On Friendship

THE augur Quintus Mucius Scaevola used to recount a number of stories about his father-in-law Galus Laelius, accurately remembered and charmingly told; and whenever he talked about him always gave him the title of "the wise" without any hesitation. I had been introduced by my father to Scaevola as soon as I had assumed the toga virilis, and I took advantage of the introduction never to quit the venerable man's side as long as I was able to stay and he was spared to us. The consequence was that I committed to memory many disquisitions of his, as well as many short pointed apophthegms, and, in short, took as much advantage of his wisdom as I could. When he died, I attached myself to Scaevola the Pontifex, whom I may venture to call quite the most distinguished of our countrymen for ability and uprightness. But of this latter I shall take other occasions to speak. To return to Scaevola the augur. Among many other occasions I particularly remember one. He was sitting on a semicircular garden-bench, as was his custom, when I and a very few intimate friends were there, and he chanced to turn the conversation upon a subject which about that time was in many people's mouths. You must remember, Atticus, for you were very intimate with Publius Sulpicius, what expressions of astonishment, or even indignation, were called forth by his mortal quarrel, as tribune, with the consul Quintus Pompeius, with whom he had formerly lived on terms of the closest intimacy and affection. Well, on this occasion, happening to mention this particular circumstance, Scaevola detailed to us a discourse of Laelius on friendship delivered to himself and Laelius's other son-in-law Galus Fannius, son of Marcus Fannius, a few days after the death of Africanus. The points of that discussion I committed to memory, and have arranged them in this book at my own discretion. For I have brought the speakers, as it were, personally on to my stage to prevent the constant "said I" and "said he" of a narrative, and to give the discourse the air of being orally delivered in our hearing.

The augur Quintus Mucius Scaevola used to tell many stories about his father-in-law Galus Laelius. He remembered them accurately and told them charmingly. Whenever he spoke of Laelius, he always called him "the wise" without hesitation. My father introduced me to Scaevola as soon as I had put on the toga virilis, the toga of adulthood. I made the most of that introduction, staying by the respected old man's side whenever I could, throughout his remaining life. As a result, I memorized many of his discussions, along with many brief, pointed sayings. In short, I learned as much as I could from his wisdom. When he died, I became a close follower of Scaevola the Pontifex. I may venture to call him the most distinguished of our countrymen for ability and integrity. But I will find other occasions to speak of him. To return to Scaevola the augur, I remember one occasion particularly well among many others. He was sitting on a semicircular garden bench, as he usually did. I was there with a very few close friends. He happened to turn the conversation to a subject many people were discussing at the time. You must remember, Atticus, since you were very close to Publius Sulpicius, how people reacted to his bitter quarrel. As tribune, he had fallen out with the consul Quintus Pompeius. The two had previously shared the closest friendship and affection. Their quarrel prompted expressions of astonishment and even indignation. On that occasion, Scaevola happened to mention this quarrel and recounted in detail a discussion by Laelius about friendship. Laelius had spoken to Scaevola and his other son-in-law, Galus Fannius, son of Marcus Fannius. The discussion took place a few days after the death of Africanus. I memorized the points of that discussion and have arranged them in this book as I thought best. I have brought the speakers onto my stage, so to speak, to let them speak for themselves. This avoids the constant "said I" and "said he" of a narrative. It also makes the discussion seem to unfold aloud before us.

You have often urged me to write something on Friendship, and I quite acknowledged that the subject seemed one worth everybody's investigation, and specially suited to the close intimacy that has existed between you and me. Accordingly I was quite ready to benefit the public at your request.

You have often urged me to write something about friendship. I fully agreed that the subject seemed worth exploring for everyone. It also seemed especially suited to the close friendship you and I have shared. So I was quite willing to write something for the public’s benefit at your request.

As to the dramatis personae. In the treatise on Old Age, which I dedicated to you, I introduced Cato as chief speaker. No one, I thought, could with greater propriety speak on old age than one who had been an old man longer than any one else, and had been exceptionally vigorous in his old age. Similarly, having learnt from tradition that of all friendships that between Gaius Laelius and Publius Scipio was the most remarkable, I thought Laelius was just the person to support the chief part in a discussion on friendship which Scaevola remembered him to have actually taken. Moreover, a discussion of this sort gains somehow in weight from the authority of men of ancient days, especially if they happen to have been distinguished. So it comes about that in reading over what I have myself written I have a feeling at times that it is actually Cato that is speaking, not I.

