Book 3

Pleasure indeed, Brutus, if it should plead for itself and not have such obstinate advocates, would, I think, yield to dignity, convicted as it was in the previous book. For it would be shameless if it should resist virtue any longer, or set the pleasant before the honourable, or contend that the sweetness of the body, or the gladness born of it, is worth more than gravity and steadfastness of mind. Wherefore let us dismiss it, and bid it keep within its own bounds, lest the strictness of our argument be hindered by its blandishments and enticements.

For we must inquire where that highest good lies which we wish to find, since both pleasure has been removed from it, and much the same things can be said against those who would have freedom from pain to be the end of goods; nor indeed ought any highest good to be approved which lacks virtue, than which nothing can be more excellent. And so, although in that discussion which was held with Torquatus we were not slack, yet this struggle prepared with the Stoics is keener. For the things said about pleasure are argued neither very acutely nor abstrusely; for neither are those who defend it skilful in argument, nor do those who speak against it repel a difficult case.

Epicurus himself even says that there is no need to argue about pleasure, because its judgment is placed in the senses, so that it is enough for us to be reminded, and there is no need to be taught. Wherefore that discussion of ours was a simple one on both sides. For there was nothing intricate or tortuous in Torquatus's speech, and ours, as it seems to me, was a clear discourse. But you are not unaware how subtle, or rather thorny, is the Stoics' kind of argument — both for the Greeks, and still more for us, who must even bring words to birth and impose new names on new things. And no moderately learned man will wonder at this, considering that in every art whose use is not vulgar and common there is much novelty of names, since the terms of those things must be established which are handled in each art.

And so both the dialecticians and the natural philosophers use words which are not known even to Greece itself; the geometers, moreover, and the musicians, and the grammarians too speak after a certain fashion of their own. The very arts of the rhetoricians, which are wholly forensic and popular, yet use in teaching words, as it were, private and their own. And, to pass over these elegant and liberal arts, not even craftsmen could maintain their crafts unless they used words unknown to us but familiar to themselves. Nay, even agriculture, which shrinks from all the finer refinement, has yet marked the things with which it is concerned by new names. So much the more must this be done by the philosopher; for philosophy is the art of life, and discoursing of it he cannot snatch his words from the forum.

Although of all the philosophers the Stoics have coined the most new words, and Zeno, their chief, was not so much an inventor of things as of new words. But if, in that language which most men think the richer, it was granted by Greece that the most learned men should use unfamiliar words about uncommon things, how much more should this be granted to us, who now first dare to touch these matters? And since I have often said — and that with some complaint, not only of the Greeks, but even of those who wish to be held Greeks rather than ours — that we are not only not surpassed by the Greeks in abundance of words, but are even superior in it, I must take pains to attain this not only in our own arts, but even in theirs. Although those words which by the usage of the ancients we use as Latin — such as 'philosophy' itself, 'rhetoric,' 'dialectic,' 'grammar,' 'geometry,' 'music' — though they could be said in Latin, yet, since they have been taken into use, let us count them as ours.

And so much for the names of things. But about the things themselves, Brutus, I often fear that I shall be blamed, when I write these things to you, who have made such progress both in philosophy and in the best kind of philosophy. And if I were doing this as though instructing you, I should rightly be blamed. But I am very far from that, nor do I send these things to you that you may learn what is most familiar to you, but because I rest most easily in your name, and because I have you as the fairest appraiser and judge of those studies which I share with you. You will attend, then, as you are wont, diligently, and will judge that controversy which I had with your uncle, a divine and singular man.

For when I was at my Tusculan villa, and wished to use certain books from the library of young Lucullus, I came to his villa, that I might myself, as I was wont, take them out. When I had come there, I saw Marcus Cato, whom I had not known to be there, sitting in the library, surrounded by many books of the Stoics. For there was in him, as you know, an avidity for reading, nor could he be sated; since, not even fearing the empty censure of the crowd, he was wont often to read in the senate-house itself, while the senate was being assembled, taking nothing away from his service to the commonwealth. So much the more, then, in the deepest leisure and the greatest abundance, he seemed, as it were, to gorge himself on books — if this word may be used in so honourable a matter.

And when it had happened that we saw each other unexpectedly, he at once rose. Then those first words which we are wont to use at meeting: 'What brings you here?' said he; 'from your villa, I suppose'; and, 'Had I known you were there, I should have come to you myself.' 'Yesterday,' said I, 'when the games had begun, I set out from the city and arrived toward evening. But my reason for coming hither was to take out certain books from here. And indeed, Cato, this whole store must soon be known to our friend Lucullus; for I would rather he were delighted by these books than by the rest of the villa's adornment. For it is of great care to me — although this indeed is your proper office — that he be so educated as to answer to his father, and to our Caepio, and to you, who are so near to him. And I take pains not without cause; for I am moved both by the memory of his grandfather — for you are not unaware how highly I esteemed Caepio, who, as my opinion bears, would now be among the foremost, were he alive — and Lucullus rises before my eyes, a man excelling in all virtues, and joined to me both by friendship and by every wish and opinion.'

'You do admirably,' said he, 'in that you both keep the memory of those, each of whom commended his children to you by will, and love the boy. As for what you call my office, I do not refuse it, but I join you as my partner. I add this too: that the boy already gives me many signs both of modesty and of genius; but you see his age.' 'I see indeed,' said I; 'but still he ought now to be steeped in those arts which, if he drinks them in while he is tender, he will come the better prepared to greater things.' 'So, and indeed more carefully and more often we will talk of these matters between ourselves, and act in common. But let us sit down,' said he, 'if you please.' And so we did.

