if to this courage I am speaking of we add 
 temperance, that it may govern all our feelings and agita- 
 tions, what can be wanting to complete his happiness who is 
 secured by his courage from uneasiness and fear; and is 
 prevented from immoderate desires and immoderate insolence 
 of joy, by temperance ? I could easily show that virtue is 
 able to produce these effects, but that I have explained on 
 the foregoing days. ^ 
 
 XV. But as the perturbations of the mind make life 
 miserable, and tranquillity renders it happy; and as these 
 perturbations are of two sorts, grief and fear, proceeding from 
 imagined evils, and as immoderate joy and lust arise from a 
 mistake about what is good, and as all these feelings are in 
 opposition to reason and counsel; when you see a man at 
 ease, quite free and disengaged from such troublesome com- 
 motions, which are so much at variance with aoe another 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 447 
 
 can you hesitate to pronounce such an one a happy man 1 
 Now the wise man is always in such a disposition, therefore 
 the wise man is always happy. Besides, every good is 
 pleasant; whatever is pleasant may be boasted and talked of; 
 whatever may,,be boasted of, is glorious, but whatever is 
 glorious is certainly laudable, and whatever is laudable doubt- 
 less, also, honourable ; whatever, then, is good is honourable ; ' 
 (but the things which they reckon as goods, they themselves 
 do not call honourable ;) therefore what is honourable alone is 
 good. Hence it follows that a happy life is comprised in 
 honesty alone. Such things, then, are not to be called or 
 considered goods, when a man may enjoy an abundance of 
 them, and yet be most miserable. Is there any doubt but 
 that a man who -enjoys the best health, and who has strength 
 and beauty, and his senses nourishing in their utmost quick- 
 ness and' perfection; suppose him likewise, if you please, 
 nimble and active, nay, give him riches, honours, authority, 
 power, glory; now, I say, should this person, who is in 
 possession of all these,, be unjust, intemperate, timid, stupid, 
 or an idiot, could you hesitate to call such an one miserable ? 
 What, then, are those goods, in the possession of which you 
 may be very miserable ? Let us see if a happy life is not 
 made up of parts of the same nature, as a heap implies a 
 quantity of grain of the same kind. And if this be once 
 admitted, happiness must be compounded of different good 
 things which alone are honourable ; if there is any mixture 
 of things of another sort with these, nothing honourable can 
 proceed from such a composition; now, take away honesty, 
 and how can you imagine anything happy? For whatever is 
 good is desirable on that account ; whatever is desirable must 
 certainly be approved of; whatever you apppove of must be 
 looked on as acceptable and welcome. You must consequently 
 impute dignity to this ; and if so, it must necessarily be laud- 
 able ; therefore, everything that is laudable is good. Hence it 
 follows, that what is honourable is the only good. And 
 should we not look upon it in this light, there will be a great 
 many things which we must call good. 
 
 XVI. I forbear to mention riches, which, as any one, let 
 him be ever so unworthy, may have them, I do not reckon 
 amongst goods ; for what is good is not attainable by all. I 
 pass over notoriety, and popular fame, raised by the united 
 
448 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 voice of knaves and fools. Even things which are absolute 
 nothings may be called goods ; such as white teeth, handsome 
 eyes, a good complexion, and what was commended by Eury- 
 clea, when she was washing Ulysses's feet, the softness of his 
 skin and the mildness of his discourse. If you look on these 
 as goods, what greater encomiums can the gravity of a phi- 
 losopher be entitled to than the wild opinion of the vulgar 
 and the thoughtless crowd? The Stoics give the name of 
 excellent and choice to what the others call good : they call 
 them so, indeed ; but they do not allow them to complete a 
 happy life. But these others think that there is no life happy 
 without them ; or, admitting it to be happy, they deny it to 
 be the most happy. But our opinion is, that it is the most 
 happy; and we prove it from that conclusion of Socrates. 
 For thus that author of philosophy argued : that as the dis- 
 position of a man's mind is, so is the man : such as the man 
 is, such will be his discourse : his actions will correspond 
 with his discourse, and his life with his actions. But the dis- 
 position of a good man's mind is laudable ; the life, there- 
 fore, of a good man is laudable : it is honourable, therefore, 
 because laudable : the unavoidable conclusion from which is, 
 that the life of good men is happy. For, good Gods ! did I 
 not make it appear, by my former arguments, — or was I only 
 amusing myself and killing time in what I then said, — that 
 the mind of a wise man was always free from every hasty 
 motion which I call a perturbation, and that the most undis- 
 turbed peace always reigned in his breast 1 A man, then, 
 who is temperate and consistent, free from fear or grief, and 
 uninfluenced by any immoderate joy or desire, cannot be 
 otherwise than happy : but a wise man is always so, therefore 
 he is always happy. Moreover, how can a good man avoid 
 referring all his actions and all his feelings to the one standard 
 of whether or not it is laudable 1 But he does refer every- 
 thing to the object of living happily: it follows, then, that a 
 happy life is laudable ; but nothing is laudable without vir- 
 tue : a happy life, then, is the consequence of virtue. — And 
 this is the unavoidable conclusion to be drawn from thme 
 arguments. 
 
 XVII. A wicked life has nothing which we ought to speak 
 of or glory in : nor has that life which is neither happy nor 
 miserable. But there is a kind . f life that admits of being 
 
fTHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 449 
 
 spoken of, and gloried in, and boasted of; as Epaminondis 
 saith, — 
 
 The wings of Sparta's pride my counsels dipt. 
 And Africanus boasts, — 
 
 Who, from beyond Maeotis to the place 
 
 Where the sun rises, deeds like mine can trace 1 
 
 If, then, there is such a thing as a happy life, it is to be 
 gloried in, spoken of, and commended by the person who 
 enjoys it : for there is nothing excepting that which can be 
 spoken of, or gloried in; and when that is once admitted, 
 you know what follows. Now, unless an honourable life is a 
 happy life, there must of course be something preferable to 
 a happy life : for that which is honourable, all men will cer • 
 tainly grant to be preferable to anything else. And thus 
 there will be something better than a happy life ; but what 
 can be more absurd than such an assertion 1 What ! when 
 they grant vice to be effectual to the rendering life miserable, 
 must they not admit that there is a corresponding power in 
 virtue to make life happy 1 For contraries follow from con- 
 traries. And here I ask, what weight they think there is in 
 the balance of Critolaus, who, having put the goods of the 
 mind into one scale, and the goods of the body and other 
 external advantages into the other, thought the goods of the 
 mind outweighed the others so far, that they would require 
 the whole earth and sea to equalise the scale. 
 
 XVIII. What hinders Critolaus, then, or that gravest of 
 philosophers, Xenocrates (who raises virtue so high, and who 
 lessens and depreciates everything else), from not only placing 
 a happy life, but the happiest possible life, in virtue ? and, 
 indeed, if this were not the case, virtue would be absolutely 
 lost. For whoever is subject to grief, must necessarily be 
 subject to fear too; for fear is an uneasy apprehension of 
 future grief: and whoever is subject to fear is liable to dread, 
 timidity, consternation, cowardice. Therefore, such a person 
 may T , some time or other, be defeated, and not think himself 
 concerned with that precept of Atreus, — 
 
 And let men so conduct themselves in life, 
 As to be always strangers to defeat 
 
 But such a man, as I have said, will be defeated; and not 
 only defeated, but made a slave of.^ut we would have virtue 
 always free, always invincible ; and were it not so, there • 
 
 ACAD. ETC. G G 
 
450 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 would be an end of virtue. But if virtue has in herself all 
 that is necessary for a good life, she is certainly sufficient for 
 happiness : virtue is certainly sufficient, too, for our living 
 with courage ; if with courage, then with a magnanimous 
 spirit, and indeed so as never to be under any fear, and thus 
 to be always invincible. — Hence it follows, that there can be 
 nothing to be repented of, no wants, no lets or hindrances. 
 Thus all things will be prosperous, perfect, and as you would 
 have them ; and consequently happy : but virtue is sufficient 
 for living with courage, and therefore virtue is able by herself 
 to make life happy. For as folly, even when possessed of 
 what it desires, never thinks it has acquired enough : so wis- 
 dom is always satisfied with the present, and never repents 
 on her own account. 
 