As for the characters. In my treatise on Old Age, dedicated to you, I made Cato the main speaker. I thought no one was better suited to speak about old age. He had been an old man longer than anyone else and had remained exceptionally vigorous in his old age. Similarly, I had learned from tradition that the friendship between Gaius Laelius and Publius Scipio was the most remarkable of all. So I thought Laelius was just the person to lead a discussion on friendship. Scaevola remembered Laelius actually taking part in such a discussion. Moreover, a discussion like this somehow carries more weight through the authority of men from earlier times, especially distinguished men. So when I reread my own writing, I sometimes feel that Cato himself is speaking, not me.

Finally, as I sent the former essay to you as a gift from one old man to another, so I have dedicated this On Friendship as a most affectionate friend to his friend. In the former Cato spoke, who was the oldest and wisest man of his day; in this Laelius speaks on friendship—Laelius, who was at once a wise man (that was the title given him) and eminent for his famous friendship. Please forget me for a while; imagine Laelius to be speaking.

Finally, I sent you the earlier essay as a gift from one old man to another. In the same spirit, I have dedicated On Friendship to you as a deeply affectionate friend to his friend. In the earlier essay, Cato spoke. He was the oldest and wisest man of his day. In this essay, Laelius speaks about friendship. Laelius was wise and was known by that title. He was also distinguished by his famous friendship. Please forget me for a while and imagine that Laelius is speaking.

Gaius Fannius and Quintus Mucius come to call on their father-in-law after the death of Africanus. They start the subject; Laelius answers them. And the whole essay on friendship is his. In reading it you will recognise a picture of yourself.

Gaius Fannius and Quintus Mucius visit their father-in-law after the death of Africanus. They bring up friendship, and Laelius answers them. The entire essay on friendship is in Laelius’s words. As you read it, you will recognize a portrait of yourself.

2. Fannius. You are quite right, Laelius! there never was a better or more illustrious character than Africanus. But you should consider that at the present moment all eyes are on you. Everybody calls you "the wise" par excellence, and thinks you so. The same mark of respect was lately paid Cato, and we know that in the last generation Lucius Atilius was called "the wise." But in both cases the word was applied with a certain difference. Atilius was so called from his reputation as a jurist; Cato got the name as a kind of honorary title and in extreme old age because of his varied experience of affairs, and his reputation for foresight and firmness, and the sagacity of the opinions which he delivered in senate and forum. You, however, are regarded as wise in a somewhat different sense not alone on account of natural ability and character, but also from your industry and learning; and not in the sense in which the vulgar, but that in which scholars, give that title. In this sense we do not read of any one being called wise in Greece except one man at Athens; and he, to be sure, had been declared by the oracle of Apollo also to be "the supremely wise man." For those who commonly go by the name of the Seven Sages are not admitted into the category of the wise by fastidious critics. Your wisdom people believe to consist in this, that you look upon yourself as self-sufficing and regard the changes and chances of mortal life as powerless to affect your virtue. Accordingly they are always asking me, and doubtless also our Scaevola here, how you bear the death of Africanus. This curiosity has been the more excited from the fact that on the Nones of this month, when we augurs met as usual in the suburban villa of Decimus Brutus for consultation, you were not present, though it had always been your habit to keep that appointment and perform that duty with the utmost punctuality.

2. Fannius. You are quite right, Laelius! There never was a better or more distinguished man than Africanus. But you should remember that all eyes are on you right now. Everyone calls you "the wise" above all others, and believes you deserve the name. Cato recently received the same honor. We also know that, in the previous generation, Lucius Atilius was called "the wise." But the title meant something slightly different in each case. Atilius earned the name through his reputation as a legal expert. Cato received the name as a kind of honorary title when he was very old. He earned it through his wide experience in public affairs and his reputation for foresight and firmness. He was also known for the sound judgment he showed when speaking in the senate and forum. You, however, are considered wise in a somewhat different sense. Your reputation rests not only on your natural ability and character, but also on your hard work and learning. People call you wise in the sense scholars use the word, rather than in its everyday sense. In this sense, we read of only one man in Greece being called wise, a man in Athens. And he, certainly, had also been declared "the supremely wise man" by the oracle of Apollo. For exacting critics do not count those commonly called the Seven Sages among the truly wise. People believe your wisdom lies in seeing yourself as sufficient in yourself. They also believe you consider life's changes and chances powerless to affect your virtue. So people are always asking me how you are bearing the death of Africanus. No doubt they ask our Scaevola here as well. Their curiosity has grown because you were absent from our usual meeting of augurs on the Nones of this month. We met to consult at the suburban villa of Decimus Brutus. Yet you had always made a habit of attending that meeting and fulfilling that duty with the greatest punctuality.