Then he: 'But you, when you have so many books yourself, what, pray, do you seek here?' 'Certain commentaries of Aristotle,' said I, 'which I knew to be here, I came to carry off, that I might read them while I am at leisure — which indeed does not often fall to us.' 'How I wish,' said he, 'that you had inclined toward the Stoics! For it was yours, if anyone's, surely, to count nothing among goods except virtue.' 'Take care,' said I, 'lest it were rather yours, when you thought the same as I in substance, not to impose new names on things. For our reasoning agrees; it is our language that contends.' 'By no means, indeed,' said he, 'does it agree. For whatever you shall say is to be sought, besides what is honourable, and shall count among goods, you both extinguish the honourable itself, as it were the light of virtue, and overthrow virtue utterly.' 'These things are said magnificently, Cato,' said I; 'but do you see that the glory of words is common to you with Pyrrho and with Aristo, who level all things?

Of whom I long to know what you think.' 'Do you ask me,' said he, 'what I think? Those good men, brave, just, temperate, whom we have either heard to have been in the commonwealth, or ourselves have seen, who, without any teaching, following nature herself, did many praiseworthy things — these, I say, were better trained by nature than they could have been trained by philosophy, had they approved any other than that which holds nothing among goods but the honourable, nothing among evils but the base. And the other schools of philosophers — altogether some more, some less, but yet all of them — which count any thing devoid of virtue either among goods or among evils, these I think not only do not help at all, nor strengthen us to be better, but corrupt nature itself. For unless this be maintained, that that alone is good which is honourable, the happy life can in no way be proved to be produced by virtue. And if it be so, I know not why effort should be given to philosophy. For if any wise man could be wretched, then truly I should think that glorious and memorable virtue of yours not to be highly esteemed.'

'The things which you have said so far, Cato,' said I, 'you could say the same, if you followed Pyrrho or Aristo. For you are not unaware that to these men that honourable seems not only the highest but even, as you would have it, the only good. And if it is so, it follows — the very thing which I see you wish — that all wise men are always happy. Do you, then, praise these men, and think that we ought to follow this opinion of theirs?' 'By no means, indeed theirs,' said he. 'For since it is the property of virtue to have a choice among the things that are according to nature, those who have so levelled all things that they made them equal on both sides, so as to use no selection — these have done away with virtue itself.'

'That indeed,' said I, 'you say very well; but I ask whether you must not do the same, you who say that nothing is good which is not right and honourable, and who do away with all distinction of the other things.' 'If indeed I did away with it,' said he; 'but I leave it.' 'In what way?'

said I. 'If virtue is one thing, this one thing which you call honourable, right, praiseworthy, becoming — for it will be better known of what sort it is when it is marked by several terms declaring the same thing — this, then,' said I, 'if it is the only good, what will you have besides which you may follow? Or, if nothing is evil except what is base, dishonourable, unbecoming, crooked, infamous, foul — that we may make this too conspicuous by several names — what will you say is besides to be shunned?' 'You are not ignorant,' said he, 'of what I am about to say; but, since you desire, as I suspect, to snatch something from my brief reply, I will not answer point by point, but will rather set forth — since we are at leisure, unless you think it out of place — the whole opinion of Zeno and the Stoics.' 'By no means out of place,' said I; 'and that exposition of yours will profit much toward what we seek.'

'Let us make the attempt, then,' said he, 'although this theory of the Stoics has something rather difficult and obscure. For when in Greek speech these very names of new things once seemed [strange], which now long custom has worn smooth, what do you think will happen in Latin?' 'That indeed is most easy,' said I. 'For if it was lawful for Zeno, when he had found some unusual thing, to impose on it also an unheard-of name, why should it not be lawful for Cato? Nor yet will it be necessary to render word for word, as unskilful translators are wont, when there is a word more in use which declares the same. For my part, I am even wont, when the Greeks have a thing in one word, if I cannot otherwise, to set it forth in several. And yet I think it ought to be conceded to us that we use a Greek word, if ever a Latin one is less ready — lest this be granted to ephippia and acratophora rather than to proegmena and apoproegmena; although these indeed it will be right to call "things preferred" and "things rejected."'

'You do well,' said he, 'in helping me; and indeed those words which you just now spoke I will rather use the Latin; in the rest you will come to my aid, if you see me sticking.' 'I will do it diligently,' said I; 'but "fortune favours the bold"; so make the attempt, I pray. For what can we do more divine than this?' 'It is the view,' said he, 'of those whose reasoning I approve, that as soon as a living creature is born — for here we must begin — it is reconciled to itself and commended to itself, for its own preservation and for the love of its own state, and of those things which preserve that state; but is estranged from destruction and from those things which seem to bring destruction. That this is so they prove by the fact that, before pleasure or pain has touched them, infants seek what is wholesome and spurn the contrary — which would not happen unless they loved their own state and feared destruction. But it could not be that they should seek anything unless they had a sense of themselves, and thereby loved themselves. From which it ought to be understood that the principle is derived from self-love.

But most of the Stoics do not think that pleasure should be placed among the first natural principles of self-love. With whom I strongly agree, lest, if nature should seem to have placed pleasure among the things first sought, many base consequences should follow. But it seems argument enough why we love those things which are first taken on by nature, that there is no one who, when either is allowed, would not rather have all the parts of his body fit and whole than, with the same use, maimed or distorted. But the cognitions of things — which we may call comprehensions or perceptions, or, if these words please less or are less understood, katalepseis — these very things, then, we judge to be taken on for their own sake, because they have in them something that, as it were, embraces and contains truth. And this can be understood in infants, whom we see delighted, even though it be of no interest to them, if they have found out anything by reason of themselves.

