A Happy Life

I. All men, brother Gallio, wish to live happily, but are dull at perceiving exactly what it is that makes life happy: and so far is it from being easy to attain to happiness that the more eagerly a man struggles to reach it the further he departs from it, if he takes the wrong road; for, since this leads in the opposite direction, his very swiftness carries him all the further away. We must therefore first define clearly what it is at which we aim: next we must consider by what path we may most speedily reach it, for on our journey itself, provided it be made in the right direction, we shall learn how much progress we have made each day, and how much nearer we are to the goal towards which our natural desires urge us. But as long as we wander at random, not following any guide except the shouts and discordant clamours of those who invite us to proceed in different directions, our short life will be wasted in useless roamings, even if we labour both day and night to get a good understanding. Let us not therefore decide whither we must tend, and by what path, without the advice of some experienced person who has explored the region which we are about to enter, because this journey is not subject to the same conditions as others; for in them some distinctly understood track and inquiries made of the natives make it impossible for us to go wrong, but here the most beaten and frequented tracks are those which lead us most astray. Nothing, therefore, is more important than that we should not, like sheep, follow the flock that has gone before us, and thus proceed not whither we ought, but whither the rest are going. Now nothing gets us into greater troubles than our subservience to common rumour, and our habit of thinking that those things are best which are most generally received as such, of taking many counterfeits for truly good things, and of living not by reason but by imitation of others. This is the cause of those great heaps into which men rush till they are piled one upon another. In a great crush of people, when the crowd presses upon itself, no one can fall without drawing some one else down upon him, and those who go before cause the destruction of those who follow them. You may observe the same thing in human life: no one can merely go wrong by himself, but he must become both the cause and adviser of another’s wrongdoing. It is harmful to follow the march of those who go before us, and since every one had rather believe another than form his own opinion, we never pass a deliberate judgment upon life, but some traditional error always entangles us and brings us to ruin, and we perish because we follow other men’s examples: we should be cured of this if we were to disengage ourselves from the herd; but as it is, the mob is ready to fight against reason in defence of its own mistake. Consequently the same thing happens as at elections, where, when the fickle breeze of popular favour has veered round, those who have been chosen consuls and praetors are viewed with admiration by the very men who made them so. That we should all approve and disapprove of the same things is the end of every decision which is given according to the voice of the majority.

I. All men, brother Gallio, want to live happily, but they struggle to see exactly what makes life happy. Happiness is so hard to reach that someone who takes the wrong road goes farther away the harder he tries. Because that road leads in the opposite direction, his very speed carries him farther from happiness. We must therefore first clearly define our goal. Next, we must consider which path will get us there fastest. As long as we travel in the right direction, the journey itself will show us our daily progress. We will learn how much closer we are to the goal our natural desires urge us toward. But as long as we wander aimlessly, our short lives will be wasted in pointless roaming. That will happen even if we work day and night to gain a sound understanding. For our only guides will be the shouting, conflicting voices of people urging us in different directions. So let us not choose our destination or our path without advice from someone experienced. We need someone who has explored the region we are about to enter. This journey differs from other journeys. On other journeys, a clearly marked path and questions asked of local people keep us from going wrong. But here, the busiest and most familiar paths lead us farthest astray. Nothing, then, matters more than refusing to follow like sheep behind the flock. Otherwise, we go not where we ought to go, but where everyone else is going. Nothing gets us into greater trouble than our submission to popular opinion. We assume that whatever most people consider best must be best. We mistake many false goods for genuine ones, and we live by copying others rather than by reason. This habit causes the great pileups in which people rush forward until they fall on top of one another. In a dense crowd pressing against itself, no one can fall without pulling someone else down on top of him. Those in front cause the destruction of those behind. You can see the same thing in human life. No one goes wrong alone. He must also cause someone else to go wrong and encourage that wrongdoing. Following those ahead of us is harmful. And because everyone would rather believe someone else than form his own opinion, we never judge life carefully for ourselves. Instead, some inherited error always traps us and brings us to ruin. We perish because we follow other people's examples. We would be cured of this habit if we broke away from the herd. But as things stand, the crowd is ready to fight reason in defense of its own mistake. The result is the same as at elections, when the shifting breeze of popular favor changes direction. The very men who elected the consuls and praetors then look upon those officials with admiration. Every decision made by majority opinion ends with all of us approving and disapproving of the same things.

II. When we are considering a happy life, you cannot answer me as though after a division of the House, “This view has most supporters;” because for that very reason it is the worse of the two: matters do not stand so well with mankind that the majority should prefer the better course: the more people do a thing the worse it is likely to be. Let us therefore inquire, not what is most commonly done, but what is best for us to do, and what will establish us in the possession of undying happiness, not what is approved of by the vulgar, the worst possible exponents of truth. By “the vulgar” I mean both those who wear woollen cloaks and those who wear crowns;¹ for I do not regard the colour of the clothes with which they are covered: I do not trust my eyes to tell me what a man is: I have a better and more trustworthy light by which I can distinguish what is true from what is false: let the mind find out what is good for the mind. If a man ever allows his mind some breathing space and has leisure for communing with himself, what truths he will confess to himself, after having been put to the torture by his own self! He will say, “Whatever I have hitherto done I wish were undone: when I think over what I have said, I envy dumb people: whatever I have longed for seems to have been what my enemies would pray might befall me: good heaven, how far more endurable what I have feared seems to be than what I have lusted after. I have been at enmity with many men, and have changed my dislike of them into friendship, if friendship can exist between bad men: yet I have not yet become reconciled to myself. I have striven with all my strength to raise myself above the common herd, and to make myself remarkable for some talent: what have I effected save to make myself a mark for the arrows of my enemies, and show those who hate me where to wound me? Do you see those who praise your eloquence, who covet your wealth, who court your favour, or who vaunt your power? All these either are, or, which comes to the same thing, may be your enemies: the number of those who envy you is as great as that of those who admire you; why do I not rather seek for some good thing which I can use and feel, not one which I can show? these good things which men gaze at in wonder, which they crowd to see, which one points out to another with speechless admiration, are outwardly brilliant, but within are miseries to those who possess them.”

II. When we consider a happy life, you cannot answer as though announcing the result of a parliamentary vote: “This view has the most supporters.” That very reason makes it the worse of the two views. Humanity is not in such good shape that the majority will choose the better course. The more people do something, the worse it is likely to be. So let us ask not what people most often do, but what is best for us to do. Let us ask what will secure lasting happiness, not what the common crowd approves. The crowd is the worst possible guide to truth. By “the common crowd” I mean both those who wear woolen cloaks and those who wear crowns.¹ I pay no attention to the color of their clothes. I do not trust my eyes to tell me what someone is like. I have a better, more trustworthy light for telling truth from falsehood. Let the mind discover what is good for the mind. If someone ever gives his mind breathing room and takes time to talk with himself, what truths he will admit! He will have put himself through the torture of questioning himself. He will say, “I wish everything I have done until now could be undone. When I think about what I have said, I envy people who cannot speak. Everything I have longed for seems like something my enemies would pray might happen to me. Good heavens, how much easier my fears seem to bear than the things I have craved! I have been enemies with many people and have turned my dislike of them into friendship, if bad people can be friends. Yet I have still not made peace with myself. I have tried with all my strength to rise above the crowd and stand out for some talent. What have I achieved except to make myself a target for my enemies’ arrows? What have I done except show those who hate me where to wound me? Do you see those who praise your eloquence, covet your wealth, seek your favor, or boast of your power? All these people either are your enemies or may become your enemies, which amounts to the same thing. As many people envy you as admire you. Why don't I seek something good that I can use and experience, rather than something I can show off? People stare in wonder at these supposedly good things and crowd around to see them. They point them out to one another in speechless admiration. These things shine on the outside, but within they bring misery to their owners.”

III. Let us seek for some blessing, which does not merely look fine, but is sound and good throughout alike, and most beautiful in the parts which are least seen: let us unearth this. It is not far distant from us; it can be discovered: all that is necessary is to know whither to stretch out your hand: but, as it is, we behave as though we were in the dark, and reach out beyond what is nearest to us, striking as we do so against the very things that we want. However, that I may not draw you into digressions, I will pass over the opinions of other philosophers, because it would take a long time to state and confute them all: take ours. When, however, I say “ours,” I do not bind myself to any one of the chiefs of the Stoic school, for I too have a right to form my own opinion. I shall, therefore, follow the authority of some of them, but shall ask some others to discriminate their meaning:² perhaps, when after having reported all their opinions, I am asked for my own, I shall impugn none of my predecessors’ decisions, and shall say, “I will also add somewhat to them.” Meanwhile I follow nature, which is a point upon which every one of the Stoic philosophers are agreed: true wisdom consists in not departing from nature and in moulding our conduct according to her laws and model. A happy life, therefore, is one which is in accordance with its own nature, and cannot be brought about unless in the first place the mind be sound and remain so without interruption, and next, be bold and vigorous, enduring all things with most admirable courage, suited to the times in which it lives, careful of the body and its appurtenances, yet not troublesomely careful. It must also set due value upon all the things which adorn our lives, without over-estimating any one of them, and must be able to enjoy the bounty of Fortune without becoming her slave. You understand without my mentioning it that an unbroken calm and freedom ensue, when we have driven away all those things which either excite us or alarm us: for in the place of sensual pleasures and those slight perishable matters which are connected with the basest crimes, we thus gain an immense, unchangeable, equable joy, together with peace, calmness and greatness of mind, and kindliness: for all savageness is a sign of weakness.

III. Let us look for a blessing that does not merely look fine, but is sound and good throughout. Let us uncover a blessing whose least visible parts are its most beautiful. It is not far from us, and we can find it. We need only know where to reach. Yet we behave as though we were in the dark. We reach beyond what is nearest, bumping into the very things we want. But to avoid leading you off course, I will pass over the views of other philosophers. Stating and refuting them all would take a long time. Consider our views instead. When I say “our,” however, I do not commit myself to any single leader of the Stoic school. I too have the right to form my own opinion. So I will accept the authority of some, but ask others to clarify their meaning:² Perhaps, after reporting all their views, I will be asked for my own. I may then reject none of my predecessors’ conclusions and say, “I will also add something to them.” Meanwhile, I follow nature, a principle on which all Stoic philosophers agree. True wisdom means not departing from nature and shaping our conduct according to her laws and example. A happy life, then, is a life in harmony with its own nature. Such a life is possible only if the mind is first healthy and remains so without interruption. Next, the mind must be bold and strong, enduring everything with the most admirable courage. It must adapt to the times in which it lives. It must care for the body and its needs, but without excessive worry. It must also give proper value to everything that enriches our lives, without overvaluing any one thing. And it must be able to enjoy Fortune’s gifts without becoming her slave. You understand, without my saying so, that lasting calm and freedom follow when we banish everything that excites or frightens us. In place of sensual pleasures and those trivial, fleeting things associated with the worst crimes, we gain something else. We gain immense, unchanging, steady joy, along with peace, calm, greatness of mind, and kindness. For all cruelty is a sign of weakness.

IV. Our highest good may also be defined otherwise, that is to say, the same idea may be expressed in different language. Just as the same army may at one time be extended more widely, at another contracted into a smaller compass, and may either be curved towards the wings by a depression in the line of the centre, or drawn up in a straight line, while, in whatever figure it be arrayed, its strength and loyalty remain unchanged; so also our definition of the highest good may in some cases be expressed diffusely and at great length, while in others it is put into a short and concise form. Thus, it will come to the same thing, if I say “The highest good is a mind which despises the accidents of fortune, and takes pleasure in virtue”: or, “It is an unconquerable strength of mind, knowing the world well, gentle in its dealings, showing great courtesy and consideration for those with whom it is brought into contact.” Or we may choose to define it by calling that man happy who knows good and bad only in the form of good or bad minds: who worships honour, and is satisfied with his own virtue, who is neither puffed up by good fortune nor cast down by evil fortune, who knows no other good than that which he is able to bestow upon himself, whose real pleasure lies in despising pleasures. If you choose to pursue this digression further, you can put this same idea into many other forms, without impairing or weakening its meaning: for what prevents our saying that a happy life consists in a mind which is free, upright, undaunted, and steadfast, beyond the influence of fear or desire, which thinks nothing good except honour, and nothing bad except shame, and regards everything else as a mass of mean details which can neither add anything to nor take anything away from the happiness of life, but which come and go without either increasing or diminishing the highest good? A man of these principles, whether he will or no, must be accompanied by a continual cheerfulness, a high happiness, which comes indeed from on high because he delights in what he has, and desires no greater pleasures than those which his home affords. Is he not right in allowing these to turn the scale against petty, ridiculous, and shortlived movements of his wretched body? on the day on which he becomes proof against pleasure he also becomes proof against pain. See, on the other hand, how evil and guilty a slavery the man is forced to serve who is dominated in turn by pleasures and pains, those most untrustworthy and passionate of masters. We must, therefore, escape from them into freedom. This nothing will bestow upon us save contempt of Fortune: but if we attain to this, then there will dawn upon us those invaluable blessings, the repose of a mind that is at rest in a safe haven, its lofty imaginings, its great and steady delight at casting out errors and learning to know the truth, its courtesy, and its cheerfulness, in all of which we shall take delight, not regarding them as good things, but as proceeding from the proper good of man.