 XIX. Look but on the single consulship of Laelius, — and 
 that, too, after having been set aside (though when a wise and 
 good man, like him, is outvoted, the people are disappointed 
 of a good consul, rather than he disappointed by a vain 
 people) ; but the point is, would you prefer, were it in your 
 power, to be once such a consul as Laelius, or be elected four 
 times, like China? I have no doubt in the world what answer 
 you will make, and it is on that account I put the question 
 to you. 
 
 I would not ask every one this question; for some one 
 perhaps might answer that he would not only prefer four 
 consulates to one, but even one day of China's life to whole 
 ages of many famous men. Laelius would have suffered had 
 he but touched any one with his finger; but Cinna ordered 
 the head of his colleague consul, Cn. Oetavius, to be struck 
 off; and put to death P. Crassus 1 and L. Caesar, 2 those excel- 
 lent men, so renowned both at home and abroad ; and even 
 M. Antonius, 3 the greatest orator whom I ever heard; and 
 C. Caesar, who seems to me to have been the pattern of 
 humanity, politeness, sweetness of temper, and wit. Could 
 
 1 This was the elder brother of the triumvir Marcus Crassus, b.o. 87. 
 He was put to death by Fimbria, who was in command of some of the 
 troops of Marius. 
 
 2 Lucius Caesar and Caius Csesar were relations (it is uncertain in 
 what degree) of the great Csesar, and were killed by Fimbria on the 
 same occasion as Oetavius. 
 
 * M. Antonius was the grandfather of the triumvir ; he was murdered 
 the same year, b.c. 87, by Annius,when Marius and Cinna took Rome. 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 451 
 
 lie, then, be happy who occasioned the death of these men ? 
 So far from it, that he seems to be miserable, not only for 
 having performed these actions, but also for acting in such a 
 manner, that it was lawful for him to do it, though it is 
 unlawful for any one to do wicked actions ; but this proceeds 
 from inaccuracy of speech, for we call whatever a man is 
 allowed to do, lawful. — Was not Marius happier, I pray you, 
 when he shared the glory of the victory gained over the Cum- 
 brians with his colleague Catul'us (who was almost another 
 Laelius, for I look upon the two men as very like one another,) 
 than when, conqueror in the civil war, he in a passion an- 
 swered the friends of Catulus, who were interceding for him, 
 " Let him die" 1 And this answer he gave, not once only, but 
 often. But in such a case, he was happier who submitted to that 
 barbarous decree than he who issued it. And it is better to re- 
 ceive an injury than to do one ; and so it was better to advance a 
 little to meet that death that was making its approaches, as 
 Catulus did, than, like Marius, to sully the glory of six consul- 
 ships, and disgrace his latter days, by the death of such a man. 
 XX. Dionysius exercised his tyranny over the Syracu- 
 sans thirty-eight years, being but tw T enty-five years old when 
 he seized on the government. How beautiful and how wealthy 
 a city did he oppress with slavery ! And yet w r e have it from 
 good authority, that he was remarkably temperate in his 
 manner of living, that he was very active and energetic in carry- 
 ing on business, but naturally mischievous and unjust; from 
 which description, every one who diligently inquires into truth 
 must inevitably see that he was very miserable. Neither 
 did he attain what he so greatly desired, even when he was 
 persuaded that he had unlimited power; for, notwithstanding 
 he was of a good family and reputable parents (though that 
 is contested by some authors), and had a very large acquaint- 
 ance of intimate friends and relations, and also some youths 
 attached to him by ties of love after the fashion of the Greeks, 
 he could not trust any one of them, but committed the guard 
 of his person to slaves, whom he had selected from rich 
 men's families and made free, and to strangers and barbarians. 
 And thus, through an unjust desire of governing, he in a 
 manner shut himself up in a prison. Besides, he w^ould not 
 trust his throat to a barber, but had his daughters taught to 
 shave; so that these royal virgins were forced tD descend to 
 gg2 
 
452 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 the base and slavish employment of shaving the head and 
 beard of their father. Nor would he trust even them, when 
 they were grown up, with a razor; but contrived how they 
 might burn off the hair of his head and beard with red-hot 
 nut-shells. And as to his two wives, Aristomache his coun- 
 trywoman, and Doris of Locris, he never visited them at 
 night before everything had been well searched and examined. 
 And as he had surrounded the place where his bed was with 
 a broad ditch, and made a way over it with a wooden bridge, 
 he drew that bridge over after shutting his bedchamber door. 
 And as he did not dare to stand on the ordinary pulpits from 
 which they usually harangued the people, he generally ad- 
 dressed them from a high tower. And it is said, that when 
 he was disposed to play at ball,— for he delighted much in it, 
 — and had pulled off his clothes, he used to give his sword 
 into the keeping of a young man whom he was very fond of. 
 On this, one of his intimates said pleasantly, " You certainly 
 trust your life with him :" and as the young man happened 
 to smile at this, he ordered them both to be slain, the one for 
 showing how he might be taken off, the other for approving 
 of what had been said by smiling. But he was so concerned 
 at what he had done, that nothing affected him more during 
 his whole life ; for he had slain one to whom he was extremely 
 partial. Thus do weak men's desires pull them different ways, 
 and whilst they indulge one, they act counter to another. 
 
 XXI. This tyrant, however, showed himself how happy he 
 really was : for once, when Damocles, one of his flatterers, 
 was dilating in conversation on his forces, his wealth, the 
 greatness of his power, the plenty he enjoyed, the grandeur 
 of his royal palaces, and maintaining that no one was ever 
 happier, — "Have you an inclination," said he, "Damocles, 
 as this kind of life pleases you, to have a taste of it yourself, 
 and to make a trial of the good fortune that attends me?" 
 And when he said that he should like it extremely, Dionysius 
 ordered him to be laid on a bed of gold with the most 
 beautiful covering, embroidered and wrought with the most 
 exquisite work, and he dressed out a great many sideboards 
 with silver and embossed gold. He then ordered some 
 youths, distinguished for their handsome persons, to wait at 
 his table, and to observe his nod, in order to serve him with 
 what he wanted. There were ointments and garlands ; per- 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 453 
 
 fumes were burned ; tables provided with the most exquisite 
 meats. Damocles thought himself very happy. In the 
 midst of this apparatus, Dionysius ordered a bright sword to 
 be let down from the ceiling, suspended by a single horse- 
 hair, so as to hang over the head of that happy man. After 
 which he neither cast his eye on those handsome waiters, nor 
 on the well wrought plate ; nor touched any of the provisions : 
 presently the garlands fell to pieces. At last he entreated 
 the tyrant to give him leave to go, for that now he had no 
 desire to be happy. 1 Does not Dionysius, then, seem to have 
 declared there can be no happiness for one who is under 
 constant apprehensions I But it w T as not now in his power 
 to return to justice, and restore his citizens their rights and 
 privileges ; for, by the indiscretion of youth, he had engaged 
 in so many wrong steps, and committed such extravagances, 
 that had he attempted to have returned to a right way of 
 thinking he must have endangered his life. 
 