The arts themselves too we think must be taken on for their own sake, both because there is in them something worthy of being taken on, and because they consist of cognitions and contain in them something established by reason and method. But from false assent they judge that we are more estranged than from the other things which are contrary to nature. Now of the limbs — that is, the parts of the body — some seem to have been given by nature for the sake of their use, as the hands, the legs, the feet, and those things which are within the body, whose usefulness, how great it is, is even disputed by the physicians; but others for no usefulness, but, as it were, for a certain adornment, as the tail to the peacock, the parti-coloured plumes to doves, breasts and beard to men.

These things are said, perhaps, rather meagrely; for they are, as it were, the first elements of nature, to which the richness of discourse can hardly be applied, nor indeed do I think of pursuing it. But yet, when you speak of grander matters, the things themselves snatch the words; so the discourse becomes both weightier and also more splendid.' 'It is as you say,' said I; 'but yet everything that is said clearly about a good matter seems to me admirably said. But to wish to speak ornately about such matters is childish; while to be able to expound them plainly and clearly is the mark of a learned and intelligent man.'

'Let us proceed, then,' said he, 'since we have departed from these principles of nature, with which the things that follow ought to agree. And this is the first division. They say that that is to be valued — for so, I think, let us call it — which is either itself according to nature, or produces some such thing, so that it is worthy of selection because it has some weight worthy of valuation, which they call axia; and, on the contrary, that is to be unvalued which is contrary to the former. The beginnings, then, being so established, that those things which are according to nature are to be taken for their own sake, and their contraries likewise rejected, the first duty — for so I call kathekon — is that one preserve oneself in the state of nature; next, that one hold those things which are according to nature and repel their contraries. And this selection and likewise rejection being found, there follows next selection joined with duty; then that selection continuous; then at last constant and consistent with nature; in which there first begins to be present, and to be understood, what it is that can truly be called good.

For the first reconciliation of man is to those things which are according to nature. But as soon as he has gained intelligence, or rather a notion — which they call ennoia — and has seen the order of things to be done and, so to speak, their harmony, he values it much more than all those things which he first loved; and so by knowledge and reason he gathers that in this is placed that highest good of man which is to be praised and sought for its own sake — which, since it lies in that which the Stoics call homologia, and we, if you please, may call "consistency" — since, then, in this lies that good to which all things are to be referred, namely honourable deeds and the honourable itself, which alone is counted among goods, although it arises later, yet it alone is to be sought by its own force and worth; but of those things which are first in nature, none is to be sought for its own sake.

But since those things which I have called duties proceed from the beginnings of nature, they must necessarily be referred to these, so that it can rightly be said that all duties are referred to this, that we may attain the first principles of nature — yet not so that this is the uttermost of goods, because honourable action is not present in the first reconciliations of nature; for it is consequent and arises later, as I said. It is, however, according to nature, and exhorts us to seek it much more than all the earlier things. But from this an error must first be removed, lest anyone think it follows that there are two uttermost goods. For if anyone's purpose were to aim a spear or an arrow at something, then, just as we say the uttermost in goods, so he, to do everything he can to take aim — in such a comparison everything must be done by him to take aim, and yet, though he does everything to attain his purpose, this is, as it were, his uttermost end, such as we call the highest good in life; but that he should hit it is, as it were, to be selected, not to be sought.

But since all duties proceed from the beginnings of nature, from these same it must be that wisdom itself proceeds. But just as it often happens that one who has been commended to someone esteems him to whom he is commended more than him by whom he was commended, so it is by no means strange that we are at first commended to wisdom by the beginnings of nature, but afterward wisdom itself becomes dearer to us than those things by which we came to it. And as the limbs were so given to us that they appear to have been given for a certain plan of living, so the appetite of the mind, which is called horme in Greek, seems to have been given not for any kind of life whatever, but for a certain form of living; and likewise reason, and perfected reason.

For as to the actor his action, to the dancer his motion is given — not any whatever, but a certain definite one — so life must be led in a certain definite kind, not in any whatever; and this kind we call "agreeing" and "consistent." For we do not judge wisdom to be like steering or medicine, but rather like that action which I just mentioned, and like dancing — so that the uttermost end, that is, the performance of the art, is in the art itself, not sought from without. And yet there is also some unlikeness between wisdom and these very arts, because in them the things rightly done do not yet contain all the parts of which they consist; whereas the things which we may call "right" or "rightly done," if you please — but which they call katorthomata — contain all the numbers of virtue. For wisdom alone is wholly turned in upon itself, which does not happen in the other arts.

But it is unskilful to compare the uttermost end of medicine and steering with the uttermost end of wisdom. For wisdom embraces both greatness of mind and justice, and judges all things that befall a man to be beneath itself — which does not happen in the other arts. But no one will be able to hold those very virtues of which I just made mention, unless he has determined that there is nothing which differs or is distinct, one thing from another, except things honourable and base.

Let us now see how admirably those things follow which I have already laid down. For since this is the uttermost end — for you understand, I believe, that I have for some time been calling that which the Greeks say is telos now "uttermost," now "last," now "highest"; it will also be allowed to say "end" for "uttermost" or "last" — since, then, this is the uttermost end, to live agreeably and consistently with nature, it necessarily follows that all the wise always live happily, completely, prosperously, hindered by nothing, prevented by nothing, lacking nothing. And that which holds together no less this doctrine of which I speak than our life and fortunes — namely, that we judge that alone to be good which is honourable — this indeed can be amplified and adorned rhetorically, at length and copiously, with all the most choice words and weightiest sentences; but I am delighted by the brief and sharp corollaries of the Stoics. Their arguments, then, are concluded thus:

What is good is all praiseworthy; what is praiseworthy is all honourable; therefore what is good is honourable. Does this seem sufficiently concluded? Certainly; for what was produced from the two propositions that were taken, you see is concluded in it. But of the two from which the conclusion was produced, against the former it is wont to be said that not every good is praiseworthy. For that what is praiseworthy is honourable is granted. But this is most absurd — that anything should be good which is not to be sought; or to be sought, which is not pleasing; or, if that, not also to be loved; therefore also to be approved; thus also praiseworthy; and this is honourable. So it comes about that what is good is also honourable.

