Book 4

When he had said this, he made an end. But I: 'Indeed, Cato,' said I, 'you have set forth those things — so many, from memory, and so obscure — clearly. And so let us either give up wishing to say anything against them at all, or take time to think; for it is not easy to learn thoroughly a doctrine so diligently — even if less truly (for I do not yet dare to say that), yet so carefully — not only founded, but built up.' Then he: 'Do you say so indeed?' said he; 'when I see you, by this new law, answer your accuser on the same day and finish your plea in three hours, do you think you will gain delay in this cause? — which yet will be pleaded by you no better than those which you sometimes win. Wherefore attack this question too — especially as it has been handled both by others and often by yourself — so that words cannot fail you.'

Then I: 'Not, by Hercules,' said I, 'am I wont rashly to speak against the Stoics — not that I altogether assent to them, but I am hindered by modesty; for they say many things which I can hardly understand.' 'Some things are obscure, I confess,' said he, 'nor yet are they said by them so on purpose, but the obscurity lies in the things themselves.' 'Why, then,' said I, 'when the Peripatetics say the same things, is there no word that is not understood?' 'The same things?' said he. 'Have I argued too little that the Stoics differ from the Peripatetics not in words, but in the whole substance and the entire opinion?' 'And yet, Cato,' said I, 'if you make that good, you may carry me over wholly to your side.' 'I thought,' said he, 'that I had said enough. So to those points first, if you please; but if you wish anything else, afterward.' 'Nay, that indeed,' said I, 'as to in what place I treat each thing — unless I ask what is unfair — at my own discretion.' 'As you please,' said he; 'although that other course was the more fitting, to grant each man his right.'

'I think, then, Cato,' said I, 'that those old hearers of Plato — Speusippus, Aristotle, Xenocrates, and then their successors, Polemo, Theophrastus — had a doctrine sufficiently and copiously and elegantly established, so that there was no cause for Zeno, when he had heard Polemo, why he should differ both from that very man and from his predecessors. Their teaching was as follows, in which I should like you to mark what you think must be changed, and not to wait until I speak to all the things which were said by you; for I think we must clash with their whole system against the whole of yours.

When they saw that we were so born that we were fitted, in common, for those virtues which are well known and illustrious — I mean justice, temperance, and the rest of that kind, all of which are like the other arts, differing only in their material toward the better part, and in their handling — and when they saw that we seek those very virtues more grandly and more ardently, and that we have, too, a certain implanted, or rather inborn, desire of knowledge, and were born for the gathering together of men and for the society and community of the human race, and that these things shine forth most in the greatest geniuses, they divided the whole of philosophy into three parts — which partition we see was retained by Zeno.

Since one of these is that by which morals are thought to be shaped, I defer that part, which is, as it were, the root of this question. What the end of goods is, presently; in this place I say only this much — that by the old Peripatetics and Academics, who agreed in substance but differed in terms, that subject which we may rightly call the civil (the Greeks politikon) was treated gravely and copiously. How many things did they write about the commonwealth, how many about the laws! How many precepts they left, not only in their arts, but also examples in their orations of speaking well! For first, those very things which had to be argued subtly they expressed politely and aptly, now defining, now partitioning, as your school too does; but you do it more squalidly, while you see how their discourse shines.

Then those things which required ornate and grave discourse — how magnificently were they spoken by them, how splendidly! Of justice, of temperance, of fortitude, of friendship, of the conduct of life, of philosophy, of taking part in the commonwealth — speaking, not like men plucking thorns, as the Stoics do, nor laying bare bones, but like men who wished to say great things with ornament, and lesser things with precision. And so what consolations are theirs, what exhortations, what admonitions and counsels written to the greatest men! For with them, as is the very nature of the things, so the exercise of speaking was twofold. For whatever is inquired into has a controversy either of the kind itself, without persons and times, or, these being joined, of fact, or of right, or of name. In both, therefore, they exercised themselves, and that training produced in them so great an abundance in both kinds of speaking.

This whole kind Zeno and those who are of his school either could not maintain or would not; at any rate they abandoned it. Although Cleanthes wrote an art of rhetoric, and Chrysippus too, but in such a way that, if anyone should long to be struck dumb, he need read nothing else. And so you see how they speak. They coin new words, they desert the customary ones. But how great are the things they attempt! That this whole world is our city! You see, then, how they fire those who hear them. How great a matter do you bring about, that he who dwells at Circeii should think this whole world his own township? 'Does that man, then, fire them?' He will rather quench them, if he receives them already burning. Those very things which you stated briefly — that the wise man alone is king, dictator, rich — by you indeed aptly and roundly; quite so, for you have it from the rhetoricians; but those very things, in them, how meagre about the force of virtue! — which they would have to be so great that it can of itself produce happiness. They prick, as it were with little stings, by narrow questionings, by which even those who assent are in no way changed in mind, and depart the same men as they had come. For the things, perhaps true, certainly weighty, are not handled as they ought to be, but somewhat too minutely.

There follows the method of arguing and the knowledge of nature; for about the highest good, presently, as I said, we shall see, and to explaining it we shall bring our whole discussion. In these two parts, then, there was nothing that Zeno was eager to change. For the matter stood admirably, and that in both parts. For what was left out by the ancients of that kind which avails for arguing? — who both defined very many things and left arts of defining; and that which is joined to definition, that a thing be divided into parts, this both is done by them and is handed down how it ought to be done; likewise of contraries, from which they came to the genera and forms of genera. Now of the chain of reasoning concluded by argument they make the head to be those things which they call evident, then they follow the order, and last, the final conclusion is what is true in each particular.

And how great a variety of arguments concluded by reasoning is there in them, and how unlike to captious questionings! What of this, that in very many places they, as it were, give warning that we should seek the credit of the senses neither without reason, nor that of reason without the senses, and that we should not separate the one from the other? What? Those things which the dialecticians now hand down and teach — were they not instituted or invented by them? Concerning which, although it was most laboured at by Chrysippus, yet by Zeno much less than by the ancients; and by him some things not better than the old men, some things wholly left untouched.

