BOOK V.

WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY LIFE.

I. This fifth day, Brutus, shall put an end to our Tusculan

Disputations: on which day we discussed your favorite subject. For I

perceive from that book which you wrote for me with the greatest

accuracy, as well as from your frequent conversation, that you are

clearly of this opinion, that virtue is of itself sufficient for a

happy life: and though it may be difficult to prove this, on account of

the many various strokes of fortune, yet it is a truth of such a nature

that we should endeavor to facilitate the proof of it. For among all

the topics of philosophy, there is not one of more dignity or

importance. For as the first philosophers must have had some inducement

to neglect everything for the search of the best state of life: surely,

the inducement must have been the hope of living happily, which

impelled them to devote so much care and pains to that study. Now, if

virtue was discovered and carried to perfection by them, and if virtue

is a sufficient security for a happy life, who can avoid thinking the

work of philosophizing excellently recommended by them, and undertaken

by me? But if virtue, as being subject to such various and uncertain

accidents, were but the slave of fortune, and were not of sufficient

ability to support herself, I am afraid that it would seem desirable

rather to offer up prayers, than to rely on our own confidence in

virtue as the foundation for our hope of a happy life. And, indeed,

when I reflect on those troubles with which I have been so severely

exercised by fortune, I begin to distrust this opinion; and sometimes

even to dread the weakness and frailty of human nature, for I am afraid

lest, when nature had given us infirm bodies, and had joined to them

incurable diseases and intolerable pains, she perhaps also gave us

minds participating in these bodily pains, and harassed also with

troubles and uneasinesses, peculiarly their own. But here I correct

myself for forming my judgment of the power of virtue more from the

weakness of others, or of myself perhaps, than from virtue itself: for

she herself (provided there is such a thing as virtue; and your uncle

Brutus has removed all doubt of it) has everything that can befall

mankind in subjection to her; and by disregarding such things, she is

far removed from being at all concerned at human accidents; and, being

free from every imperfection, she thinks that nothing which is external

to herself can concern her. But we, who increase every approaching evil

by our fear, and every present one by our grief, choose rather to

condemn the nature of things than our own errors.

II. But the amendment of this fault, and of all our other vices and

offences, is to be sought for in philosophy: and as my own inclination

and desire led me, from my earliest youth upward, to seek her

protection, so, under my present misfortunes, I have had recourse to

the same port from whence I set out, after having been tossed by a

violent tempest. O Philosophy, thou guide of life! thou discoverer of

virtue and expeller of vices! what had not only I myself, but the whole

life of man, been without you? To you it is that we owe the origin of

cities; you it was who called together the dispersed race of men into

social life; you united them together, first, by placing them near one

another, then by marriages, and lastly, by the communication of speech

and languages. You have been the inventress of laws; you have been our

instructress in morals and discipline; to you we fly for refuge; from

you we implore assistance; and as I formerly submitted to you in a

great degree, so now I surrender up myself entirely to you. For one day

spent well, and agreeably to your precepts, is preferable to an

eternity of error. Whose assistance, then, can be of more service to me

than yours, when you have bestowed on us tranquillity of life, and

removed the fear of death? But Philosophy is so far from being praised

as much as she has deserved by mankind, that she is wholly neglected by

most men, and actually evil spoken of by many. Can any person speak ill

of the parent of life, and dare to pollute himself thus with parricide,

and be so impiously ungrateful as to accuse her whom he ought to

reverence, even were he less able to appreciate the advantages which he

might derive from her? But this error, I imagine, and this darkness has

spread itself over the minds of ignorant men, from their not being able

to look so far back, and from their not imagining that those men by

whom human life was first improved were philosophers; for though we see

philosophy to have been of long standing, yet the name must be

acknowledged to be but modern.

III. But, indeed, who can dispute the antiquity of philosophy, either

in fact or name? For it acquired this excellent name from the ancients,

by the knowledge of the origin and causes of everything, both divine

and human. Thus those seven [Greek: Sophoi], as they were considered

and called by the Greeks, have always been esteemed and called wise men

by us; and thus Lycurgus many ages before, in whose time, before the

building of this city, Homer is said to have lived, as well as Ulysses

and Nestor in the heroic ages, are all handed down to us by tradition

as having really been what they were called, wise men; nor would it

have been said that Atlas supported the heavens, or that Prometheus was

bound to Caucasus, nor would Cepheus, with his wife, his son-in-law,

and his daughter have been enrolled among the constellations, but that

their more than human knowledge of the heavenly bodies had transferred

their names into an erroneous fable. From whence all who occupied

themselves in the contemplation of nature were both considered and

called wise men; and that name of theirs continued to the age of

Pythagoras, who is reported to have gone to Phlius, as we find it

stated by Heraclides Ponticus, a very learned man, and a pupil of

Plato, and to have discoursed very learnedly and copiously on certain

subjects with Leon, prince of the Phliasii; and when Leon, admiring his

ingenuity and eloquence, asked him what art he particularly professed,

his answer was, that he was acquainted with no art, but that he was a

philosopher. Leon, surprised at the novelty of the name, inquired what

he meant by the name of philosopher, and in what philosophers differed

from other men; on which Pythagoras replied, "That the life of man

seemed to him to resemble those games which were celebrated with the

greatest possible variety of sports and the general concourse of all

Greece. For as in those games there were some persons whose object was

glory and the honor of a crown, to be attained by the performance of

bodily exercises, so others were led thither by the gain of buying and

selling, and mere views of profit; but there was likewise one class of

persons, and they were by far the best, whose aim was neither applause

nor profit, but who came merely as spectators through curiosity, to

observe what was done, and to see in what manner things were carried on

there. And thus, said he, we come from another life and nature unto

this one, just as men come out of some other city, to some much

frequented mart; some being slaves to glory, others to money; and there

are some few who, taking no account of anything else, earnestly look

into the nature of things; and these men call themselves studious of

wisdom, that is, philosophers: and as there it is the most reputable

occupation of all to be a looker-on without making any acquisition, so

in life, the contemplating things, and acquainting one's self with

them, greatly exceeds every other pursuit of life."

IV. Nor was Pythagoras the inventor only of the name, but he enlarged

also the thing itself, and, when he came into Italy after this

conversation at Phlius, he adorned that Greece, which is called Great

Greece, both privately and publicly, with the most excellent

institutions and arts; but of his school and system I shall, perhaps,

find another opportunity to speak. But numbers and motions, and the

beginning and end of all things, were the subjects of the ancient

philosophy down to Socrates, who was a pupil of Archelaus, who had been

the disciple of Anaxagoras. These made diligent inquiry into the

magnitude of the stars, their distances, courses, and all that relates

to the heavens. But Socrates was the first who brought down philosophy

from the heavens, placed it in cities, introduced it into families, and

obliged it to examine into life and morals, and good and evil. And his

different methods of discussing questions, together with the variety of

his topics, and the greatness of his abilities, being immortalized by

the memory and writings of Plato, gave rise to many sects of

philosophers of different sentiments, of all which I have principally

adhered to that one which, in my opinion, Socrates himself followed;

and argue so as to conceal my own opinion, while I deliver others from

their errors, and so discover what has the greatest appearance of

probability in every question. And the custom Carneades adopted with

great copiousness and acuteness, and I myself have often given in to it

on many occasions elsewhere, and in this manner, too, I disputed

lately, in my Tusculan villa; indeed, I have sent you a book of the

four former days' discussions; but the fifth day, when we had seated

ourselves as before, what we were to dispute on was proposed thus:

V. _A._ I do not think virtue can possibly be sufficient for a happy

life.

_M._ But my friend Brutus thinks so, whose judgment, with submission, I

greatly prefer to yours.

_A._ I make no doubt of it; but your regard for him is not the business

now: the question is now, what is the real character of that quality of

which I have declared my opinion. I wish you to dispute on that.

_M._ What! do you deny that virtue can possibly be sufficient for a

happy life?

_A._ It is what I entirely deny.

_M._ What! is not virtue sufficient to enable us to live as we ought,

honestly, commendably, or, in fine, to live well?

_A._ Certainly sufficient.

_M._ Can you, then, help calling any one miserable who lives ill? or

will you deny that any one who you allow lives well must inevitably

live happily?

_A._ Why may I not? for a man may be upright in his life, honest,

praiseworthy, even in the midst of torments, and therefore live well.

Provided you understand what I mean by well; for when I say well, I

mean with constancy, and dignity, and wisdom, and courage; for a man

may display all these qualities on the rack; but yet the rack is

inconsistent with a happy life.

_M._ What, then? is your happy life left on the outside of the prison,

while constancy, dignity, wisdom, and the other virtues, are

surrendered up to the executioner, and bear punishment and pain without

reluctance?

_A._ You must look out for something new if you would do any good.

These things have very little effect on me, not merely from their being

common, but principally because, like certain light wines that will not

bear water, these arguments of the Stoics are pleasanter to taste than

to swallow. As when that assemblage of virtues is committed to the

rack, it raises so reverend a spectacle before our eyes that happiness

seems to hasten on towards them, and not to suffer them to be deserted

by her. But when you take your attention off from this picture and

these images of the virtues to the truth and the reality, what remains

without disguise is, the question whether any one can be happy in

torment? Wherefore let us now examine that point, and not be under any

apprehensions, lest the virtues should expostulate, and complain that

they are forsaken by happiness. For if prudence is connected with every

virtue, then prudence itself discovers this, that all good men are not

therefore happy; and she recollects many things of Marcus Atilius[55],

Quintus Cæpio[56], Marcus Aquilius[57]; and prudence herself, if these

representations are more agreeable to you than the things themselves,

restrains happiness when it is endeavoring to throw itself into

torments, and denies that it has any connection with pain and torture.