Next I ask, who can glory either of a wretched life or of one not happy? Of the happy life alone, then. From which it follows that the happy life is worthy of glorying, so to speak — which cannot rightly fall to any but an honourable life. So it comes about that the honourable life is the happy life. And since he to whom it falls to be rightly praised has something signal toward honour and glory, so that on account of things so great he can rightly be called happy, the same will most rightly be said of the life of such a man. So, if the happy life is discerned by honourableness, then what is honourable must be held the only good. But what then?

Can it be denied in any way that no one can ever be made of a stable and firm and great mind — whom we call a brave man — unless it be established that pain is not an evil? For as he who places death among evils cannot but fear it, so no one in any matter can fail to care about that which he has decreed to be an evil, and despise it. And this being laid down and approved by the assent of all, it is assumed that he who is of a great and brave mind despises all things that can befall a man and counts them as nothing. Since this is so, it is established that nothing is evil which is not base. And that lofty and excellent man, of great mind, truly brave, accounting all human things beneath himself — he, I say, whom we wish to produce, whom we seek — surely ought both to trust himself and his life, both past and to come, and to judge well of himself, determining that nothing evil can befall the wise man. From which is understood that same thing — that that alone is good which is honourable, and that this is to live happily: to live honourably, that is, with virtue.

Nor indeed am I ignorant that there have been various opinions of philosophers — I mean of those who placed the highest good, which I call the uttermost, in the mind. Although some have followed this faultily, yet not only to those three who separated virtue from the highest good — when they placed either pleasure, or freedom from pain, or the first things of nature among the highest goods — but also to the other three, who thought virtue would be maimed without some addition, and for that reason each added one of those three things which I mentioned above — yet to all these I prefer, of whatever sort they are, those who placed the highest good in the mind and in virtue.

But yet they too are very absurd, both those who said that to live with knowledge is the uttermost of goods, and those who said there is no difference among things, and that thus the wise man will be happy, preferring nothing else to anything at any moment; and those who, as certain Academics are said to have laid down, hold that the uttermost of goods and the highest office of the wise man is to withstand appearances and firmly to sustain his assents. To these individually a copious reply is wont to be made; but things that are plain ought not to be long. And what is more plain than that, if there be no selection of the things that are according to nature from those that are contrary to nature, all that prudence which is sought and praised will be done away with? Those opinions, then, which I have laid down being circumscribed, and any that are like them, it remains that the highest good is to live applying knowledge of those things which happen by nature, selecting the things that are according to nature and rejecting those that are contrary to nature — that is, to live agreeably and consistently with nature.

But in the other arts, when a thing is said to be done skilfully, it must in a certain way be thought subsequent and consequent, which they call epigennematikon; but when we say a thing is done wisely, it is most rightly said so from the very first. For whatever proceeds from wisdom ought at once to be complete in all its parts; for in this is placed that which we say is to be sought. For as it is a sin to betray one's country, to do violence to one's parents, to plunder temples — sins which are in the effect — so to fear, so to mourn, so to be in lust is a sin even without effect. But as these things are sins not in their later parts and consequences, but at once in their first, so the things which proceed from virtue are to be judged right by their first undertaking, not by their completion.

But the good, which has so often been used in this discourse, is also explained by a definition. But their definitions differ a very little among themselves, and yet look to the same point. I assent to Diogenes, who defined the good as that which is by nature complete. And following this, he said that which also profits — for so let us call ophelema — is a motion or state arising from what is by nature complete. And since notions of things arise in our minds, if something is known either by use, or by combination, or by likeness, or by comparison of reason, it is by this fourth, which I have placed last, that the notion of the good has been made. For when the mind ascends from the things that are according to nature by the comparison of reason, then it arrives at the notion of the good.

But this very good we feel and call good not by addition, nor by growing, nor by comparison with other things, but by its own proper force. For as honey, although it is most sweet, is yet felt to be sweet by its own proper kind of taste, not by comparison with other things, so this good of which we treat is indeed to be valued most highly, but that valuation is strong by kind, not by magnitude. For since valuation, which is called axia, has been counted neither among goods nor again among evils, however much you add to it, it will remain in its own kind. The valuation of virtue, therefore, is a different and proper one, which is strong by kind, not by growing.

Nor indeed are the perturbations of the mind, which render the life of the foolish wretched and bitter — which the Greeks call pathe — moved by any natural force. (I could, interpreting the very word, call them "diseases," but that would not fit all cases; for who is wont to call pity, or anger itself, a disease? But they say pathos. Let it be, then, "perturbation," which by the very name seems to be declared faulty.) And all these are of four kinds in genus, more in their parts: distress, fear, lust, and that which the Stoics call by the common name of body and mind, hedone — but I prefer to call it "gladness," the pleasurable elation, as it were, of an exulting mind. But the perturbations are moved by no force of nature, and all these are opinions and judgments of levity. And so the wise man will always be free from these.

But that everything which is honourable is to be sought for its own sake is common to us with the opinions of many other philosophers. For except the three schools which exclude virtue from the highest good, by all the other philosophers this opinion must be maintained — yet most of all by these Stoics, who would have nothing else in the number of goods except the honourable. But this indeed is a very easy and very ready defence. For who is there, or who ever was, of avarice so burning or of desires so unbridled, that the very thing which he would wish to attain by any crime whatever, he would not by many degrees prefer to come to without crime, even with all impunity offered him, rather than in that other way?