IV. We may also define our highest good another way, expressing the same idea in different words. An army may spread out widely at one moment and draw into a tighter formation at another. Its center may fall back so that the line curves toward the wings, or it may form a straight line. Whatever its formation, its strength and loyalty remain unchanged. In the same way, our definition of the highest good may sometimes be long and detailed, and sometimes brief. So it amounts to the same thing if I say, “The highest good is a mind that scorns fortune’s changes and takes pleasure in virtue”: or, “It is an unconquerable strength of mind that understands the world well. It is gentle in its dealings and treats everyone it meets with great courtesy and consideration.” Or we may define a happy man as someone who recognizes good and evil only in good and evil minds. He reveres honor and is content with his own virtue. Good fortune does not inflate his pride, and bad fortune does not crush him. He recognizes no good except what he can give himself. His true pleasure lies in scorning pleasures. If you wish to explore this further, you can express the same idea in many other ways without weakening its meaning. What prevents us from saying that a happy life consists in a free, upright, fearless, and steadfast mind? Such a mind is beyond the influence of fear or desire. It considers nothing good except honor, and nothing bad except shame. Everything else is a collection of trivial details that can neither add to nor subtract from life’s happiness. These details come and go without increasing or diminishing the highest good. A man with these principles must enjoy constant cheerfulness and an elevated happiness, whether he wishes to or not. This happiness truly comes from above, because he delights in what he has. He desires no greater pleasures than those his home provides. Is he not right to let these pleasures outweigh the petty, ridiculous, fleeting impulses of his wretched body? On the day he becomes immune to pleasure, he also becomes immune to pain. By contrast, consider the wicked and shameful slavery endured by a man ruled by pleasures and pains in turn. These are the most unreliable and passionate of masters. We must therefore escape their rule and become free. Nothing will give us this freedom except contempt for Fortune. But if we achieve that contempt, priceless blessings will dawn upon us. We will have the calm of a mind resting in a safe harbor, and its lofty thoughts. We will have its deep, steady delight in rejecting errors and learning the truth, its courtesy, and its cheerfulness. We will take pleasure in all these blessings, not as goods themselves, but as results of humanity’s true good.

V. Since I have begun to make my definitions without a too strict adherence to the letter, a man may be called “happy” who, thanks to reason, has ceased either to hope or to fear: but rocks also feel neither fear nor sadness, nor do cattle, yet no one would call those things happy which cannot comprehend what happiness is. With them you may class men whose dull nature and want of self-knowledge reduces them to the level of cattle, mere animals: there is no difference between the one and the other, because the latter have no reason, while the former have only a corrupted form of it, crooked and cunning to their own hurt. For no one can be styled happy who is beyond the influence of truth: and consequently a happy life is unchangeable, and is founded upon a true and trustworthy discernment; for the mind is uncontaminated and freed from all evils only when it is able to escape not merely from wounds but also from scratches, when it will always be able to maintain the position which it has taken up, and defend it even against the angry assaults of Fortune: for with regard to sensual pleasures, though they were to surround one on every side, and use every means of assault, trying to win over the mind by caresses and making trial of every conceivable stratagem to attract either our entire selves or our separate parts, yet what mortal that retains any traces of human origin would wish to be tickled day and night, and, neglecting his mind, to devote himself to bodily enjoyments?

V. Since I have begun defining things without sticking too closely to exact wording, a man may be called “happy” if reason has freed him from both hope and fear. But rocks also feel neither fear nor sadness, and neither do cattle. Yet no one would call anything happy that cannot understand what happiness is. You may put some men in the same class. Their dull nature and lack of self-knowledge bring them down to the level of cattle, mere animals. There is no difference between these men and cattle. Cattle have no reason, while these men have only a corrupted reason, twisted and cunning to their own harm. For no one can be called happy if truth cannot reach him. So a happy life is unchanging and rests on sound, reliable judgment. The mind is pure and free from all evils only when it can avoid not just wounds but even scratches. It must always be able to hold its ground and defend that ground even against Fortune’s furious attacks. As for bodily pleasures, suppose they surrounded a man on every side and attacked him by every possible means. Suppose they tried to win over his mind with caresses. Suppose they tried every imaginable trick to attract either his whole being or individual parts of him. Yet what mortal with any trace of humanity would want to be tickled day and night? Who would want to neglect his mind and devote himself to bodily pleasures?

VI. “But,” says our adversary, “the mind also will have pleasures of its own.” Let it have them, then, and let it sit in judgment over luxury and pleasures; let it indulge itself to the full in all those matters which give sensual delights: then let it look back upon what it enjoyed before, and with all those faded sensualities fresh in its memory let it rejoice and look eagerly forward to those other pleasures which it experienced long ago, and intends to experience again, and while the body lies in helpless repletion in the present, let it send its thoughts onward towards the future, and take stock of its hopes: all this will make it appear, in my opinion, yet more wretched, because it is insanity to choose evil instead of good: now no insane person can be happy, and no one can be sane if he regards what is injurious as the highest good and strives to obtain it. The happy man, therefore, is he who can make a right judgment in all things: he is happy who in his present circumstances, whatever they may be, is satisfied and on friendly terms with the conditions of his life. That man is happy, whose reason recommends to him the whole posture of his affairs.

VI. “But,” our opponent says, “the mind will also have pleasures of its own.” Let the mind have them, then. Let it judge luxury and pleasure, and fully indulge in everything that delights the senses. Then let it look back on its past pleasures. With all those faded pleasures fresh in its memory, let it rejoice. Let it eagerly anticipate enjoying again the pleasures it experienced long ago. While the body lies helpless from overindulgence in the present, let the mind look ahead and review its hopes. In my opinion, all this will make the mind seem even more miserable, because choosing evil over good is madness. Now no insane person can be happy. And no one can be sane who treats something harmful as the highest good and strives to obtain it. Therefore, a happy person is someone who can judge all things correctly. A person is happy who is satisfied with present circumstances, whatever they may be, and at peace with life's conditions. A person is happy when reason leads them to approve of their situation as a whole.

VII. Even those very people who declare the highest good to be in the belly, see what a dishonourable position they have assigned to it: and therefore they say that pleasure cannot be parted from virtue, and that no one can either live honourably without living cheerfully, nor yet live cheerfully without living honourably. I do not see how these very different matters can have any connexion with one another. What is there, I pray you, to prevent virtue existing apart from pleasure? of course the reason is that all good things derive their origin from virtue, and therefore even those things which you cherish and seek for come originally from its roots. Yet, if they were entirely inseparable, we should not see some things to be pleasant, but not honourable, and others most honourable indeed, but hard and only to be attained by suffering. Add to this, that pleasure visits the basest lives, but virtue cannot co-exist with an evil life; yet some unhappy people are not without pleasure, nay, it is owing to pleasure itself that they are unhappy; and this could not take place if pleasure had any connexion with virtue, whereas virtue is often without pleasure, and never stands in need of it. Why do you put together two things which are unlike and even incompatible one with another? virtue is a lofty quality, sublime, royal, unconquerable, untiring: pleasure is low, slavish, weakly, perishable; its haunts and homes are the brothel and the tavern. You will meet virtue in the temple, the market-place, the senate house, manning the walls, covered with dust, sunburnt, horny-handed: you will find pleasure skulking out of sight, seeking for shady nooks at the public baths, hot chambers, and places which dread the visits of the aedile, soft, effeminate, reeking of wine and perfumes, pale or perhaps painted and made up with cosmetics. The highest good is immortal: it knows no ending, and does not admit of either satiety or regret: for a right-thinking mind never alters or becomes hateful to itself, nor do the best things ever undergo any change: but pleasure dies at the very moment when it charms us most: it has no great scope, and therefore it soon cloys and wearies us, and fades away as soon as its first impulse is over: indeed, we cannot depend upon anything whose nature is to change. Consequently it is not even possible that there should be any solid substance in that which comes and goes so swiftly, and which perishes by the very exercise of its own functions, for it arrives at a point at which it ceases to be, and even while it is beginning always keeps its end in view.

VII. Even those who place the highest good in the belly recognize how degrading a position they have given it. So they say that pleasure cannot be separated from virtue. They say no one can live honorably without living happily, or happily without living honorably. I cannot see how these very different things are connected. What, I ask you, prevents virtue from existing apart from pleasure? Of course, all good things come from virtue. So even the things you cherish and seek grow from virtue’s roots. Yet if pleasure and virtue were entirely inseparable, we would not find some things pleasant but dishonorable. Nor would we find other things deeply honorable, but difficult and attainable only through suffering. Besides, pleasure enters even the lowest lives, but virtue cannot exist alongside an evil life. Yet some unhappy people have pleasure. Indeed, pleasure itself makes them unhappy. That could not happen if pleasure had any connection with virtue. Virtue, meanwhile, often exists without pleasure and never needs it. Why do you join two things that are unlike and even incompatible? Virtue is lofty, sublime, royal, unconquerable, and tireless. Pleasure is low, slavish, weak, and short-lived. Its haunts and homes are the brothel and the tavern. You will find virtue in the temple, the marketplace, and the senate house. You will find it defending the walls, dusty, sunburned, and callused. You will find pleasure lurking out of sight, seeking shady corners in public baths, heated rooms, and places fearing inspection by the aedile. Pleasure is soft and effeminate, reeking of wine and perfume, pale or perhaps painted and covered with cosmetics. The highest good is immortal. It never ends and brings neither weariness from excess nor regret. For a mind that thinks rightly never changes or becomes hateful to itself. Nor do the best things ever change. But pleasure dies at the very moment when it delights us most. Its range is limited, so it soon becomes tiresome and leaves us weary. It fades as soon as its first surge is over. Indeed, we cannot depend on anything whose nature is to change. So nothing that comes and goes so quickly can have any lasting substance. Pleasure destroys itself through its own activity. It reaches a point where it ceases to exist. Even as pleasure begins, its end is always in sight.

VIII. What answer are we to make to the reflexion that pleasure belongs to good and bad men alike, and that bad men take as much delight in their shame as good men in noble things? This was why the ancients bade us lead the highest, not the most pleasant life, in order that pleasure might not be the guide but the companion of a right-thinking and honourable mind; for it is Nature whom we ought to make our guide: let our reason watch her, and be advised by her. To live happily, then, is the same thing as to live according to Nature: what this may be, I will explain. If we guard the endowments of the body and the advantages of nature with care and fearlessness, as things soon to depart and given to us only for a day; if we do not fall under their dominion, nor allow ourselves to become the slaves of what is no part of our own being; if we assign to all bodily pleasures and external delights the same position which is held by auxiliaries and light-armed troops in a camp; if we make them our servants, not our masters—then and then only are they of value to our minds. A man should be unbiassed and not to be conquered by external things: he ought to admire himself alone, to feel confidence in his own spirit, and so to order his life as to be ready alike for good or for bad fortune. Let not his confidence be without knowledge, nor his knowledge without steadfastness: let him always abide by what he has once determined, and let there be no erasure in his doctrines. It will be understood, even though I append it not, that such a man will be tranquil and composed in his demeanour, high-minded and courteous in his actions. Let reason be encouraged by the senses to seek for the truth, and draw its first principles from thence: indeed it has no other base of operations or place from which to start in pursuit of truth: it must fall back upon itself. Even the all-embracing universe and God who is its guide extends himself forth into outward things, and yet altogether returns from all sides back to himself. Let our mind do the same thing: when, following its bodily senses it has by means of them sent itself forth into the things of the outward world, let it remain still their master and its own. By this means we shall obtain a strength and an ability which are united and allied together, and shall derive from it that reason which never halts between two opinions, nor is dull in forming its perceptions, beliefs, or convictions. Such a mind, when it has ranged itself in order, made its various parts agree together, and, if I may so express myself, harmonized them, has attained to the highest good: for it has nothing evil or hazardous remaining, nothing to shake it or make it stumble: it will do everything under the guidance of its own will, and nothing unexpected will befal it, but whatever may be done by it will turn out well, and that, too, readily and easily, without the doer having recourse to any underhand devices: for slow and hesitating action are the signs of discord and want of settled purpose. You may, then, boldly declare that the highest good is singleness of mind: for where agreement and unity are, there must the virtues be: it is the vices that are at war one with another.