And since there are two arts by which reason and discourse are perfectly completed — one of finding, the other of arguing — this latter both the Stoics and the Peripatetics handed down; but the former the Peripatetics excellently, while the Stoics did not even touch it at all. For from what topics, as from treasuries, arguments might be drawn, your school did not even suspect; but the older men handed it down by art and method. And this indeed brings it about that it is not necessary always to chant the same things, as it were, by rote about the same matters, nor to depart from one's little notebooks. For he who knows where each thing is placed, and by what way one comes to it, he, even if something be buried, will be able to dig it out, and will always be his own master in arguing. And although certain men endowed with great talents attain abundance of speaking without method, yet art is a surer guide than nature. For it is one thing to pour out words after the manner of the poets, another to distinguish what you say by method and art.

The like can be said of the explanation of nature, which both these men and yours use — and not indeed for two reasons only, as Epicurus thinks, that the fear of death and of religion may be driven off, but also the knowledge of the heavenly things brings a certain modesty to those who see how great is the moderation even among the gods, how great the order, and brings greatness of mind to those who discern the works and deeds of the gods, and justice too, when you have come to know what is the will of the supreme ruler and master, what his counsel, what his purpose; to whose nature the reason fitted is said by the philosophers to be that true and supreme law.

There is in this same explanation of nature a certain insatiable pleasure from the knowing of things, in which alone, when necessary affairs are done, we can, free from business, live honourably and liberally. Therefore in this whole reasoning, about the greatest matters almost, the Stoics followed those men, so as to say both that the gods exist and that all things consist of four elements. But when a very difficult thing was asked — whether there seemed to be a certain fifth nature, from which reason and intelligence arose, in which there was also the inquiry as to of what kind the souls might be — Zeno said this was fire; then certain things otherwise, but those few; on the greatest matter, however, in the same way, that the whole universe and its greatest parts are administered by a divine mind and nature. But the material and abundance of things we shall find in these men meagre, in those most rich.

How many things were sought out and gathered by them about the whole kind of living creatures, their origin, their limbs, their ages! How many things about those things which are produced from the earth! How many, and about how various matters, both causes why each thing comes to be, and demonstrations how each thing comes to be! From all which abundance very many and most certain arguments are taken for explaining the nature of each thing. Therefore so far, as I at least understand, there seems to have been no cause for changing the name. For if Zeno did not follow them in all things, it was not on that account that he had not arisen from them. Indeed I think Epicurus too, in physics at least, a follower of Democritus. He changes a few things, or even many, granted; but when he says the same about very many, then certainly about the greatest. And since your school does the same, they do not render gratitude enough to the discoverers.

But so much for these things. Now let us see, I pray, about the highest good, which contains philosophy, what, pray, he brought forward, for which he should differ from his discoverers as from his parents. In this place, then — although it has been carefully explained by you, Cato, what this end of goods which contains philosophy is, and how it is stated by the Stoics — yet I too will set it forth, that we may perceive, if we can, what new thing was brought in by Zeno. For when the earlier men — of whom most plainly Polemo — had said that the highest good is to live according to nature, the Stoics say that three things are signified by these words: one of this sort, to live applying knowledge of those things which happen by nature. This very thing they say is the end of Zeno, declaring that which was said by you, to live agreeably with nature.

The second is signified the same, as if it were said, to live preserving all or most of the middle duties. This, so set forth, is unlike the former. For the former is right — what you called katorthoma — and falls to the wise man alone; but this is of a certain inchoate duty, not perfected, which can fall to some of the unwise. The third, however, is to live enjoying all, or the greatest, of those things which are according to nature. This is not placed in our own action. For it is filled out both from that kind of life which enjoys virtue, and from those things which are according to nature and are not in our power. But this highest good, which is understood in the third signification, and that life which is led from the highest good — because virtue is joined to it — falls to the wise man alone; and this end of goods, as we see written by the Stoics themselves, was established by Xenocrates and by Aristotle. And so by them that first constitution of nature, from which you too set out, is set forth in nearly these words:

Every nature wishes to be the preserver of itself, that it may be safe and be preserved in its own kind. To this end, they say, arts too were sought, which might help nature; among which is counted in the first place that which is the art of living, that it may guard what has been given by nature, and acquire what is lacking. And they divided the nature of man into mind and body. And since they had said that each of these is to be sought for its own sake, they said that the virtues too of each of them are to be sought for their own sake; and since they set the mind before the body with a certain infinite praise, they also set the virtues of the mind before the goods of the body.

But since they would have wisdom to be the guardian and manager of the whole man, as one that was the companion and helper of nature, they said this was the office of wisdom: that, since it watched over him who consisted of mind and body, it should aid and sustain him in both. And so, the matter being first simply set down, in pursuing the rest more subtly, they thought the goods of the body had a certain easy account; about the goods of the mind they inquired more carefully, and in the first place they found that there were in them the seeds of justice, and they were the first of all the philosophers to teach that it is granted by nature that those who are begotten should be loved by their begetters; and — which in order of time is more ancient — that the unions of husbands and wives are joined by nature, from which stock the friendships of kinship arise. And setting out from these beginnings, they pursued both the origin and the progress of all the virtues. From which greatness of mind also arose, by which one could easily resist and withstand fortune, because the greatest matters were in the power of the wise man. But the changes and injuries of fortune a life ordered by the precepts of the old philosophers easily overcame.

And from the principles given by nature certain enlargements of goods were aroused, partly proceeding from the contemplation of more hidden things, because there was implanted in the mind a love of knowledge, from which followed also the desire of unfolding reason and of arguing; and because this creature alone was born sharing in shame and modesty and desiring the conjunctions of men for society, and observing in all things which it should do or say that nothing be done by it except honourably and becomingly — from these beginnings, as I said before, and these seeds given by nature, temperance, modesty, justice, and all honourableness was perfectly completed.

'You have, Cato,' said I, 'the form of those philosophers of whom I speak. This being set forth, I long to know what the cause is why Zeno departed from this ancient constitution; which of these things was not approved by him: that they said every nature is the preserver of itself, or that every creature is commended to itself, so that it should wish itself both safe in its own kind and unharmed; or that, since the end of all the arts was that which nature most sought, the same ought to be laid down about the art of life as a whole; or that, since we consist of mind and body, both these very things and their virtues are to be taken for their own sake. Or did that so great pre-eminence which was assigned to the virtues of the mind displease him? Or the things which are said about prudence, about the knowledge of things, about the conjunction of the human race, and the things said by these same men about temperance, about modesty, about greatness of mind, about all honourableness? The Stoics will confess that all these things were said admirably, and that this was not the cause for Zeno's departing.