Scaevola. Yes, indeed, Laelius, I am often asked the question mentioned by Fannius. But I answer in accordance with what I have observed: I say that you bear in a reasonable manner the grief which you have sustained in the death of one who was at once a man of the most illustrious character and a very dear friend. That of course you could not but be affected—anything else would have been wholly unnatural in a man of your gentle nature—but that the cause of your non-attendance at our college meeting was illness, not melancholy.

Scaevola. Yes, indeed, Laelius, I am often asked the question Fannius mentioned. But I answer based on what I have seen. I say you are handling your grief reasonably after losing a man of outstanding character and a very dear friend. Of course, you could not help feeling grief. Anything else would have been completely unnatural for someone with your gentle nature. But I say you missed our college meeting because of illness, not sadness.

Laelius. Thanks, Scaevola! You are quite right; you spoke the exact truth. For in fact I had no right to allow myself to be withdrawn from a duty which I had regularly performed, as long as I was well, by any personal misfortune; nor do I think that anything that can happen will cause a man of principle to intermit a duty. As for your telling me, Fannius, of the honourable appellation given me (an appellation to which I do not recognise my title, and to which I make no claim), you doubtless act from feelings of affection; but I must say that you seem to me to do less than justice to Cato. If any one was ever "wise,"—of which I have my doubts,—he was. Putting aside everything else, consider how he bore his son's death! I had not forgotten Paulus; I had seen with my own eyes Gallus. But they lost their sons when mere children; Cato his when he was a full-grown man with an assured reputation. Do not therefore be in a hurry to reckon as Cato's superior even that same famous personage whom Apollo, as you say, declared to be "the wisest." Remember the former's reputation rests on deeds, the latter's on words.

Laelius. Thank you, Scaevola! You are quite right. You spoke the exact truth. No personal misfortune should have kept me from a duty I had always performed whenever I was well. Nor do I think anything that can happen will make a man of principle neglect a duty. As for the honorable title you mention, Fannius, you are surely speaking out of affection. I do not believe I deserve that title, and I make no claim to it. But I must say that you seem to give Cato less credit than he deserves. If anyone was ever "wise," he was, though I doubt whether anyone has ever been truly wise. Leave everything else aside and consider how he bore his son's death! I had not forgotten Paulus. I had seen Gallus with my own eyes. But Paulus and Gallus lost their sons as young children. Cato lost his son as a grown man with an established reputation. So do not rush to rank even that famous man whom Apollo, as you say, declared "the wisest" above Cato. Remember, Cato's reputation rests on deeds, while the other man's rests on words.

3. Now, as far as I am concerned (I speak to both of you now), believe me the case stands thus. If I were to say that I am not affected by regret for Scipio, I must leave the philosophers to justify my conduct, but in point of fact I should be telling a lie. Affected of course I am by the loss of a friend as I think there will never be again, such as I can fearlessly say there never was before. But I stand in no need of medicine. I can find my own consolation, and it consists chiefly in my being free from the mistaken notion which generally causes pain at the departure of friends. To Scipio I am convinced no evil has befallen: mine is the disaster, if disaster there be; and to be severely distressed at one's own misfortunes does not show that you love your friend, but that you love yourself.

3. Now, speaking for myself, I ask you to believe me when I say how things stand. I am speaking to both of you. If I said I did not grieve for Scipio, I would have to leave the philosophers to justify my conduct. But in fact, I would be lying. Of course I feel the loss of a friend whose equal I think will never exist again. I can say without hesitation that his equal never existed before. But I need no remedy. I can find my own comfort. Above all, I am free from the mistaken belief that usually causes pain when friends die. I am convinced that no harm has come to Scipio. The misfortune is mine, if there is any misfortune at all. And deep distress over your own misfortunes does not show that you love your friend, but that you love yourself.

As for him, who can say that all is not more than well? For, unless he had taken the fancy to wish for immortality, the last thing of which he ever thought, what is there for which mortal man may wish that he did not attain? In his early manhood he more than justified by extraordinary personal courage the hopes which his fellow-citizens had conceived of him as a child. He never was a candidate for the consulship, yet was elected consul twice: the first time before the legal age; the second at a time which, as far as he was concerned, was soon enough, but was near being too late for the interests of the State. By the overthrow of two cities which were the most bitter enemies of our Empire, he put an end not only to the wars then raging, but also to the possibility of others in the future. What need to mention the exquisite grace of his manners, his dutiful devotion to his mother, his generosity to his sisters, his liberality to his relations, the integrity of his conduct to every one? You know all this already. Finally, the estimation in which his fellow-citizens held him has been shown by the signs of mourning which accompanied his obsequies. What could such a man have gained by the addition of a few years? Though age need not be a burden,—as I remember Cato arguing in the presence of myself and Scipio two years before he died,—yet it cannot but take away the vigour and freshness which Scipio was still enjoying. We may conclude therefore that his life, from the good fortune which had attended him and the glory he had obtained, was so circumstanced that it could not be bettered, while the suddenness of his death saved him the sensation of dying. As to the manner of his death it is difficult to speak; you see what people suspect. Thus much, however, I may say: Scipio in his lifetime saw many days of supreme triumph and exultation, but none more magnificent than his last, on which, upon the rising of the Senate, he was escorted by the senators and the people of Rome, by the allies, and by the Latins, to his own door. From such an elevation of popular esteem the next step seems naturally to be an ascent to the gods above, rather than a descent to Hades.