 XXII. Yet, how desirous he was of friendship, though at 
 the same time he dreaded the treachery of friends, appears 
 from the story of those two Pythagoreans : one of these had 
 been security "for his friend, who was condemned to die ; the 
 other, to release his security, presented himself at the time 
 appointed for his dying : " I wish," said Dionysius, " you 
 would admit me as the third in your friendship." What 
 misery was it for him to be deprived of acquaintance, of 
 company at his table, and of the freedom of conversation ; 
 especially for one who was * man of learning, and from his 
 childhood acquainted witu liberal arts, very fond of music, 
 and himself a tragic poet, — how good a one is not to the 
 purpose, for I know not how it is, but in this way, more than 
 any other, every one thinks his own performances excellent. 
 I never as yet knew any poet (and I was very intimate with 
 Aquinius), who did not appear to himself to be very admirable. 
 The case is this ; you are pleased with your own works, I like 
 mine. But to return to Dionysius : he debarred himself 
 
 1 This story is alluded to by Horace — 
 
 Districtus ensis cui super impi& 
 Cervice pendet noa Siculse dapes 
 Dulcem elaborabunt saporem, 
 Non avium citharseve cantus 
 Somnum reducent. — iii. 1. 17. 
 
454 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 from all civil and polite conversation, and spent his life 
 among fugitives, bondmen, and barbarians ; for he was per- 
 suaded that no one could be his friend who was worthy of 
 liberty or had the least desire of being free. 
 
 XXIII. Shall I not, then, prefer the life of Plato and 
 Archytas, manifestly wise and learned men, to his, than 
 which nothing can possibly be more horrid', or miserable, or 
 detestable 1 
 
 I will present you with an humble and obscure mathe- 
 matician of the same city, called Archimedes, who lived 
 many years after ; whose tomb, overgrown with- shrubs and 
 briars, I in my qusestorship discovered, when the Syracusans 
 knew nothing of it, and even denied that there was any such 
 thing remaining : for I remembered some verses, which I had 
 been informed were engraved on his monument, and these set 
 forth that on the top of the tomb there was placed a sphere 
 -with a cylinder. I When I had carefully examined all the 
 monuments (for there are a great many tombs at the gate 
 Achradinse), I observed a small column standing out a little 
 above the briars, with the figure of a sphere and a cylinder 
 upon it ; whereupon I immediately said to the Syracusans, 
 for there were some of their principal men with me there, that 
 I imagined that was what I was inquiring for. Several men 
 being sent in with scythes, cleared the way, and made an 
 opening for us. When we could get at it, and were come 
 near to the front of the pedestal, I found the inscription, 
 though the latter parts of all the verses were effaced almost 
 half away. Thus one of the noblest cities of Greece, and one 
 which at one time likewise had been very celebrated for 
 learning, had known nothing of the monument of its greatest 
 genius, if it had not been discovered to them by a native of 
 Arpinum. But to return to the subject from which I have 
 been digressing. Who is there in the least degree acquainted 
 with the Muses, that is, with liberal knowledge, or that deals 
 at all in learning, who would not choose to be this mathema- 
 tician rather than that tyrant 1 If we look into their methods 
 of living and their employments, we shall find the mind of 
 the one strengthened and improved with tracing the deductions 
 of reason, amused with his own ingenuity, which is the one 
 most delicious food of the mind ; the thoughts of the other 
 engaged in continual murders and injuries, in constant fears 
 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 455 
 
 by night and by day.. Now imagine a Democritus, a Pytha- 
 goras, and an Anaxagoras ; what kingdom, what riches would 
 you prefer to their studies and amusements ? for you must 
 necessarily look for that excellence which we are seeking for 
 in that which is the most perfect part of man ; but what is 
 there better in man than a sagacious and good mind 1 The 
 enjoyment, therefore, of that good which proceeds from that 
 sagacious mind, can alone make us happy : but virtue is the 
 good of the mind ; it follows, therefore, that a happy life 
 depends on virtue. Hence proceed all things that are 
 beautiful, honourable, and excellent, as I said above (but this 
 point must, I think, be treated of more at large), and they 
 are well stored with joys. For, as it is clear that a happy 
 life consists in perpetual and unexhausted pleasures, it follows 
 too, that a happy life must arise from honesty. 
 
 XXIV. But that what I propose to demonstrate to you 
 may not rest on mere words only, I must set before you the 
 picture of something, as it were, living and moving in the 
 world, that may dispose us more for the improvement of the 
 understanding and real knowledge. Let us, then, pitch upon 
 some man perfectly acquainted with the most excellent arts ; 
 let us present him for a while to our own thoughts, and figure 
 him to our own imaginations. In the first place, he must 
 necessarily be of an extraordinary capacity ; for virtue is not 
 easily connected with dull minds. Secondly, he must have a 
 great desire of discovering truth, from whence will arise that 
 threefold production of the mind ; one of which depends on 
 knowing things, and explaining nature : the other in defining 
 what we ought to desire, and what to avoid : the third in 
 judging of consequences and impossibilities : in which consists 
 both subtilty in disputing, and also clearness of judgment. 
 Now with what pleasure must the mind of a wise man be 
 affected, which continually dwells in the midst of such cares 
 and occupations as these, when he views the revolutions and 
 motions of the whole world, and sees those innumerable stars 
 in the heavens, which, though fixed in their places, have yet 
 one motion in common with the whole universe, and observes 
 the seven other stars, some higher, some lower, each main- 
 taining their own course, while their motions, though wander- 
 ing, have certain defined and appointed spaces to run through I 
 the sight of which doubtless urged and encouraged those 
 
<A56 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 ancient philosophers to exercise their investigating spirit on 
 many other things. Hence arose an inquiry after the begin- 
 nings, and, as it were, seeds from which all things were 
 produced and composed ; what was the origin of every kind 
 of thing, whether animate or inanimate, articulately speaking 
 or mute ; what occasioned their beginning and end, and by 
 what alteration and change one thing was converted into 
 another : whence the earth originated, and by what weights 
 it was balanced : by what caverns the seas were supplied : by 
 what gravity all things being carried down tend always to 
 the middle of the world, which in any round body is the 
 lowest place. 
 
 XXV. A mind employed on such subjects, and which night 
 and day contemplates them, contains in itself that precept of 
 the Delphic God, so as to " know itself," and to perceive its 
 connexion with the divine reason, from whence it is filled with 
 an insatiable joy. For reflections on the po^Yer and nature 
 of the Gods raise in us a desire of imitating their eternity. 
 Nor does the mind, that sees the necessary dependences and 
 connexions that one cause has with another, think it possible 
 that it should be itself confined to the shortness of this life. 
 Those causes, though they proceed from eternity to eternity, 
 are governed by reason and understanding. And he who be- 
 heads them and examines them, or rather he whose view takes 
 in all the parts and boundaries of things, with what tran- 
 quillity of mind does he look on all human affairs, and on 
 all that is nearer him ! Hence proceeds the knowledge of 
 virtue; hence arise the kinds and species of virtues; hence 
 are discovered those things which nature regards as the 
 bounds and extremities of good and evil ; by this it is dis- 
 covered to what all duties ought to be referred, and which is 
 the most eligible manner of life. And when these and similar 
 points have been investigated, the principal consequence which 
 is deduced from them, and that which is our main object in 
 this discussion, is the establishment of the point — that virtue 
 is of itself sufficient to a happy life. 
 
 The third qualification of our wise man is the next to 
 be considered, which goes through and spreads itself over 
 every part of wisdom; it is that whereby we define each 
 particular thing, distinguish the genus from its species, 
 connect consequences, draw just conclusions, and distinguish 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 457 
 
 troth from falsehood, which is the very art and science of 
 disputing; which is not only of the greatest use in the 
 examination of what passes in the world, but is likewise the 
 most rational entertainment, and that which is most becoming 
 to true wisdom. Such are its effects in retirement. Now let 
 our wise man be considered as protecting the republic j what 
 can be more excellent than such a character 1 ? By his 
 prudence he will discover the true interests of his fellow- 
 citizens, by his justice he will be prevented from applying 
 what belongs to the public to his own use ; and in short, he 
 will be ever governed by all the virtues which are many and 
 various? To these let us add the advantage of his friend- 
 ships; in which the learned reckon not only a natural 
 harmony and agreement of sentiments throughout the con- 
 duct of life, but the utmost pleasure and satisfaction in 
 conversing and passing our time constantly with one another. 
 What can be wanting to such a life as this, to make it more 
 happy than it is ? Fortune herself must yield to a life stored 
 with such joys. Now if it be a happiness to rejoice in such 
 goods of the mind, that is to say, in such virtues, and if all wise 
 men enjoy thoroughly these pleasures, it must necessarily be 
 granted that all such are happy. 
 