VI. _M._ I can easily bear with your behaving in this manner, though it

is not fair in you to prescribe to me how you would have me carry on

this discussion. But I ask you if I have effected anything or nothing

in the preceding days?

_A._ Yes; something was done, some little matter indeed.

_M._ But if that is the case, this question is settled, and almost put

an end to.

_A._ How so?

_M._ Because turbulent motions and violent agitations of the mind, when

it is raised and elated by a rash impulse, getting the better of

reason, leave no room for a happy life. For who that fears either pain

or death, the one of which is always present, the other always

impending, can be otherwise than miserable? Now, supposing the same

person--which is often the case--to be afraid of poverty, ignominy,

infamy, or weakness, or blindness, or, lastly, slavery, which doth not

only befall individual men, but often even the most powerful nations;

now can any one under the apprehension of these evils be happy? What

shall we say of him who not only dreads these evils as impending, but

actually feels and bears them at present? Let us unite in the same

person banishment, mourning, the loss of children; now, how can any one

who is broken down and rendered sick in body and mind by such

affliction be otherwise than very miserable indeed? What reason, again,

can there be why a man should not rightly enough be called miserable

whom we see inflamed and raging with lust, coveting everything with an

insatiable desire, and, in proportion as he derives more pleasure from

anything, thirsting the more violently after them? And as to a man

vainly elated, exulting with an empty joy, and boasting of himself

without reason, is not he so much the more miserable in proportion as

he thinks himself happier? Therefore, as these men are miserable, so,

on the other hand, those are happy who are alarmed by no fears, wasted

by no griefs, provoked by no lusts, melted by no languid pleasures that

arise from vain and exulting joys. We look on the sea as calm when not

the least breath of air disturbs its waves; and, in like manner, the

placid and quiet state of the mind is discovered when unmoved by any

perturbation. Now, if there be any one who holds the power of fortune,

and everything human, everything that can possibly befall any man, as

supportable, so as to be out of the reach of fear or anxiety, and if

such a man covets nothing, and is lifted up by no vain joy of mind,

what can prevent his being happy? And if these are the effects of

virtue, why cannot virtue itself make men happy?

VII. _A._ But the other of these two propositions is undeniable, that

they who are under no apprehensions, who are noways uneasy, who covet

nothing, who are lifted up by no vain joy, are happy: and therefore I

grant you that. But as for the other, that is not now in a fit state

for discussion; for it has been proved by your former arguments that a

wise man is free from every perturbation of mind.

_M._ Doubtless, then, the dispute is over; for the question appears to

have been entirely exhausted.

_A._ I think, indeed, that that is almost the case.

_M._ But yet that is more usually the case with the mathematicians than

philosophers. For when the geometricians teach anything, if what they

have before taught relates to their present subject, they take that for

granted which has been already proved, and explain only what they had

not written on before. But the philosophers, whatever subject they have

in hand, get together everything that relates to it, notwithstanding

they may have dilated on it somewhere else. Were not that the case, why

should the Stoics say so much on that question, Whether virtue was

abundantly sufficient to a happy life? when it would have been answer

enough that they had before taught that nothing was good but what was

honorable; for, as this had been proved, the consequence must be that

virtue was sufficient to a happy life; and each premise may be made to

follow from the admission of the other, so that if it be admitted that

virtue is sufficient to secure a happy life, it may also be inferred

that nothing is good except what is honorable. They, however, do not

proceed in this manner; for they would separate books about what is

honorable, and what is the chief good; and when they have demonstrated

from the one that virtue has power enough to make life happy, yet they

treat this point separately; for everything, and especially a subject

of such great consequence, should be supported by arguments and

exhortations which belong to that alone. For you should have a care how

you imagine philosophy to have uttered anything more noble, or that she

has promised anything more fruitful or of greater consequence, for,

good Gods! doth she not engage that she will render him who submits to

her laws so accomplished as to be always armed against fortune, and to

have every assurance within himself of living well and happily--that he

shall, in short, be forever happy? But let us see what she will

perform? In the mean while, I look upon it as a great thing that she

has even made such a promise. For Xerxes, who was loaded with all the

rewards and gifts of fortune, not satisfied with his armies of horse

and foot, nor the multitude of his ships, nor his infinite treasure of

gold, offered a reward to any one who could find out a new pleasure;

and yet, when it was discovered, he was not satisfied with it; nor can

there ever be an end to lust. I wish we could engage any one by a

reward to produce something the better to establish us in this belief.

VIII. _A._ I wish that, indeed, myself; but I want a little

information. For I allow that in what you have stated the one

proposition is the consequence of the other; that as, if what is

honorable be the only good, it must follow that a happy life is the

effect of virtue: so that if a happy life consists in virtue, nothing

can be good but virtue. But your friend Brutus, on the authority of

Aristo and Antiochus, does not see this; for he thinks the case would

be the same even if there were anything good besides virtue.

_M._ What, then? do you imagine that I am going to argue against

Brutus?

_A._ You may do what you please; for it is not for me to prescribe what

you shall do.

_M._ How these things agree together shall be examined somewhere else;

for I frequently discussed that point with Antiochus, and lately with

Aristo, when, during the period of my command as general, I was lodging

with him at Athens. For to me it seemed that no one could possibly be

happy under any evil; but a wise man might be afflicted with evil, if

there are any things arising from body or fortune deserving the name of

evils. These things were said, which Antiochus has inserted in his

books in many places--that virtue itself was sufficient to make life

happy, but yet not perfectly happy; and that many things derive their

names from the predominant portion of them, though they do not include

everything, as strength, health, riches, honor, and glory: which

qualities are determined by their kind, not their number. Thus a happy

life is so called from its being so in a great degree, even though it

should fall short in some point. To clear this up is not absolutely

necessary at present, though it seems to be said without any great

consistency; for I cannot imagine what is wanting to one that is happy

to make him happier, for if anything be wanting to him, he cannot be so

much as happy; and as to what they say, that everything is named and

estimated from its predominant portion, that may be admitted in some

things. But when they allow three kinds of evils--when any one is

oppressed with every imaginable evil of two kinds, being afflicted with

adverse fortune, and having at the same time his body worn out and

harassed with all sorts of pains--shall we say that such a one is but

little short of a happy life, to say nothing about the happiest

possible life?

IX. This is the point which Theophrastus was unable to maintain; for

after he had once laid down the position that stripes, torments,

tortures, the ruin of one's country, banishment, the loss of children,

had great influence on men's living miserably and unhappily, he durst

not any longer use any high and lofty expressions when he was so low

and abject in his opinion. How right he was is not the question; he

certainly was consistent. Therefore, I am not for objecting to

consequences where the premises are admitted. But this most elegant and

learned of all the philosophers is not taken to task very severely when

he asserts his three kinds of good; but he is attacked by every one for

that book which he wrote on a happy life, in which book he has many

arguments why one who is tortured and racked cannot be happy. For in

that book he is supposed to say that a man who is placed on the wheel

(that is a kind of torture in use among the Greeks) cannot attain to a

completely happy life. He nowhere, indeed, says so absolutely; but what

he says amounts to the same thing. Can I, then, find fault with him,

after having allowed that pains of the body are evils, that the ruin of

a man's fortunes is an evil, if he should say that every good man is

not happy, when all those things which he reckons as evils may befall a

good man? The same Theophrastus is found fault with by all the books

and schools of the philosophers for commending that sentence in his

Callisthenes,

Fortune, not wisdom, rules the life of man.

They say never did philosopher assert anything so languid. They are

right, indeed, in that; but I do not apprehend anything could be more

consistent, for if there are so many good things that depend on the

body, and so many foreign to it that depend on chance and fortune, is

it inconsistent to say that fortune, which governs everything, both

what is foreign and what belongs to the body, has greater power than

counsel. Or would we rather imitate Epicurus? who is often excellent in

many things which he speaks, but quite indifferent how consistent he

may be, or how much to the purpose he is speaking. He commends spare

diet, and in that he speaks as a philosopher; but it is for Socrates or

Antisthenes to say so, and not for one who confines all good to

pleasure. He denies that any one can live pleasantly unless he lives

honestly, wisely, and justly. Nothing is more dignified than this

assertion, nothing more becoming a philosopher, had he not measured

this very expression of living honestly, justly, and wisely by

pleasure. What could be better than to assert that fortune interferes

but little with a wise man? But does he talk thus, who, after he has

said that pain is the greatest evil, or the only evil, might himself be

afflicted with the sharpest pains all over his body, even at the time

he is vaunting himself the most against fortune? And this very thing,

too, Metrodorus has said, but in better language: "I have anticipated

you, Fortune; I have caught you, and cut off every access, so that you

cannot possibly reach me." This would be excellent in the mouth of

Aristo the Chian, or Zeno the Stoic, who held nothing to be an evil but

what was base; but for you, Metrodorus, to anticipate the approaches of

fortune, who confine all that is good to your bowels and marrow--for

you to say so, who define the chief good by a strong constitution of

body, and well-assured hope of its continuance--for you to cut off

every access of fortune! Why, you may instantly be deprived of that

good. Yet the simple are taken with these propositions, and a vast

crowd is led away by such sentences to become their followers.

X. But it is the duty of one who would argue accurately to consider not

what is said, but what is said consistently. As in that very opinion

which we have adopted in this discussion, namely, that every good man

is always happy, it is clear what I mean by good men: I call those both

wise and good men who are provided and adorned with every virtue. Let

us see, then, who are to be called happy. I imagine, indeed, that those

men are to be called so who are possessed of good without any alloy of

evil; nor is there any other notion connected with the word that

expresses happiness but an absolute enjoyment of good without any evil.

Virtue cannot attain this, if there is anything good besides itself.