They will say, I suppose, that there were certain other great errors of the ancients, which that man, eager for investigating the truth, could by no means bear. For what is more perverse, what more intolerable, what more foolish, than to place good health, freedom from all pains, the integrity of the eyes and the other senses among goods — rather than to say that there is no difference at all between those things and their contraries? For all those things which they called goods are, he says, preferred, not good; and likewise those things which excel in the body, the ancients foolishly said are to be sought for their own sake; rather to be taken than to be sought. And finally, that whole life which consisted in virtue alone — that life which abounded also in the other things which were according to nature was not more to be sought, but rather to be taken. And although virtue itself produces a life so happy that it cannot be happier, yet certain things are lacking to the wise even when they are most happy; and so they do this, that they may repel from themselves pains, diseases, infirmities.

O great force of genius, and just cause why a new school should arise! Go on further. For there follow those things which you most learnedly embraced: that the folly, injustice, and other like vices of all men are equal, and that all sins are equal, and that those who by nature and teaching had advanced far toward virtue, unless they had plainly attained it, are supremely wretched, and there is nothing at all between their life and that of the most wicked — so that Plato, that great man, if he was not wise, lived no whit better or more happily than any most wicked man. This, forsooth, is the correction and emendation of the old philosophy — which can have no access at all into the city, into the forum, into the senate-house! For who could bear a man so speaking, who professed himself the author of a life to be led gravely and wisely, changing the names of things, and, while he held the same opinion as all men, imposing other names on the things to which he assigned the same force, changing only the words, taking nothing away from the opinions?

Would an advocate, pleading in his peroration for a defendant, deny that exile, the confiscation of goods, are evils? That these are to be rejected, not shunned? And that a judge ought not to be merciful? Or if he were speaking in an assembly — if Hannibal had come to the gates and hurled a javelin over the wall — would he deny that to be captured, to be sold, to be slain, to lose one's country are among evils? Or could the senate, when it decreed a triumph to Africanus, speak of 'his virtue' or 'his good fortune,' if neither virtue can be said to be in any but the wise man, nor good fortune truly? What sort of philosophy, then, is that, which speaks in the common manner in the forum, in its own little books? — especially since, in what they signify by their own words, nothing is made new, nothing about the things themselves is changed, the same things remaining in another fashion.

For what does it matter whether you call riches, resources, health goods or 'preferred things,' since he who calls them goods assigns no more to them than you who name those same things 'preferred'? And so a man most freeborn and grave, worthy of that intimacy of Scipio and Laelius, Panaetius, when he wrote to Quintus Tubero about the bearing of pain — what ought to have been the head of the matter, if it could be proved, namely that pain is not an evil — he nowhere set down, but what it was, and of what kind, and how much there was in it of alien, and then what the method of enduring it was; whose opinion, indeed, since he was a Stoic, seems to me to have condemned that emptiness of words.

But that I may come nearer to those things, Cato, which were said by you, let us proceed more closely, and let us compare those things which you just now said with those which I set before yours. The things, then, which are common to you with the ancients, let us so use as if they were granted; the things which come into controversy, of these, if you please, let us discuss.' 'I, indeed,' said he, 'am pleased that we proceed more subtly and, as you yourself said, more closely. For the things which you have so far brought forward are popular; but I desire more elegant things from you.' 'From me?' said I. 'But yet I will strive, and, if not many things occur to me, I will not flee those popular ones.

But first let it be laid down that we ourselves are commended to ourselves, and that we have from nature this first appetite, that we preserve ourselves. This is agreed. There follows this — that we observe who we ourselves are, that we may keep ourselves such as we ought to be. We are, then, men. We consist of mind and body, which are of a certain kind; and we ought, as the first natural appetite demands, to love these and to establish from them that end of the highest and uttermost good. And this, if the first things are true, must be so established: to attain as many and as great as possible of the things which are according to nature.

This end, then, those men held; and what I express in more words, they more briefly — to live according to nature — this seemed to them the uttermost of goods. Come now, let those men teach — or rather you, for who better than you? — in what way, setting out from the same principles, you bring it about that to live honourably (for that is to live either from virtue or agreeably with nature) is the highest good, and in what way, or at what point, you have suddenly deserted the body and all those things which, though they are according to nature, are not in our power, and finally duty itself. I ask, then, how those so great commendations, proceeding from nature, were suddenly abandoned by wisdom.

But if we were not seeking the highest good of man, but of some living creature, and that were nothing but mind — for let it be allowed to imagine something of that kind, that we may the more easily find the truth — yet to that mind this end of yours would not belong. For it would desire health, freedom from pain; it would also seek its own preservation and the guardianship of those things, and would establish for itself the end of living according to nature, which is, as I said, to have those things which are according to nature, either all or most and greatest.

For of whatever kind of creature you establish, it must be — even if it be without a body, as we imagine — that there are yet in the mind certain things like those which are in the body, so that in no way, except as I have set forth, can the end of goods be established. But Chrysippus, setting forth the differences of living creatures, says that some of them excel in body, others in mind, and some are strong in both; then he discusses what end it is fitting to establish for each kind of living creature. But when he had placed man in that kind, so as to assign him excellence of mind, he established the highest good as that — not that the mind should excel, but that there should seem to be nothing besides the mind. But the highest good would be rightly placed in virtue alone in one way only: if there were a creature which consisted wholly of mind, and that mind itself yet such that it had nothing in itself which was according to nature, as health is.

But it cannot even be conceived of what kind this should be, so as not to be repugnant to itself. But if he says that certain things are darkened and do not appear because they are very small, we too concede this; for Epicurus says even of pleasure that the smallest pleasures are often darkened and overwhelmed. But the advantages of the body are not in that class — so great, so prolonged in time, so many. And so, in those things in which, on account of their smallness, a darkening follows, it often happens that we confess it makes no difference to us whether they are or are not — as, in the case of the sun, which was said by you, it makes no difference to bring a lamp, or to add a farthing to the money of Croesus.