VIII. How should we answer the observation that pleasure belongs to good and bad people alike? Bad people take as much delight in shameful acts as good people take in noble ones. This is why the ancients told us to lead the highest life, not the most pleasant. Pleasure should be the companion of a sound and honorable mind, not its guide. Nature should be our guide. Let our reason observe her and take her advice. To live happily, then, is to live according to Nature. I will explain what this means. We must care for our bodily gifts and natural advantages without fear, knowing they will soon pass away. They are given to us for only a day. We must not fall under their control or become slaves to things outside our own being. We must give all bodily pleasures and external delights the place that auxiliaries and lightly armed troops hold in camp. If we make these pleasures our servants rather than our masters, then, and only then, do they benefit our minds. A person should be impartial and unconquered by external things. He should admire only himself and trust his own spirit. He should arrange his life to be equally ready for good fortune or bad. His confidence must rest on knowledge, and his knowledge must be joined with firmness. He must always stand by his decisions and never erase anything from his principles. Even without my adding it, such a person will clearly be calm and composed in his manner. His actions will be noble and courteous. Let the senses encourage reason to seek truth and provide its first principles. Indeed, reason has no other foundation or starting point in its search for truth. It must return to itself. Even the universe, embracing everything, and God, its guide, reach outward into external things. Yet they return entirely to themselves from every direction. Let our mind do the same. As the mind follows the bodily senses, it reaches through them into the world outside. Yet it must remain master of the senses and of itself. In this way, we will gain strength and ability working together as one. From this unity we will gain reason that never wavers between two opinions. Such reason is never slow to form perceptions, beliefs, or convictions. When the mind has put itself in order and brought its various parts into agreement, it reaches the highest good. If I may put it this way, the mind has brought its parts into harmony. Nothing evil or dangerous remains within it, nothing that can shake it or make it stumble. The mind will do everything under the guidance of its own will, and nothing unexpected will happen to it. Whatever the mind does will turn out well, readily and easily, without resorting to underhanded methods. For slow, hesitant action shows inner conflict and a lack of settled purpose. You may therefore boldly say that the highest good is unity of mind. For where there is agreement and unity, the virtues must be present. It is the vices that are at war with one another.

IX. “But,” says our adversary, “you yourself only practise virtue because you hope to obtain some pleasure from it.” In the first place, even though virtue may afford us pleasure, still we do not seek after her on that account: for she does not bestow this, but bestows this to boot, nor is this the end for which she labours, but her labour wins this also, although it be directed to another end. As in a tilled-field, when ploughed for corn, some flowers are found amongst it, and yet, though these posies may charm the eye, all this labour was not spent in order to produce them—the man who sowed the field had another object in view, he gained this over and above it—so pleasure is not the reward or the cause of virtue, but comes in addition to it; nor do we choose virtue because she gives us pleasure, but she gives us pleasure also if we choose her. The highest good lies in the act of choosing her, and in the attitude of the noblest minds, which when once it has fulfilled its function and established itself within its own limits has attained to the highest good, and needs nothing more: for there is nothing outside of the whole, any more than there is anything beyond the end. You are mistaken, therefore, when you ask me what it is on account of which I seek after virtue: for you are seeking for something above the highest. Do you ask what I seek from virtue? I answer. Herself: for she has nothing better; she is her own reward. Does this not appear great enough, when I tell you that the highest good is an unyielding strength of mind, wisdom, magnanimity, sound judgment, freedom, harmony, beauty? Do you still ask me for something greater, of which these may be regarded as the attributes? Why do you talk of pleasures to me? I am seeking to find what is good for man, not for his belly; why, cattle and whales have larger ones than he.

IX. “But,” our opponent says, “you yourself practice virtue only because you hope to gain some pleasure from it.” First, even though virtue may give us pleasure, we do not pursue virtue for that reason. Virtue gives pleasure only as an extra benefit. Pleasure is not the goal of virtue’s work. Yet that work also brings pleasure, although it aims at something else. Just as a field plowed for grain may also produce some flowers, virtue also brings pleasure. Though those flowers may delight the eye, none of the work was done to produce them. The farmer sowed the field for another purpose and gained the flowers as an extra benefit. So pleasure is neither the reward for virtue nor the reason for pursuing it. Pleasure comes in addition to virtue. We do not choose virtue because it gives us pleasure. Rather, virtue also gives us pleasure if we choose it. The highest good lies in choosing virtue and in the outlook of the noblest minds. Once that outlook has fulfilled its purpose and become established within its own limits, it has reached the highest good. It needs nothing more. For nothing exists outside the whole, just as nothing lies beyond the end. So you are mistaken when you ask why I pursue virtue. You are looking for something higher than the highest. Do you ask what I seek from virtue? I answer: virtue itself. For virtue has nothing better to offer. It is its own reward. Does that not seem great enough? I tell you that the highest good is unshakable strength of mind, wisdom, greatness of spirit, sound judgment, freedom, harmony, beauty. Do you still ask for something greater that has these qualities? Why do you talk to me about pleasures? I am looking for what is good for a human being, not for his belly. After all, cattle and whales have larger bellies than he does.

X. “You purposely misunderstand what I say,” says he, “for I too say that no one can live pleasantly unless he lives honorably also, and this cannot be the case with dumb animals who measure the extent of their happiness by that of their food. I loudly and publicly proclaim that what I call a pleasant life cannot exist without the addition of virtue.” Yet who does not know that the greatest fools drink the deepest of those pleasures of yours? or that vice is full of enjoyments, and that the mind itself suggests to itself many perverted, vicious forms of pleasure?—in the first place arrogance, excessive self-esteem, swaggering precedence over other men, a shortsighted, nay, a blind devotion to his own interests, dissolute luxury, excessive delight springing from the most trifling and childish causes, and also talkativeness, pride that takes a pleasure in insulting others, sloth, and the decay of a dull mind which goes to sleep over itself. All these are dissipated by virtue, which plucks a man by the ear, and measures the value of pleasures before she permits them to be used; nor does she set much store by those which she allows to pass current, for she merely allows their use, and her cheerfulness is not due to her use of them, but to her moderation in using them. “Yet when moderation lessens pleasure, it impairs the highest good.” You devote yourself to pleasures, I check them; you indulge in pleasure, I use it; you think that it is the highest good, I do not even think it to be good: for the sake of pleasure I do nothing, you do everything.

X. “You deliberately misunderstand me,” he says, “for I too say that no one can live pleasantly without also living honorably. Animals cannot live honorably, and they measure their happiness by how much they eat. I proclaim loudly and publicly that what I call a pleasant life cannot exist without virtue.” Yet who does not know that the greatest fools drink most deeply of those pleasures of yours? Or that vice is full of enjoyment, and the mind itself invents many twisted, vicious forms of pleasure? First come arrogance, excessive self-esteem, and swaggering claims to superiority over others. Then comes shortsighted, indeed blind, devotion to one's own interests, unrestrained luxury, and excessive delight in the most trivial, childish things. There are also constant chatter, pride that enjoys insulting others, laziness, and the decline of a dull mind lulled to sleep. Virtue drives away all these things. She pulls a man by the ear and judges the worth of pleasures before allowing him to enjoy them. Nor does she place much value on the pleasures she approves, for she merely permits their use. Her cheerfulness comes not from enjoying pleasures, but from moderation in enjoying them. “Yet when moderation reduces pleasure, moderation diminishes the highest good.” You devote yourself to pleasures, while I restrain them. You give yourself over to pleasure, while I use it. You think pleasure is the highest good, while I do not even think pleasure is good. I do nothing for pleasure's sake, while you do everything.

XI. When I say that I do nothing for the sake of pleasure, I allude to that wise man, whom alone you admit to be capable of pleasure: now I do not call a man wise who is overcome by anything, let alone by pleasure: yet, if engrossed by pleasure, how will he resist toil, danger, want, and all the ills which surround and threaten the life of man? How will he bear the sight of death or of pain? How will he endure the tumult of the world, and make head against so many most active foes, if he be conquered by so effeminate an antagonist? He will do whatever pleasure advises him: well, do you not see how many things it will advise him to do? “It will not,” says our adversary, “be able to give him any bad advice, because it is combined with virtue?” Again, do you not see what a poor kind of highest good that must be which requires a guardian to ensure its being good at all? and how is virtue to rule pleasure if she follows it, seeing that to follow is the duty of a subordinate, to rule that of a commander? do you put that which commands in the background? According to your school, virtue has the dignified office of preliminary taster of pleasures. We shall, however, see whether virtue still remains virtue among those who treat her with such contempt, for if she leaves her proper station she can no longer keep her proper name: in the meanwhile, to keep to the point, I will show you many men beset by pleasures, men upon whom Fortune has showered all her gifts, whom you must needs admit to be bad men. Look at Nomentanus and Apicius, who digest all the good things, as they call them, of the sea and land, and review upon their tables the whole animal kingdom. Look at them as they lie on beds of roses gloating over their banquet, delighting their ears with music, their eyes with exhibitions, their palates with flavours: their whole bodies are titillated with soft and soothing applications, and lest even their nostrils should be idle, the very place in which, they solemnize³ the rites of luxury is scented with various perfumes. You will say that these men live in the midst of pleasures. Yet they are ill at ease, because they take pleasure in what is not good.

XI. When I say I do nothing for pleasure, I mean the wise man. You admit that he alone is capable of pleasure. But I do not call a man wise if anything overcomes him, least of all pleasure. If pleasure absorbs him, how will he resist hardship, danger, poverty, and all the troubles surrounding and threatening human life? How will he face the sight of death or pain? How will he endure the world's turmoil and stand against so many relentless enemies if such an unmanly opponent defeats him? He will do whatever pleasure tells him. Well, do you not see how many things pleasure will tell him to do? “Pleasure cannot give him any bad advice,” our opponent says, “because pleasure is joined with virtue.” Again, do you not see how poor a highest good pleasure must be if it needs a guardian to remain good? And how can virtue rule pleasure if she follows pleasure? Following is a subordinate's duty, while ruling is a commander's. Do you put the commander in the background? According to your school, virtue has the dignified job of tasting pleasures before anyone else. We shall see, however, whether virtue remains virtue among those who treat her with such contempt. For if virtue leaves her proper place, she can no longer keep her proper name. Meanwhile, to stay on the subject, I will show you many men surrounded by pleasures. Fortune has showered all her gifts on these men, yet you must admit they are bad. Look at Nomentanus and Apicius. They digest all the good things, as they call them, from sea and land. The whole animal kingdom passes before them on their tables. Look at them lying on beds of roses, gloating over their banquet. Music delights their ears, spectacles their eyes, and flavors their palates. Soft, soothing treatments stimulate their whole bodies. And to keep even their noses occupied, various perfumes scent the very place where they celebrate³ the rites of luxury. You will say these men live surrounded by pleasures. Yet they are troubled, because they take pleasure in what is not good.

XII. “They are ill at ease,” replies he, “because many things arise which distract their thoughts, and their minds are disquieted by conflicting opinions.” I admit that this is true: still these very men, foolish, inconsistent, and certain to feel remorse as they are, do nevertheless receive great pleasure, and we must allow that in so doing they are as far from feeling any trouble as they are from forming a right judgment, and that, as is the case with many people, they are possessed by a merry madness, and laugh while they rave. The pleasures of wise men, on the other hand, are mild, decorous, verging on dulness, kept under restraint and scarcely noticeable, and are neither invited to come nor received with honour when they come of their own accord, nor are they welcomed with any delight by those whom they visit, who mix them up with their lives and fill up empty spaces with them, like an amusing farce in the intervals of serious business. Let them no longer, then, join incongruous matters together, or connect pleasure with virtue, a mistake whereby they court the worst of men. The reckless profligate, always in liquor and belching out the fumes of wine, believes that he lives with virtue, because he knows that he lives with pleasure, for he hears it said that pleasure cannot exist apart from virtue; consequently he dubs his vices with the title of wisdom and parades all that he ought to conceal. So, men are not encouraged by Epicurus to run riot, but the vicious hide their excesses in the lap of philosophy, and flock to the schools in which they hear the praises of pleasure. They do not consider how sober and temperate—for so, by Hercules, I believe it to be—that “pleasure” of Epicurus is, but they rush at his mere name, seeking to obtain some protection and cloak for their vices. They lose, therefore, the one virtue which their evil life possessed, that of being ashamed of doing wrong: for they praise what they used to blush at, and boast of their vices. Thus modesty can never reassert itself, when shameful idleness is dignified with an honourable name. The reason why that praise which your school lavishes upon pleasure is so hurtful, is because the honourable part of its teaching passes unnoticed, but the degrading part is seen by all.