For a crowd of evils would present themselves, if we were to allow

poverty, obscurity, humility, solitude, the loss of friends, acute

pains of the body, the loss of health, weakness, blindness, the ruin of

one's country, banishment, slavery, to be evils; for a wise man may be

afflicted by all these evils, numerous and important as they are, and

many others also may be added, for they are brought on by chance, which

may attack a wise man; but if these things are evils, who can maintain

that a wise man is always happy when all these evils may light on him

at the same time? I therefore do not easily agree with my friend

Brutus, nor with our common masters, nor those ancient ones, Aristotle,

Speusippus, Xenocrates, Polemon, who reckon all that I have mentioned

above as evils, and yet they say that a wise man is always happy; nor

can I allow them, because they are charmed with this beautiful and

illustrious title, which would very well become Pythagoras, Socrates,

and Plato, to persuade my mind that strength, health, beauty, riches,

honors, power, with the beauty of which they are ravished, are

contemptible, and that all those things which are the opposites of

these are not to be regarded. Then might they declare openly, with a

loud voice, that neither the attacks of fortune, nor the opinion of the

multitude, nor pain, nor poverty, occasions them any apprehensions; and

that they have everything within themselves, and that there is nothing

whatever which they consider as good but what is within their own

power. Nor can I by any means allow the same person who falls into the

vulgar opinion of good and evil to make use of these expressions, which

can only become a great and exalted man. Struck with which glory, up

starts Epicurus, who, with submission to the Gods, thinks a wise man

always happy. He is much charmed with the dignity of this opinion, but

he never would have owned that, had he attended to himself; for what is

there more inconsistent than for one who could say that pain was the

greatest or the only evil to think also that a wise man can possibly

say in the midst of his torture, How sweet is this! We are not,

therefore, to form our judgment of philosophers from detached

sentences, but from their consistency with themselves, and their

ordinary manner of talking.

XI. _A._ You compel me to be of your opinion; but have a care that you

are not inconsistent yourself.

_M._ In what respect?

_A._ Because I have lately read your fourth book on Good and Evil: and

in that you appeared to me, while disputing against Cato, to be

endeavoring to show, which in my opinion means to prove, that Zeno and

the Peripatetics differ only about some new words; but if we allow

that, what reason can there be, if it follows from the arguments of

Zeno that virtue contains all that is necessary to a happy life, that

the Peripatetics should not be at liberty to say the same? For, in my

opinion, regard should be had to the thing, not to words.

_M._ What! you would convict me from my own words, and bring against me

what I had said or written elsewhere. You may act in that manner with

those who dispute by established rules. We live from hand to mouth, and

say anything that strikes our mind with probability, so that we are the

only people who are really at liberty. But, since I just now spoke of

consistency, I do not think the inquiry in this place is, if the

opinion of Zeno and his pupil Aristo be true that nothing is good but

what is honorable; but, admitting that, then, whether the whole of a

happy life can be rested on virtue alone. Wherefore, if we certainly

grant Brutus this, that a wise man is always happy, how consistent he

is, is his own business; for who, indeed, is more worthy than himself

of the glory of that opinion? Still, we may maintain that such a man is

more happy than any one else.

XII. Though Zeno the Cittiæan, a stranger and an inconsiderable coiner

of words, appears to have insinuated himself into the old philosophy;

still, the prevalence of this opinion is due to the authority of Plato,

who often makes use of this expression, "That nothing but virtue can be

entitled to the name of good," agreeably to what Socrates says in

Plato's Gorgias; for it is there related that when some one asked him

if he did not think Archelaus the son of Perdiccas, who was then looked

upon as a most fortunate person, a very happy man, "I do not know,"

replied he, "for I never conversed with him." "What! is there no other

way you can know it by?" "None at all." "You cannot, then, pronounce of

the great king of the Persians whether he is happy or not?" "How can I,

when I do not know how learned or how good a man he is?" "What! do you

imagine that a happy life depends on that?" "My opinion entirely is,

that good men are happy, and the wicked miserable." "Is Archelaus,

then, miserable?" "Certainly, if unjust." Now, does it not appear to

you that he is here placing the whole of a happy life in virtue alone?

But what does the same man say in his funeral oration? "For," saith he,

"whoever has everything that relates to a happy life so entirely

dependent on himself as not to be connected with the good or bad

fortune of another, and not to be affected by, or made in any degree

uncertain by, what befalls another; and whoever is such a one has

acquired the best rule of living; he is that moderate, that brave, that

wise man, who submits to the gain and loss of everything, and

especially of his children, and obeys that old precept; for he will

never be too joyful or too sad, because he depends entirely upon

himself."

XIII. From Plato, therefore, all my discourse shall be deduced, as if

from some sacred and hallowed fountain. Whence can I, then, more

properly begin than from Nature, the parent of all? For whatsoever she

produces (I am not speaking only of animals, but even of those things

which have sprung from the earth in such a manner as to rest on their

own roots) she designed it to be perfect in its respective kind. So

that among trees and vines, and those lower plants and trees which

cannot advance themselves high above the earth, some are evergreen,

others are stripped of their leaves in winter, and, warmed by the

spring season, put them out afresh, and there are none of them but what

are so quickened by a certain interior motion, and their own seeds

enclosed in every one, so as to yield flowers, fruit, or berries, that

all may have every perfection that belongs to it; provided no violence

prevents it. But the force of Nature itself may be more easily

discovered in animals, as she has bestowed sense on them. For some

animals she has taught to swim, and designed to be inhabitants of the

water; others she has enabled to fly, and has willed that they should

enjoy the boundless air; some others she has made to creep, others to

walk. Again, of these very animals, some are solitary, some gregarious,

some wild, others tame, some hidden and buried beneath the earth, and

every one of these maintains the law of nature, confining itself to

what was bestowed on it, and unable to change its manner of life. And

as every animal has from nature something that distinguishes it, which

every one maintains and never quits; so man has something far more

excellent, though everything is said to be excellent by comparison. But

the human mind, being derived from the divine reason, can be compared

with nothing but with the Deity itself, if I may be allowed the

expression. This, then, if it is improved, and when its perception is

so preserved as not to be blinded by errors, becomes a perfect

understanding, that is to say, absolute reason, which is the very same

as virtue. And if everything is happy which wants nothing, and is

complete and perfect in its kind, and that is the peculiar lot of

virtue, certainly all who are possessed of virtue are happy. And in

this I agree with Brutus, and also with Aristotle, Xenocrates,

Speusippus, Polemon.

XIV. To me such are the only men who appear completely happy; for what

can he want to a complete happy life who relies on his own good

qualities, or how can he be happy who does not rely on them? But he who

makes a threefold division of goods must necessarily be diffident, for

how can he depend on having a sound body, or that his fortune shall

continue? But no one can be happy without an immovable, fixed, and

permanent good. What, then, is this opinion of theirs? So that I think

that saying of the Spartan may be applied to them, who, on some

merchant's boasting before him that he had despatched ships to every

maritime coast, replied that a fortune which depended on ropes was not

very desirable. Can there be any doubt that whatever may be lost cannot

be properly classed in the number of those things which complete a

happy life? for of all that constitutes a happy life, nothing will

admit of withering, or growing old, or wearing out, or decaying; for

whoever is apprehensive of any loss of these things cannot be happy:

the happy man should be safe, well fenced, well fortified, out of the

reach of all annoyance, not like a man under trifling apprehensions,

but free from all such. As he is not called innocent who but slightly

offends, but he who offends not at all, so it is he alone who is to be

considered without fear who is free from all fear, not he who is but in

little fear. For what else is courage but an affection of mind that is

ready to undergo perils, and patient in the endurance of pain and labor

without any alloy of fear? Now, this certainly could not be the case if

there were anything else good but what depended on honesty alone. But

how can any one be in possession of that desirable and much-coveted

security (for I now call a freedom from anxiety a security, on which

freedom a happy life depends) who has, or may have, a multitude of

evils attending him? How can he be brave and undaunted, and hold

everything as trifles which can befall a man? for so a wise man should

do, unless he be one who thinks that everything depends on himself.

Could the Lacedæmonians without this, when Philip threatened to prevent

all their attempts, have asked him if he could prevent their killing

themselves? Is it not easier, then, to find one man of such a spirit as

we are inquiring after, than to meet with a whole city of such men?

Now, if to this courage I am speaking of we add temperance, that it may

govern all our feelings and agitations, what can be wanting to complete

his happiness who is secured by his courage from uneasiness and fear,

and is prevented from immoderate desires and immoderate insolence of

joy by temperance? I could easily show that virtue is able to produce

these effects, but that I have explained on the foregoing days.

XV. But as the perturbations of the mind make life miserable, and

tranquillity renders it happy; and as these perturbations are of two

sorts, grief and fear, proceeding from imagined evils, and as

immoderate joy and lust arise from a mistake about what is good, and as

all these feelings are in opposition to reason and counsel; when you

see a man at ease, quite free and disengaged from such troublesome

commotions, which are so much at variance with one another, can you

hesitate to pronounce such a one a happy man? Now, the wise man is

always in such a disposition; therefore the wise man is always happy.

Besides, every good is pleasant; whatever is pleasant may be boasted

and talked of; whatever may be boasted of is glorious; but whatever is

glorious is certainly laudable, and whatever is laudable doubtless,

also, honorable: whatever, then, is good is honorable (but the things

which they reckon as goods they themselves do not call honorable);

therefore what is honorable alone is good. Hence it follows that a

happy life is comprised in honesty alone. Such things, then, are not to

be called or considered goods, when a man may enjoy an abundance of

them, and yet be most miserable. Is there any doubt but that a man who

enjoys the best health, and who has strength and beauty, and his senses

flourishing in their utmost quickness and perfection--suppose him

likewise, if you please, nimble and active, nay, give him riches,

honors, authority, power, glory--now, I say, should this person, who is

in possession of all these, be unjust, intemperate, timid, stupid, or

an idiot--could you hesitate to call such a one miserable? What, then,

are those goods in the possession of which you may be very miserable?