As for him, who could say that things were anything less than excellent? Unless he wished for immortality, what could any mortal wish for that he did not achieve? And immortality was the last thing on his mind. As a young man, his extraordinary courage more than fulfilled the hopes his fellow citizens had held since his childhood. He never ran for consul, yet he was elected twice. The first time, he was younger than the law allowed. The second came soon enough for him, but almost too late for the State. He destroyed the two cities that were our Empire’s bitterest enemies. By doing so, he ended not only the wars then being fought, but also the possibility of future wars. Why mention his exceptional charm, his devotion to his mother, his generosity to his sisters and other relatives? Or his honesty in dealing with everyone? You already know all this. Finally, the public mourning at his funeral showed how highly his fellow citizens valued him. What could such a man have gained from a few more years? Old age need not be a burden. I remember Cato making that argument before Scipio and me two years before Cato died. Yet age must take away the strength and freshness that Scipio still enjoyed. We may therefore conclude that, given his good fortune and glory, his life could not have been better. And his sudden death spared him the experience of dying. As for how he died, it is difficult to speak. You know what people suspect. But I can say this much: Scipio enjoyed many days of supreme triumph and joy during his life. Yet none was more magnificent than his last. When the Senate adjourned that day, the senators and the people of Rome escorted him to his door. The allies and the Latins joined them. From such a height of public esteem, the natural next step seems to be upward to the gods, not down to Hades.

4. For I am not one of these modern philosophers who maintain that our souls perish with our bodies, and that death ends all. With me ancient opinion has more weight: whether it be that of our own ancestors, who attributed such solemn observances to the dead, as they plainly would not have done if they had believed them to be wholly annihilated; or that of the philosophers who once visited this country, and who by their maxims and doctrines educated Magna Graecia, which at that time was in a flourishing condition, though it has now been ruined; or that of the man who was declared by Apollo's oracle to be "most wise," and who used to teach without the variation which is to be found in most philosophers that "the souls of men are divine, and that when they have quitted the body a return to heaven is open to them, least difficult to those who have been most virtuous and just." This opinion was shared by Scipio. Only a few days before his death—as though he had a presentiment of what was coming—he discoursed for three days on the state of the republic. The company consisted of Philus and Manlius and several others, and I had brought you, Scaevola, along with me. The last part of his discourse referred principally to the immortality of the soul; for he told us what he had heard from the elder Africanus in a dream. Now if it be true that in proportion to a man's goodness the escape from what may be called the prison and bonds of the flesh is easiest, whom can we imagine to have had an easier voyage to the gods than Scipio? I am disposed to think, therefore, that in his case mourning would be a sign of envy rather than of friendship. If, however, the truth rather is that the body and soul perish together, and that no sensation remains, then though there is nothing good in death, at least there is nothing bad. Remove sensation, and a man is exactly as though he had never been born; and yet that this man was born is a joy to me, and will be a subject of rejoicing to this State to its last hour.

4. For I do not agree with modern philosophers who say our souls die with our bodies and death ends everything. Ancient beliefs carry more weight with me. I value the beliefs of our own ancestors, who held such solemn ceremonies for the dead. Clearly, they would not have done so if they believed the dead had ceased to exist entirely. I also value the beliefs of the philosophers who once visited this country. Their principles and teachings educated Magna Graecia, which flourished then, though it now lies in ruins. And I value the belief of the man Apollo's oracle declared "most wise." Unlike most philosophers, he never varied his teaching: "human souls are divine. Once they leave the body, the way back to heaven is open to them. The return is easiest for those who have been most virtuous and just." Scipio shared this belief. Only a few days before his death, he spoke for three days about the state of the republic. He spoke as though he sensed what was coming. Philus, Manlius, and several others were present, and I had brought you along with me, Scaevola. The final part of his discussion focused mainly on the soul's immortality. For he told us what he had heard from the elder Africanus in a dream. Now suppose that the better a man is, the more easily he escapes the body's prison and chains. If that is true, who can we imagine having had an easier journey to the gods than Scipio? So I am inclined to think that mourning him would show envy rather than friendship. But suppose instead that body and soul die together, and no awareness remains. Then, although there is nothing good in death, at least there is nothing bad. Without awareness, a man is exactly as though he had never been born. Yet I rejoice that Scipio was born, and this State will rejoice in his birth until its final hour.