And what usefulness or what fruit do we seek when we desire to know those things which are hidden from us — how the bodies that are in the heavens move, and by what causes? And who lives by manners so rustic, or who has hardened himself against the studies of nature so vehemently, that he shrinks from things worthy of knowledge, and seeks them not without some pleasure or usefulness, and counts them as nothing? Or who is there who, learning the deeds, words, and counsels of our ancestors — whether of the Africani, or of him whom you always have on your lips, my great-grandfather, and of the other brave men surpassing in every virtue — is affected in mind by no pleasure?

And who, trained and brought up in an honourable family, is not offended by baseness itself, even if it be not about to harm him? Who looks with an even mind on the man whom he thinks lives impurely and shamefully? Who does not hate the sordid, the vain, the light, the worthless? And what can be said — if we shall determine that baseness is not in itself to be shunned for its own sake — why men, having found darkness and solitude, should abstain from no disgrace, unless baseness itself by its own foulness deter them? Countless things can be said to this purpose, but it is not necessary. For there is nothing about which it can less be doubted than that honourable things are to be sought for their own sake, and in the same way base things are to be shunned for their own sake.

But that being established of which we spoke before — that what is honourable is the only good — it must be understood that what is honourable is to be valued more than those middle things which are procured from it. But when we say that folly and timidity and injustice and intemperance are to be shunned on account of the things which result from them, we do not say it in such a way that our discourse seems to fight with that which has been laid down — that that alone is evil which is base — because these things are referred not to bodily disadvantage, but to base actions, which arise from vices. For what the Greeks call kakiai I prefer to name "vices" rather than "malices."

'Indeed, Cato,' said I, 'you use words illustrious and declaring what you wish! And so you seem to me to teach philosophy in Latin and to give it, as it were, citizenship. Which indeed hitherto seemed to sojourn at Rome as a stranger, and not to offer itself to our discourses, and that chiefly on account of a certain polished subtlety both of things and of words. For I know there are some who can philosophize in any language; for they use no partitions, no definitions, and they themselves say that they approve only those things to which nature silently assents. And so in matters not at all obscure there is among them not much labour of arguing. Wherefore I attend to you studiously, and whatever names you impose on those things of which here is the discourse, I commit to memory; for it will perhaps be necessary for me to use those very same. You seem to me, then, most rightly, and according to the usage of our speech, to have set the vices as contrary to the virtues. For what is in itself blameworthy I think is for that very reason named vitium (vice), or even is called blameworthy (vituperari) from "vice." But if you had called kakia "malice," Latin usage would carry us over to another single definite vice. As it is, to every virtue a vice is opposed by a contrary name.'

Then he: 'These things, then, being so laid down,' said he, 'there follows a great contention, which the Peripatetics handled rather softly — for their manner of speaking is not acute enough, on account of their ignorance of dialectic — but your Carneades, by a certain remarkable training in dialectic and the highest eloquence, brought the matter to the utmost crisis, because he did not cease to contend, in this whole question which is called "of goods and evils," that there is no controversy of things between the Stoics and the Peripatetics, but of words. But to me nothing seems so plain as that these opinions of those philosophers differ among themselves more in fact than in words; I say that there is a much greater discrepancy of things between the Stoics and the Peripatetics than of words, since the Peripatetics say that all the things which they themselves call goods pertain to living happily, while our school does not think the happy life is filled out from everything that is worthy of some valuation.

Or can anything be more certain than that, by the reasoning of those who place pain among evils, the wise man cannot be happy when he is tortured on the rack? But the reasoning of those who do not hold pain among evils certainly compels that in all torments the happy life be preserved to the wise man. For if those who undergo the same pains for their country endure them more tolerably than those who do so for a lighter cause, it is opinion, not nature, that makes the force of pain either greater or less.

Nor indeed is that consistent — that if, since there are three kinds of goods (which is the opinion of the Peripatetics), each man is the happier the fuller he is of bodily or external goods, the same should be approved by us, namely that he who has more of those things which are highly valued in the body should be the happier. For they think the happy life is filled out by the advantages of the body; our school, by no means. For since it is our view that not even by an abundance of those goods which we may truly call goods is the happy life made happier, or more to be sought, or more to be valued, certainly the multitude of bodily advantages pertains still less to the happy life.

For if both to be wise is to be sought, and to be healthy, the two joined together would be more to be sought than to be wise alone; and yet, though both be worthy of valuation, the two joined would not be worth more than wisdom itself taken separately. For we who judge health worthy of some valuation, yet do not place it among goods, are also of the opinion that there is no valuation so great that it should be preferred to virtue. The Peripatetics do not hold the same; for they must say that an action which is both honourable and without pain is more to be sought than if the same action were with pain. To us it seems otherwise — rightly or wrongly, hereafter; but can there be a greater disagreement of things?

For as the light of a lamp is darkened and overcast by the light of the sun, and as a drop of honey is lost in the magnitude of the Aegean sea, and as the addition of a farthing to the riches of Croesus, or one step in the road which leads from here to India, so, when the end of goods is that which the Stoics say, all that valuation of bodily things must needs be darkened and overwhelmed and perish in the splendour and magnitude of virtue. And just as opportuneness — for so let us call eukairia — is not made greater by a prolonging of time (for the things called opportune have their own measure), so right effecting — for so I call katorthosis, since a right deed is katorthoma — right effecting, then, and likewise consistency, and finally the good itself, which is placed in this, that it agree with nature, has no addition of growth.