Let us see if a happy life is not made up of parts of the same nature,

as a heap implies a quantity of grain of the same kind. And if this be

once admitted, happiness must be compounded of different good things,

which alone are honorable; if there is any mixture of things of another

sort with these, nothing honorable can proceed from such a composition:

now, take away honesty, and how can you imagine anything happy? For

whatever is good is desirable on that account; whatever is desirable

must certainly be approved of; whatever you approve of must be looked

on as acceptable and welcome. You must consequently impute dignity to

this; and if so, it must necessarily be laudable: therefore, everything

that is laudable is good. Hence it follows that what is honorable is

the only good. And should we not look upon it in this light, there will

be a great many things which we must call good.

XVI. I forbear to mention riches, which, as any one, let him be ever so

unworthy, may have them, I do not reckon among goods; for what is good

is not attainable by all. I pass over notoriety and popular fame,

raised by the united voice of knaves and fools. Even things which are

absolute nothings may be called goods; such as white teeth, handsome

eyes, a good complexion, and what was commended by Euryclea, when she

was washing Ulysses's feet, the softness of his skin and the mildness

of his discourse. If you look on these as goods, what greater encomiums

can the gravity of a philosopher be entitled to than the wild opinion

of the vulgar and the thoughtless crowd? The Stoics give the name of

excellent and choice to what the others call good: they call them so,

indeed; but they do not allow them to complete a happy life. But these

others think that there is no life happy without them; or, admitting it

to be happy, they deny it to be the most happy. But our opinion is,

that it is the most happy; and we prove it from that conclusion of

Socrates. For thus that author of philosophy argued: that as the

disposition of a man's mind is, so is the man; such as the man is, such

will be his discourse; his actions will correspond with his discourse,

and his life with his actions. But the disposition of a good man's mind

is laudable; the life, therefore, of a good man is laudable; it is

honorable, therefore, because laudable; the unavoidable conclusion from

which is that the life of good men is happy. For, good Gods! did I not

make it appear, by my former arguments--or was I only amusing myself

and killing time in what I then said?--that the mind of a wise man was

always free from every hasty motion which I call a perturbation, and

that the most undisturbed peace always reigned in his breast? A man,

then, who is temperate and consistent, free from fear or grief, and

uninfluenced by any immoderate joy or desire, cannot be otherwise than

happy; but a wise man is always so, therefore he is always happy.

Moreover, how can a good man avoid referring all his actions and all

his feelings to the one standard of whether or not it is laudable? But

he does refer everything to the object of living happily: it follows,

then, that a happy life is laudable; but nothing is laudable without

virtue: a happy life, then, is the consequence of virtue. And this is

the unavoidable conclusion to be drawn from these arguments.

XVII. A wicked life has nothing which we ought to speak of or glory in;

nor has that life which is neither happy nor miserable. But there is a

kind of life that admits of being spoken of, and gloried in, and

boasted of, as Epaminondas saith,

The wings of Sparta's pride my counsels clipp'd.

And Africanus boasts,

Who, from beyond Mæotis to the place

Where the sun rises, deeds like mine can trace?

If, then, there is such a thing as a happy life, it is to be gloried

in, spoken of, and commended by the person who enjoys it; for there is

nothing excepting that which can be spoken of or gloried in; and when

that is once admitted, you know what follows. Now, unless an honorable

life is a happy life, there must, of course, be something preferable to

a happy life; for that which is honorable all men will certainly grant

to be preferable to anything else. And thus there will be something

better than a happy life: but what can be more absurd than such an

assertion? What! when they grant vice to be effectual to the rendering

life miserable, must they not admit that there is a corresponding power

in virtue to make life happy? For contraries follow from contraries.

And here I ask what weight they think there is in the balance of

Critolaus, who having put the goods of the mind into one scale, and the

goods of the body and other external advantages into the other, thought

the goods of the mind outweighed the others so far that they would

require the whole earth and sea to equalize the scale.

XVIII. What hinders Critolaus, then, or that gravest of philosophers,

Xenocrates (who raises virtue so high, and who lessens and depreciates

everything else), from not only placing a happy life, but the happiest

possible life, in virtue? And, indeed, if this were not the case,

virtue would be absolutely lost. For whoever is subject to grief must

necessarily be subject to fear too, for fear is an uneasy apprehension

of future grief; and whoever is subject to fear is liable to dread,

timidity, consternation, cowardice. Therefore, such a person may, some

time or other, be defeated, and not think himself concerned with that

precept of Atreus,

And let men so conduct themselves in life,

As to be always strangers to defeat.

But such a man, as I have said, will be defeated; and not only

defeated, but made a slave of. But we would have virtue always free,

always invincible; and were it not so, there would be an end of virtue.

But if virtue has in herself all that is necessary for a good life, she

is certainly sufficient for happiness: virtue is certainly sufficient,

too, for our living with courage; if with courage, then with a

magnanimous spirit, and indeed so as never to be under any fear, and

thus to be always invincible. Hence it follows that there can be

nothing to be repented of, no wants, no lets or hinderances. Thus all

things will be prosperous, perfect, and as you would have them, and,

consequently, happy; but virtue is sufficient for living with courage,

and therefore virtue is able by herself to make life happy. For as

folly, even when possessed of what it desires, never thinks it has

acquired enough, so wisdom is always satisfied with the present, and

never repents on her own account.

XIX. Look but on the single consulship of Lælius, and that, too, after

having been set aside (though when a wise and good man like him is

outvoted, the people are disappointed of a good consul, rather than be

disappointed by a vain people); but the point is, would you prefer,

were it in your power, to be once such a consul as Lælius, or be

elected four times, like Cinna? I have no doubt in the world what

answer you will make, and it is on that account I put the question to

you.

I would not ask every one this question; for some one perhaps might

answer that he would not only prefer four consulates to one, but even

one day of Cinna's life to whole ages of many famous men. Lælius would

have suffered had he but touched any one with his finger; but Cinna

ordered the head of his colleague consul, Cn. Octavius, to be struck

off; and put to death P. Crassus[58], and L. Cæsar[59], those excellent

men, so renowned both at home and abroad; and even M. Antonius[60], the

greatest orator whom I ever heard; and C. Cæsar, who seems to me to

have been the pattern of humanity, politeness, sweetness of temper, and

wit. Could he, then, be happy who occasioned the death of these men? So

far from it, that he seems to be miserable, not only for having

performed these actions, but also for acting in such a manner that it

was lawful for him to do it, though it is unlawful for any one to do

wicked actions; but this proceeds from inaccuracy, of speech, for we

call whatever a man is allowed to do lawful. Was not Marius happier, I

pray you, when he shared the glory of the victory gained over the

Cimbrians with his colleague Catulus (who was almost another Lælius;

for I look upon the two men as very like one another), than when,

conqueror in the civil war, he in a passion answered the friends of

Catulus, who were interceding for him, "Let him die?" And this answer

he gave, not once only, but often. But in such a case, he was happier

who submitted to that barbarous decree than he who issued it. And it is

better to receive an injury than to do one; and so it was better to

advance a little to meet that death that was making its approaches, as

Catulus did, than, like Marius, to sully the glory of six consulships,

and disgrace his latter days, by the death of such a man.

XX. Dionysius exercised his tyranny over the Syracusans thirty-eight

years, being but twenty-five years old when he seized on the

government. How beautiful and how wealthy a city did he oppress with

slavery! And yet we have it from good authority that he was remarkably

temperate in his manner of living, that he was very active and

energetic in carrying on business, but naturally mischievous and

unjust; from which description every one who diligently inquires into

truth must inevitably see that he was very miserable. Neither did he

attain what he so greatly desired, even when he was persuaded that he

had unlimited power; for, notwithstanding he was of a good family and

reputable parents (though that is contested by some authors), and had a

very large acquaintance of intimate friends and relations, and also

some youths attached to him by ties of love after the fashion of the

Greeks, he could not trust any one of them, but committed the guard of

his person to slaves, whom he had selected from rich men's families and

made free, and to strangers and barbarians. And thus, through an unjust

desire of governing, he in a manner shut himself up in a prison.

Besides, he would not trust his throat to a barber, but had his

daughters taught to shave; so that these royal virgins were forced to

descend to the base and slavish employment of shaving the head and

beard of their father. Nor would he trust even them, when they were

grown up, with a razor; but contrived how they might burn off the hair

of his head and beard with red-hot nutshells. And as to his two wives,

Aristomache, his countrywoman, and Doris of Locris, he never visited

them at night before everything had been well searched and examined.

And as he had surrounded the place where his bed was with a broad

ditch, and made a way over it with a wooden bridge, he drew that bridge

over after shutting his bedchamber door. And as he did not dare to

stand on the ordinary pulpits from which they usually harangued the

people, he generally addressed them from a high tower. And it is said

that when he was disposed to play at ball--for he delighted much in

it--and had pulled off his clothes, he used to give his sword into the

keeping of a young man whom he was very fond of. On this, one of his

intimates said pleasantly, "You certainly trust your life with him;"

and as the young man happened to smile at this, he ordered them both to

be slain, the one for showing how he might be taken off, the other for

approving of what had been said by smiling. But he was so concerned at

what he had done that nothing affected him more during his whole life;

for he had slain one to whom he was extremely partial. Thus do weak

men's desires pull them different ways, and while they indulge one,

they act counter to another.