Wherefore, as I said before, all is as well as possible with him. Not so with me; for as I entered life before him, it would have been fairer for me to leave it also before him. Yet such is the pleasure I take in recalling our friendship, that I look upon my life as having been a happy one because I have spent it with Scipio. With him I was associated in public and private business; with him I lived in Rome and served abroad; and between us there was the most complete harmony in our tastes, our pursuits, and our sentiments, which is the true secret of friendship. It is not therefore in that reputation for wisdom mentioned just now by Fannius—especially as it happens to be groundless—that I find my happiness so much, as in the hope that the memory of our friendship will be lasting. What makes me care the more about this is the fact that in all history there are scarcely three or four pairs of friends on record; and it is classed with them that I cherish a hope of the friendship of Scipio and Laelius being known to posterity.

So, as I said before, all is as well as possible with him. But not with me. Since I was born before him, it would have been fairer for me to die before him too. Yet remembering our friendship gives me such pleasure that I consider my life happy because I spent it with Scipio. We worked together in public and private affairs. We lived together in Rome and served together abroad. Our tastes, pursuits, and feelings were in complete harmony. Such harmony is the true secret of friendship. So my happiness comes less from the reputation for wisdom that Fannius just mentioned. That reputation is, in fact, undeserved. Rather, my happiness comes from hoping that the memory of our friendship will last. I care all the more about that lasting memory because history records barely three or four pairs of friends. I cherish the hope that future generations will count Scipio and Laelius among those friends.

Fannius. Of course that must be so, Laelius. But since you have mentioned the word friendship, and we are at leisure, you would be doing me a great kindness, and I expect Scaevola also, if you would do as it is your habit to do when asked questions on other subjects, and tell us your sentiments about friendship, its nature, and the rules to be observed in regard to it.

Fannius. Of course that must be so, Laelius. But since you have mentioned friendship, and we have time, would you share your thoughts on the subject? You would be doing me a great kindness, and I expect Scaevola too. You often answer our questions on other subjects. Would you do the same for friendship, explaining its nature and the rules we should follow in it?

Scaevola. I shall of course be delighted. Fannius has anticipated the very request I was about to make. So you will be doing us both a great favour.

Scaevola. Of course, I’ll be delighted. Fannius has just made the very request I was about to make. So you’ll be doing us both a great favour.

5. Laelius. I should certainly have no objection if I felt confidence in myself. For the theme is a noble one, and we are (as Fannius has said) at leisure. But who am I? and what ability have I? What you propose is all very well for professional philosophers, who are used, particularly if Greeks, to have the subject for discussion proposed to them on the spur of the moment. It is a task of considerable difficulty, and requires no little practice. Therefore for a set discourse on friendship you must go, I think, to professional lecturers. All I can do is to urge on you to regard friendship as the greatest thing in the world; for there is nothing which so fits in with our nature, or is so exactly what we want in prosperity or adversity.

5. Laelius. I would certainly have no objection if I had confidence in myself. For the subject is a noble one, and we have free time, as Fannius has said. But who am I? And what ability do I have? Your proposal is fine for professional philosophers. They are used to discussing subjects suggested without warning, especially if they are Greeks. Speaking on the spot is a very difficult task and takes considerable practice. So for a formal talk on friendship, I think you must turn to professional lecturers. All I can do is urge you to regard friendship as the greatest thing in the world. For nothing else suits our nature so well or meets our needs so exactly in good times or bad.

But I must at the very beginning lay down this principle—friendship can only exist between good men. I do not, however, press this too closely, like the philosophers who push their definitions to a superfluous accuracy. They have truth on their side, perhaps, but it is of no practical advantage. Those, I mean, who say that no one but the "wise" is "good." Granted, by all means. But the "wisdom" they mean is one to which no mortal ever yet attained. We must concern ourselves with the facts of everyday life as we find it—not imaginary and ideal perfections. Even Gaius Fannius, Manius Curius, and Tiberius Coruncanius, whom our ancestors decided to be "wise," I could never declare to be so according to their standard. Let them, then, keep this word "wisdom" to themselves. Everybody is irritated by it; no one understands what it means. Let them but grant that the men I mentioned were "good." No, they won't do that either. No one but the "wise" can be allowed that title, say they. Well, then, let us dismiss them and manage as best we may with our own poor mother wit, as the phrase is.