 XXVI. A. What, when in torments and on the rack? 
 M. Do you imagine I am speaking of him as laid on roses 
 and violets? Is it allowable even for Epicurus (who only 
 puts on the appearance of being a philosopher, and who 
 himself assumed that name for himself,) to say, (though as 
 matters stand, I commend him for his saying,) that a wise 
 man might at all times cry out, though he be burned, tor- 
 tured, cut to pieces, " How little I regard it ! M Shall this be 
 said by one who defines all evil as pain, and measures every 
 good by pleasure ; jpho could ridicule whatever we call either 
 honourable or base, an& could declare of us that we were 
 employed about words, and uttering mere empty sounds; and 
 that nothing is to be regarded by us, but as it is perceived to 
 be smooth or rough by the body? What, shall such a man 
 as this, as I said, whose understanding is little superior to the 
 beasts, be at liberty to forget himself ; and not only to despise 
 fortune, when the whole of his good and evil is in the power 
 of fortune, but to say, that he is happy in the most racking 
 torture, when he had actually declared pain to be not only 
 
458 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 the greatest evil, but the only one? Nor did he take any 
 trouble to provide himself w*th those remedies which might 
 have enabled him to bear pain ; such as firmness of mind, a 
 shame of doing anything base, exercise, and the habit of 
 patience, precepts of courage, and a manly hardiness : but he 
 says that he supports himself on the single recollection of 
 past pleasures, as if any one, when the weather was so hot 
 as that he was scarcely able to bear it, should comfort himself 
 by recollecting that he was once in my country Arpinum, 
 where he was surrounded on every side by cooling streams : 
 for I do not apprehend how past pleasures can allay present 
 evils. But when he says that a wise man is always happy, 
 who would have no right to say so if he were consistent with 
 himself, what may they not do, who allow nothing to be 
 desirable, nothing to be looked on as good but what is 
 honourable 1 ? Let, then, the Peripatetics and old Academics 
 follow my example, and at length leave off muttering to 
 themselves ; and openly and with a clear voice let them be 
 bold to say, that a happy life may not be inconsistent with 
 the agonies of Phalaris's bull. 
 
 XXVII. But to dismiss the subtleties of the Stoics, which 
 I am sensible I have employed more than was necessary, let 
 us admit of three kinds of goods : and let them really be 
 kinds of goods, provided no regard is had to the body, and to 
 external circumstances, as entitled to the appellation of good 
 in any other sense than because we are obliged to use them : 
 but let those other divine goods spread themselves far in 
 every direction, and reach the very heavens. Why, then, may 
 I not call him happy, nay, the happiest of men, who has 
 attained them? Shall a wise man be afraid of pain? which 
 is, indeed, the greatest enemy to our opinion. For I am 
 persuaded that we are prepared and fortified sufficiently, by 
 Lie disputations of the foregoing days, against our own death, 
 or that of our friends, against grief and the other perturba- 
 tions of the mind. But pain seems to be the sharpest adver- 
 sary of virtue : that it is which menaces us with burning 
 torches; that it is which threatens to crush our fortitude, 
 and greatness of mind, and patience. Shall virtue then yield 
 to this? Shall the happy life of a wise and consistent man 
 succumb to this? Good ^ Gods ! how base would this be' 
 Spartan boys will bear to nave their bodies torn by rodi 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 459 
 
 without uttering a groan. I myself have seen at Lacedaemon, 
 troops of young men, with incredible earnestness contending 
 together with their hands and feet, with their teeth and nails, 
 nay even ready to expire, rather than own themselves con- 
 quered. Is any country of barbarians more uncivilized or 
 desolate than India? Yet they have amongst them some 
 that are held for wise men, who never wear any clothes 
 all their life long, and who bear the snow of Caucasus, and 
 the piercing cold of winter, without any pain : and who if they 
 come in contact with fire endure being burned without a groan. 
 The women too, in India, on the death of their husbands have 
 a regular contest, and apply to the judge to have it determined 
 which of them was best beloved by him; for it is customary 
 there for one man to have many wives. She in whose favour 
 it is determined exults greatly, and being attended by her 
 relations is laid on the funeral pile with her husband : the 
 others, who are postponed, walk away very much dejected. 
 Custom can never be superior to nature : for nature is never 
 to be got the better of. But our minds are infected by sloth 
 and idleness, and luxury, and languor, and indolence: we 
 have enervated them by opinions, and bad customs. Who is 
 there who is unacquainted with the customs of the Egyptians? 
 Their minds being tainted by pernicious opinions, they are 
 ready to bear any torture, rather than hurt an ibis, a snake, a 
 cat, a dog, or a crocodile : and should any one inadvertently 
 have hurt any of these animals, he will submit to any punish- 
 ment. I am speaking of men only. As to the beasts, do 
 they not bear cold and hunger, running about in woods, and 
 on mountains and deserts'? will they not fight for their young 
 ones till they are wounded 1 ? Are they afraid of any attacks 
 or blows ] I mention not what the ambitious will suffer for 
 honour's sake, or those who are desirous of praise on account 
 of glory, or lovers to gratify their lust. Life is full of such 
 instances. 
 
 XXVIII. But let us not dwell too much on these questions, 
 but rather let us return to our subject. I say, and say again, 
 that happiness will submit even to be tormented ; and that 
 in pursuit of justice, and temperance, and still more especially 
 and principally fortitude, and greatness of soul, and patience, 
 it will not stop short at sight of the executioner; and when 
 all other virtues proceed calmly to the torture, that one will 
 
4 GO THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 never halt, as I said, on the outside and threshold of the 
 prison : for what can be baser, what can carry a worse appear- 
 ance, than to be left alone, separated from those beautiful 
 attendants ? not however that this is by any means possible : 
 for neither can the virtues hold together without happiness, 
 nor happiness without the virtues : so that they will not suffer 
 her to desert them, but will carry her along with them, to 
 whatever torments, to whatever pain they are led. For it is 
 the peculiar quality of a wise man to do nothing that he may 
 repent of, nothing against his inclination : but always to act 
 nobly, with constancy, gravity, and honesty : to depend on 
 nothing as certainty : to wonder at nothing, when it falls out, 
 as if it appeared strange and unexpected to him : to be inde- 
 pendent of every one, and abide by his own opinion. For 
 my part, I cannot form an idea of anything happier than this. 
 The conclusion of the Stoics is indeed easy ; for since they are 
 persuaded that the end of good is to live agreeably to nature, 
 and to be consistent with that, — as a wise man should do so, 
 not only because it is his duty, but because it is in his power, 
 it must of course follow, that whoever has the chief good in 
 his power, has his happiness so too. And thus the life of a 
 wise man is always happy. You have here what I think may 
 be confidently said of a happy life, and as things now stand, 
 very truly also, unless you can advance something better. 
 
 XXIX. A. Indeed I cannot; but I should be glad to pre- 
 vail on you, unless it is troublesome (as you are under no 
 confinement from obligations to any particular sect, but 
 gather from all of them whatever strikes you most as having 
 the appearance of probability), as you just now seemed to 
 advise the Peripatetics and the Old Academy, boldly to speak 
 out without reserve, "that wise men are always the happiest," — 
 I should be glad to hear how you think it consistent for them 
 to say so, when you have said so much against that opinion, 
 and the conclusions of the Stoics. 
 