But in those things in which so great a darkening does not occur, it can yet happen that that very thing which makes a difference is not great. As to him who has lived pleasantly for ten years, if a month equally pleasant be added, since the addition has some weight toward the pleasant, it would be a good; but if that be not granted, the happy life is not therefore at once done away with. But the goods of the body are more like to this, which I put last. For they have an addition worthy of one's labouring at it — so that in this the Stoics seem to me sometimes to jest, when they say thus: that if to that life which is led with virtue there be added a flask or a strigil, the wise man would take that life rather, to which these are added, nor yet would be happier on that account.

Is this a likeness at last? Is it not rather to be cast out with laughter than with discourse? For whether a flask be or be not, who would not most justly be laughed at, if he should be troubled? But indeed if anyone should relieve a man from distortion of limbs and the torture of pains, he would win great gratitude; nor, if that wise man were compelled by a tyrant to go to the torturer's rack, would he have a like countenance as if he had lost a flask — but, as one entering a great and difficult contest, when he saw that he must fight it out with his deadly adversary, pain, he would rouse all the reasonings of fortitude and patience, by whose protection he would enter that difficult, as I said, and great battle. Next, we do not ask what is darkened or perishes because it is very small, but what is such that it fills up the sum. One pleasure out of many is darkened in that pleasurable life; but yet that pleasure, however small, is a part of that life which is placed in pleasure. A coin is darkened in the riches of Croesus; yet it is a part of the riches. Wherefore let these things too, which we say are according to nature, be darkened in the happy life; only let them be parts of the happy life.

And yet if, as ought to be agreed between us, there is a certain natural appetite seeking the things that are according to nature, of all these some sum must be made. This being established, then it will be allowed to inquire at leisure into those matters — about the magnitude of things, about their excellence, how much there is in each toward living happily, about those very darkenings, which on account of their smallness scarcely, or scarcely even, appear. What of that about which there is no disagreement? For there is no one who has said otherwise than that that to which all things are referred — which is the uttermost of things to be sought — is like in all natures. For every nature is loving of itself. For what nature is there which ever deserts itself, or any part of itself, or the disposition or force of that part, or the motion or state of any of those things which are according to nature? But what nature has forgotten its own first constitution? Surely none, but every one retains its own force from the first to the last. How, then, did it come about that the nature of man alone was that which deserted man, which forgot the body, which placed the highest good not in the whole man, but in a part of man?

But how — which they themselves too confess, and is agreed among all — will it be preserved that that uttermost end about which the inquiry is made should be like in all natures? For then it would be like, if in the other natures too that were the uttermost for each which excelled in each. For such seemed to be the uttermost end of the Stoics.

Why, then, do you hesitate to change the principles of nature? Why do you say that every living creature, as soon as it is born, is applied to loving itself and is occupied in preserving itself? Why do you not rather say thus, that every creature is applied to that which is best in it, and is occupied in the guardianship of that one thing, and that the other natures do nothing else but preserve that which is best in each? But how is it the best, if there is no other good besides? But if the other things are to be sought, why is not the uttermost of things to be sought concluded either from the appetite of all of them, or of most and greatest? As Phidias can begin a statue from the first and complete it, and can take it begun by another and finish it, to this wisdom is like; for it did not itself beget man, but received him begun by nature. Looking, then, to this nature, it ought to finish that statue, as it were, begun. Of what kind, then, has nature begun man?

And what is the office, what the work of wisdom? What is it that ought to be finished and perfected by it? If there is nothing in it which is to be perfected except a certain motion of the mind, that is, reason, the uttermost end for this must be to act from virtue; for the perfection of reason is virtue. If there is nothing but body, those things will be the chief: health, freedom from pain, beauty, and the rest.

Now the inquiry is about the highest good of man; why, then, do we hesitate to inquire in his whole nature what is brought to pass? For since it is agreed among all that every office and work of wisdom is occupied in the cultivation of man, some — that you may not think I speak against the Stoics alone — bring forward such opinions as to place the highest good in that kind which is outside our power, as though they spoke of something inanimate; others, on the contrary, as though there were no body of man, so care for nothing besides the mind — especially since the mind itself too is not some empty I-know-not-what (for that I cannot understand), but is in a certain kind of body, so that not even it is content with virtue alone, but seeks freedom from pain. Wherefore both do the same, as if they should neglect the left side and guard the right; or, as Erillus did, should embrace the cognition of the mind itself and abandon action. For of all these, who pass over many things while they choose some one thing to follow, the opinion is, as it were, curtailed; but perfect and full is that of those who, when they inquired about the highest good of man, left no part either of mind or of body without its guardianship.

But you, Cato — because virtue, as we all confess, holds the highest place in man and the most excellent, and because we think those who are wise are absolute and perfect — dazzle the edge of our minds with the splendour of virtue. For in every living creature there is something highest and best, as in horses, in dogs — to which yet it is needful both to be free from pain and to be healthy; so, then, in man this perfection is praised especially in that which is best, that is, in virtue. And so you do not seem to me to consider enough what the road of nature is, and what the progress of each thing. For what nature does in fruits — that, when it has brought them from the blade to the ear, it leaves the blade and counts it as nothing — the same it does not do in man, when it has brought him to the disposition of reason. For it always so takes on something that it does not desert the things which it first gave.

And so it joined reason to the senses, and, reason being produced, it did not abandon the senses. As if the culture of vines, whose office is this, to bring it about that the vine with all its parts may be as well as possible — but let us understand it thus (for it is allowed, as your school too is wont, to imagine something for the sake of teaching): if, then, that culture of vines were itself in the vine, it would, I believe, wish the other things which pertain to the cultivating of the vine, as before, but would set itself before all the parts of the vine, and would determine that there is nothing better in the vine than itself. Similarly the sense, when it has come to nature, watches over it indeed, but also watches over itself; but when reason has been taken on, it is placed in so great a dominion that all those first things of nature are made subject to its guardianship.

And so it does not depart from the care of those things over which, set in charge, it ought to govern the whole life — so that I cannot wonder enough at the inconstancy of these men. For they would have the natural appetite, which they call horme, and likewise duty, and virtue itself even, to be the guardian of the things which are according to nature. But when they wish to arrive at the highest good, they leap over all things and leave us two tasks instead of one, so that we take some things and seek others — rather than concluding both within one end.