XII. “They are uneasy,” he replies, “because many things distract their thoughts, and conflicting opinions trouble their minds.” I admit this is true. Still, these men enjoy great pleasure, foolish and inconsistent though they are, and certain to regret their actions. We must admit that, while enjoying themselves, they are as far from distress as they are from sound judgment. Like many people, they are gripped by a cheerful madness and laugh while they rave. The pleasures of wise men, by contrast, are gentle, restrained, and proper, almost to the point of dullness. These pleasures are barely noticeable. Wise men neither invite them nor give them an honored reception when they arrive on their own. Nor do wise men greet these pleasures with delight. Instead, they blend pleasures into their lives and use them to fill empty moments. These pleasures are like an amusing farce between stretches of serious business. So let them stop joining things that do not belong together, or linking pleasure with virtue. By making this mistake, they attract the worst people. The reckless pleasure-seeker, always drunk and belching wine fumes, believes he lives virtuously because he knows he lives pleasurably. He hears people say that pleasure cannot exist apart from virtue. So he calls his vices wisdom and shows off everything he ought to hide. Epicurus, then, does not encourage people to indulge without restraint. Instead, vicious people shelter their excesses in the lap of philosophy. They flock to the schools where they hear pleasure praised. They do not consider how sober and moderate Epicurus’s “pleasure” is. For, by Hercules, I believe it is exactly that. Instead, they rush toward his name alone, seeking protection and a cover for their vices. They therefore lose the one virtue their wicked lives possessed: shame at doing wrong. For they now praise what once made them blush, and boast about their vices. Thus a sense of shame can never return when disgraceful idleness receives an honorable name. This is why your school’s lavish praise of pleasure is so harmful. The honorable part of its teaching goes unnoticed, but everyone sees the degrading part.

XIII. I myself believe, though my Stoic comrades would be unwilling to hear me say so, that the teaching of Epicurus was upright and holy, and even, if you examine it narrowly, stern: for this much talked of pleasure is reduced to a very narrow compass, and he bids pleasure submit to the same law which we bid virtue do—I mean, to obey nature. Luxury, however, is not satisfied with what is enough for nature. What is the consequence? Whoever thinks that happiness consists in lazy sloth, and alternations of gluttony and profligacy, requires a good patron for a bad action, and when he has become an Epicurean, having been led to do so by the attractive name of that school, he follows, not the pleasure which he there hears spoken of, but that which he brought thither with him, and, haying learned to think that his vices coincide with the maxims of that philosophy, he indulges in them no longer timidly and in dark corners, but boldly in the face of day. I will not, therefore, like most of our school, say that the sect of Epicurus is the teacher of crime, but what I say is: it is ill spoken of, it has a bad reputation, and yet it does not deserve it. “Who can know this without having been admitted to its inner mysteries?” Its very outside gives opportunity for scandal, and encourages men’s baser desires: it is like a brave man dressed in a woman’s gown: your chastity is assured, your manhood is safe, your body is submitted to nothing disgraceful, but your hand holds a drum (like a priest of Cybele). Choose, then, some honourable superscription for your school, some writing which shall in itself arouse the mind: that which at present stands over your door has been invented by the vices. He who ranges himself on the side of virtue gives thereby a proof of a noble disposition: he who follows pleasure appears to be weakly, worn out, degrading his manhood, likely to fall into infamous vices unless someone discriminates his pleasures for him, so that he may know which remain within the bounds of natural desire, which are frantic and boundless, and become all the more insatiable the more they are satisfied. But come! let virtue lead the way: then every step will be safe. Too much pleasure is hurtful: but with virtue we need fear no excess of any kind, because moderation is contained in virtue herself. That which is injured by its own extent cannot be a good thing: besides, what better guide can there be than reason for beings endowed with a reasoning nature? so if this combination pleases you, if you are willing to proceed to a happy life thus accompanied, let virtue lead the way, let pleasure follow and hang about the body like a shadow: it is the part of a mind incapable of great things to hand over virtue, the highest of all qualities, as a handmaid to pleasure.

XIII. I myself believe that Epicurus taught what was upright and holy, though my Stoic comrades would dislike hearing me say so. If you examine his teaching closely, it is even strict. His much-discussed pleasure is confined within very narrow limits. He tells pleasure to obey the same law that we tell virtue to obey: follow nature. Luxury, however, is not satisfied with what meets nature’s needs. What follows? Anyone who thinks happiness means idle laziness, alternating between gluttony and sexual excess, needs a respectable defender for bad behavior. The appealing name of the Epicurean school draws him in. But once he joins, he does not pursue the pleasure taught there. Instead, he pursues the pleasure he brought with him. He learns to think his vices agree with the principles of that philosophy. So he no longer indulges them timidly in dark corners, but boldly in broad daylight. Unlike most members of our school, I will not say that the school of Epicurus teaches crime. What I say is this: people speak badly of it, and it has a bad reputation, but undeservedly. “Who can know this without being admitted to its inner mysteries?” Its outward appearance alone invites scandal and encourages people’s baser desires. It is like a brave man dressed in a woman’s gown. Your chastity is beyond doubt, your manhood is secure, and your body undergoes nothing shameful. But your hand holds a drum (like a priest of Cybele). So choose an honorable heading for your school, words that will themselves inspire the mind. The words now written above your door were invented by vice. Anyone who sides with virtue thereby shows a noble character. Anyone who follows pleasure appears weak, worn out, and degrading his manhood. He seems likely to fall into shameful vices unless someone sorts out his pleasures for him. Then he can distinguish pleasures within the limits of natural desire from those that are wild and boundless. Those boundless desires grow more insatiable the more they are satisfied. But come! Let virtue lead the way. Then every step will be safe. Too much pleasure is harmful. But with virtue, we need fear no excess of any kind, because moderation is part of virtue itself. Anything harmed by its own excess cannot be good. Besides, what better guide than reason can there be for beings endowed with reason? So if this combination appeals to you, if you are willing to travel toward happiness with both virtue and pleasure, let virtue lead. Let pleasure follow, clinging to the body like a shadow. Only a mind incapable of great things would make virtue, the highest of all qualities, a servant to pleasure.

XIV. Let virtue lead the way and bear the standard: we shall have pleasure for all that, but we shall be her masters and controllers; she may win some concessions from us, but will not force us to do anything. On the contrary, those who have permitted pleasure to lead the van, have neither one nor the other: for they lose virtue altogether, and yet they do not possess pleasure, but are possessed by it, and are either tortured by its absence or choked by its excess, being wretched if deserted by it, and yet more wretched if overwhelmed by it, like those who are caught in the shoals of the Syrtes and at one time are left on dry ground and at another tossed on the flowing waves. This arises from an exaggerated want of self-control, and a hidden love of evil: for it is dangerous for one who seeks after evil instead of good to attain his object. As we hunt wild beasts with toil and peril, and even when they are caught find them an anxious possession, for they often tear their keepers to pieces, even so are great pleasures: they turn out to be great evils and take their owners prisoner. The more numerous and the greater they are, the more inferior and the slave of more masters does that man become whom the vulgar call a happy man. I may even press this analogy further: as the man who tracks wild animals to their lairs, and who sets great store on—

XIV. Let virtue lead the way and carry the standard. We shall still have pleasure, but we shall be her masters and keep her under control. She may win some concessions from us, but she will not force us to do anything. By contrast, those who let pleasure lead have neither virtue nor pleasure. They lose virtue altogether, yet they do not possess pleasure. Pleasure possesses them instead. They are either tormented by its absence or choked by its excess. They are miserable when pleasure abandons them, and even more miserable when it overwhelms them. They are like people caught in the shallows of the Syrtes. At one moment they are stranded on dry ground, and at another they are tossed on the surging waves. This misery comes from an extreme lack of self-control and a hidden love of evil. For anyone who pursues evil instead of good, achieving that goal is dangerous. We hunt wild beasts with effort and danger. Even after we catch them, keeping them causes anxiety, for they often tear their keepers to pieces. Great pleasures are just the same. They turn out to be great evils and take their owners prisoner. The more numerous and greater these pleasures are, the lower the man whom ordinary people call happy sinks. He becomes the slave of more masters. I can take this comparison further: consider the man who tracks wild animals to their dens and places great value on...

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that he may follow their tracks, neglects far more desirable things, and leaves many duties unfulfilled, so he who pursues pleasure postpones everything to it, disregards that first essential, liberty, and sacrifices it to his belly; nor does he buy pleasure for himself, but sells himself to pleasure.

To follow their tracks, he neglects far more desirable things and leaves many duties undone. In the same way, anyone who pursues pleasure puts pleasure before everything else. He disregards freedom, the most essential thing, and sacrifices his freedom to his belly. He does not buy pleasure for himself, but sells himself to pleasure.

XV. “But what,” asks our adversary, “is there to hinder virtue and pleasure being combined together, and a highest good being thus formed, so that honour and pleasure may be the same thing?” Because nothing except what is honourable can form a part of honour, and the highest good would lose its purity if it were to see within itself anything unlike its own better part. Even the joy which arises from virtue, although it be a good thing, yet is not a part of absolute good, any more than cheerfulness or peace of mind, which are indeed good things, but which merely follow the highest good, and do not contribute to its perfection, although they are generated by the noblest causes. Whoever on the other hand forms an alliance, and that, too, a one-sided one, between virtue and pleasure, clogs whatever strength the one may possess by the weakness of the other, and sends liberty under the yoke, for liberty can only remain unconquered as long as she knows nothing more valuable than herself: for he begins to need the help of Fortune, which is the most utter slavery: his life becomes anxious, full of suspicion, timorous, fearful of accidents, waiting in agony for critical moments of time. You do not afford virtue a solid immoveable base if you bid it stand on what is unsteady: and what can be so unsteady as dependence on mere chance, and the vicissitudes of the body and of those things which act on the body? How can such a man obey God and receive everything which comes to pass in a cheerful spirit, never complaining of fate, and putting a good construction upon everything that befalls him, if he be agitated by the petty pin-pricks of pleasures and pains? A man cannot be a good protector of his country, a good avenger of her wrongs, or a good defender of his friends, if he be inclined to pleasures. Let the highest good, then, rise to that height from whence no force can dislodge it, whither neither pain can ascend, nor hope, nor fear, nor anything else that can impair the authority of the “highest good.” Thither virtue alone can make her way: by her aid that hill must be climbed: she will bravely stand her ground and endure whatever may befal her not only resignedly, but even willingly: she will know that all hard times come in obedience to natural laws, and like a good soldier she will bear wounds, count scars, and when transfixed and dying will yet adore the general for whom she falls: she will bear in mind the old maxim “Follow God.” On the other hand, he who grumbles and complains and bemoans himself is nevertheless forcibly obliged to obey orders, and is dragged away, however much against his will, to carry them out: yet what madness is it to be dragged rather than to follow? as great, by Hercules, as it is folly and ignorance of one’s true position to grieve because one has not got something or because something has caused us rough treatment, or to be surprised or indignant at those ills which befall good men as well as bad ones, I mean diseases, deaths, illnesses, and the other cross accidents of human life. Let us bear with magnanimity whatever the system of the universe makes it needful for us to bear: we are all bound by this oath: “To bear the ills of mortal life, and to submit with a good grace to what we cannot avoid.” We have been born into a monarchy: our liberty is to obey God.