 M. I will make use, then, of that liberty which no one has 
 the privilege of using in philosophy but those of our school, 
 whose discourses determine nothing, but take in everything, 
 leaving them, unsupported by the authority of any particular 
 person, to be judged of by others, according to their weight. 
 And as you seem desirous of knowing how it is that, notwith- 
 standing the different opinions of philosophers with regard to 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 461 
 
 the ends of goods, virtue has still sufficient security for the 
 effecting of a happy life, — which security, as we are informed, 
 Carneades used indeed to dispute against ; but he disputed as 
 against the Stoics, whose opinions he combated with great 
 zeal and vehemence, — I however shall handle the question 
 with more temper ; for if the Stoics have rightly settled the 
 ends of goods, the affair is at an end; for a wise man must 
 necessarily be always happy. But let us examine, if we can, 
 the particular opinions of the others, that so this excellent 
 decision, if I may so call it, in favour of a happy life, may be 
 agreeable to the opinions and discipline of all. 
 
 XXX. These then are the opinions, as I think, that are 
 held and defended: the first four are simple ones; "that 
 nothing is good but w T hat is honest," according to the Stoics : 
 " nothing good but pleasure," as Epicurus maintains : 
 " nothing good but a freedom from pain," as Hieronymus 1 
 asserts : " nothing good but an enjoyment of the principal, 01 
 all, or the greatest goods of nature," as Carneades maintained 
 against the Stoics : — these are simple, the others are mixed pro 
 positions. Then there are three kinds of goods ; the greatest/ 
 being those of the mind, the next best those of the body, the / 
 third are external goods, as the Peripatetics call them, an4-J 
 the old Academics differ very little from them. Dinomaehus* 
 and Callipho 3 have coupled pleasure "with honesty : but 
 Diodorus, 4 the Peripatetic, has joined indolence to honesty. 
 These are the opinions that have some footing ; for those of 
 Aristo, 5 Pyrrho, Herillus, 7 and of some others, are quite out 
 
 1 Hieronymus was a Khodian, and a pupil of Aristotle, flourishing 
 about 300 b.c. He is frequently mentioned by Cicero. 
 
 2 We know very little of Dinomachus. Some MSS. have Clitomachus. 
 
 3 Callipho was in all probability a pupil of Epicurus, but we have no 
 certain information about him. 
 
 4 Diodorus was a Syrian, and succeeded Critolaus as the head of the 
 Peripatetic School at Athens. 
 
 5 Aristo was a native of Ceos, and a pupil of Lycon, who succeeded 
 Stratton as the head of the Peripatetic School, b.c. 270. He afterwards 
 himself succeeded Lycon. 
 
 6 Pyrrho was a native of Elis, and the originator of the sceptical 
 theories of some of the ancient philosophers, lie was a contemporary 
 of Alexander. 
 
 7 Herillus was a disciple of Zeno of Cittium, and therefore a Stoic 
 He did not, however, follow all the opinions of his master : he held that 
 knowledge was the chief good. Some of the treatises of Cleanthes were 
 written expressly to confute him. 
 
462 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 of date. Now let us see what weight these men have in 
 them, excepting the Stoics, whose opinion I think I have suf- 
 ficiently defended; and indeed I have explained what the 
 Peripatetics have to say; excepting that Theophrastus, and 
 those who followed him, dread and abhor pain in too weak a 
 manner. The others may go on to exaggerate the gravity 
 and dignity of virtue, as usual ; and then, after they have 
 extolled it to the skies, with the usual extravagance of good 
 orators, it is easy to reduce the other topics to nothing by 
 comparison, and to hold them up to contempt. They who 
 think that praise deserves to be sought after, even at the ex- 
 pense of pain, are not at liberty to deny those men to be happy, 
 who have obtained it. Though they may be under some evils, 
 yet this name of happy has a very wide application. 
 
 XXXI. For even as trading is said to be lucrative, and 
 farming advantageous, not because the one never meets with 
 any loss, nor the other with any damage from the inclemency 
 of the weather, but because they succeed in general : so life 
 may be properly called happy, not from its being entirely 
 made up of good things, but because it abounds with these to 
 a great and considerable degree. By this way of reasoning, 
 then, a happy life may attend virtue even to the moment of 
 execution; nay, may descend with her into Phalaris's bull, 
 according to Aristotle, Xenocrates, Speusippus, Polemon; and 
 will not be gained over by any allurements to forsake her. 
 Of the same opinion will Calliphon and Diodorus be : for they 
 are both of them such friends to virtue, as to think that all 
 things should be discarded and far removed that are incom- 
 patible with it. The rest seem to be more hampered with 
 these doctrines, but yet they get clear of them ; such as 
 Epicurus, Hieronymus, and whoever else thinks it worth 
 while to defend the deserted Carneades : for there is not one 
 of them who does not think the mind to be judge of those 
 goods, and able sufficiently to instruct him how to despise 
 what has the appearance only of good or evil. For what 
 seems to you to be the case with Epicurns, is the case also 
 with Hieronymus and Carneades, and indeed, with all the rest 
 of them : for who is there who is not sufficiently prepared 
 against death and pain 1 1 will begin, with your leave, with 
 him whom we call soft and voluptuous. What ! does he seem 
 to you to be afraid of death or pain, when he calls the day of 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 463 
 
 his death happy ; and who, when he is afflicted by the greatest 
 pains, silences them all by recollecting arguments of his own 
 discovering'? And this is not done in such a manner as to 
 give room for imagining that he talks thus wildly from some 
 sudden impulse : but his opinion of death is, that on the 
 dissolution of the animal, all sense is lost ; and what is 
 deprived of sense is, as he thinks, what we have no con- 
 cern at all with. And as to pain too, he has certain rules 
 to follow then : if it be great, the comfort is, that it must be 
 short ; if it be of long continuance, then it must be support- 
 able. What then? Do those grandiloquent gentlemen state 
 anything better than Epicurus, in opposition to these two 
 things which distress us the most 1 ? And as to other things, 
 do not Epicurus and the rest of the philosophers seem suffi- 
 ciently prepared] Who is there who does not dread poverty? 
 And yet no true philosopher ever can dread it. 
 
 XXXII. But with how little is this man himself satisfied? 
 No one has said more on frugality. For when a man is far 
 removed from those things which occasion a desire of money, 
 from love, ambition, or other daily extravagance, why should 
 he be fond of money, or concern himself at all about it? 
 Could the Scythian Anacharsis 1 disregard money, and shall 
 not our philosophers be able to do so ? We are informed of 
 an epistle of his, in these words : " Anacharsis to Hanno, 
 greeting. My clothing is the same as that with which the 
 Scythians cover themselves ; the hardness of my feet supplies 
 the want of shoes; the ground is my bed, hunger my sauce, 
 my food milk, cheese, and flesh. So you may come to me as 
 to a man in want of nothing. But as to those presents you 
 take so much pleasure in, you may dispose of them to your 
 own citizens, or to the immortal gods." And almost all phi- 
 losophers, of all schools, excepting those who are warped from 
 right reason by a vicious disposition, might have been of this 
 same opinion. Socrates, when on one occasion he saw a great 
 quantity of gold and silver carried in a procession, cried 
 out, "How many things are there which I do not want!" 
 
 1 Anacharsis was (Herod, iv. 76) son of Gnurus and brother of Saulius, 
 king of Thrace. He came to Athens while Solon was occupied in 
 framing laws for his people ; and by the simplicity of his way of living, 
 and his acute observations on the manners of the Greeks, he excited 
 such general admiration, that he was reckoned by some writers among 
 the seven wise men of Greece. 
 