But now you say that virtue cannot be established, if those things which are outside virtue pertain to living happily. Which is wholly the contrary. For virtue can in no way be brought in, unless all the things which it shall choose and which it shall reject be referred to one sum. For if we shall altogether neglect [the natural things], we shall fall into the vices and sins of Aristo, and shall forget what principles we have given to virtue itself; but if we do not neglect them, nor yet refer them to the end of the highest good, we shall not stray far from the levity of Erillus. For we shall have to take up the institutions of two lives. For he makes two separate uttermost goods, which, that they might be true, ought to have been joined; as it is, they are so separated as to be disjoined — than which nothing can be more perverse.

And so it is the contrary of what you say; for virtue can in no way be established, unless it shall hold the things which are first in nature as pertaining to the sum. For virtue was sought, not such as should desert nature, but such as should guard it. But that virtue, as it pleases you, guards a certain part, deserts the rest. And the very constitution of man, if it could speak, would say this — that its first, as it were, beginnings of appetite were that it should preserve itself in that nature in which it had arisen. But it had not yet been sufficiently made plain what nature most wished. Let it, then, be made plain. What else, then, will be understood, except that no part of nature be neglected? In which, if there is nothing besides reason, let the end of goods be in virtue alone; but if there is also body, that explanation of nature will surely have brought it about that we abandon those things which we held before the explanation. Therefore this is to live agreeably with nature — to depart from nature.

As certain philosophers, when, setting out from the senses, they had seen certain greater and more divine things, deserted the senses, so these men, when from the appetite of things they had beheld the beauty of virtue, cast away all the things which they had seen besides virtue itself, forgetting that the whole nature of things to be sought lies so widely open that it should flow on from the principles to the ends; nor do they understand that they are withdrawing the foundations of those beautiful and admirable things.

And so it seems to me that all those indeed erred who said that the end of goods is to live honourably, but one more than another — Pyrrho, of course, most of all, who, virtue being established, leaves nothing at all that is to be sought; then Aristo, who dared not leave nothing, but brought in, as the things by which the wise man should be moved to seek something, whatever should fall into his mind, and whatever should, as it were, present itself. He is better than Pyrrho in this, that he gave some kind of seeking; worse than the rest, because he wholly withdrew from nature. But the Stoics, because they place the end of goods in virtue alone, are like those men; but because they seek a principle of duty, they are better than Pyrrho; because they do not imagine those things as merely presenting themselves, they surpass Aristo; but because they do not join those things which they say are accommodated to nature and to be taken for their own sake to the end of goods, they depart from nature, and are in a manner not unlike Aristo. For he devised certain I-know-not-what things presenting themselves; but these men set down indeed the first things of nature, but separate them from the ends and from the sum of goods; and when they prefer them, so that there may be some selection of things, they seem to follow nature; but when they deny that they pertain at all to the happy life, they again desert nature.

And so far I have said the things for which Zeno had no cause why he should depart from the authority of his predecessors. Now let us see the rest — unless either you wish to say something to these things, Cato, or we are now too long.' 'Neither, indeed,' said he. 'For I both wish that disputation of yours to be finished, nor can your discourse seem to me long.' 'Excellently,' said I. 'For what can be more to be wished by me than to dispute about the virtues with Cato, the author of all the virtues?

But first see this, that that gravest opinion of yours, which leads the family — that what is honourable is the only good, and that to live honourably is the end of goods — will be common to you with all who establish the end of goods in virtue alone; and what you say, that virtue cannot be formed if anything be counted except what is honourable, the same will be said by those whom I just named. But it seemed to me more fair to see Zeno, disputing with Polemo, from whom he had received what the principles of nature were, advancing from common beginnings, where he first took his stand and whence the cause of controversy arose — not, standing with those who did not even say that their highest goods proceeded from nature, to use the same arguments which they used and the same opinions.

By no means do I approve that, when you have taught — as you think — that that alone is good which is honourable, then again you say that it is necessary that beginnings be set forth fitted and accommodated to nature, from the selection of which virtue can arise. For virtue was not to be placed in selection, so that that very thing which was the uttermost of goods should acquire something else. For all the things which are to be taken and which are to be chosen or wished ought to be present in the sum of goods, so that he who has attained it should desire nothing besides. Do you see how, for those whose highest good is in pleasure, it is plain what they must do or not do? So that no one doubts to what all their duties look, what they ought to follow, what to flee? Let this be the uttermost of goods which is now defended by me; it appears at once what are the duties, what the actions. But for you, who have nothing else proposed except the right and the honourable, you will not find whence the principle of duty, whence the principle of acting, may arise.

Seeking this, then, both those who shall say that they follow whatever comes into their mind or whatever presents itself, and you, will return to nature. To whom nature might rightly answer that it is not true that the end of living happily is sought from elsewhere, while the principles of action are sought from her; for there is one reason by which both the principles of things to be done and the uttermost goods are contained; and that, as the opinion of Aristo was hissed off the stage — who said that nothing differs from another, and that there are no things besides the virtues and vices among which there is any difference at all — so Zeno errs, who says that in no thing except in virtue or vice is there a propensity even of the least weight toward attaining the highest good, and, although the other things have no weight toward the happy life, yet says there are in them weights toward the appetite of things — as though, forsooth, this appetite did not pertain to the attainment of the highest good! But what is less consistent than what they say — that, the highest good being known, they return to nature, that from her they may seek the principle of acting, that is, of duty?

For it is not the reason of action or duty that impels us to seek the things which are according to nature, but by them both appetite and action are set in motion. Now I come to those brief sayings of yours, which you said were corollaries; and first that one, than which nothing can be briefer: Every good is praiseworthy; but the praiseworthy is honourable; therefore every good is honourable. O dagger of lead! For who would grant you, first, that? — which being granted, there is no need of the second; for if every good is praiseworthy,

every good is honourable. Who, then, will give you that, except Pyrrho, Aristo, or men like them, whom you do not approve? Aristotle, Xenocrates, that whole family will not give it, since they say that health, strength, riches, glory, and many other things are goods, but do not say they are praiseworthy. And these men indeed so think that the end of goods is not contained in virtue alone, that they yet set virtue before all things. What do you think those will do who have altogether separated virtue from the end of goods — Epicurus, Hieronymus, and those too, if any wish to uphold the Carneadean end?