XV. “But what,” our opponent asks, “prevents virtue and pleasure from being combined to form a highest good? Could honour and pleasure then be the same thing?” Because nothing except what is honourable can be part of honour. And the highest good would lose its purity if it contained anything unlike its own better part. Even the joy that comes from virtue, though good, is not part of the absolute good. Neither are cheerfulness and peace of mind. These are indeed good things, but they merely follow the highest good and do not make it more perfect. This is true even though they spring from the noblest causes. Anyone who joins virtue to pleasure makes a one-sided alliance. He weakens whatever strength virtue may have with pleasure’s weakness, and forces liberty into submission. For liberty can remain unconquered only as long as she knows nothing more valuable than herself. Such a man begins to need Fortune’s help, and that dependence is the most complete slavery. His life becomes anxious, suspicious, timid, and afraid of unexpected events. He waits in agony for decisive moments. You give virtue no firm, unshakable foundation if you tell it to stand on something unstable. And what could be more unstable than dependence on mere chance? What could be more unstable than changes in the body and in the things that affect it? How can such a man obey God and cheerfully accept everything that happens? How can he never complain about fate and see the good in everything that happens to him? How can he do this if the petty pinpricks of pleasure and pain upset him? A man drawn to pleasure cannot protect his country well, avenge her wrongs well, or defend his friends well. Let the highest good rise, then, to a height from which no force can dislodge it. Let it rise beyond the reach of pain, hope, fear, or anything else that could weaken the “highest good.” Only virtue can reach that height. We must climb that hill with her help. She will bravely stand her ground and endure whatever happens to her, not only patiently but willingly. She will know that all hardships come in obedience to nature’s laws. Like a good soldier, she will bear wounds and count her scars. Even when pierced through and dying, she will still revere the general for whom she falls. She will remember the old saying, “Follow God.” By contrast, anyone who grumbles, complains, and pities himself is still forced to obey orders. However unwilling he may be, he is dragged along to carry them out. Yet what madness it is to be dragged rather than follow! By Hercules, grieving because we lack something or have been treated harshly is just as foolish. Such grief shows how little we understand our true position. So does surprise or anger at troubles that strike good and bad people alike. I mean diseases, deaths, illnesses, and the other misfortunes of human life. Let us bear with greatness of spirit whatever the order of the universe requires us to bear. We are all bound by this oath: “To bear the hardships of mortal life, and willingly accept what we cannot avoid.” We were born into a monarchy. Our liberty is to obey God.

XVI. True happiness, therefore, consists in virtue: and what will this virtue bid you do? Not to think anything bad or good which is connected neither with virtue nor with wickedness: and in the next place, both to endure unmoved the assaults of evil, and, as far as is right, to form a god out of what is good. What reward does she promise you for this campaign? an enormous one, and one that raises you to the level of the gods: you shall be subject to no restraint and to no want; you shall be free, safe, unhurt; you shall fail in nothing that you attempt; you shall be debarred from nothing; everything shall turn out according to your wish; no misfortune shall befal you; nothing shall happen to you except what you expect and hope for. “What! does virtue alone suffice to make you happy?” why, of course, consummate and god-like virtue such as this not only suffices, but more than suffices: for when a man is placed beyond the reach of any desire, what can he possibly lack? if all that he needs is concentred in himself, how can he require anything from without? He, however, who is only on the road to virtue, although he may have made great progress along it, nevertheless needs some favour from fortune while he is still struggling among mere human interests, while he is untying that knot, and all the bonds which bind him to mortality. What, then, is the difference between them? it is that some are tied more or less tightly by these bonds, and some have even tied themselves with them as well; whereas he who has made progress towards the upper regions and raised himself upwards drags a looser chain, and though not yet free, is yet as good as free.

XVI. True happiness, then, consists in virtue. And what will virtue tell you to do? First, to consider nothing good or bad unless it is connected with virtue or wickedness. Next, to withstand the attacks of evil without being shaken and, as far as is right, make good into a god. What reward does virtue promise you for this campaign? An enormous reward, one that raises you to the level of the gods. You will face no restrictions and lack nothing. You will be free, safe, and unharmed. You will fail at nothing you attempt. Nothing will be closed to you. Everything will turn out as you wish. No misfortune will befall you. Nothing will happen to you except what you expect and hope for. “What! Is virtue alone enough to make you happy?” Of course. Perfect, godlike virtue of this kind is not only enough, but more than enough. For when a man is beyond the reach of any desire, what could he possibly lack? If everything he needs is within himself, how could he need anything from outside himself? But someone still on the road to virtue needs some help from fortune, however far he has progressed. He needs that help while he still struggles with merely human concerns. He is still undoing the knot and all the bonds that tie him to mortality. What, then, is the difference between these people? Some are held more or less tightly by these bonds, and some have also tied themselves up. But someone who has progressed toward higher things and raised himself up drags a looser chain. Though he is not yet free, he is as good as free.

XVII. If, therefore, any one of those dogs who yelp at philosophy were to say, as they are wont to do, “Why, then, do you talk so much more bravely than you live? why do you check your words in the presence of your superiors, and consider money to be a necessary implement? why are you disturbed when you sustain losses, and weep on hearing of the death of your wife or your friend? why do you pay regard to common rumour, and feel annoyed by calumnious gossip? why is your estate more elaborately kept than its natural use requires? why do you not dine according to your own maxims? why is your furniture smarter than it need be? why do you drink wine that is older than yourself? why are your grounds laid out? why do you plant trees which afford nothing except shade? why does your wife wear in her ears the price of a rich man’s house? why are your children at school dressed in costly clothes? why is it a science to wait upon you at table? why is your silver plate not set down anyhow or at random, but skilfully disposed in regular order, with a superintendent to preside over the carving of the viands?” Add to this, if you like, the questions “Why do you own property beyond the seas? why do you own more than you know of? it is a shame to you not to know your slaves by sight: for you must be very neglectful of them if you only own a few, or very extravagant if you have too many for your memory to retain.” I will add some reproaches afterwards, and will bring more accusations against myself than you think of: for the present I will make you the following answer. “I am not a wise man, and I will not be one in order to feed your spite: so do not require me to be on a level with the best of men, but merely to be better than the worst: I am satisfied, if every day I take away something from my vices and correct my faults. I have not arrived at perfect soundness of mind, indeed, I never shall arrive at it: I compound palliatives rather than remedies for my gout, and am satisfied if it comes at rarer intervals and does not shoot so painfully. Compared with your feet, which are lame, I am a racer.” I make this speech, not on my own behalf, for I am steeped in vices of every kind, but on behalf of one who has made some progress in virtue.

XVII. Suppose, then, that one of those dogs who yap at philosophy were to make their usual complaints: “Why, then, do you speak so much more bravely than you live? Why do you watch your words around your superiors and think money is a necessary tool? Why are you upset by losses and weep when you hear that your wife or friend has died? Why do you care about public opinion and get annoyed by slanderous gossip? Why is your estate maintained more lavishly than its practical use requires? Why do you not dine according to your own principles? Why is your furniture fancier than necessary? Why do you drink wine older than you are? Why are your grounds landscaped? Why do you plant trees that provide nothing but shade? Why does your wife wear earrings worth the price of a rich man’s house? Why do your children wear expensive clothes at school? Why does serving you at dinner require such expertise? Why is your silver tableware not simply set down wherever there is room? Instead, why is everything carefully arranged, with someone overseeing the carving of the food?” Add these questions too, if you like: “Why do you own property overseas? Why do you own more than you even know about? You should be ashamed of not knowing your slaves by sight. If you own only a few, you must be very neglectful of them. If you have too many to remember, you must be very extravagant.” I will add some criticisms later and bring more charges against myself than you can think of. For now, I will give you this answer. “I am not a wise man, and I will not become one just to satisfy your spite. So do not demand that I equal the best people, only that I be better than the worst. I am satisfied if every day I reduce my vices a little and correct my faults. I have not reached perfect health of mind, and indeed I never shall. For my gout, I prepare treatments that ease the symptoms rather than cure the disease. I am satisfied if the attacks come less often and the pain is less sharp. Compared with you and your lame feet, I am a runner.” I say this not on my own behalf, since I am steeped in every kind of vice. I speak for someone who has made some progress toward virtue.

XVIII. “You talk one way,” objects our adversary, “and live another.” You most spiteful of creatures, you who always show the bitterest hatred to the best of men, this reproach was flung at Plato, at Epicurus, at Zeno: for all these declared how they ought to live, not how they did live. I speak of virtue, not of myself, and when I blame vices, I blame my own first of all: when I have the power, I shall live as I ought to do: spite, however deeply steeped in venom, shall not keep me back from what is best: that poison itself with which you bespatter others, with which you choke yourselves, shall not hinder me from continuing to praise that life which I do not, indeed, lead, but which I know I ought to lead, from loving virtue and from following after her, albeit a long way behind her and with halting gait. Am I to expect that evil speaking will respect anything, seeing that it respected neither Rutilius nor Cato? Will any one care about being thought too rich by men for whom Diogenes the Cynic was not poor enough? That most energetic philosopher fought against all the desires of the body, and was poorer even than the other Cynics, in that besides haying given up possessing anything he had also given up asking for anything: yet they reproached him for not being sufficiently in want: as though forsooth it were poverty, not virtue, of which he professed knowledge.

XVIII. “You say one thing,” our opponent objects, “and live another way.” You most spiteful of creatures, you always show the bitterest hatred toward the best people. The same accusation was thrown at Plato, Epicurus, and Zeno. For all these men described how they ought to live, not how they actually lived. I speak about virtue, not about myself. When I condemn faults, I condemn my own first. When I have the strength, I shall live as I ought. But spite, however full of venom, will not keep me from pursuing what is best. You splash that poison over others and choke yourselves with it. Yet your poison will not stop me from praising a life I do not lead but know I ought to lead. Nor will your poison stop me from loving virtue and following her, though far behind and with faltering steps. Should I expect slander to respect anything, when slander respected neither Rutilius nor Cato? Will anyone care about being thought too rich by people who thought Diogenes the Cynic was not poor enough? That tireless philosopher fought against all bodily desires. He was even poorer than the other Cynics. Besides giving up all possessions, he had also given up asking for anything. Yet people accused him of not being poor enough. As if poverty, rather than virtue, were what he claimed to understand.

XIX. They say that Diodorus, the Epicurean philosopher, who within these last few days put an end to his life with his own hand, did not act according to the precepts of Epicurus, in cutting his throat: some choose to regard this act as the result of madness, others of recklessness; he, meanwhile, happy and filled with the consciousness of his own goodness, has borne testimony to himself by his manner of departing from life, has commended the repose of a life spent at anchor in a safe harbour, and has said what you do not like to hear, because you too ought to do it:

XIX. They say that Diodorus, the Epicurean philosopher, took his own life within the last few days. They claim that by cutting his throat, he went against the teachings of Epicurus. Some choose to see his act as madness, others as recklessness. He, meanwhile, was happy and fully aware of his own goodness. By the way he left life, he testified to his own character. He praised the peace of a life spent at anchor in a safe harbor. And he said what you do not like to hear, because you too ought to do it:

You argue about the life and death of another, and yelp at the name of men whom some peculiarly noble quality has rendered great, just as tiny curs do at the approach of strangers: for it is to your interest that no one should appear to be good, as if virtue in another were a reproach to all your crimes. You enviously compare the glories of others with your own dirty actions, and do not understand how greatly to your disadvantage it is to venture to do so: for if they who follow after virtue be greedy, lustful, and fond of power, what must you be, who hate the very name of virtue? You say that no one acts up to his professions, or lives according to the standard which he sets up in his discourses: what wonder, seeing that the words which they speak are brave, gigantic, and able to weather all the storms which wreck mankind, whereas they themselves are struggling to tear themselves away from crosses into which each one of you is driving his own nail. Yet men who are crucified hang from one single pole, but these who punish themselves are divided between as many crosses as they have lusts, but yet are given to evil speaking, and are so magnificent in their contempt of the vices of others that I should suppose that they had none of their own, were it not that some criminals when on the gibbet spit upon the spectators.

You argue about another person’s life and death. You yap at the names of men made great by some especially noble quality, just as little dogs bark at strangers. For you benefit when no one seems good, as if another person’s virtue were a rebuke to all your crimes. You jealously compare other people’s achievements with your own filthy deeds. You do not understand how badly you come off by daring to make that comparison. For if those who pursue virtue are greedy, lustful, and power-hungry, what must you be, who hate virtue’s very name? You say that no one practices what he preaches or lives by the standards he teaches. But why should that surprise you? Their words are bold and towering, strong enough to withstand all the storms that wreck human lives. Yet the speakers themselves struggle to pull free from crosses into which each of you drives his own nail. Still, men who are crucified hang from a single pole. But these men who torment themselves are stretched across as many crosses as they have desires. Yet they still slander others and show such grand contempt for other people’s vices. I would suppose they had no vices themselves, if some criminals on the gallows did not spit at the spectators.