464 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 Xenocrates, when some ambassadors from Alexander had 
 brought him fifty talents, which was a very large sum of money 
 in those times, especially at Athens, carried the ambassadors to 
 sup in the Academy ; and p.aced just a sufficiency before 
 them, without any apparatus. When they asked him, the 
 next day, to whom he wished the money which they had for 
 him to be paid : "What 1 ?" said he, "did you not perceive 
 by our slight repast of yesterday, that I had no occasion for 
 money % " But when he perceived that they were somewhat 
 dejected, he accepted of thirty minse, that he might not seem 
 to treat with disrespect the king's generosity. But Diogenes 
 took a greater liberty, like a Cynic, when Alexander asked 
 him if he wanted anything : " Just at present," said he, " I 
 wish that you would stand a little out of the line between me 
 and the sun," for Alexander was hindering him from sunning 
 himself. And indeed this very man used to maintain how 
 much he surpassed the Persian king, in his manner of life and 
 fortune ; for that he himself was in want of nothing, while 
 the other never had enough ; and that he had no inclina- 
 tion for those pleasures of which the other could never get 
 enough to satisfy himself : and that the other could never 
 obtain his. 
 
 XXXIII. You see, I imagine, how Epicurus has divided 
 his kinds of desires, not very acutely perhaps, but yet use- 
 fully : saying, that they are " partly natural and necessary ; 
 partly natural, but not necessary ; partly neither. That those 
 which are necessary may be supplied almost for nothing ; for 
 that the things which nature requires are easily obtained." 
 As to the second kind of desires, his opinion is, that any one 
 may easily either enjoy or go without them. And with 
 regard to the third, since they are utterly frivolous, being 
 neither allied to necessity nor nature, he thinks that they 
 should be entirely rooted out. On this topic a great many 
 arguments are adduced by the Epicureans ; and those plea- 
 sures which they do not despise in a body, they disparage one 
 by one, and seem rather for lessening the number of them : 
 for as to wanton pleasures, on which subject they say a great 
 deal, these, say they, are easy, common, and within any one's 
 reach; and they think that if nature requires them, they are 
 not to be estimated by birth, condition, or rank, but by 
 shape, age, and person : and that it is bv no means difficult 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 46 5 
 
 to refrain from them, should health, duty, or reputation re- 
 quire it; but that pleasures of this kind may be desirable, 
 where they are attended with no inconvenience, but can never 
 be of any use. And the assertions which Epicurus makes 
 with respect to the whole of pleasure, are such as show his 
 opinion to be that pleasure is always desirable, and to be 
 pursued merely because it is pleasure ; and for the same 
 reason pain is to be avoided, because it is pain. So that a 
 wise man will always adopt such a system of counterbalancing 
 as to do himself the justice to avoid pleasure, should pain 
 ensue from it in too great a proportion ; and will submit to 
 pain, provided the effects of it are to .produce a greater plea- 
 sure : so that all pleasurable things, though the corporeal 
 senses are the judges of them, are still to be referred to the 
 mind, on which account the body rejoices, whilst it perceives 
 a present pleasure ; but that the mind not only perceives the 
 present as well as the body, but foresees it, while it is coming, 
 and even when it is past will not let it quite slip away. So 
 that a wise man enjoys a continual series of pleasures, uniting 
 the expectation of future pleasure to the recollection of what 
 he has already tasted. The like notions are applied by them 
 to high living ; and the magnificence and expensiveness of 
 entertainments are deprecated, because nature is satisfied at 
 a small expense. 
 
 XXXIV. For who does not see this, that an appetite is the 
 best sauce? When Darius, in his flight from the enemy, had 
 drunk some water which was muddy and tainted with dead 
 bodies, he declared that he had never drunk anything more 
 pleasant ; the fact was, that he had never drunk before when 
 he was thirsty. Nor had Ptolemy ever eaten when he was 
 hungry : for as he was travelling over Egypt, his company 
 not keeping up with him, he had some coarse bread pre- 
 sented him in a cottage : upon which he said, " Nothing ever 
 seemed to him pleasanter than that bread." They relate too 
 of Socrates, that, once when he was walking very fast till the 
 evening, on his being asked why he did so, his reply was that 
 he was purchasing an appetite by walking, that he might sup 
 the better. And do we not see what the Lacedaemonians pro- 
 vide in their Phiditia? where the tyrant Dionysius supped, 
 but told them he did not at all like that black broth, which 
 
 ACAD ETC, H H 
 
46G THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 was their principal dish ; on which he who dressed it said, 
 " It was no wonder, for it wanted seasoning." Dionysins 
 asked what that seasoning was ; to which it was replied, 
 "Fatigue in hunting, sweating, a race on the banks of Eurotas, 
 hunger, and thirst:" for these are the seasonings to the 
 Lacedaemonian banquets. And this may not only be con- 
 ceived from the custom of men, but from the beasts, who are 
 satisfied with anything that is thrown before them, provided 
 it is not unnatural, and they seek no farther. Some entire 
 cities, taught by custom, delight in parsimony, as I said but 
 just now of the Lacedsenionians. Xenophon has given an 
 account of the Persian diet; who never, as he saith, use 
 anything but cresses with their bread, not but that, should 
 nature require anything more agreeable, many things might 
 be easily supplied by the ground, and plants in great 
 abundance, and of incomparable sweetness. Add to this, 
 strength and health, as the consequence of this abstemious 
 way of living. Now compare with this, those who sweat 
 and belch, being crammed with eating, like fatted oxen : then 
 will you perceive that they who pursue pleasure most, attain 
 it least : and that the pleasure of eating lies not in satiety, 
 but appetite. 
 
 XXXV. They report of Timotheus, a famous man at 
 Athens, and the head of the city, that having supped with 
 Plato, and being extremely delighted with his entertainment, 
 on seeing him the next day, he said, " Your suppers are not 
 only agreeable whilst I partake of them, but the next day 
 also." Besides, the understanding is impaired when we are full 
 with over-eating and drinking. There is an excellent epistle 
 of Plato to Dion's relations, in which there occurs as nearly 
 as possible these words : " When I came there, that happy 
 life so much talked of, devoted to Italian and Syracusan 
 entertainments, was no ways agreeable to me ; to be crammed 
 twice a day, and never to have the night to yourself, and the 
 other things which are the accompaniments of this kind 
 of life, by which a man will never be made the wiser, 
 but will be rendered much less temperate ; for it must be an 
 extraordinary disposition that can be temperate in such cir- 
 cumstances." How, then, can a life be pleasant without pru- 
 dence and teupeiance? Hence you discover the mistake oi 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 467 
 
 Sardanapalus, the wealthiest king of the Assyrians, who 
 ordered it to be engraved on his tomb, 
 
 I still have what in food I did exhaust, 
 Rut what I left, though excellent, is lost. 
 
 " What less than this," says Aristotle, " could be inscribed 
 on the tomb, not of a king but an ox?" He said that he 
 possessed those things when dead, which, in his lifetime, he 
 could have no longer than whilst he was enjoying them. Why, 
 then, are riches desired 1 And wherein doth poverty prevent 
 us from being happy 1 In the want, I imagine, of statues, pic- 
 tures, and diversions. But if any one is delighted with these 
 things, have not the poor people the enjoyment of them more 
 than they who are the owners of them in the greatest abun- 
 dance 1 For we have great numbers of them displayed pub- 
 licly in our city. And whatever store of them private people 
 have, they cannot have a great number, and they but seldom 
 see them, only when they go to their country seats; and 
 some of them must be stung to the heart when they consider 
 how they came by them. The day would fail me, should I be 
 inclined to defend the cause of poverty : the thing is manifest, 
 and nature daily informs us how few things there are, and 
 how trifling they are, of which she really stands in need. 
 