XXI. This tyrant, however, showed himself how happy he really was; for

once, when Damocles, one of his flatterers, was dilating in

conversation on his forces, his wealth, the greatness of his power, the

plenty he enjoyed, the grandeur of his royal palaces, and maintaining

that no one was ever happier, "Have you an inclination," said he,

"Damocles, as this kind of life pleases you, to have a taste of it

yourself, and to make a trial of the good fortune that attends me?" And

when he said that he should like it extremely, Dionysius ordered him to

be laid on a bed of gold with the most beautiful covering, embroidered

and wrought with the most exquisite work, and he dressed out a great

many sideboards with silver and embossed gold. He then ordered some

youths, distinguished for their handsome persons, to wait at his table,

and to observe his nod, in order to serve him with what he wanted.

There were ointments and garlands; perfumes were burned; tables

provided with the most exquisite meats. Damocles thought himself very

happy. In the midst of this apparatus, Dionysius ordered a bright sword

to be let down from the ceiling, suspended by a single horse-hair, so

as to hang over the head of that happy man. After which he neither cast

his eye on those handsome waiters, nor on the well-wrought plate; nor

touched any of the provisions: presently the garlands fell to pieces.

At last he entreated the tyrant to give him leave to go, for that now

he had no desire to be happy[61]. Does not Dionysius, then, seem to

have declared there can be no happiness for one who is under constant

apprehensions? But it was not now in his power to return to justice,

and restore his citizens their rights and privileges; for, by the

indiscretion of youth, he had engaged in so many wrong steps and

committed such extravagances, that, had he attempted to have returned

to a right way of thinking, he must have endangered his life.

XXII. Yet, how desirous he was of friendship, though at the same time

he dreaded the treachery of friends, appears from the story of those

two Pythagoreans: one of these had been security for his friend, who

was condemned to die; the other, to release his security, presented

himself at the time appointed for his dying: "I wish," said Dionysius,"

you would admit me as the third in your friendship." What misery was it

for him to be deprived of acquaintance, of company at his table, and of

the freedom of conversation! especially for one who was a man of

learning, and from his childhood acquainted with liberal arts, very

fond of music, and himself a tragic poet--how good a one is not to the

purpose, for I know not how it is, but in this way, more than any

other, every one thinks his own performances excellent. I never as yet

knew any poet (and I was very intimate with Aquinius), who did not

appear to himself to be very admirable. The case is this: you are

pleased with your own works; I like mine. But to return to Dionysius.

He debarred himself from all civil and polite conversation, and spent

his life among fugitives, bondmen, and barbarians; for he was persuaded

that no one could be his friend who was worthy of liberty, or had the

least desire of being free.

XXIII. Shall I not, then, prefer the life of Plato and Archytas,

manifestly wise and learned men, to his, than which nothing can

possibly be more horrid, or miserable, or detestable?

I will present you with an humble and obscure mathematician of the same

city, called Archimedes, who lived many years after; whose tomb,

overgrown with shrubs and briers, I in my quæstorship discovered, when

the Syracusans knew nothing of it, and even denied that there was any

such thing remaining; for I remembered some verses, which I had been

informed were engraved on his monument, and these set forth that on the

top of the tomb there was placed a sphere with a cylinder. When I had

carefully examined all the monuments (for there are a great many tombs

at the gate Achradinæ), I observed a small column standing out a little

above the briers, with the figure of a sphere and a cylinder upon it;

whereupon I immediately said to the Syracusans--for there were some of

their principal men with me there--that I imagined that was what I was

inquiring for. Several men, being sent in with scythes, cleared the

way, and made an opening for us. When we could get at it, and were come

near to the front of the pedestal, I found the inscription, though the

latter parts of all the verses were effaced almost half away. Thus one

of the noblest cities of Greece, and one which at one time likewise had

been very celebrated for learning, had known nothing of the monument of

its greatest genius, if it had not been discovered to them by a native

of Arpinum. But to return to the subject from which I have been

digressing. Who is there in the least degree acquainted with the Muses,

that is, with liberal knowledge, or that deals at all in learning, who

would not choose to be this mathematician rather than that tyrant? If

we look into their methods of living and their employments, we shall

find the mind of the one strengthened and improved with tracing the

deductions of reason, amused with his own ingenuity, which is the one

most delicious food of the mind; the thoughts of the other engaged in

continual murders and injuries, in constant fears by night and by day.

Now imagine a Democritus, a Pythagoras, and an Anaxagoras; what

kingdom, what riches, would you prefer to their studies and amusements?

For you must necessarily look for that excellence which we are seeking

for in that which is the most perfect part of man; but what is there

better in man than a sagacious and good mind? The enjoyment, therefore,

of that good which proceeds from that sagacious mind can alone make us

happy; but virtue is the good of the mind: it follows, therefore, that

a happy life depends on virtue. Hence proceed all things that are

beautiful, honorable, and excellent, as I said above (but this point

must, I think, be treated of more at large), and they are well stored

with joys. For, as it is clear that a happy life consists in perpetual

and unexhausted pleasures, it follows, too, that a happy life must

arise from honesty.

XXIV. But that what I propose to demonstrate to you may not rest on

mere words only, I must set before you the picture of something, as it

were, living and moving in the world, that may dispose us more for the

improvement of the understanding and real knowledge. Let us, then,

pitch upon some man perfectly acquainted with the most excellent arts;

let us present him for awhile to our own thoughts, and figure him to

our own imaginations. In the first place, he must necessarily be of an

extraordinary capacity; for virtue is not easily connected with dull

minds. Secondly, he must have a great desire of discovering truth, from

whence will arise that threefold production of the mind; one of which

depends on knowing things, and explaining nature; the other, in

defining what we ought to desire and what to avoid; the third, in

judging of consequences and impossibilities, in which consists both

subtlety in disputing and also clearness of judgment. Now, with what

pleasure must the mind of a wise man be affected which continually

dwells in the midst of such cares and occupations as these, when he

views the revolutions and motions of the whole world, and sees those

innumerable stars in the heavens, which, though fixed in their places,

have yet one motion in common with the whole universe, and observes the

seven other stars, some higher, some lower, each maintaining their own

course, while their motions, though wandering, have certain defined and

appointed spaces to run through! the sight of which doubtless urged and

encouraged those ancient philosophers to exercise their investigating

spirit on many other things. Hence arose an inquiry after the

beginnings, and, as it were, seeds from which all things were produced

and composed; what was the origin of every kind of thing, whether

animate or inanimate, articulately speaking or mute; what occasioned

their beginning and end, and by what alteration and change one thing

was converted into another; whence the earth originated, and by what

weights it was balanced; by what caverns the seas were supplied; by

what gravity all things being carried down tend always to the middle of

the world, which in any round body is the lowest place.

XXV. A mind employed on such subjects, and which night and day

contemplates them, contains in itself that precept of the Delphic God,

so as to "know itself," and to perceive its connection with the divine

reason, from whence it is filled with an insatiable joy. For

reflections on the power and nature of the Gods raise in us a desire of

imitating their eternity. Nor does the mind, that sees the necessary

dependences and connections that one cause has with another, think it

possible that it should be itself confined to the shortness of this

life. Those causes, though they proceed from eternity to eternity, are

governed by reason and understanding. And he who beholds them and

examines them, or rather he whose view takes in all the parts and

boundaries of things, with what tranquillity of mind does he look on

all human affairs, and on all that is nearer him! Hence proceeds the

knowledge of virtue; hence arise the kinds and species of virtues;

hence are discovered those things which nature regards as the bounds

and extremities of good and evil; by this it is discovered to what all

duties ought to be referred, and which is the most eligible manner of

life. And when these and similar points have been investigated, the

principal consequence which is deduced from them, and that which is our

main object in this discussion, is the establishment of the point, that

virtue is of itself sufficient to a happy life.

The third qualification of our wise man is the next to be considered,

which goes through and spreads itself over every part of wisdom; it is

that whereby we define each particular thing, distinguish the genus

from its species, connect consequences, draw just conclusions, and

distinguish truth from falsehood, which is the very art and science of

disputing; which is not only of the greatest use in the examination of

what passes in the world, but is likewise the most rational

entertainment, and that which is most becoming to true wisdom. Such are

its effects in retirement. Now, let our wise man be considered as

protecting the republic; what can be more excellent than such a

character? By his prudence he will discover the true interests of his

fellow-citizens; by his justice he will be prevented from applying what

belongs to the public to his own use; and, in short, he will be ever

governed by all the virtues, which are many and various. To these let

us add the advantage of his friendships; in which the learned reckon

not only a natural harmony and agreement of sentiments throughout the

conduct of life, but the utmost pleasure and satisfaction in conversing

and passing our time constantly with one another. What can be wanting

to such a life as this to make it more happy than it is? Fortune

herself must yield to a life stored with such joys. Now, if it be a

happiness to rejoice in such goods of the mind, that is to say, in such

virtues, and if all wise men enjoy thoroughly these pleasures, it must

necessarily be granted that all such are happy.

XXVI. _A._ What, when in torments and on the rack?

_M._ Do you imagine I am speaking of him as laid on roses and violets?