XX. “Philosophers do not carry into effect all that they teach.” No; but they effect much good by their teaching, by the noble thoughts which they conceive in their minds: would, indeed, that they could act up to their talk: what could be happier than they would be? but in the meanwhile you have no right to despise good sayings and hearts full of good thoughts. Men deserve praise for engaging in profitable studies, even though they stop short of producing any results. Why need we wonder if those who begin to climb a steep path do not succeed in ascending it very high? yet, if you be a man, look with respect on those who attempt great things, even though they fall. It is the act of a generous spirit to proportion its efforts not to its own strength but to that of human nature, to entertain lofty aims, and to conceive plans which are too vast to be carried into execution even by those who are endowed with gigantic intellects, who appoint for themselves the following rules: I will look upon death or upon a comedy with the same expression of countenance: I will submit to labours, however great they may be, supporting the strength of my body by that of my mind: I will despise riches when I have them as much as when I have them not; if they be elsewhere I will not be more gloomy, if they sparkle around me I will not be more lively than I should otherwise be: whether Fortune comes or goes I will take no notice of her: I will view all lands as though they belong to me, and my own as though they belonged to all mankind: I will so live as to remember that I was born for others, and will thank Nature on this account: for in what fashion could she have done better for me? she has given me alone to all, and all to me alone. Whatever I may possess, I will neither hoard it greedily nor squander it recklessly. I will think that I have no possessions so real as those which I have given away to deserving people: I will not reckon benefits by their magnitude or number, or by anything except the value set upon them by the receiver: I never will consider a gift to be a large one if it be bestowed upon a worthy object. I will do nothing because of public opinion, but everything because of conscience: whenever I do anything alone by myself I will believe that the eyes of the Roman people are upon me while I do it. In eating and drinking my object shall be to quench the desires of Nature, not to fill and empty my belly. I will be agreeable with my friends, gentle and mild to my foes: I will grant pardon before I am asked for it, and will meet the wishes of honourable men half way: I will bear in mind that the world is my native city, that its governors are the gods, and that they stand above and around me, criticizing whatever I do or say. Whenever either Nature demands my breath again, or reason bids me dismiss it, I will quit this life, calling all to witness that I have loved a good conscience, and good pursuits; that no one’s freedom, my own least of all, has been impaired through me.” He who sets up these as the rules of his life will soar aloft and strive to make his way to the gods: of a truth, even though he fails, yet he

XX. “Philosophers do not practice everything they teach.” No, but their teaching does much good, as do the noble thoughts they hold in their minds. If only they could live up to their words. Who could be happier than they would be? Meanwhile, you have no right to despise good sayings or hearts full of good thoughts. People deserve praise for pursuing worthwhile studies, even if their studies produce no results. Why should we be surprised if those who start climbing a steep path do not get very far? Still, if you are a man, respect those who attempt great things, even if they fall. A noble spirit measures its efforts not by its own strength, but by the strength of human nature. It sets lofty goals and makes plans too vast for even those with towering intellects to carry out. Such people set themselves these rules: I will face death with the same expression as when watching a comedy. I will endure work, however hard, using my mental strength to support my body. I will scorn riches as much when I have them as when I do not. If wealth lies elsewhere, I will be no gloomier. If wealth shines around me, I will be no more cheerful than I would otherwise be. Whether Fortune comes or goes, I will pay her no attention. I will regard all lands as my own, and my own lands as belonging to all humanity. I will live remembering that I was born for others, and I will thank Nature for this. For how could she have done better for me? She has given me alone to everyone, and everyone to me alone. Whatever I possess, I will neither hoard greedily nor squander recklessly. I will consider nothing more truly mine than what I have given to deserving people. I will judge favors neither by their size nor their number, but only by their value to the recipient. I will never consider a gift large if it is given to someone worthy. I will do nothing for the sake of public opinion, but everything for the sake of conscience. Whenever I act alone, I will believe that the Roman people are watching me. I will eat and drink to satisfy Nature’s needs, not to fill and empty my belly. I will be pleasant with my friends, gentle and mild toward my enemies. I will forgive before I am asked. I will meet honorable people’s wishes halfway. I will remember that the world is my native city and that the gods are its rulers. They stand above and around me, judging everything I do or say. Whenever Nature demands my breath back, or reason tells me to give it up, I will leave this life. I will call everyone to witness that I have loved a good conscience and good pursuits. I will call them to witness that I have diminished no one’s freedom, least of all my own.” Anyone who makes these rules the guide for his life will soar high and strive to reach the gods. Indeed, even if he fails, still he

But you, who hate both virtue and those who practise it, do nothing at which we need be surprised, for sickly lights cannot bear the sun, nocturnal creatures avoid the brightness of day, and at its first dawning become bewildered and all betake themselves to their dens together: creatures that fear the light hide themselves in crevices. So croak away, and exercise your miserable tongues in reproaching good men: open wide your jaws, bite hard: you will break many teeth before you make any impression.

But you hate both virtue and those who practice it, so nothing you do should surprise us. Weak eyes cannot bear the sun, and creatures of the night avoid the brightness of day. At the first light of dawn, they become confused and all retreat together to their dens. Creatures that fear the light hide in cracks. So croak away, and use your miserable tongues to insult good men. Open your jaws wide and bite hard. You will break many teeth before you make any mark.

XXI. “But how is it that this man studies philosophy and nevertheless lives the life of a rich man? Why does he say that wealth ought to be despised and yet possess it? that life should be despised, and yet live? that health should be despised, and yet guard it with the utmost care, and wish it to be as good as possible? Does he consider banishment to be an empty name, and say, “What evil is there in changing one country for another?” and yet, if permitted, does he not grow old in his native land? does he declare that there is no difference between a longer and a shorter time, and yet, if he be not prevented, lengthen out his life and flourish in a green old age?” His answer is, that these things ought to be despised, not that he should not possess them, but that he should not possess them with fear and trembling: he does not drive them away from him, but when they leave him he follows after them unconcernedly. Where, indeed, can fortune invest riches more securely than in a place from whence they can always be recovered without any squabble with their trustee? Marcus Cato, when he was praising Curius and Coruncanius and that century in which the possession of a few small silver coins were an offence which was punished by the Censor, himself owned four million sesterces; a less fortune no doubt, than that of Crassus, but larger than of Cato the Censor. If the amounts be compared, he had outstripped his great-grandfather further than he himself was outdone by Crassus, and if still greater riches had fallen to his lot, he would not have spurned them: for the wise man does not think himself unworthy of any chance presents: he does not love riches, but he prefers to have them; he does not receive them into his spirit, but only into his house: nor does he cast away from him what he already possesses, but keeps them, and is willing that his virtue should receive a larger subject-matter for its exercise.

XXI. “But how can this man study philosophy and still live like a rich man? Why does he say wealth should count for nothing, yet own it? Why does he say life should count for nothing, yet go on living? Why does he say health should count for nothing, yet guard his health so carefully and want the best possible health? Does he consider banishment an empty word and say, “What harm is there in exchanging one country for another?” Yet, if allowed, does he not grow old in his native land? Does he declare that a longer life is no different from a shorter one? Yet, unless prevented, does he not prolong his life and thrive in a vigorous old age?” His answer is that these things should count for nothing. He does not mean he should not have them, but that he should not hold them with fear and trembling. He does not drive them away. But when they leave him, he sees them go without concern. Indeed, where can fortune invest wealth more safely than with someone who will return it without a quarrel? Marcus Cato praised Curius and Coruncanius. He also praised the century when owning a few small silver coins was an offense punished by the Censor. Yet he himself owned four million sesterces. His fortune was smaller than Crassus’s, no doubt, but larger than Cato the Censor’s. In wealth, he surpassed his great-grandfather by more than Crassus surpassed him. And if even greater wealth had come his way, he would not have rejected it. For the wise man does not consider himself unworthy of any gifts fortune offers. He does not love wealth, but he prefers to have it. He welcomes wealth into his house, not into his soul. Nor does he throw away the wealth he already owns. Instead, he keeps his wealth and welcomes the greater scope it gives him to exercise his virtue.

XXII. Who can doubt, however, that the wise man, if he is rich, has a wider field for the development of his powers than if he is poor, seeing that in the latter case the only virtue which he can display is that of neither being perverted nor crushed by his poverty, whereas if he has riches, he will have a wide field for the exhibition of temperance, generosity, laboriousness, methodical arrangement, and grandeur. The wise man will not despise himself, however short of stature he may be, but nevertheless he will wish to be tall: even though he be feeble and one-eyed he may be in good health, yet he would prefer to have bodily strength, and that too, while he knows all the while that he has something which is even more powerful: he will endure illness, and will hope for good health: for some things, though they may be trifles compared with the sum total, and though they may be taken away without destroying the chief good, yet add somewhat to that constant cheerfulness which arises from virtue. Riches encourage and brighten up such a man just as a sailor is delighted at a favourable wind that bears him on his way, or as people feel pleasure at a fine day or at a sunny spot in the cold weather. What wise man, I mean of our school, whose only good is virtue, can deny that even these matters which we call neither good nor bad have in themselves a certain value, and that some of them are preferable to others? to some of them we show a certain amount of respect, and to some a great deal. Do not, then, make any mistake: riches belong to the class of desirable things. “Why then,” say you, “do you laugh at me, since you place them in the same position that I do?” Do you wish to know how different the position is in which we place them? If my riches leave me, they will carry away with them nothing except themselves: you will be bewildered and will seem to be left without yourself if they should pass away from you: with me riches occupy a certain place, but with you they occupy the highest place of all. In fine, my riches belong to me, you belong to your riches.

XXII. Who can doubt that a wise man has more room to develop his abilities when rich than when poor? In poverty, his only chance to show virtue is by refusing to let poverty corrupt or crush him. But with wealth, he has many opportunities to show self-control, generosity, hard work, orderly management, and greatness of spirit. The wise man will not despise himself, however short he may be, but he will still wish to be tall. Even if he is weak and has only one eye, he may be healthy. Yet he would prefer physical strength, while knowing all along that he possesses something even more powerful. He will endure illness and hope for good health. Some things may be trivial in the larger picture. Losing them may not destroy the highest good. Yet they still add something to the steady happiness that comes from virtue. Wealth encourages and cheers such a man, just as a favorable wind delights a sailor by carrying him onward. Wealth also pleases him as a fine day does, or a sunny spot in cold weather. What wise man can deny that even things we call neither good nor bad have some value in themselves? I mean a wise man of our school, who regards virtue as the only good. Nor can he deny that some of these things are preferable to others. We give some of them a certain amount of importance, and others a great deal. So make no mistake: wealth belongs among desirable things. “Why, then,” you say, “do you laugh at me, since you give wealth the same place I do?” Do you want to know how differently we rank wealth? If my wealth leaves me, it will take nothing with it except itself. If your wealth leaves you, you will be bewildered and feel as though you have lost yourself. In my life, wealth has its place. In yours, wealth holds the highest place of all. In short, my wealth belongs to me. You belong to your wealth.

XXIII. Cease, then, forbidding philosophers to possess money: no one has condemned wisdom to poverty. The philosopher may own ample wealth, but will not own wealth that which has been torn from another, or which is stained with another’s blood: his must be obtained without wronging any man, and without its being won by base means; it must be alike honourably come by and honourably spent, and must be such as spite alone could shake its head at. Raise it to whatever figure you please, it will still be an honourable possession, if, while it includes much which every man would like to call his own, there be nothing which any one can say is his own. Such a man will not forfeit his right to the favour of Fortune, and will neither boast of his inheritance nor blush for it if it was honourably acquired: yet he will have something to boast of, if he throw his house open, let all his countrymen come among his property, and say, “If any one recognizes here anything belonging to him, let him take it.” What a great man, how excellently rich will he be, if after this speech he possesses as much as he had before! I say, then, that if he can safely and confidently submit his accounts to the scrutiny of the people, and no one can find in them any item upon which he can lay hands, such a man may boldly and unconcealedly enjoy his riches. The wise man will not allow a single ill-won penny to cross his threshold: yet he will not refuse or close his door against great riches, if they are the gift of fortune and the product of virtue: what reason has he for grudging them good quarters: let them come and be his guests: he will neither brag of them nor hide them away: the one is the part of a silly, the other of a cowardly and paltry spirit, which, as it were, muffles up a good thing in its lap. Neither will he, as I said before, turn them out of his house: for what will he say? will he say, “You are useless,” or “I do not know how to use riches?” As he is capable of performing a journey upon his own feet, but yet would prefer to mount a carriage, just so he will be capable of being poor, yet will wish to be rich; he will own wealth, but will view it as an uncertain possession which will some day fly away from him. He will not allow it to be a burden either to himself or to any one else: he will give it—why do you prick up your ears? why do you open your pockets?—he will give it either to good men or to those whom it may make into good men. He will give it after having taken the utmost pains to choose those who are fittest to receive it, as becomes one who bears in mind that he ought to give an account of what he spends as well as of what he receives. He will give for good and commendable reasons, for a gift ill bestowed counts as a shameful loss: he will have an easily opened pocket, but not one with a hole in it, so that much may be taken out of it, yet nothing may fall out of it.