 XXXVI. Let us inquire, then, if obscurity, the want of 
 power, or even the being unpopular, can prevent a wise man 
 from being happy. Observe if popular favour, and this glory 
 which they are so fond of, be not attended with more uneasi- 
 ness than pleasure. Our friend Demosthenes was certainly 
 very weak in declaring himself pleased with the whisper of a 
 woman who was carrying water, as is the custom in Greece, 
 and who whispered to another, " That is he — that is Demos- 
 thenes." What could be weaker than this? and yet what an 
 orator he was ! But although he had learned to speak to 
 others, he had conversed but little with himself. We may 
 perceive, therefore, that popular glory is not desirable of 
 itself; nor is obscurity to be dreaded. " I came to Athens," 
 saith Democritus, " and there was no one there that knew 
 me :" this was a moderate and grave man who could glory in 
 his obscurity. Shall musicians compose their tunes to their 
 own tastes ; and shall a philosopher, master of a much better 
 art, seek to ascertain, not what is most true, but what will 
 
468 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 please the people ? Can anything be more absurd than to 
 despise the vulgar as mere unpolished mechanics, taken singly, 
 and to think them of consequence when collected into a body % 
 These wise men would contemn our ambitious pursuits, and 
 our vanities, and would reject all the honours which the 
 people could voluntarily offer to them: but we know not 
 how to despise them till we begin to repent of having ac- 
 cepted them. There is an anecdote related by Heraclitus 
 the natural philosopher, of Hermodorus the chief of the 
 Ephesians, that he said, " that all the Ephesians ought to 
 be punished with death, for saying, when they had expelled 
 Hermodorus out of their city, that they would have no one 
 amongst them better than another; but that if there were 
 . any such, he might go elsewhere to some other people." Is 
 not this the case with the people everywhere ? do they not 
 hate every virtue that distinguishes itself ? What ! was not 
 Aristides (I had rather instance in the Greeks than our- 
 selves) banished his country for being eminently just? What 
 troubles, then, are they free from who have no connexion what- 
 ever with the people ! What is more agreeable than a learned 
 retirement ? I speak of that learning which makes us ac- 
 quainted with the boundless extent of nature, and the uni- 
 verse, and which even while we remain in this world discovers 
 to us both heaven, earth, and sea. 
 
 XXXVII. If, then, honour and riches have no value, what 
 is there else to be afraid of? Banishment, I suppose ; which 
 is looked on as the greatest evil. Now, if the evil of banish- 
 ment proceeds not from ourselves, but from the froward 
 disposition of the people, I have just now declared how con- 
 temptible it is. But if to leave, one's country be miserable, 
 the provinces are full of miserable men ; very few of the settlers 
 in which ever return to their country again. But exiles are 
 deprived of their property ! What, then ! has there not been 
 enough said on bearing poverty? But with regard to banish- 
 ment, if we examine tijpnature of things, not the ignominy of 
 the name, how little does it differ from constant travelling I in 
 which some of the most famous philosophers have spent their 
 whole life : as Xenocrates, Crantor, Arcesilas, Lacydes, Aristotle, 
 Theophrastus, Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus, Antipater, Car- 
 neades, Panaetius, Clitomachus, Philo, Antiochus, Posidonius, 
 and innumerable others ; who from their first setting out never 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 469 
 
 returned home again. Now what ignominy can a wise man 
 be affected with (for it is of such a one that I am speaking) 
 who can be guilty of nothing which deserves it ; for there is 
 no occasion to comfort one who is banished for his deserts. 
 Lastly, they can easily reconcile themselves to every acci- 
 dent who measure all their objects and pursuits in life by the 
 standard of pleasure; so that in whatever place that is sup- 
 plied, there they may live happily. Thus what Teucer said 
 may be applied to every case : 
 
 Wherever I am happy, is my country. 
 
 Socrates, indeed, when he was asked where he belonged to, 
 replied, " The world;" for he looked upon himself as a 
 citizen and inhabitant of the whole world. How was it with 
 T. Altibutius 1 ? Did he not follow his philosophical studies 
 with the greatest satisfaction at Athens, although he was 
 banished? which, however, would not have happened to him. 
 if he had obeyed the laws of Epicurus, and lived peaceably 
 in the republic. In what was Epicurus happier, living in his 
 own country, than Metrodorus who lived at Athens ? Or did 
 Plato's happiness exceed that of Xenocrates, or Polemo, or 
 Arcesilas % Or is that city to be valued much, that banishes 
 all her good and wise men 1 ? Demaratus, the father of our 
 king Tarquin, not being able to bear the tyrant Cypselus, fled 
 from Corinth to Tarquinii, settled there, and had children. 
 Was it, then, an unwise act in him to prefer the liberty of 
 banishment to slavery at home % 
 
 XXXVIII. Besides the emotions of the mind, all griefs 
 and anxieties are assuaged by forgetting them, and turning 
 our thoughts to pleasure. Therefore, it was not without 
 reason that Epicurus presumed to say that a wise man 
 abounds with good things, because he may always have his 
 pleasures : from whence it follows, as he thinks, that that 
 point is gained, which is the subject of our present inquiry, 
 that a wise man is always happy. What ! though he should 
 be deprived <rf the senses of seeing and hearing 1 Yes ; for 
 he holds those things very cheap. For, in the first place, 
 what are the pleasures of which we are deprived by that 
 dreadful thing, blindness 1 For though they allow other 
 pleasures to be confined to the senses, yet the things which 
 are perceived by the sight do not depend wholly on tho 
 
470 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 pleasure the eyes receive ; as is the case when we taste, smell, 
 touch, or hear; for, in respect of all these senses, the organs 
 themselves are the seat of pleasure ; but it is not so with the 
 eyes. For it is the mind which is entertained by what 
 we see ; but the mind may be entertained in many ways, 
 even though we could not see at all. I am speaking of a 
 learned and a wise man, with whom to think is to live. But 
 thinking in the case of a wise man does not altogether require 
 the use of his eyes in his investigations; for if night does 
 not strip him of his happiness, why should blindness, which 
 resembles night, have that effect 1 For the reply of Antipater 
 the Cyrenaic, to some women who bewailed his being blind, 
 though it is a little too obscene, is not without its significance. 
 "What do you mean?" saith he ; " do you think the night 
 can furnish no pleasure ?" And we find by his magistracies 
 and his actions, that old Appius 1 too, who was blind for many 
 years, was not prevented from doing whatever was required 
 of him, with respect either to the republic or his own affairs. 
 It is said, that C. Drusus's house was crowded with clients. 
 When they, whose business it was, could not see how to con- 
 duct themselves* they applied to a blind guide. 
 
 XXXIX. When I was a boy, Cn. Aufidius, a blind man, 
 who had served the office of prsetor, not only gave his opinion 
 in the senate, and was ready to assist his friends, but wrote 
 a Greek history, and had a considerable acquaintance with 
 literature. Diodorus the Stoic was blind, and lived many 
 years at my house. He, indeed, which is scarcely credible, 
 besides applying himself more than usual to philosophy, and 
 playing on the flute, agreeably to the custom of the Pytha- 
 goreans, and having books read to him night and day, in all 
 which he did not want eyes, contrived to teach geometry, 
 which, one would think, could hardly be done without the 
 assistance of eyes, telling his scholars how and where to draw 
 every line. They relate of Asclepiades, a native of Eretria, 
 and no obscure philosopher, when some one asked him what 
 inconvenience he suffered from his blindness, that his reply 
 was, " He was at the expense of another servant." So that, 
 