Is it allowable even for Epicurus (who only puts on the appearance of

being a philosopher, and who himself assumed that name for himself) to

say (though, as matters stand, I commend him for his saying) that a

wise man might at all times cry out, though he be burned, tortured, cut

to pieces, "How little I regard it!" Shall this be said by one who

defines all evil as pain, and measures every good by pleasure; who

could ridicule whatever we call either honorable or base, and could

declare of us that we were employed about words, and uttering mere

empty sounds; and that nothing is to be regarded by us but as it is

perceived to be smooth or rough by the body? What! shall such a man as

this, as I said, whose understanding is little superior to the beasts',

be at liberty to forget himself; and not only to despise fortune, when

the whole of his good and evil is in the power of fortune, but to say

that he is happy in the most racking torture, when he had actually

declared pain to be not only the greatest evil, but the only one? Nor

did he take any trouble to provide himself with those remedies which

might have enabled him to bear pain, such as firmness of mind, a shame

of doing anything base, exercise, and the habit of patience, precepts

of courage, and a manly hardiness; but he says that he supports himself

on the single recollection of past pleasures, as if any one, when the

weather was so hot as that he was scarcely able to bear it, should

comfort himself by recollecting that he was once in my country,

Arpinum, where he was surrounded on every side by cooling streams. For

I do not apprehend how past pleasures can allay present evils. But when

he says that a wise man is always happy who would have no right to say

so if he were consistent with himself, what may they not do who allow

nothing to be desirable, nothing to be looked on as good but what is

honorable? Let, then, the Peripatetics and Old Academics follow my

example, and at length leave off muttering to themselves; and openly

and with a clear voice let them be bold to say that a happy life may

not be inconsistent with the agonies of Phalaris's bull.

XXVII. But to dismiss the subtleties of the Stoics, which I am sensible

I have employed more than was necessary, let us admit of three kinds of

goods; and let them really be kinds of goods, provided no regard is had

to the body and to external circumstances, as entitled to the

appellation of good in any other sense than because we are obliged to

use them: but let those other divine goods spread themselves far in

every direction, and reach the very heavens. Why, then, may I not call

him happy, nay, the happiest of men, who has attained them? Shall a

wise man be afraid of pain? which is, indeed, the greatest enemy to our

opinion. For I am persuaded that we are prepared and fortified

sufficiently, by the disputations of the foregoing days, against our

own death or that of our friends, against grief, and the other

perturbations of the mind. But pain seems to be the sharpest adversary

of virtue; that it is which menaces us with burning torches; that it is

which threatens to crush our fortitude, and greatness of mind, and

patience. Shall virtue, then, yield to this? Shall the happy life of a

wise and consistent man succumb to this? Good. Gods! how base would

this be! Spartan boys will bear to have their bodies torn by rods

without uttering a groan. I myself have seen at Lacedæmon troops of

young men, with incredible earnestness contending together with their

hands and feet, with their teeth and nails, nay, even ready to expire,

rather than own themselves conquered. Is any country of barbarians more

uncivilized or desolate than India? Yet they have among them some that

are held for wise men, who never wear any clothes all their life long,

and who bear the snow of Caucasus, and the piercing cold of winter,

without any pain; and who if they come in contact with fire endure

being burned without a groan. The women, too, in India, on the death of

their husbands have a regular contest, and apply to the judge to have

it determined which of them was best beloved by him; for it is

customary there for one man to have many wives. She in whose favor it

is determined exults greatly, and being attended by her relations, is

laid on the funeral pile with her husband; the others, who are

postponed, walk away very much dejected. Custom can never be superior

to nature, for nature is never to be got the better of. But our minds

are infected by sloth and idleness, and luxury, and languor, and

indolence: we have enervated them by opinions and bad customs. Who is

there who is unacquainted with the customs of the Egyptians? Their

minds being tainted by pernicious opinions, they are ready to bear any

torture rather than hurt an ibis, a snake, a cat, a dog, or a

crocodile; and should any one inadvertently have hurt any of these

animals, he will submit to any punishment. I am speaking of men only.

As to the beasts, do they not bear cold and hunger, running about in

woods, and on mountains and deserts? Will they not fight for their

young ones till they are wounded? Are they afraid of any attacks or

blows? I mention not what the ambitious will suffer for honor's sake,

or those who are desirous of praise on account of glory, or lovers to

gratify their lust. Life is full of such instances.

XXVIII. But let us not dwell too much on these questions, but rather

let us return to our subject. I say, and say again, that happiness will

submit even to be tormented; and that in pursuit of justice, and

temperance, and still more especially and principally fortitude, and

greatness of soul, and patience, it will not stop short at sight of the

executioner; and when all other virtues proceed calmly to the torture,

that one will never halt, as I said, on the outside and threshold of

the prison; for what can be baser, what can carry a worse appearance,

than to be left alone, separated from those beautiful attendants? Not,

however, that this is by any means possible; for neither can the

virtues hold together without happiness, nor happiness without the

virtues; so that they will not suffer her to desert them, but will

carry her along with them, to whatever torments, to whatever pain they

are led. For it is the peculiar quality of a wise man to do nothing

that he may repent of, nothing against his inclination, but always to

act nobly, with constancy, gravity, and honesty; to depend on nothing

as certainty; to wonder at nothing, when it falls out, as if it

appeared strange and unexpected to him; to be independent of every one,

and abide by his own opinion. For my part, I cannot form an idea of

anything happier than this. The conclusion of the Stoics is indeed

easy; for since they are persuaded that the end of good is to live

agreeably to nature, and to be consistent with that--as a wise man

should do so, not only because it is his duty, but because it is in his

power--it must, of course, follow that whoever has the chief good in

his power has his happiness so too. And thus the life of a wise man is

always happy. You have here what I think may be confidently said of a

happy life; and as things now stand, very truly also, unless you can

advance something better.

XXIX. _A._ Indeed I cannot; but I should be glad to prevail on you,

unless it is troublesome (as you are under no confinement from

obligations to any particular sect, but gather from all of them

whatever strikes you most as having the appearance of probability), as

you just now seemed to advise the Peripatetics and the Old Academy

boldly to speak out without reserve, "that wise men are always the

happiest"--I should be glad to hear how you think it consistent for

them to say so, when you have said so much against that opinion, and

the conclusions of the Stoics.

_M._ I will make use, then, of that liberty which no one has the

privilege of using in philosophy but those of our school, whose

discourses determine nothing, but take in everything, leaving them

unsupported by the authority of any particular person, to be judged of

by others, according to their weight. And as you seem desirous of

knowing how it is that, notwithstanding the different opinions of

philosophers with regard to the ends of goods, virtue has still

sufficient security for the effecting of a happy life--which security,

as we are informed, Carneades used indeed to dispute against; but he

disputed as against the Stoics, whose opinions he combated with great

zeal and vehemence. I, however, shall handle the question with more

temper; for if the Stoics have rightly settled the _ends_ of goods, the

affair is at an end; for a wise man must necessarily be always happy.

But let us examine, if we can, the particular opinions of the others,

that so this excellent decision, if I may so call it, in favor of a

happy life, may be agreeable to the opinions and discipline of all.

XXX. These, then, are the opinions, as I think, that are held and

defended--the first four are simple ones: "that nothing is good but

what is honest," according to the Stoics; "nothing good but pleasure,"

as Epicurus maintains; "nothing good but a freedom from pain," as

Hieronymus[62] asserts; "nothing good but an enjoyment of the

principal, or all, or the greatest goods of nature," as Carneades

maintained against the Stoics--these are simple, the others are mixed

propositions. Then there are three kinds of goods: the greatest being

those of the mind; the next best those of the body; the third are

external goods, as the Peripatetics call them, and the Old Academics

differ very little from them. Dinomachus[63] and Callipho[64] have

coupled pleasure with honesty; but Diodorus[65] the Peripatetic has

joined indolence to honesty. These are the opinions that have some

footing; for those of Aristo,[66] Pyrrho,[67] Herillus,[68] and of some

others, are quite out of date. Now let us see what weight these men

have in them, excepting the Stoics, whose opinion I think I have

sufficiently defended; and indeed I have explained what the

Peripatetics have to say; excepting that Theophrastus, and those who

followed him, dread and abhor pain in too weak a manner. The others may

go on to exaggerate the gravity and dignity of virtue, as usual; and

then, after they have extolled it to the skies, with the usual

extravagance of good orators, it is easy to reduce the other topics to

nothing by comparison, and to hold them up to contempt. They who think

that praise deserves to be sought after, even at the expense of pain,

are not at liberty to deny those men to be happy who have obtained it.

Though they may be under some evils, yet this name of happy has a very

wide application.

XXXI. For even as trading is said to be lucrative, and farming

advantageous, not because the one never meets with any loss, nor the

other with any damage from the inclemency of the weather, but because

they succeed in general; so life may be properly called happy, not from

its being entirely made up of good things, but because it abounds with

these to a great and considerable degree. By this way of reasoning,

then, a happy life may attend virtue even to the moment of execution;

nay, may descend with her into Phalaris's bull, according to Aristotle,

Xenocrates, Speusippus, Polemon; and will not be gained over by any

allurements to forsake her. Of the same opinion will Calliphon and

Diodorus be; for they are both of them such friends to virtue as to

think that all things should be discarded and far removed that are

incompatible with it. The rest seem to be more hampered with these

doctrines, but yet they get clear of them; such as Epicurus,

Hieronymus, and whoever else thinks it worth while to defend the

deserted Carneades: for there is not one of them who does not think the

mind to be judge of those goods, and able sufficiently to instruct him

how to despise what has the appearance only of good or evil. For what

seems to you to be the case with Epicurus is the case also with

Hieronymus and Carneades, and, indeed, with all the rest of them; for

who is there who is not sufficiently prepared against death and pain? I

will begin, with your leave, with him whom we call soft and voluptuous.

What! does he seem, to you to be afraid of death or pain when he calls

the day of his death happy; and who, when he is afflicted by the

greatest pains, silences them all by recollecting arguments of his own

discovering? And this is not done in such a manner as to give room for

imagining that he talks thus wildly from some sudden impulse; but his

opinion of death is, that on the dissolution of the animal all sense is

lost; and what is deprived of sense is, as he thinks, what we have no

concern at all with. And as to pain, too, he has certain rules to

follow then: if it be great, the comfort is that it must be short; if

it be of long continuance, then it must be supportable. What, then? Do

those grandiloquent gentlemen state anything better than Epicurus in

opposition to these two things which distress us the most? And as to

other things, do not Epicurus and the rest of the philosophers seem

sufficiently prepared? Who is there who does not dread poverty? And yet

no true philosopher ever can dread it.