And now how will either Callipho or Diodorus be able to grant you that, who join to honourableness another thing which is not of the same kind? Does it please you, then, Cato, when you have assumed things not granted, to bring out of them what you wish? Then there is that sorites, than which you think nothing more faulty: what is good is to be wished; what is to be wished is to be sought; what is to be sought is praiseworthy; then the remaining steps. But here I make a stand; for in the same way no one will give you that what is to be sought is praiseworthy. But that other is least of all a corollary, but in the first place dull — theirs, of course, not yours — that the happy life is worthy of glorying, because it cannot fall to anyone without honourableness that he should rightly glory.

Polemo will grant this to Zeno — his master too, and that whole tribe, and the rest, who, setting virtue much before all things, yet join to it something in defining the highest good. For if virtue is worthy of glorying, as it is, and so far surpasses the other things that it can scarcely be said, both it will be possible to be happy endowed with virtue alone, lacking the rest; and yet that will not be granted you, that nothing besides virtue is to be counted among goods. But those whose highest good is without virtue will perhaps not grant that the happy life has that in which anyone can rightly glory — although they indeed even make pleasures sometimes glorious.

You see, then, that you either assume things which are not granted, or things which, even granted, help you nothing. For my part, in all those conclusions I should think this worthy of philosophy and of us, and most of all when we were seeking the highest good, that our life, our counsels, our wishes, not our words, should be corrected. For who can, on hearing those brief and sharp things which, as you say, delight you, depart from his opinion? For when they expect and long to hear why pain is not an evil, those men say that to be in pain is harsh, troublesome, hateful, contrary to nature, hard to endure, but that, because there is in pain no fraud, no wickedness, no malice, no fault, no baseness, it is not an evil. He who has heard these things, that he may not care to laugh, will yet depart no whit firmer to bear pain than he had come.

But you deny that anyone can be brave who thinks pain an evil. Why should he be braver, if he shall think that thing — which you yourself grant — harsh and scarcely to be borne? For timidity is born from things, not from words. And you say that, if one letter be moved, the whole doctrine will totter. Do I seem to you, then, to move a letter, or whole pages? For even though there be in them, what was praised by you, the order of things preserved and all things fitted and connected among themselves — for so you said — yet we ought not to pursue them, if, set out from false principles, they agree with themselves and do not stray from their purpose.

In the first constitution, then, your Zeno withdrew from nature; and when he had placed the highest good in excellence of mind, which we call virtue, and had said that nothing else is good except what is honourable, and that virtue cannot stand if in the other things there be anything which is better or worse one than another — these things being set down, he held thoroughly the consequences. You say rightly; I cannot deny it. But the things which follow are so false that those from which these are born cannot be true.

For the dialecticians teach us, as you know, that if the things which follow upon any matter are false, that very thing which they follow is false. So that conclusion is made not only true, but so evident that the dialecticians think no reason even need be rendered for it: if that, then this; but not this; therefore not even that. So, your consequences being taken away, the first things are taken away. What follow, then? That all who are not wise are equally wretched, all the wise supremely happy; all right deeds equal, all sins equal — which, when they seemed at first magnificently said, on consideration were less approved. For the sense of each man, and the nature of things, and the very truth, cried out in a manner that it could not be brought to think that, among those things which Zeno levelled, there was no difference.

Afterward that little Carthaginian of yours — for you know that the Citians, your clients, set out from Phoenicia — that acute man, then, not gaining his cause against the resistance of nature, began to twist words, and first conceded to those things which we count good that they should be held to be valuable and accommodated to nature, and began to confess that to the wise man — that is, to the supremely happy — it was yet more convenient if he had those things too which he dared not call goods; he concedes that they are accommodated to nature, and denies that Plato, if he were not wise, was in the same case as the tyrant Dionysius; that for the latter it was best to die, on account of despair of wisdom; for the former, to live, on account of hope. But that sins are partly tolerable, partly in no way, because some sins passed over more, others fewer, as it were, numbers of duty. And further, that some of the unwise are such that they could in no way come to wisdom, others such that, if they had set about it, they could attain wisdom.

Here he spoke otherwise than all, but felt the same as the rest. Nor indeed did he hold those things which he himself denied to be goods to be of less value than they who said they were goods. What, then, did he mean for himself, who changed those things? At least he might have taken away something from their weight and valued them a little less than the Peripatetics, so that he might seem also to feel something other, not only to say it. What? Of the happy life itself, to which all things are referred, what do you say? You deny that it is that which is filled out with all those things which nature desires, and you place it wholly in virtue alone; and since every controversy is wont to be either about a thing or about a name, either of them arises if either the thing is not known or there is error in the name. If neither of these is the case, pains must be taken that we use words as customary and as fitting as possible, that is, declaring the thing.

Is there any doubt, then, that, if nothing is erred in the thing itself by the earlier men, they use words more conveniently? Let us see, then, their opinions, then let us return to words. They say that the appetite of the mind is moved when something seems to it to be according to nature, and that all the things which are according to nature are worthy of some valuation, and are to be valued in proportion to the weight there is in each; and that of the things which are according to nature, some have in themselves nothing of that appetite of which we have now often spoken, which are called neither honourable nor praiseworthy; others have pleasure in every living creature, but in man reason also. Of this, the things which are fitted are honourable, are beautiful, are praiseworthy; but those former are named natural, which, joined with the honourable, perfect and complete the happy life.

But of all those advantages, to which they who say they are goods assign no more than Zeno, who denies it, by far the most excellent is that which is honourable and praiseworthy. But if two honourable things be set before us, the one with health, the other with disease, there is no doubt to which of them nature herself will lead us. But yet the force of honourableness is so great, and it so surpasses and excels all things, that it can be moved by no punishments and no rewards from that which it has decreed to be right; and that all the things which seem hard, difficult, adverse can be crushed by those virtues with which we are adorned by nature — not, indeed, that those things are easy nor to be despised (for what then would there be in virtue so great?), but that we should judge this, that there is not placed in them the greatest part of living happily or otherwise.

In sum, the things which Zeno said are to be valued and taken and fitted to nature, these same those men call goods, and the happy life that which would consist of those things which I named, either most or weightiest. But Zeno calls that alone good which has its own and proper appearance why it should be sought, but the happy life that alone which is led with virtue. If we must dispute about the thing, there can be no disagreement between me and you, Cato. For there is nothing about which you think otherwise than I, if only, the words being changed, we compare the things themselves. And this he did not fail to see, but was delighted by the magnificence and glory of words. Who, if he felt the things he says as the words signify, what would there be between him and either Pyrrho or Aristo? But if he did not approve of them, what was the point of differing in words from those with whom he agreed in substance?