XXIII. Stop, then, forbidding philosophers to own money. No one has condemned wisdom to poverty. A philosopher may own great wealth, but not wealth taken from someone else or stained with another person’s blood. His wealth must come without harming anyone and without shameful methods. It must be honorably acquired and honorably spent, so that only spite could find fault with it. Make his fortune as large as you please. His wealth will still be honorable if it contains much that everyone would like to own, but nothing anyone can claim. Such a man will not give up his right to Fortune’s favor. He will neither boast of his inheritance nor feel ashamed of it, if it was honorably acquired. Yet he will have something to boast of if he opens his house and invites all his countrymen to inspect his possessions. He can say, “If anyone recognizes anything here as belonging to him, let him take it.” What a great man he will be, and how admirable his wealth, if afterward he still owns as much as before! So, I say, he may enjoy his riches openly and confidently if he can safely submit his accounts to public inspection. No one must be able to find an item in those accounts that he can claim as his own. The wise man will not let a single dishonestly earned penny cross his threshold. Yet he will not refuse great riches or shut his door against them if they come from fortune and virtue. Why should he begrudge his riches a comfortable home? Let them come and be his guests. He will neither boast about his riches nor hide them away. Boasting is foolish. Hiding them shows a cowardly, petty spirit, as though he were concealing something good in his lap. Nor, as I said before, will he drive his riches out of his house. For what could he say? Would he say, “You are useless,” or “I do not know how to use riches?” Just as he can travel on foot but would prefer a carriage, he can be poor but will prefer wealth. He will own wealth, but regard it as an uncertain possession that will someday leave him. He will not let his wealth become a burden to himself or anyone else. He will give his wealth away. Why do you prick up your ears? Why do you open your pockets? He will give to good people or to those whom his gifts may make good. He will take the greatest care to choose the most suitable recipients. Such care befits someone who remembers that he must account for what he spends as well as what he receives. He will give for good and praiseworthy reasons, because a badly placed gift counts as a shameful loss. His pocket will open easily, but it will have no hole. Much can be taken out, but nothing will fall out.

XXIV. He who believes giving to be an easy matter, is mistaken: it offers very great difficulties, if we bestow our bounty rationally, and do not scatter it impulsively and at random. I do this man a service, I requite a good turn done me by that one: I help this other, because I pity him: this man, again, I teach to be no fit object for poverty to hold down or degrade. I shall not give some men anything, although they are in want, because, even if I do give to them they will still be in want: I shall proffer my bounty to some, and shall forcibly thrust it upon others: I cannot be neglecting my own interests while I am doing this: at no time do I make more people in my debt than when I am giving things away. “What?” say you, “do you give that you may receive again?” At any rate I do not give that I may throw my bounty away: what I give should be so placed that although I cannot ask for its return, yet it may be given back to me. A benefit should be invested in the same manner as a treasure buried deep in the earth, which you would not dig up unless actually obliged. Why, what opportunities of conferring benefits the mere house of a rich man affords? for who considers generous behaviour due only to those who wear the toga? Nature bids me do good to mankind—what difference does it make whether they be slaves or freemen, free-born or emancipated, whether their freedom be legally acquired or betowed by arrangement among friends? Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a benefit: consequently, money may be distributed even within one’s own threshold, and a field may be found there for the practice of freehandedness, which is not so called because it is our duty towards free men, but because it takes its rise in a free-born mind. In the case of the wise man, this never falls upon base and unworthy recipients, and never becomes so exhausted as not, whenever it finds a worthy object, to flow as if its store was undiminished. You have, therefore, no grounds for misunderstanding the honourable, brave, and spirited language which you hear from those who are studying wisdom: and first of all observe this, that a student of wisdom is not the same thing as a man who has made himself perfect in wisdom. The former will say to you, “In my talk I express the most admirable sentiments, yet I am still weltering amid countless ills. You must not force me to act up to my rules: at the present time I am forming myself, moulding my character, and striving to rise myself to the height of a great example. If I should ever succeed in carrying out all that I have set myself to accomplish, you may then demand that my words and deeds should correspond,” But he who has reached the summit of human perfection will deal otherwise with you, and will say, “In the first place, you have no business to allow yourself to sit in judgment upon your betters:” I have already obtained one proof of my righteousness in having become an object of dislike to bad men: however, to make you a rational answer, which I grudge to no man, listen to what I declare, and at what price I value all things. Riches, I say, are not a good thing; for if they were, they would make men good: now since that which is found even among bad men cannot be termed good, I do not allow them to be called so: nevertheless I admit that they are desirable and useful and contribute great comforts to our lives.

XXIV. Anyone who thinks giving is easy is mistaken. Giving presents great difficulties if we give thoughtfully, rather than scattering our gifts on impulse and at random. I do one man a service. I repay another for a kindness he has done me. I help someone else because I pity him. I teach another that he is too worthy to let poverty crush or degrade him. I will give some men nothing, although they are in need, because even my gifts would leave them in need. I will offer my generosity to some and force it on others. I cannot be neglecting my own interests while I give. At no other time do I put more people in my debt than when I give things away. “What?” you say. “Do you give so that you can receive something in return?” At least I do not give so that my generosity goes to waste. My gift should be placed where it may be returned, although I cannot ask for it back. A kindness should be invested like treasure buried deep in the earth. You would not dig up that treasure unless you had to. Why, think how many opportunities a rich man’s household alone offers for doing good. Who thinks generosity is owed only to people who wear the toga? Nature tells me to do good to humanity. What difference does it make whether people are slaves or free, born free or freed from slavery? What difference does it make whether their freedom was legally granted or arranged informally among friends? Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity to do good. So money can be given away even within your own home. There, too, you can find scope for openhanded generosity. We call such generosity “free” not because we owe it to free people, but because it springs from a freeborn spirit. A wise man’s generosity never goes to base and unworthy recipients. Nor is it ever so exhausted that it cannot flow as though undiminished whenever it finds someone worthy. So you have no reason to misunderstand the honorable, brave, and spirited words of those who study wisdom. First, remember that a student of wisdom is not the same as someone who has achieved perfect wisdom. The student will tell you, “I express the finest ideals when I speak, yet I am still struggling with countless faults. You must not force me to live up to my rules. For now, I am shaping myself, forming my character, and trying to rise to the level of a great example. If I ever succeed in doing everything I have set out to do, then demand that my deeds match my words.” But someone who has reached the height of human perfection will answer you differently. He will say, “First, you have no business sitting in judgment on your betters. I already have one proof of my goodness: bad men dislike me. Still, I deny no one a reasoned answer. So listen to what I say and how I judge the value of everything. Wealth, I say, is not a good thing. If it were, it would make people good. But something found even among bad people cannot be called good, so I refuse to call wealth good. Still, I admit that wealth is desirable and useful, and brings great comfort to our lives.”

XXV. Learn, then, since we both agree that they are desirable, what my reason is amongst counting them among good things, and in what respects I should behave differently to you if I possessed them. Place me as master in the house of a very rich man: place me where gold and silver plate is used for the commonest purposes; I shall not think more of myself because of things which even though they are in my house are yet no part of me. Take me away to the wooden bridge⁵ and put me down there among the beggars: I shall not despise myself because I am sitting among those who hold out their hands for alms: for what can the lack of a piece of bread matter to one who does not lack the power of dying? Well, then? I prefer the magnificent house to the beggar’s bridge. Place me among magnificent furniture and all the appliances of luxury: I shall not think myself any happier because my cloak is soft, because my guests rest upon purple. Change the scene: I shall be no more miserable if my weary head rests upon a bundle of hay, if I lie upon a cushion from the circus, with all the stuffing on the point of coming out through its patches of threadbare cloth. Well, then? I prefer, as far as my feelings go, to show myself in public dressed in woollen and in robes of office, rather than with naked or half-covered shoulders: I should like every day’s business to turn out just as I wish it to do, and new congratulations to be constantly following upon the former ones: yet I will not pride myself upon this: change all this good fortune for its opposite, let my spirit be distracted by losses, grief, various kinds of attacks: let no hour pass without some dispute: I shall not on this account, though beset by the greatest miseries, call myself the most miserable of beings, nor shall I curse any particular day, for I have taken care to have no unlucky days. What, then, is the upshot of all this? it is that I prefer to have to regulate joys than to stifle sorrows. The great Socrates would say the same thing to you. “Make me,” he would say, “the conqueror of all nations: let the voluptuous car of Bacchus bear me in triumph to Thebes from the rising of the sun: let the kings of the Persians receive laws from me: yet I shall feel myself to be a man at the very moment when all around salute me as a God. Straightway connect this lofty height with a headlong fall into misfortune: let me be placed upon a foreign chariot that I may grace the triumph of a proud and savage conqueror: I will follow another’s car with no more humility than I showed when I stood in my own. What then? In spite of all this, I had rather be a conqueror than a captive. I despise the whole dominion of Fortune, but still, if I were given my choice, I would choose its better parts. I shall make whatever befals me become a good thing, but I prefer that what befals me should be comfortable and pleasant and unlikely to cause me annoyance: for you need not suppose that any virtue exists without labour, but some virtues need spurs, while others need the curb. As we have to check our body on a downward path, and to urge it to climb a steep one; so also the path of some virtues leads down hill, that of others uphill. Can we doubt that patience, courage, constancy, and all the other virtues which have to meet strong opposition, and to trample Fortune under their feet, are climbing, struggling, winning their way up a steep ascent? Why! is it not equally evident that generosity, moderation, and gentleness glide easily downhill? With the latter we must hold in our spirit, lest it run away with us: with the former we must urge and spur it on. We ought, therefore, to apply these energetic, combative virtues to poverty, and to riches those other more thrifty ones which trip lightly along, and merely support their own weight. This being the distinction between them, I would rather have to deal with those which I could practise in comparative quiet, than those of which one can only make trial through blood and sweat. “Wherefore,” says the sage, “I do not talk one way and live another: but you do not rightly understand what I say: the sound of my words alone reaches your ears, you do not try to find out their meaning.”

XXV. Since we both agree that these things are desirable, learn why I count them among good things. Learn, too, how I would behave differently from you if I possessed them. Put me in charge of a very rich man’s house. Put me where gold and silver dishes serve the most ordinary purposes. I shall not think more highly of myself because of these possessions. Even though they are in my house, they are no part of me. Take me away to the wooden bridge⁵ and set me down among the beggars. I shall not despise myself because I sit among people holding out their hands for alms. For what does lacking a piece of bread matter to someone who still has the power to die? What, then? I prefer the magnificent house to the beggar’s bridge. Surround me with magnificent furniture and every luxury. I shall not think myself any happier because my cloak is soft or my guests recline on purple fabric. Change the scene. I shall be no more miserable if my tired head rests on a bundle of hay. Nor shall I suffer more if I lie on a circus cushion whose stuffing nearly spills through its threadbare patches. What, then? As far as my feelings go, I prefer appearing in public wearing woolen clothes and robes of office. I prefer that to having my shoulders bare or half covered. I would like each day’s business to turn out just as I wish. I would like fresh congratulations to keep following earlier ones. Yet I will not take pride in such success. Replace all this good fortune with its opposite. Let losses, grief, and attacks of every kind disturb my spirit. Let no hour pass without some dispute. Even when surrounded by the greatest miseries, I shall not call myself the most miserable of beings. Nor shall I curse any particular day, for I have made sure I have no unlucky days. What does all this mean? I would rather have to keep joy under control than suppress sorrow. The great Socrates would say the same to you. “Make me,” he would say, “the conqueror of all nations. Let the luxurious chariot of Bacchus carry me in triumph to Thebes from the lands of the rising sun. Let the kings of the Persians receive their laws from me. Yet I shall know I am human at the very moment everyone around me greets me as a God. Follow that great height immediately with a headlong fall into misfortune. Put me on a foreign chariot to adorn the triumph of a proud and savage conqueror. I shall follow another man’s chariot with no more humility than I showed when standing in my own. What, then? Despite all this, I would rather be a conqueror than a captive. I look down on everything under Fortune’s control. Still, if given a choice, I would choose the better parts. I shall turn whatever happens to me into something good. But I prefer events to be comfortable, pleasant, and unlikely to trouble me. For you must not suppose that any virtue comes without effort. But some virtues need spurs, while others need reins. We must hold our bodies back when going downhill and push them onward when climbing a steep slope. In the same way, the path of some virtues leads downhill, while the path of others leads uphill. Patience, courage, constancy, and all the other virtues that face strong opposition must trample Fortune underfoot. Can we doubt that these virtues struggle and fight their way up a steep slope? And is it not equally clear that generosity, moderation, and gentleness glide easily downhill? With these last virtues, we must restrain our spirit so that it does not run away with us. With the first virtues, we must drive and spur our spirit onward. So we should bring those energetic, combative virtues to poverty. To wealth, we should bring the more restrained virtues that move lightly and carry only their own weight. Given this distinction, I would rather deal with virtues I could practice in relative peace. I prefer them to virtues that can only be tested through blood and sweat.” “That is why,” says the wise man, “I do not speak one way and live another. Instead, you misunderstand what I say. Only the sound of my words reaches your ears. You do not try to discover their meaning.”