For as that opportuneness, so these things of which I spoke are not made greater by a prolonging of time; and for that cause the happy life does not seem to the Stoics more desirable nor more to be sought if it be long than if it be short. And they use a likeness: that, as if the praise of a buskin were to fit the foot aptly, neither would many buskins be preferred to few, nor larger to smaller, so, for those whose every good is bounded by consistency and opportuneness, neither will they prefer the more to the fewer nor the longer to the briefer. Nor indeed do they say acutely enough:

if good health is to be valued more if long than if short, then the longest use of wisdom too should be valued most. They do not understand that the valuation of health is judged by its span, that of virtue by opportuneness — so that those who say that seem about to say this too, that a good death and a good birth are better long than short. They do not see that some things are valued more by brevity, others by length.

And so it is consistent with what has been said that, by the reasoning of those who think that the end of goods — which we call the uttermost, the last — can grow, the same men should hold that one man is wiser than another, and likewise that one sins or acts rightly more than another — which we are not allowed to say, who do not think the end of goods can grow. For as those who are sunk in water can no more breathe if they are not far from the top, so that at any moment they may emerge, than if they were still in the deep; nor does that puppy which is now near to seeing see more than one just born; likewise he who has advanced somewhat toward the disposition of virtue is no less in wretchedness than he who has advanced nothing. I understand that these things seem wonderful; but since the earlier things are surely firm and true, and these are consistent with and consequent upon them, not even of the truth of these is there any room for doubt. But although they deny that either virtues or vices grow, yet they think each of them is in a manner poured out and, as it were, spread wider. But Diogenes thinks that riches have only this force, that they may be, as it were, guides to pleasure and to good health;

but that, even though they contain these things, they do not do the same in virtue, nor in the other arts, to which money can be a guide, but cannot contain them. And so, if pleasure or good health be among goods, riches too must be placed among goods; but if wisdom be a good, it does not follow that we should also say riches are a good. Nor can that which is among goods be contained by anything which is not among goods; and for this cause — because cognitions and comprehensions of things, from which the arts are produced, move appetite — since riches are not among goods, no art can be contained by riches.

But if we should concede this of the arts, yet the case of virtue would not be the same, because virtue needs the most reflection and exercise — which is not so in the arts — and because virtue embraces stability, firmness, constancy of the whole life, and we do not see these same things to be in the arts. Next is explained the difference of things, which if we should say there is none — as Aristo did — all life would be confounded, nor would any office or work of wisdom be found, since among those things which pertain to the leading of life there would be no difference at all, nor would any selection need to be applied. And so, when it had been sufficiently established that that alone is good which is honourable, and that alone evil which is base, then among those things which had no force toward living happily or wretchedly they yet wished there to be something which differed, so that some of them were to be valued, others the contrary, others neither.

But of those which were to be valued, in some there was cause enough why they should be preferred to certain things — as in health, in the integrity of the senses, in freedom from pain, in glory, riches, and like things — but others were not of that sort; and likewise of those which were worthy of no valuation, some had cause enough why they should be rejected — as pain, disease, the loss of the senses, poverty, ignominy, and the like — but others not so. Hence arose that which Zeno named proegmenon, and on the contrary that which he named apoproegmenon, since he used, in a copious language, words yet made and new — which is not granted to us in this poor language; although you are wont to call even this the more copious. But it is not out of place, that the force of the word may be the more easily understood, to set forth Zeno's reason for making this word.

'For as,' said he, 'no one in a royal court says that the king himself is, as it were, brought forward to dignity — for that is proegmenon — but those who are in some honour, whose rank comes nearest, so as to be second to the royal pre-eminence, so in life it is not those things which are in the first place, but those which hold the second place, that are named proegmena, that is, "brought forward"; which we may either call by that very word — that will be word for word — or "promoted" and "removed," or, as we said a while ago, "preferred" and "chief," and those others "rejected." For when the thing is understood, we ought to be easy in the use of words.'

But since we say that everything which is good holds the first place, it must be that this which we name "preferred" or "chief" is neither good nor evil. And we define it thus: that which is indifferent with a middling valuation; for what they call adiaphoron, that occurred to me so that I should call it "indifferent." For it could not be in any way that nothing should be left among the middle things which was either according to nature or contrary to it; nor, when that was left, that nothing should be placed among these which was worthy enough of valuation; nor, this being placed, that there should not be some things preferred. Rightly, then, has this distinction been made; and even, that the matter may be the more easily perceived, this likeness is set down by them:

'For as,' they say, 'if we should imagine this to be, as it were, the end and uttermost — to throw the die so that it stands upright — the die which shall have been so thrown that it falls upright will have something "preferred" toward the end, and one thrown otherwise the contrary; and yet that preferment of the die will not pertain to the end of which I spoke — so the things which are preferred are referred indeed to the end, but pertain nothing to its force and nature.'

There follows that division, that of goods some pertain to that uttermost end — for so I call those which are said to be telika; for let us establish, as was agreed, to say in several words what we cannot in one, that the matter may be understood — but others are productive, which the Greeks call poietika, others both. Of those that pertain, nothing is good except honourable actions; of those that are productive, nothing except a friend; but wisdom they would have to be both pertaining and productive. For because wisdom is a consistent action, it is in that pertaining kind which I mentioned; but because it brings and produces honourable actions, it can be called productive.

These things which we call "preferred" are partly preferred in and of themselves, partly because they produce something, partly both: in themselves, as a certain habit of the mouth and countenance, as posture, as motion, in which there are some things to be preferred and some to be rejected; others will be called preferred for this reason, that they produce something of themselves, as money; but others on account of both, as the integrity of the senses, as good health.