What if those pupils of Plato should come to life again, and in turn those who were their hearers, and should speak with you thus? "We, when we heard you, Marcus Cato — most studious of philosophy, most just a man, the best of judges, the most religious of witnesses — wondered what the cause was why you preferred the Stoics to us, who held about good and evil things those views which Zeno had learned from this Polemo, but used names which at first appearance moved wonder, when the matter was explained, laughter. But you, if those things were approved by you, why did you not hold them in your own words? Or if authority moved you, did you prefer some unknown fellow to us all and to Plato himself? — especially when you wished to be a leader in the commonwealth, and could be most adorned and equipped by us, with the highest dignity, for maintaining it. For those things were sought out by us, by us described, noted, taught; and we have written out all the kinds of governance of commonwealths, their conditions, changes, and even the laws and institutions and manners of states. And of eloquence, which is both the greatest ornament to leaders, and in which we hear you are most strong, how much you would have added to yourself from our monuments!" When they had said these things, what, pray, would you answer to such men?'

'I should ask you,' said he, 'to speak for me yourself, who had dictated their speech to them — or rather to give me a little room, that I might answer them — were it not that I would now rather hear you, and that I shall yet answer those men at another time — namely, when I answer you.' And, if you wished to answer truly, Cato, these things were to be said: not that those men were not approved by you — men of such great genius and such great authority — but that you had observed that the things which they, on account of their antiquity, had seen too little, these were thoroughly perceived by the Stoics; and that about the same matters these men both argued more acutely, and felt more gravely and bravely — since, indeed, first they deny that good health is to be sought, but say it is to be chosen, and not because to be healthy is a good, but because it is to be valued at something — yet not at more than it seems to those who do not hesitate to call it a good — but that this you could not bear, that those ancients, as it were bearded men (as we are wont to say of our own), believed that for him who lived honourably, if he were also in good health, of good repute, and well supplied, the life would be more to be wished, and better, and more to be sought, than that of one who, though equally a good man, were in many ways, like the Alcmaeon of Ennius, 'beset by disease,

by exile and want.' Those ancients, then, less acutely think that life more to be wished, more excellent, happier; but the Stoics only that it is to be preferred in choosing — not because that life is happier, but because it is more accommodated to nature. And that those who are not wise are all equally wretched — this, forsooth, the Stoics saw, but it had escaped those earlier men, who did not think that men polluted by crimes and parricides were no whit more wretched than those who, though they lived chastely and uprightly, had not yet attained that perfect wisdom.

And in this place you brought forward those similes, which they are wont to use, most dissimilar. For who is ignorant that, if several should wish to emerge from the deep, those indeed would be nearer to breathing who already approach the surface of the water, but could no more breathe than those who are in the depth? Does it help nothing, then, to advance and make progress in virtue, that one should be less most wretched, before he has come to it — since in water it helps nothing? And, since puppies which are now about to see are equally blind with those just born, must Plato too, since he did not yet see wisdom, have been equally blind in mind with Phalaris?

Those similes are not alike, Cato, in which, however much you have advanced, yet that from which you wish to be absent is in the same case until you have escaped. For neither does that man breathe before he has emerged, and the puppies are equally blind before they have seen as if they were always going to be so. These are the like cases: someone's edge of sight is dull, another grows old in body; these, treatment being applied, are relieved day by day; the one is stronger every day, the other sees. Like to these are all who study virtue; they are relieved of vices, relieved of errors — unless perhaps you think that Tiberius Gracchus the father was not happier than the son, when the one strove to establish the commonwealth, the other to overthrow it. And yet that man was not wise — for who is, or when, or where, or whence? — but because he strove for praise and dignity, he had advanced much in virtue.

Shall I compare your grandfather Drusus with Gaius Gracchus, nearly his contemporary? The wounds which the latter inflicted on the commonwealth, the former healed. If there is nothing that makes men so wretched as impiety and crime — so that even now all the unwise are wretched, as assuredly they are — yet he is not equally wretched who takes thought for his country and he who longs for it to be extinguished. The relief of vices, then, is great in those who have some progress toward virtue.

But your school says that progress toward virtue takes place, but denies that relief of vices takes place. But what argument these acute men use for proving it, it is worth while to consider. "Of those arts whose sums can grow," he says, "the sum of their contraries too will be able to be increased; but to the sum of virtue nothing can be added; therefore not even the vices, which are the contraries of the virtues, will be able to grow." Which, then, pray — are doubtful things laid open by evident, or evident things taken away by doubtful? And yet this is evident, that vices are greater one in another; that is doubtful, whether to that which you call the highest good any addition can be made. But you, when you ought to illustrate doubtful things by evident, try to take away evident things by doubtful.

And so again, by the same reasoning which I used a little before, you will be stuck. For if, on this account, vices are not greater one than another, because nothing can be added even to that end of goods which you make — since it is evident that the vices of all are not equal, your end of goods must be changed. For we must necessarily hold this, that, when some consequence is false, that thing of which it is a consequence cannot be true. What, then, is the cause of those straits? The glorious ostentation in establishing the highest good. For when it is affirmed that that alone which is honourable is good, the care of health, the diligence of household affairs, the administration of the commonwealth, the order of conducting business, the duties of life, in short that very honourable thing in which alone you would have all things to be, must be deserted. Which things are most diligently said against Aristo by Chrysippus. From that difficulty those 'falsely-speaking malices,' as Accius says, were born.

For because wisdom had not where to set its foot, all duties being taken away — but duties were taken away when all selection and distinction was removed, which could not exist when all things were so levelled that there was no difference among them — out of these straits those things escaped, worse than Aristo's. Yet his are simple, yours crafty. For ask Aristo whether these things seem good to him: freedom from pain, riches, health; he would deny it. What? Are the things which are contrary to these evils? No more so. Ask Zeno; he would answer in the very same words. Wondering, let us ask of each how we can lead our life, if we think it makes no difference to us whether we are well or sick, whether we are free or tortured by pain, whether we can ward off cold and hunger or cannot. 'You will live,' says Aristo, 'magnificently and admirably; you will do whatever shall seem good; you will never be distressed, never desire, never fear.'