 1 Tim was Appius Claudius Csecus, who was censor b.o. 310, and 
 who, according to Livy, was afflicted with blindness by the gods for 
 persuading the Potitii to instruct the public servants in the way of 
 sacrificing to Hercules. He it was who made the Via Appia. 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 471 
 
 as the most extreme poverty may be borne, if you please, 
 as is daily the case with some iu Greece ; so blindness may 
 easily be borne, provided you have the support of good health 
 in other respects. Democritus was so blind he could not 
 distinguish white from black: but he knew the difference 
 betwixt good and evil, just and unjust, honourable and base, 
 the useful and useless, great and small. Thus one may live 
 happily without distinguishing colours ; but without acquaint- 
 ing yourself with things, you cannot ; and this man was of 
 opinion, that the intense application of the mind was taken off 
 by the objects that presented themselves to the eye, and while 
 others often could not see what was before their feet, he 
 travelled through all infinity. It is reported also that Homer 1 
 was blind, but we observe his painting, as well as his poetry. 
 What country, what coast, what part of Greece, what military 
 attacks, what dispositions of battle, what army, what ship, 
 what motions of men and animals can be mentioned which he 
 has not described in such a manner as to enable us to see what 
 
 1 The fact of Homer's blindness rests on a passage in the Hymn 
 to Apollo, quoted by Thucydides as a genuine work of Homer, and 
 which is thus spoken of by one of the most accomplished scholars that 
 this country or this age has ever produced : — " They are indeed beautiful 
 verses, and if none worse had ever been attributed to Homer, the Prince 
 of Poets would have had little reason to complain. 
 
 " He has been describing the Delian festival in honour of Apollo and 
 Diana, and concludes this part of the poem with an address to the 
 women of that island, to whom it is to be supposed that he had become 
 familiarly known by his frequent recitations : 
 
 XaipfTe 8' v/j.e'is -rracrcu, £/xe7o Se Ka\ /jLCT6Tria6e 
 fjLV7]<TaaQ\ cnrnori ntv tis zirixtiovioiu avQpurnaiv 
 evddS' aueiprjTou £e7vos raXairsipios i\0acv 
 8> Kovpai, ris 5' 5fi/uv avrip tjSlcttos aoiScSv 
 ivOdde 7r<wA.e?Tcu Kal reo) repirecrOe [mKiara ; 
 v/ie?s 8' €»3 jxd\a iracrai viroKpivacrde d</>' f]/J.&v t 
 Tu<ph6s aj/rjp, olice7 Se Xuw in Tranra\OG<T<rr], 
 rod 7rac£u jxir6-KiaQev apuTTtvovaiv ootSat. 
 
 Virgins, farewell, — and oh ! remember me 
 Hereafter, when some stranger from the sea, 
 A hapless wanderer, may your isle explore, 
 And ask you, " Maids, of all the bards you boast, 
 Who sings the sweetest, and delights you most ] " 
 Oh ! answer all, — " A blind old man, and poor, 
 Sweetest he sings, and dwells on Chios' rocky shore." 
 •—Coleridge's Introduction to the Study of the Greek Classic Poets. 
 
r 
 
 472 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 he could not see himself 1 What, then ! can we imagine -that 
 Homer, or any other learned man. has ever been in want of 
 pleasure and entertainment for his mind 1 Were it not so, 
 would Anaxagoras, or this very Democritus, have left their 
 estates and patrimonies, and given themselves up to the pur- 
 suit of acquiring this divine pleasure? It is thus that the 
 poets who have represented Tiresias the Augur as a wise 
 man and blind, never exhibit him as bewailing his blindness. 
 And Homer, too, after he had described Polyphemus as a 
 monster and a wild man, represents him talking with his ram, 
 and speaking of his good fortune, inasmuch as he could go 
 wherever he pleased and touch what he would. And so far 
 lie was right, for that Cyclops was a being of not much more 
 Lderstanding than his ram. 
 l^X Xj<- Now, as to the evil of being deaf : M. Crassus was a 
 IT little>±hick of hearing; but it was more uneasiness to' him 
 j V that he^heard himself ill spoken of. though, in my opinion, he 
 did not observe it. Our Epicureans cannot understand Greek, 
 nor the Greeks Latin : now, they are deaf reciprocally as to . 
 each other'sNJanguage, and we are all truly deaf with regard 
 to those innumerable languages which we do not understand. 
 They do not hear the voice of the harper; but then they do 
 not hear the grating of a saw when it is setting, or the grunt- 
 ing of a hog when his throat is being cut, nor the roaring of 
 the sea when they are desirous of rest. And if they should 
 chance to be fond of singing, they ought in the first place to 
 consider that many wise men lived happily before music was 
 discovered ; besides, they may have more pleasure in reading 
 verses than in hearing them sungjThen, as I before referred 
 the blind to the pleasures of hearing, so I may the deaf to 
 the pleasures of sight : moreover, whoever can converse with 
 himself doth not need the conversation of another. But sup- 
 pose all these misfortunes to meet in one person: suppose 
 him blind and deaf, — let him be afflicted with the sharpest 
 pains of body, which, in the first place, generally of them- 
 selves make an end of him; still, should they continue so 
 long, and the pain be so exquisite, that we should be unable 
 to assign any reason for our being so afflicted, — still, why, 
 good Gods ! should we be under any difficulty % For there is 
 a retreat at hand : death is that retreat — a shelter where we 
 shall for ever be insen^ye. Theodorus said to Lysimachus, 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE. 473 
 
 who threatened him with death, " It is a greal matter, indeed, 
 for you to have acquired the power of a Spanish fly !" When 
 Perses entreated Paulus not to lead him in triumph, " That is 
 a matter which you have in your own power," said Paulus. 
 I said many things about death in our first day's disputation, 
 when death was the subject ; and not a little the next day, 
 when I treated of pain ; which things if you recollect, there 
 can be no danger of your looking upon death as undesirable, 
 or at least it will not be dreadful. 
 
 That custom which is common among the Grecians at their 
 banquets should, in my opinion, be observed in life : — Drink, 
 say they, or leave the company : and rightly enough ; for a 
 guest should either enjoy the pleasure of drinking with 
 others, or else not stay till he meets with affronts from those 
 that are in liquor. Thus, those injuries of fortune which you 
 cannot bear, you should flee from. 
 
 XLI. This is the very same which is said by Epicurus and 
 Hieronymus. Now, if those philosophers, whose opinion it is 
 that virtue has no power of itself, and who say that the con- 
 duct which we denominate honourable and laudable is really 
 nothing, and is only an empty circumstance set off with an 
 unmeaning sound, can nevertheless maintain that a wise 
 man is always happy, what, think you, may be done by the 
 Socratic and Platonic philosophers. Some of these allow 
 such superiority to the goods of the mind, as quite to eclipse 
 what concerns the body and all external circumstances. But 
 others do not admit these to be goods ; they make everything 
 depend on the mind: whose disputes Carneades used, as a 
 sort of honorary arbitrator, to determine. For, as what 
 seemed goods to the Peripatetics were allowed to be advan- 
 tages by the Stoics, and as the Peripatetics allowed no more 
 to riches, good health, and other things of that sort, than the 
 Stoics, when these things were considered according to their 
 reality, and not by mere names, his opinion was that there 
 was no ground for disagreeing. Therefore, let the philo- 
 sophers of other schools see how they can establish this point 
 also. It is very agreeable to me that they make some pro- 
 fessions worthy of being uttered by the mouth of a philo- 
 sopher, with regard to a wise man's having always the means 
 of living happily. 
 
 XLII. But as we are to depart in the morning, let us 
 
474 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 remember these five days' discussions; though, indeed, I 
 think I shall commit them to writing : for how can I better 
 employ the leisure which I have, of whatever kind it is, and 
 whatever it be owing to 1 and I will send these five books 
 also to my friend Brutus, by whom I was not only incited to 
 write on philosophy, but, I may say, provoked. And by so 
 doing, it is not easy to say what service I may be of to others : 
 at all events, in my own various and acute afflictions, which 
 surround me on all sides, I cannot find any better comfort 
 for myself. 
 
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