But I must begin with this principle: friendship can only exist between good men. However, I do not insist on defining “good” as precisely as philosophers who make their definitions needlessly exact. Perhaps the truth is on their side, but their approach has no practical value. I mean those who say that only the "wise" are "good." By all means, let us grant that. But no human being has ever achieved the "wisdom" these philosophers mean. We must deal with everyday life as we find it, not imaginary ideals of perfection. Our ancestors considered Gaius Fannius, Manius Curius, and Tiberius Coruncanius "wise." But even these men, I could never call wise by the philosophers’ standard. So let the philosophers keep the word "wisdom" to themselves. The word irritates everyone, and no one understands what it means. Let them at least admit that the men I mentioned were "good." No, they will not even admit that. Only the "wise" deserve that title, they say. Well then, let us leave these philosophers aside and manage as best we can with our poor common sense, as the saying goes.

We mean then by the "good" those whose actions and lives leave no question as to their honour, purity, equity, and liberality; who are free from greed, lust, and violence; and who have the courage of their convictions. The men I have just named may serve as examples. Such men as these being generally accounted "good," let us agree to call them so, on the ground that to the best of human ability they follow nature as the most perfect guide to a good life.

By the "good" we mean people whose actions and lives leave no doubt about their honor, integrity, fairness, and generosity. They are free from greed, lust, and violence, and have the courage to stand by their convictions. The men I have just named may serve as examples. Since men like these are generally considered "good," let us agree to call them so. We do so because, as far as human ability allows, they follow nature as the best guide to a good life.

Now this truth seems clear to me, that nature has so formed us that a certain tie unites us all, but that this tie becomes stronger from proximity. So it is that fellow-citizens are preferred in our affections to foreigners, relations to strangers; for in their case Nature herself has caused a kind of friendship to exist, though it is one which lacks some of the elements of permanence. Friendship excels relationship in this, that whereas you may eliminate affection from relationship, you cannot do so from friendship. Without it relationship still exists in name, friendship does not. You may best understand this friendship by considering that, whereas the merely natural ties uniting the human race are indefinite, this one is so concentrated, and confined to so narrow a sphere, that affection is ever shared by two persons only or at most by a few.

Now one truth seems clear to me: nature has formed us so that a certain bond unites us all. But this bond grows stronger with closeness. So we feel more affection for fellow citizens than for foreigners, and for relatives than for strangers. Among relatives, Nature herself has created a kind of friendship, though it lacks some of what makes friendship last. Friendship is better than family ties in this respect: you can remove affection from family ties, but not from friendship. Without affection, family ties still exist in name, but friendship does not. You can best understand friendship by considering how it differs from the natural bonds that unite humanity. Those bonds have no clear limits. Friendship, by contrast, is so focused and limited that its affection is always shared between just two people, or at most a few.

6. Now friendship may be thus defined: a complete accord on all subjects human and divine, joined with mutual goodwill and affection. And with the exception of wisdom, I am inclined to think nothing better than this has been given to man by the immortal gods. There are people who give the palm to riches or to good health, or to power and office, many even to sensual pleasures. This last is the ideal of brute beasts; and of the others we may say that they are frail and uncertain, and depend less on our own prudence than on the caprice of fortune. Then there are those who find the "chief good" in virtue. Well, that is a noble doctrine. But the very virtue they talk of is the parent and preserver of friendship, and without it friendship cannot possibly exist.

6. Friendship may now be defined as complete agreement on all matters human and divine, joined with mutual goodwill and affection. Apart from wisdom, I am inclined to think the immortal gods have given humanity nothing better than friendship. Some people rank wealth highest, others good health, and others power and public office. Many even rank physical pleasures highest. This last ideal belongs to brute beasts. As for the other things people prize, we may say they are fragile and uncertain. They depend less on our own good judgment than on the whims of fortune. Then there are those who find the "chief good" in virtue. Well, that is a noble belief. But the very virtue they speak of creates and sustains friendship. Without virtue, friendship cannot possibly exist.

Let us, I repeat, use the word virtue in the ordinary acceptation and meaning of the term, and do not let us define it in high-flown language. Let us account as good the persons usually considered so, such as Paulus, Cato, Gallus, Scipio, and Philus. Such men as these are good enough for everyday life; and we need not trouble ourselves about those ideal characters which are nowhere to be met with.

Let us, I repeat, use the word virtue in its ordinary sense. Let us not define virtue in grand language. Let us consider good the people usually seen as good, such as Paulus, Cato, Gallus, Scipio, and Philus. Men like these are good enough for everyday life. And we need not concern ourselves with ideal people who are nowhere to be found.