But concerning good repute — for that which they call eudoxia is more aptly called in this place "good repute" than "glory" — Chrysippus indeed and Diogenes used to say that, usefulness being taken away, not even a finger should be stretched out for its sake; with whom I strongly agree. But those who came after them, since they could not withstand Carneades, said that this good repute of which I spoke is itself preferred and to be taken on for its own sake, and that it is the mark of a freeborn man liberally educated to wish to be well spoken of by his parents, his kinsmen, and good men too, and that for the thing's own sake, not for its use; and they say that, as we wish our children to be provided for, even if they are to be born after our death, for their own sake, so there must be provision made, even after death, for our future fame, for the thing's own sake, even when use is taken away.

But since we say that what is honourable is the only good, it is yet consistent to discharge duty, although we place that duty neither among goods nor among evils. For there is something probable in these matters, and that so far that a reason for it can be given; therefore so that a reason for an action probably performed can also be given. But duty is that which is so done that a probable reason for the deed can be given. From which is understood that duty is something middle, which is placed neither among goods nor among their contraries. And since in those things which are neither among virtues nor among vices there is yet something which can be of use, it must not be done away with. And there is also some action of that kind, and indeed such that reason demands that one do and perform some of those things. But what is done by reason we call duty. Duty, therefore, is of that kind which is placed neither among goods nor among their contraries.

And this too is plain, that the wise man does something among those middle things. He judges, then, when he acts, that this is a duty. And since he is never deceived in judging, there will be duty among the middle things. Which is established also by this conclusion of reasoning: For since we see that there is something which we may call a right deed, and that is a perfected duty, there will also be an inchoate one — so that, if to restore a deposit justly is among right deeds, to restore a deposit is placed among duties; for by adding "justly" it becomes a right deed, but the restoring itself in itself is placed among duty. And since it is not doubtful that among those things which we call middle one thing is to be taken and another rejected, whatever is so done or said is all contained under duty. From which is understood that, since all men by nature love themselves, both the foolish and the wise will take the things that are according to nature and reject their contraries. So there is a certain duty common to the wise and the foolish; from which it follows that duty is concerned with those things which we call middle.

But since from these all duties proceed, it is not without cause said that all our thoughts are referred to them — among these both the departure from life and the remaining in life. For he in whom there are more things that are according to nature, his duty is to remain in life; but he in whom there are, or seem likely to be, more contrary things, his duty is to depart from life. From which it appears both that it is sometimes the wise man's duty to depart from life, though he be happy, and the fool's to remain in life, though he be wretched.

For that good and evil, which has now often been spoken of, follows afterward; but those first things of nature, whether the favourable or the contrary, fall under the judgment and selection of the wise man, and are, as it were, the underlying matter of wisdom. And so all the reasoning both of remaining in life and of departing is to be measured by those things which I mentioned above. For neither is the wise man retained in life by virtue, nor is death to be sought by those who are without virtue. And it is often the duty of the wise man to forsake life, though he be most happy, if he can do it opportunely — which is to act consistently with nature. For so they hold, that to live happily is a matter of opportuneness. And so it is prescribed by wisdom that the wise man should, if there be need, leave wisdom itself. Wherefore, since vices do not have that force that they should furnish a cause for voluntary death, it is plain that it is the duty even of fools, who are likewise wretched, to remain in life, if they are in the greater part of those things which we call according to nature. And since one departing from life and one remaining are equally wretched, nor does length make life more to be shunned for the one, it is not without cause said that those who can enjoy more of the natural things ought to remain in life.

But they think it pertains to the matter that it be understood that it comes about by nature that children are loved by their parents. From which beginning we trace the common fellowship of the human race. Which ought first to be understood from the shape and the limbs of bodies, which themselves declare that nature has held a plan for procreation. Nor indeed could these things agree among themselves, that nature should both wish offspring to be procreated and yet not care that the procreated be loved. And even in the beasts the force of nature can be perceived; whose toil in bearing and rearing when we behold, we seem to hear the very voice of nature. Wherefore, as it is plain that we shrink from pain by nature, so it appears that we are impelled by nature herself to love those whom we have begotten.

From this it arises that there is also a natural commendation of men among men, so that it ought to be that a man should not seem alien to a man, for this very reason, that he is a man. For as among the limbs some are, as it were, born for themselves, as the eyes, as the ears, others also aid the use of the other limbs, as the legs, as the hands, so certain savage beasts are born for themselves alone; but that creature which is called the pina in its wide shell, and that which swims out of the shell, which, because it guards the pina, is called the pinoteres, and which, when it has betaken itself back into the same shell, is shut in — so that it seems to have warned the pina to beware — and likewise ants, bees, storks do certain things for the sake of others too. Much more closely is this so among men. And so by nature we are fitted for gatherings, assemblies, states.

But they hold that the world is governed by the will of the gods, and that it is, as it were, a common city and state of men and gods, and that each one of us is a part of that world; from which it follows by nature that we should set the common advantage before our own. For as the laws set the safety of all before the safety of individuals, so a good and wise man, both obedient to the laws and not ignorant of civic duty, takes thought for the advantage of all more than for that of any one man or his own. Nor is the betrayer of his country more to be blamed than the deserter of the common advantage or safety for the sake of his own advantage or safety. From which it comes about that he is to be praised who meets death for the commonwealth, because it is fitting that our country be dearer to us than ourselves. And since that voice is held inhuman and wicked, of those who say they do not refuse that, when they themselves are dead, a burning-up of all lands should follow — which is wont to be expressed in a certain common Greek verse — it is certainly true that there must be provision made, for their own sake, even for those who shall at some time exist.

From this affection of mind arose the wills and commendations of the dying. And since no one would wish to lead his life in utter solitude, not even with an infinite abundance of pleasures, it is easily understood that we are born for the conjoining and gathering together of men, and for natural community. But we are impelled by nature to wish to benefit as many as we can, and chiefly by teaching and by handing down the methods of prudence.