XXXII. But with how little is this man himself satisfied! No one has

said more on frugality. For when a man is far removed from those things

which occasion a desire of money, from love, ambition, or other daily

extravagance, why should he be fond of money, or concern himself at all

about it? Could the Scythian Anacharsis[69] disregard money, and shall

not our philosophers be able to do so? We are informed of an epistle of

his in these words: "Anacharsis to Hanno, greeting. My clothing is the

same as that with which the Scythians cover themselves; the hardness of

my feet supplies the want of shoes; the ground is my bed, hunger my

sauce, my food milk, cheese, and flesh. So you may come to me as to a

man in want of nothing. But as to those presents you take so much

pleasure in, you may dispose of them to your own citizens, or to the

immortal Gods." And almost all philosophers, of all schools, excepting

those who are warped from right reason by a vicious disposition, might

have been of this same opinion. Socrates, when on one occasion he saw a

great quantity of gold and silver carried in a procession, cried out,

"How many things are there which I do not want!" Xenocrates, when some

ambassadors from Alexander had brought him fifty talents, which was a

very large sum of money in those times, especially at Athens, carried

the ambassadors to sup in the Academy, and placed just a sufficiency

before them, without any apparatus. When they asked him, the next day,

to whom he wished the money which they had for him to be paid: "What!"

said he, "did you not perceive by our slight repast of yesterday that I

had no occasion for money?" But when he perceived that they were

somewhat dejected, he accepted of thirty minas, that he might not seem

to treat with disrespect the king's generosity. But Diogenes took a

greater liberty, like a Cynic, when Alexander asked him if he wanted

anything: "Just at present," said he, "I wish that you would stand a

little out of the line between me and the sun," for Alexander was

hindering him from sunning himself. And, indeed, this very man used to

maintain how much he surpassed the Persian king in his manner of life

and fortune; for that he himself was in want of nothing, while the

other never had enough; and that he had no inclination for those

pleasures of which the other could never get enough to satisfy himself;

and that the other could never obtain his.

XXXIII. You see, I imagine, how Epicurus has divided his kinds of

desires, not very acutely perhaps, but yet usefully: saying that they

are "partly natural and necessary; partly natural, but not necessary;

partly neither. That those which are necessary may be supplied almost

for nothing; for that the things which nature requires are easily

obtained." As to the second kind of desires, his opinion is that any

one may easily either enjoy or go without them. And with regard to the

third, since they are utterly frivolous, being neither allied to

necessity nor nature, he thinks that they should be entirely rooted

out. On this topic a great many arguments are adduced by the

Epicureans; and those pleasures which they do not despise in a body,

they disparage one by one, and seem rather for lessening the number of

them; for as to wanton pleasures, on which subject they say a great

deal, these, say they, are easy, common, and within any one's reach;

and they think that if nature requires them, they are not to be

estimated by birth, condition, or rank, but by shape, age, and person:

and that it is by no means difficult to refrain from them, should

health, duty, or reputation require it; but that pleasures of this kind

may be desirable, where they are attended with no inconvenience, but

can never be of any use. And the assertions which Epicurus makes with

respect to the whole of pleasure are such as show his opinion to be

that pleasure is always desirable, and to be pursued merely because it

is pleasure; and for the same reason pain is to be avoided, because it

is pain. So that a wise man will always adopt such a system of

counterbalancing as to do himself the justice to avoid pleasure, should

pain ensue from it in too great a proportion; and will submit to pain,

provided the effects of it are to produce a greater pleasure: so that

all pleasurable things, though the corporeal senses are the judges of

them, are still to be referred to the mind, on which account the body

rejoices while it perceives a present pleasure; but that the mind not

only perceives the present as well as the body, but foresees it while

it is coming, and even when it is past will not let it quite slip away.

So that a wise man enjoys a continual series of pleasures, uniting the

expectation of future pleasure to the recollection of what he has

already tasted. The like notions are applied by them to high living;

and the magnificence and expensiveness of entertainments are

deprecated, because nature is satisfied at a small expense.

XXXIV. For who does not see this, that an appetite is the best sauce?

When Darius, in his flight from the enemy, had drunk some water which

was muddy and tainted with dead bodies, he declared that he had never

drunk anything more pleasant; the fact was, that he had never drunk

before when he was thirsty. Nor had Ptolemy ever eaten when he was

hungry; for as he was travelling over Egypt, his company not keeping up

with him, he had some coarse bread presented him in a cottage, upon

which he said, "Nothing ever seemed to him pleasanter than that bread."

They relate, too, of Socrates, that, once when he was walking very fast

till the evening, on his being asked why he did so, his reply was that

he was purchasing an appetite by walking, that he might sup the better.

And do we not see what the Lacedæmonians provide in their Phiditia?

where the tyrant Dionysius supped, but told them he did not at all like

that black broth, which was their principal dish; on which he who

dressed it said, "It was no wonder, for it wanted seasoning." Dionysius

asked what that seasoning was; to which it was replied, "Fatigue in

hunting, sweating, a race on the banks of Eurotas, hunger and thirst,"

for these are the seasonings to the Lacedæmonian banquets. And this may

not only be conceived from the custom of men, but from the beasts, who

are satisfied with anything that is thrown before them, provided it is

not unnatural, and they seek no farther. Some entire cities, taught by

custom, delight in parsimony, as I said but just now of the

Lacedæmonians. Xenophon has given an account of the Persian diet, who

never, as he saith, use anything but cresses with their bread; not but

that, should nature require anything more agreeable, many things might

be easily supplied by the ground, and plants in great abundance, and of

incomparable sweetness. Add to this strength and health, as the

consequence of this abstemious way of living. Now, compare with this

those who sweat and belch, being crammed with eating, like fatted oxen;

then will you perceive that they who pursue pleasure most attain it

least; and that the pleasure of eating lies not in satiety, but

appetite.

XXXV. They report of Timotheus, a famous man at Athens, and the head of

the city, that having supped with Plato, and being extremely delighted

with his entertainment, on seeing him the next day, he said, "Your

suppers are not only agreeable while I partake of them, but the next

day also." Besides, the understanding is impaired when we are full with

overeating and drinking. There is an excellent epistle of Plato to

Dion's relations, in which there occurs as nearly as possible these

words: "When I came there, that happy life so much talked of, devoted

to Italian and Syracusan entertainments, was noways agreeable to me; to

be crammed twice a day, and never to have the night to yourself, and

the other things which are the accompaniments of this kind of life, by

which a man will never be made the wiser, but will be rendered much

less temperate; for it must be an extraordinary disposition that can be

temperate in such circumstances." How, then, can a life be pleasant

without prudence and temperance? Hence you discover the mistake of

Sardanapalus, the wealthiest king of the Assyrians, who ordered it to

be engraved on his tomb,

I still have what in food I did exhaust;

But what I left, though excellent, is lost.

"What less than this," says Aristotle, "could be inscribed on the tomb,

not of a king, but an ox?" He said that he possessed those things when

dead, which, in his lifetime, he could have no longer than while he was

enjoying them. Why, then, are riches desired? And wherein doth poverty

prevent us from being happy? In the want, I imagine, of statues,

pictures, and diversions. But if any one is delighted with these

things, have not the poor people the enjoyment of them more than they

who are the owners of them in the greatest abundance? For we have great

numbers of them displayed publicly in our city. And whatever store of

them private people have, they cannot have a great number, and they but

seldom see them, only when they go to their country seats; and some of

them must be stung to the heart when they consider how they came by

them. The day would fail me, should I be inclined to defend the cause

of poverty. The thing is manifest; and nature daily informs us how few

things there are, and how trifling they are, of which she really stands

in need.

XXXVI. Let us inquire, then, if obscurity, the want of power, or even

the being unpopular, can prevent a wise man from being happy. Observe

if popular favor, and this glory which they are so fond of, be not

attended with more uneasiness than pleasure. Our friend Demosthenes was

certainly very weak in declaring himself pleased with the whisper of a

woman who was carrying water, as is the custom in Greece, and who

whispered to another, "That is he--that is Demosthenes." What could be

weaker than this? and yet what an orator he was! But although he had

learned to speak to others, he had conversed but little with himself.

We may perceive, therefore, that popular glory is not desirable of

itself; nor is obscurity to be dreaded. "I came to Athens," saith

Democritus, "and there was no one there that knew me:" this was a

moderate and grave man who could glory in his obscurity. Shall

musicians compose their tunes to their own tastes? and shall a

philosopher, master of a much better art, seek to ascertain, not what

is most true, but what will please the people? Can anything be more

absurd than to despise the vulgar as mere unpolished mechanics, taken

singly, and to think them of consequence when collected into a body?

These wise men would contemn our ambitious pursuits and our vanities,

and would reject all the honors which the people could voluntarily

offer to them; but we know not how to despise them till we begin to

repent of having accepted them. There is an anecdote related by

Heraclitus, the natural philosopher, of Hermodorus, the chief of the

Ephesians, that he said "that all the Ephesians ought to be punished

with death for saying, when they had expelled Hermodorus out of their

city, that they would have no one among them better than another; but

that if there were any such, he might go elsewhere to some other

people." Is not this the case with the people everywhere? Do they not

hate every virtue that distinguishes itself? What! was not Aristides (I

had rather instance in the Greeks than ourselves) banished his country

for being eminently just? What troubles, then, are they free from who

have no connection whatever with the people? What is more agreeable

than a learned retirement? I speak of that learning which makes us

acquainted with the boundless extent of nature and the universe, and

which even while we remain in this world discovers to us both heaven,

earth, and sea.