Well, between men like these the advantages of friendship are almost more than I can say. To begin with, how can life be worth living, to use the words of Ennius, which lacks that repose which is to be found in the mutual good-will of a friend? What can be more delightful than to have some one to whom you can say everything with the same absolute confidence as to yourself? Is not prosperity robbed of half its value if you have no one to share your joy? On the other hand, misfortunes would be hard to bear if there were not some one to feel them even more acutely than yourself. In a word, other objects of ambition serve for particular ends—riches for use, power for securing homage, office for reputation, pleasure for enjoyment, health for freedom from pain and the full use of the functions of the body. But friendship embraces innumerable advantages. Turn which way you please, you will find it at hand. It is everywhere; and yet never out of place, never unwelcome. Fire and water themselves, to use a common expression, are not of more universal use than friendship. I am not now speaking of the common or modified form of it, though even that is a source of pleasure and profit, but of that true and complete friendship which existed between the select few who are known to fame. Such friendship enhances prosperity, and relieves adversity of its burden by halving and sharing it.

Well, the benefits of friendship between men like these are almost more than I can describe. To begin with, how can life be worth living without the peace found in a friend's mutual goodwill? I use the words of Ennius here. What could be more delightful than having someone you can tell everything, as confidently as you speak to yourself? Doesn't success lose half its value if you have no one to share your joy? On the other hand, hardship would be difficult to bear without someone who feels your troubles even more deeply than you do. In short, other things people strive for serve specific purposes. Wealth provides things to use, power wins respect, and public office builds a reputation. Pleasure brings enjoyment, while health means freedom from pain and full use of the body's abilities. But friendship offers countless benefits. Wherever you turn, you will find friendship close at hand. Friendship is everywhere, yet never out of place or unwelcome. To use a common expression, even fire and water are no more universally useful than friendship. I am not speaking now of ordinary or less complete friendship, though even that brings pleasure and practical benefits. I mean the true and complete friendship found among the famous few. Such friendship makes success sweeter and lightens hardship by dividing and sharing the burden.

7. And great and numerous as are the blessings of friendship, this certainly is the sovereign one, that it gives us bright hopes for the future and forbids weakness and despair. In the face of a true friend a man sees as it were a second self. So that where his friend is he is; if his friend be rich, he is not poor; though he be weak, his friend's strength is his; and in his friend's life he enjoys a second life after his own is finished. This last is perhaps the most difficult to conceive. But such is the effect of the respect, the loving remembrance, and the regret of friends which follow us to the grave. While they take the sting out of death, they add a glory to the life of the survivors. Nay, if you eliminate from nature the tie of affection, there will be an end of house and city, nor will so much as the cultivation of the soil be left. If you don't see the virtue of friendship and harmony, you may learn it by observing the effects of quarrels and feuds. Was any family ever so well established, any State so firmly settled, as to be beyond the reach of utter destruction from animosities and factions? This may teach you the immense advantage of friendship.

7. Friendship brings many great blessings, but the greatest is surely this: it gives us bright hopes for the future. It also keeps us from giving in to weakness and despair. In a true friend, a person sees what seems like a second self. So wherever his friend is, he is there too. If his friend is rich, he is not poor. Though he may be weak, his friend's strength is his own. And through his friend's life, he enjoys a second life after his own has ended. This last idea is perhaps the hardest to grasp. But friends make this second life possible through their respect, loving memories, and grief, which follow us to the grave. These feelings soften death's sting and bring glory to the lives of those who survive. Indeed, if you remove the bond of affection from nature, homes and cities will come to an end. Even farming will disappear. If you do not see the value of friendship and harmony, you may learn it by watching quarrels and feuds. Was any family ever so well established, or any state so secure, that hostility and divisions could not utterly destroy it? This danger may teach you the immense benefit of friendship.

They say that a certain philosopher of Agrigentum, in a Greek poem, pronounced with the authority of an oracle the doctrine that whatever in nature and the universe was unchangeable was so in virtue of the binding force of friendship; whatever was changeable was so by the solvent power of discord. And indeed this is a truth which everybody understands and practically attests by experience. For if any marked instance of loyal friendship in confronting or sharing danger comes to light, every one applauds it to the echo. What cheers there were, for instance, all over the theatre at a passage in the new play of my friend and guest Pacuvius; where the king, not knowing which of the two was Orestes, Pylades declared himself to be Orestes, that he might die in his stead, while the real Orestes kept on asserting that it was he. The audience rose en masse and clapped their hands. And this was at an incident in fiction: what would they have done, must we suppose, if it had been in real life? You can easily see what a natural feeling it is, when men who would not have had the resolution to act thus themselves, shewed how right they thought it in another.