And so it is not easy to find one who does not himself hand on to another what he knows; thus we are inclined not only to learning, but also to teaching. And as it has been given by nature to bulls that they contend for their calves against lions with the utmost force and onset, so those who are strong in resources and able to do it — as we have heard of Hercules and of Liber — are incited by nature to the saving of the human race. And even when we call Jupiter Best and Greatest, and the same the Saviour, the Hospitable, the Stayer, we wish it to be understood that the safety of men is in his keeping. But it is by no means consistent, when we ourselves are vile and neglected among ourselves, to demand that we be dear to the immortal gods and loved by them. As, then, we use our limbs before we have learned for the sake of what usefulness we have them, so among ourselves we are by nature conjoined and associated for civil community. And if this were not so, there would be no place either for justice or for goodness.

And as they think there are bonds of right among men toward men, so they think man has no right with the beasts. For Chrysippus said admirably that the other things were born for the sake of men and the gods, but these for the sake of their own community and fellowship, so that men can use the beasts for their own advantage without injustice. And since the nature of man is such that there is, as it were, a civil right between him and the human race, he who preserves it will be just, he who departs from it unjust. But just as, though a theatre be common, it can yet rightly be said that the place which each man has occupied is his, so in a city or in the common world right is not opposed to each man's having his own.

But since we see that man is born for the protection and preservation of men, it is consistent with this nature that the wise man should wish to take part in and administer the commonwealth, and, that he may live according to nature, should take a wife and wish to have children by her. Nor do they think that even holy loves are alien to the wise man. But the manner and life of the Cynics some say falls within the wise man, if some such chance should occur that it must be done; others, by no means.

But that all fellowship, conjunction, and affection of man toward man may be preserved, they would have both profits and harms — which they call ophelemata and blammata — to be common; of which the one profit, the other harm. Nor only did they say that these are common, but also that they are equal. But disadvantages and advantages — for so I call euchrestemata and dyschrestemata — they would have to be common, but not equal. For those things which profit or which harm are either goods or evils, which must necessarily be equal; but advantages and disadvantages are in that kind which we have called preferred and rejected; these can be unequal. But profits are said to be common, while right deeds and sins are not held common.

But they think friendship is to be employed, because it is of that kind which profits. But although in friendship some say that the welfare of a friend is as dear to the wise man as his own, while others say that his own is dearer to each man, yet even these latter confess that it is alien to that justice for which we seem to have been born, to take something away from anyone that one may take it to oneself. But by no means is it approved by this school of which I speak that either justice or friendship should be taken on or approved for the sake of usefulness. For those same usefulnesses will be able to undermine and overthrow them. For neither justice nor friendship can exist at all, unless they are sought for their own sake.

But right, which can be so called and named, is by nature; and it is alien to the wise man not only to do injustice to anyone, but even to harm him. Nor indeed is it right to join or associate injustice with friends or with the well-deserving; and it is most gravely and most truly maintained that fairness can never be separated from usefulness, and that whatever is fair and just is also honourable, and in turn, whatever is honourable is also just and fair.

And to those virtues of which we have argued they add also dialectic and physics, and both these they call by the name of virtue: the one, because it has the method of seeing to it that we assent to nothing falsely, nor are ever deceived by captious probability, and that we may be able to hold and maintain the things we have learned about goods and evils. For without this art they think that anyone can be led away from the truth and deceived. Rightly, then, if in all things rashness and ignorance are faulty, the art which removes these is named a virtue.

To physics also the same honour is not without cause assigned, because he who is to live consistently with nature must set out from the whole world and from its governance. Nor indeed can anyone judge truly about goods and evils unless all the system of nature, and the life of the gods too, be known, and whether or not the nature of man agrees with the universe. And those ancient precepts of the wise, who bid us yield to the time, and follow god, and know ourselves, and do nothing in excess — what force these have (and they have the greatest) no one can see without physics. And also, toward cultivating justice, toward maintaining friendships and the other affections, this knowledge alone can hand down what force nature has. Nor indeed can either piety toward the gods, or how much gratitude is owed to them, be understood without the explanation of nature.

But now I feel that I have been carried further than the proposed plan demanded. But the admirable composition of the doctrine and the incredible order of things drew me on; which — by the immortal gods! — do you not wonder at? For what, either in nature, than which nothing is more fitting, nothing more orderly, or in works made by hand, can be found so composed and so compacted and joined together? What later thing does not agree with the earlier? What follows that does not answer to what went before? What is not so woven, one thing from another, that, if you move a single letter, all things totter? And yet there is nothing that can be moved.

But how grave, how magnificent, how constant is the person of the wise man brought to completion! Who, when reason has taught that what is honourable is the only good, must necessarily be always happy, and truly possess all those titles which are wont to be mocked by the ignorant. For he will more rightly be called a king than Tarquin, who could rule neither himself nor his own; more rightly master of the people — for that is the dictator — than Sulla, who was master of three pestilent vices, luxury, avarice, cruelty; more rightly rich than Crassus, who, had he not been in want, would never have wished to cross the Euphrates with no cause of war. All things will rightly be called his, who alone knows how to use all things; rightly too he will be called beautiful — for the lineaments of the mind are more beautiful than those of the body; rightly the only free man, obeying no one's domination and yielding to no desire; rightly unconquered, whose body, even if it be bound, yet no chains can be cast upon his mind; nor will he await any span of life, so that he be judged at last whether he was happy when he has finished the last day of life by death — which that one of the seven wise men unwisely advised Croesus;

for if he had ever been happy, he would have carried his happy life through even to that pyre built by Cyrus. But if it is so, that no one is happy unless he be a good man, and all good men are happy, what is more to be cultivated than philosophy, or what is more divine than virtue?