XXXVII. If, then, honor and riches have no value, what is there else to

be afraid of? Banishment, I suppose; which is looked on as the greatest

evil. Now, if the evil of banishment proceeds not from ourselves, but

from the froward disposition of the people, I have just now declared

how contemptible it is. But if to leave one's country be miserable, the

provinces are full of miserable men, very few of the settlers in which

ever return to their country again. But exiles are deprived of their

property! What, then! has there not been enough said on bearing

poverty? But with regard to banishment, if we examine the nature of

things, not the ignominy of the name, how little does it differ from

constant travelling! in which some of the most famous philosophers have

spent their whole life, as Xenocrates, Crantor, Arcesilas, Lacydes,

Aristotle, Theophrastus, Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus, Antipater,

Carneades, Panætius, Clitomachus, Philo, Antiochus, Posidonius, and

innumerable others, who from their first setting-out never returned

home again. Now, what ignominy can a wise man be affected with (for it

is of such a one that I am speaking) who can be guilty of nothing which

deserves it? for there is no occasion to comfort one who is banished

for his deserts. Lastly, they can easily reconcile themselves to every

accident who measure all their objects and pursuits in life by the

standard of pleasure; so that in whatever place that is supplied, there

they may live happily. Thus what Teucer said may be applied to every

case:

"Wherever I am happy is my country."

Socrates, indeed, when he was asked where he belonged to, replied, "The

world;" for he looked upon himself as a citizen and inhabitant of the

whole world. How was it with T. Altibutius? Did he not follow his

philosophical studies with the greatest satisfaction at Athens,

although he was banished? which, however, would not have happened to

him if he had obeyed the laws of Epicurus and lived peaceably in the

republic. In what was Epicurus happier, living in his own country, than

Metrodorus, who lived at Athens? Or did Plato's happiness exceed that

of Xenocrates, or Polemo, or Arcesilas? Or is that city to be valued

much that banishes all her good and wise men? Demaratus, the father of

our King Tarquin, not being able to bear the tyrant Cypselus, fled from

Corinth to Tarquinii, settled there, and had children. Was it, then, an

unwise act in him to prefer the liberty of banishment to slavery at

home?

XXXVIII. Besides the emotions of the mind, all griefs and anxieties are

assuaged by forgetting them, and turning our thoughts to pleasure.

Therefore, it was not without reason that Epicurus presumed to say that

a wise man abounds with good things, because he may always have his

pleasures; from whence it follows, as he thinks, that that point is

gained which is the subject of our present inquiry, that a wise man is

always happy. What! though he should be deprived of the senses of

seeing and hearing? Yes; for he holds those things very cheap. For, in

the first place, what are the pleasures of which we are deprived by

that dreadful thing, blindness? For though they allow other pleasures

to be confined to the senses, yet the things which are perceived by the

sight do not depend wholly on the pleasure the eyes receive; as is the

case when we taste, smell, touch, or hear; for, in respect of all these

senses, the organs themselves are the seat of pleasure; but it is not

so with the eyes. For it is the mind which is entertained by what we

see; but the mind may be entertained in many ways, even though we could

not see at all. I am speaking of a learned and a wise man, with whom to

think is to live. But thinking in the case of a wise man does not

altogether require the use of his eyes in his investigations; for if

night does not strip him of his happiness, why should blindness, which

resembles night, have that effect? For the reply of Antipater the

Cyrenaic to some women who bewailed his being blind, though it is a

little too obscene, is not without its significance. "What do you

mean?" saith he; "do you think the night can furnish no pleasure?" And

we find by his magistracies and his actions that old Appius,[70] too,

who was blind for many years, was not prevented from doing whatever was

required of him with respect either to the republic or his own affairs.

It is said that C. Drusus's house was crowded with clients. When they

whose business it was could not see how to conduct themselves, they

applied to a blind guide.

XXXIX. When I was a boy, Cn. Aufidius, a blind man, who had served the

office of prætor, not only gave his opinion in the Senate, and was

ready to assist his friends, but wrote a Greek history, and had a

considerable acquaintance with literature. Diodorus the Stoic was

blind, and lived many years at my house. He, indeed, which is scarcely

credible, besides applying himself more than usual to philosophy, and

playing on the flute, agreeably to the custom of the Pythagoreans, and

having books read to him night and day, in all which he did not want

eyes, contrived to teach geometry, which, one would think, could hardly

be done without the assistance of eyes, telling his scholars how and

where to draw every line. They relate of Asclepiades, a native of

Eretria, and no obscure philosopher, when some one asked him what

inconvenience he suffered from his blindness, that his reply was, "He

was at the expense of another servant." So that, as the most extreme

poverty may be borne if you please, as is daily the case with some in

Greece, so blindness may easily be borne, provided you have the support

of good health in other respects. Democritus was so blind he could not

distinguish white from black; but he knew the difference between good

and evil, just and unjust, honorable and base, the useful and useless,

great and small. Thus one may live happily without distinguishing

colors; but without acquainting yourself with things, you cannot; and

this man was of opinion that the intense application of the mind was

taken off by the objects that presented themselves to the eye; and

while others often could not see what was before their feet, he

travelled through all infinity. It is reported also that Homer[71] was

blind, but we observe his painting as well as his poetry. What country,

what coast, what part of Greece, what military attacks, what

dispositions of battle, what array, what ship, what motions of men and

animals, can be mentioned which he has not described in such a manner

as to enable us to see what he could not see himself? What, then! can

we imagine that Homer, or any other learned man, has ever been in want

of pleasure and entertainment for his mind? Were it not so, would

Anaxagoras, or this very Democritus, have left their estates and

patrimonies, and given themselves up to the pursuit of acquiring this

divine pleasure? It is thus that the poets who have represented

Tiresias the Augur as a wise man and blind never exhibit him as

bewailing his blindness. And Homer, too, after he had described

Polyphemus as a monster and a wild man, represents him talking with his

ram, and speaking of his good fortune, inasmuch as he could go wherever

he pleased and touch what he would. And so far he was right, for that

Cyclops was a being of not much more understanding than his ram.

XL. Now, as to the evil of being deaf. M. Crassus was a little thick of

hearing; but it was more uneasiness to him that he heard himself ill

spoken of, though, in my opinion, he did not deserve it. Our Epicureans

cannot understand Greek, nor the Greeks Latin: now, they are deaf

reciprocally as to each other's language, and we are all truly deaf

with regard to those innumerable languages which we do not understand.

They do not hear the voice of the harper; but, then, they do not hear

the grating of a saw when it is setting, or the grunting of a hog when

his throat is being cut, nor the roaring of the sea when they are

desirous of rest. And if they should chance to be fond of singing, they

ought, in the first place, to consider that many wise men lived happily

before music was discovered; besides, they may have more pleasure in

reading verses than in hearing them sung. Then, as I before referred

the blind to the pleasures of hearing, so I may the deaf to the

pleasures of sight: moreover, whoever can converse with himself doth

not need the conversation of another. But suppose all these misfortunes

to meet in one person: suppose him blind and deaf--let him be afflicted

with the sharpest pains of body, which, in the first place, generally

of themselves make an end of him; still, should they continue so long,

and the pain be so exquisite, that we should be unable to assign any

reason for our being so afflicted--still, why, good Gods! should we be

under any difficulty? For there is a retreat at hand: death is that

retreat--a shelter where we shall forever be insensible. Theodorus said

to Lysimachus, who threatened him with death, "It is a great matter,

indeed, for you to have acquired the power of a Spanish fly!" When

Perses entreated Paulus not to lead him in triumph, "That is a matter

which you have in your own power," said Paulus. I said many things

about death in our first day's disputation, when death was the subject;

and not a little the next day, when I treated of pain; which things if

you recollect, there can be no danger of your looking upon death as

undesirable, or, at least, it will not be dreadful.

That custom which is common among the Grecians at their banquets

should, in my opinion, be observed in life: Drink, say they, or leave

the company; and rightly enough; for a guest should either enjoy the

pleasure of drinking with others, or else not stay till he meets with

affronts from those that are in liquor. Thus, those injuries of fortune

which you cannot bear you should flee from.

XLI. This is the very same which is said by Epicurus and Hieronymus.

Now, if those philosophers, whose opinion it is that virtue has no

power of itself, and who say that the conduct which we denominate

honorable and laudable is really nothing, and is only an empty

circumstance set off with an unmeaning sound, can nevertheless maintain

that a wise man is always happy, what, think you, may be done by the

Socratic and Platonic philosophers? Some of these allow such

superiority to the goods of the mind as quite to eclipse what concerns

the body and all external circumstances. But others do not admit these

to be goods; they make everything depend on the mind: whose disputes

Carneades used, as a sort of honorary arbitrator, to determine. For, as

what seemed goods to the Peripatetics were allowed to be advantages by

the Stoics, and as the Peripatetics allowed no more to riches, good

health; and other things of that sort than the Stoics, when these

things were considered according to their reality, and not by mere

names, his opinion was that there was no ground for disagreeing.

Therefore, let the philosophers of other schools see how they can

establish this point also. It is very agreeable to me that they make

some professions worthy of being uttered by the mouth of a philosopher

with regard to a wise man's having always the means of living happily.

XLII. But as we are to depart in the morning, let us remember these

five days' discussions; though, indeed, I think I shall commit them to

writing: for how can I better employ the leisure which I have, of

whatever kind it is, and whatever it be owing to? And I will send these

five books also to my friend Brutus, by whom I was not only incited to

write on philosophy, but, I may say, provoked. And by so doing it is

not easy to say what service I may be of to others. At all events, in

my own various and acute afflictions, which surround me on all sides, I

cannot find any better comfort for myself.

THE NATURE OF THE GODS.

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