What says Zeno? He says these are monstrous things, and that in that way one can in no wise live; that he says that between the honourable and the base there is an immense — I know not what — boundless difference, but among the other things none at all. The same so far;

hear the rest, and contain your laughter, if you can. 'Those middle things,' he says, 'among which there is no difference, are yet of such a kind that of them some are to be chosen, some to be rejected, some altogether to be neglected — that is, of them you wish some, do not wish others, care not for others.' But just now you had said there was nothing in those things that made a difference. 'And now I say the same,' he will say, 'but it makes no difference toward the virtues and the vices.'

Who, pray, did not know that? But let us hear. 'Those things which you mentioned,' he says, 'to be healthy, to be rich, not to be in pain, I do not call goods, but I will call them in Greek proegmena, in Latin "brought forward" — but I prefer "preferred" or "chief," let it be more tolerable and softer; but those things, disease, want, pain, I do not call evils, but, if you please, "rejectable." And so I do not say I seek those things, but choose them; nor wish for them, but take them; and the contraries, again, I do not flee, but, as it were, set apart.' What says Aristotle and the rest of Plato's nurslings? That they call all the things which are according to nature goods, but those which are against it evils. Do you see, then, that your Zeno agrees in words with Aristo, but differs in substance; agrees in substance with Aristotle and those men, but differs in words? Why, then, since there is agreement about the thing, do we not prefer to speak in the customary way? Or let him teach that I shall be more ready to despise money if I count it among preferred things than if among goods, and braver in bearing pain if I shall say it is harsh and difficult to endure and against nature than if I shall call it an evil.

Wittily did Marcus Piso, our friend, both in many other places and in this, mock the Stoics: 'For what?' he used to say. 'You deny that riches are a good, you say they are a preferred thing? How do you help? Do you lessen avarice? In what way? If we follow the word — first, the word "preferred" is longer than "good."' — Nothing to the point! — 'Let it be so; yet certainly it is weightier. For whence "good" was named, I do not know; "preferred," I believe, from this, that it is preferred to other things. That seems to me a great matter.' And so he used to say that more was assigned to riches by Zeno, who placed them among preferred things, than by Aristotle, who confessed that riches are a good — but neither a great good, and one to be despised and looked down on in comparison with right and honourable things, nor greatly to be sought; and altogether about all those words changed by Zeno he so argued, that the things which were denied by him to be goods and which to be evils were called by him by gladder names than by us, these by sadder ones. Piso, then, in this manner — a most excellent man, and, as you know, most loving of you. Let us, a few things being added to these, make an end at last; for it is long to answer to all the things which were said by you.

For out of the same jugglery of words both kingdoms have been born to you, and commands, and riches, and those indeed so great that you say that all things which are anywhere are the wise man's. Besides, that he alone is beautiful, alone free, alone a citizen; the fools all the contrary, whom you would have even to be insane. These things they call paradoxa, let us call them 'wonders.' But what have they of wonder, when you have come near? I will compare with you what thing you place beneath each word; there will be no controversy. You say all sins are equal. I will not now jest with you as I did about these same matters, when I defended Lucius Murena while you accused. Those things were then said before the ignorant, something too was granted to the bystanders; now we must proceed more subtly. Sins are equal.

— In what way? — Because nothing is more honourable than the honourable, nor baser than the base. — Go on further; for about that there is great disagreement. Let us see those proper arguments, why all sins are equal. — 'As,' he says, 'in several strings, unless none of them be so stretched with its cords that it can preserve the harmony, they are all equally out of tune, so sins, because they are discordant, are equally discordant; they are therefore equal.' — Here we are deceived by an ambiguity. For it happens equally to all the strings that they be out of tune; but it does not at once follow that they are equally out of tune. That comparison, then, helps you nothing. For neither, if we shall have said that all avarices are equally avarices, will it follow that we should also say they are equal. Here is another simile that is dissimilar.

'For as,' he says, 'a pilot sins equally if he overturns a ship of chaff and if of gold, so he sins equally who beats a parent and who beats a slave with injustice.' — Not to see that of what kind the burden is which the ship carries pertains nothing to the pilot's art! And so whether it carries gold or chaff makes no difference to steering well or ill! But what difference there is between a parent and a little slave both can and ought to be understood. Therefore in steering it makes no difference, in duty the greatest, of what kind the thing is in which one sins. And if in the very steering the ship was overturned by negligence, the sin is greater in the gold than in the chaff. For we wish to be assigned to all arts that which is called common prudence, which all who are set over any craft ought to have. So not even in this way are sins equal.

Yet they press on and remit nothing. 'Since,' they say, 'every sin is of weakness and inconstancy, and these vices are equally great in all fools, it is necessary that sins be equal.' As though either it were granted that in all fools the vices are equally great, and that Lucius Tubulus was of the same weakness and inconstancy as that Publius Scaevola by whose bill he was condemned; and as though it made no difference among the very things in which one sins, so that, the greater or less these are, the things sinned in these matters should be either

greater or less! And so — for now let the discourse be concluded — by this one fault chiefly your Stoics seem to me to be pressed, that they think they can hold two contrary opinions. For what is so repugnant as that the same man should say that what is honourable is the only good, who says that the appetite for things accommodated to living proceeds from nature? So when they wish to retain those things which agree with the former opinion, they fall into Aristo; when they flee that, they defend in substance the same things as the Peripatetics, while they hold their words with their teeth. And these again, while they will not have them plucked from their order, come out rougher, harsher, harder both in discourse and in manners.

Fleeing this gloom and harshness of theirs, Panaetius approved neither the bitterness of their opinions nor the thorns of their arguing, and was in the one kind milder, in the other more illustrious, and always had on his lips Plato, Aristotle, Xenocrates, Theophrastus, Dicaearchus, as his own writings declare. Whom indeed I greatly advise you to handle studiously and diligently. But since it both grows toward evening, and I must return to my villa, for now thus far;

but let us often do this same thing.' 'We will indeed,' said he; 'for what better can we do? And this first service I shall exact of you, that you hear me refuting the things which were said by you. But remember that you approve all the things which we feel, except that we use other words; while to me nothing of yours is approved.' 'You give a scruple to one departing,' said I; 'but we shall see.' When these things had been said, we departed.