XXVI. “What difference, then, is there between me, who am a fool, and you, who are a wise man?” “All the difference in the world: for riches are slaves in the house of a wise man, but masters in that of a fool. You accustom yourself to them and cling to them as if somebody had promised that they should be yours for ever, but a wise man never thinks so much about poverty as when he is surrounded by riches. No general ever trusts so implicitly in the maintenance of peace as not to make himself ready for a war, which, though it may not actually be waged, has nevertheless been declared; you are rendered over-proud by a fine house, as though it could never be burned or fall down, and your heads are turned by riches as though they were beyond the reach of all dangers and were so great that Fortune has not sufficient strength to swallow them up. You sit idly playing with your wealth and do not foresee the perils in store for it, as savages generally do when besieged, for, not understanding the use of siege artillery, they look on idly at the labours of the besiegers and do not understand the object of the machines which they are putting together at a distance: and this is exactly what happens to you: you go to sleep over your property, and never reflect how many misfortunes loom menacingly around you on all sides, and soon will plunder you of costly spoils, but if one takes away riches from the wise man, one leaves him still in possession of all that is his: for he lives happy in the present, and without fear for the future. The great Socrates, or any one else who had the same superiority to and power to withstand the things of this life, would say, ‘I have no more fixed principle than that of not altering the course of my life to suit your prejudices: you may pour your accustomed talk upon me from all sides: I shall not think that you are abusing me, but that you are merely wailing like poor little babies.’ ” This is what the man will say who possesses wisdom, whose mind, being free from vices, bids him reproach others, not because he hates them, but in order to improve them: and to this he will add, “Your opinion of me affects me with pain, not for my own sake but for yours, because to hate perfection and to assail virtue is in itself a resignation of all hope of doing well. You do me no harm; neither do men harm the gods when they overthrow their altars: but it is clear that your intention is an evil one and that you will wish to do harm even where you are not able. I bear with your prating in the same spirit in which Jupiter, best and greatest, bears with the idle tales of the poets, one of whom represents him with wings, another with horns, another as an adulterer staying out all night, another is dealing harshly with the gods, another as unjust to men, another as the seducer of noble youths whom he carries off by force, and those, too, his own relatives, another as a parricide and the conqueror of another’s kingdom, and that his father’s. The only result of such tales is that men feel less shame at committing sin if they believe the gods to be guilty of such actions. But although this conduct of yours does not hurt me, yet, for your own sakes, I advise you, respect virtue: believe those who having long followed her cry aloud that what they follow is a thing of might, and daily appears mightier. Reverence her as you would the gods, and reverence her followers as you would the priests of the gods: and whenever any mention of sacred writings is made, favete linguis, favour us with silence: this word is not derived, as most people imagine, from favour, but commands silence, that divine service may be performed without being interrupted by any words of evil omen. It is much more necessary that you should be ordered to do this, in order that whenever utterance is made by that oracle, you may listen to it with attention and in silence. Whenever any one beats a sistrum,⁶ pretending to do so by divine command, any proficient in grazing his own skin covers his arms and shoulders with blood from light cuts, any one crawls on his knees howling along the street, or any old man clad in linen comes forth in daylight with a lamp and laurel branch and cries out that one of the gods is angry, you crowd round him and listen to his words, and each increases the other’s wonderment by declaring him to be divinely inspired.

XXVI. “What difference is there, then, between me, a fool, and you, a wise man?” “All the difference in the world. Riches are servants in a wise man’s house, but masters in a fool’s. You grow used to your riches and cling to them, as if someone had promised you could keep them forever. But a wise man thinks most about poverty when he is surrounded by riches. No general trusts peace so completely that he fails to prepare for war. Though the war may never be fought, it has already been declared. A fine house makes you arrogant, as though it could never burn down or collapse. Your riches go to your head, as though no danger could touch them. You act as though your wealth were too great for Fortune to swallow up. You sit idly playing with your wealth, without seeing the dangers awaiting it. You are like the savages who generally watch idly when under siege, because they do not understand siege artillery. They watch the besiegers at work without understanding the purpose of the machines being assembled in the distance. You behave in exactly the same way. You fall asleep over your possessions, never considering how many disasters threaten you from every side. Soon those disasters will rob you of your costly treasures. But if someone takes a wise man’s riches away, he still possesses everything that is truly his. For he lives happily in the present, without fear of the future. The great Socrates would speak as follows. So would anyone else equally able to rise above and withstand the troubles of life: ‘My firmest principle is that I will not change my way of life to suit your prejudices. You may pour your usual talk over me from every side. I will not think you are insulting me, but merely wailing like poor little babies.’ ” These are the words of someone who possesses wisdom. His mind is free from vice and urges him to correct others. He does so not because he hates them, but to improve them. And he will add, “Your opinion of me pains me, not for my sake, but for yours. For hating perfection and attacking virtue means giving up all hope of doing good. You do me no harm, just as people do the gods no harm when they tear down their altars. But your intentions are clearly evil. You wish to do harm even where you cannot. I put up with your chatter as Jupiter, best and greatest, puts up with the poets’ idle stories. One poet gives him wings, another horns. Another depicts him as an adulterer staying out all night. Another shows him treating the gods harshly, and another being unjust to human beings. Another makes him a seducer of noble youths whom he carries off by force, even youths from his own family. Another makes him his father’s murderer and the conqueror of someone else’s kingdom, his own father’s. Such stories have only one result. People feel less shame about sinning if they believe the gods guilty of the same acts. But although your behavior does not hurt me, I advise you, for your own sake, to respect virtue. Believe those who have long followed her. They proclaim that what they follow is powerful and appears more powerful every day. Honor her as you would the gods, and honor her followers as you would the gods’ priests. Whenever sacred writings are mentioned, favete linguis, favor us with silence. This expression does not come from favor, as most people imagine. Instead, it commands silence so that worship can proceed without interruption by words of ill omen. You need this command much more, so that whenever that oracle speaks, you listen attentively and silently. Someone shakes a sistrum,⁶ claiming to act on divine orders. Someone skilled at scratching his own skin covers his arms and shoulders with blood from shallow cuts. Someone crawls on his knees along the street, howling. Or an old man dressed in linen appears in daylight, carrying a lamp and a laurel branch. He cries out that one of the gods is angry. Whenever anyone does these things, you crowd around him and listen. Each of you increases the others’ amazement by declaring him divinely inspired.

XXVII. Behold! from that prison of his, which by entering he cleansed from shame and rendered more honourable than any senate house, Socrates addresses you, saying: “What is this madness of yours? what is this disposition, at war alike with gods and men, which leads you to calumniate virtue and to outrage holiness with malicious accusations? Praise good men, if you are able: if not, pass them by in silence: if indeed you take pleasure in this offensive abusiveness, fall foul of one another: for when you rave against Heaven, I do not say that you commit sacrilege, but you waste your time. I once afforded Aristophanes with the subject of a jest: since then all the crew of comic poets have made me a mark for their envenomed wit: my virtue has been made to shine more brightly by the very blows which have been aimed at it, for it is to its advantage to be brought before the public and exposed to temptation, nor do any people understand its greatness more than those who by their assaults have made trial of its strength. The hardness of flint is known to none so well as to those who strike it. I offer myself to all attacks, like some lonely rock in a shallow sea, which the waves never cease to beat upon from whatever quarter they may come, but which they cannot thereby move from its place nor yet wear away, for however many years they may unceasingly dash against it. Bound upon me, rush upon me, I will overcome you by enduring your onset: whatever strikes against that which is firm and unconquerable merely injures itself by its own violence. Wherefore, seek some soft and yielding object to pierce with your darts. But have you leisure to peer into other men’s evil deeds and to sit in judgment upon anybody? to ask how it is that this philosopher has so roomy a house, or that one so good a dinner? Do you look at other people’s pimples while you yourselves are covered with countless ulcers? This is as though one who was eaten up by the mange were to point with scorn at the moles and warts on the bodies of the handsomest men. Reproach Plato with having sought for money, reproach Aristotle with having obtained it, Democritus with having disregarded it, Epicurus with having spent it: cast Phaedrus and Alcibiades in my own teeth, you who reach the height of enjoyment whenever you get an opportunity of imitating our vices! Why do you not rather cast your eyes around yourselves at the ills which tear you to pieces on every side, some attacking you from without, some burning in your own bosoms? However little you know your own place, mankind has not yet come to such a pass that you can have leisure to wag your tongues to the reproach of your betters.

XXVII. Look! Socrates speaks to you from his prison. By entering it, he stripped it of shame and made it more honorable than any senate house. He says: “What is this madness of yours? Why are you so hostile to gods and men that you slander virtue and attack holiness with malicious accusations? Praise good men if you can. If not, pass them by in silence. If you really enjoy this nasty abuse, attack one another. For when you rage against Heaven, I will not say you commit sacrilege, but you waste your time. “I once gave Aristophanes material for a joke. Since then, all the comic poets have made me a target for their poisonous wit. The very blows aimed at my virtue have made it shine more brightly. For virtue benefits from being brought before the public and exposed to temptation. No one understands its greatness better than those who have tested its strength by attacking it. No one knows the hardness of flint better than those who strike it. I offer myself to every attack, like a solitary rock in a shallow sea. The waves beat against the rock without stopping, from every direction. Yet the waves cannot move the rock or wear it away, however many years they keep crashing against it. Leap at me, rush at me. I will defeat you by enduring your attacks. Whatever strikes something firm and unconquerable only hurts itself through its own violence. So find something soft and yielding to pierce with your arrows. “But do you have time to inspect other people’s wrongdoing and sit in judgment on anyone? To ask why this philosopher has such a spacious house, or that one such a fine dinner? Do you inspect other people’s pimples while your own bodies are covered with countless sores? You are like someone covered in mange who scornfully points out moles and warts on the most handsome men. Blame Plato for seeking money, Aristotle for acquiring it, Democritus for ignoring it, and Epicurus for spending it. Throw Phaedrus and Alcibiades in my face. Yet you reach the height of pleasure whenever you get a chance to imitate our vices! Why not look instead at the troubles tearing you apart on every side? Some attack you from outside, while others burn within your own hearts. However little you understand your own position, humanity has not yet sunk so low. You cannot have time to wag your tongues against your betters.

XXVIII. This you do not understand, and you bear a countenance which does not befit your condition, like many men who sit in the circus or the theatre without having learned that their home is already in mourning: but I, looking forward from a lofty standpoint, can see what storms are either threatening you, and will burst in torrents upon you somewhat later, or are close upon you and on the point of sweeping away all that you possess. Why, though you are hardly aware of it, is there not a whirling hurricane at this moment spinning round and confusing your minds, making them seek and avoid the very same things, now raising them aloft and now dashing them below? . . . . . .”

XXVIII. You do not understand this, and your expression does not suit your situation. You are like many men sitting in the circus or theater, unaware that their household is already in mourning. But from my high vantage point, I can see the storms ahead of you. Some threaten you and will pour down on you a little later. Others are already close, about to sweep away all you possess. Why, though you are hardly aware of it, isn't a whirling hurricane already spinning around and confusing your minds? Doesn't it make you seek and avoid the very same things, now lifting your minds high, now dashing them down? . . . . . .”