They say that a certain philosopher of Agrigentum set out a doctrine in a Greek poem with an oracle’s authority. Everything unchanging in nature and the universe, he said, owed its stability to the binding force of friendship. Everything that changed did so through the dissolving power of discord. Indeed, everyone understands this truth and confirms it through practical experience. For whenever a striking example of loyal friendship in facing or sharing danger becomes known, everyone applauds enthusiastically. Consider the cheers throughout the theater during a scene in a new play by my friend and guest Pacuvius. The king did not know which of the two men was Orestes. Pylades declared that he was Orestes so that he could die in his friend’s place. Meanwhile, the real Orestes kept insisting that he himself was Orestes. The audience rose as one and clapped their hands. And this was only a fictional event. What must we suppose the audience would have done if the event had happened in real life? You can easily see how natural this feeling is. Even men who would not have had the courage to act that way themselves showed their approval of another’s actions.

I don't think I have any more to say about friendship. If there is any more, and I have no doubt there is much, you must, if you care to do so, consult those who profess to discuss such matters.

I don't think I have anything more to say about friendship. If there is more to say, I have no doubt there is much. If you wish, you must consult those who claim to discuss such matters.

Fannius. We would rather apply to you. Yet I have often consulted such persons, and have heard what they had to say with a certain satisfaction. But in your discourse one somehow feels that there is a different strain.

Fannius. We would rather turn to you. Yet I have often consulted such people and found some satisfaction in what they had to say. But somehow, when you speak, one senses a different tone.

Scaevola. You would have said that still more, Fannius, if you had been present the other day in Scipio's pleasure-grounds when we had the discussion about the State. How splendidly he stood up for justice against Philus's elaborate speech.

Scaevola. You would have said so even more strongly, Fannius, if you had been there the other day. We were in Scipio's gardens, discussing the State. How brilliantly he defended justice against Philus's elaborate speech.

Fannius. Ah! it was naturally easy for the justest of men to stand up for justice.

Fannius. Ah! Standing up for justice naturally came easily to the fairest of men.

Scaevola. Well, then, what about friendship? Who could discourse on it more easily than the man whose chief glory is a friendship maintained with the most absolute fidelity, constancy, and integrity?

Scaevola. Well, then, what about friendship? Who could speak about friendship more easily than a man whose greatest glory is his friendship? He has maintained that friendship with absolute loyalty, constancy, and integrity.

8. Laclius. Now you are really using force. It makes no difference what kind of force you use: force it is. For it is neither easy nor right to refuse a wish of my sons-in-law, particularly when the wish is a creditable one in itself.

8. Laclius. Now you really are using force. Whatever kind of force you use, it is still force. For refusing my sons-in-law’s request is neither easy nor right, especially when the request itself is so worthy.

Well, then, it has very often occurred to me when thinking about friendship, that the chief point to be considered was this: is it weakness and want of means that make friendship desired? I mean, is its object an interchange of good offices, so that each may give that in which he is strong, and receive that in which he is weak? Or is it not rather true that, although this is an advantage naturally belonging to friendship, yet its original cause is quite other, prior in time, more noble in character, and springing more directly from our nature itself? The Latin word for friendship—amicitia—is derived from that for love—amor; and love is certainly the prime mover in contracting mutual affection. For as to material advantages, it often happens that those are obtained even by men who are courted by a mere show of friendship and treated with respect from interested motives. But friendship by its nature admits of no feigning, no pretence: as far as it goes it is both genuine and spontaneous. Therefore I gather that friendship springs from a natural impulse rather than a wish for help: from an inclination of the heart, combined with a certain instinctive feeling of love, rather than from a deliberate calculation of the material advantage it was likely to confer. The strength of this feeling you may notice in certain animals. They show such love to their offspring for a certain period, and are so beloved by them, that they clearly have a share in this natural, instinctive affection. But of course it is more evident in the case of man: first, in the natural affection between children and their parents, an affection which only shocking wickedness can sunder; and next, when the passion of love has attained to a like strength—on our finding, that is, some one person with whose character and nature we are in full sympathy, because we think that we perceive in him what I may call the beacon-light of virtue. For nothing inspires love, nothing conciliates affection, like virtue. Why, in a certain sense we may be said to feel affection even for men we have never seen, owing to their honesty and virtue. Who, for instance, fails to dwell on the memory of Gaius Fabricius and Manius Curius with some affection and warmth of feeling, though he has never seen them? Or who but loathes Tarquinius Superbus, Spurius Cassius, Spurius Maelius? We have fought for empire in Italy with two great generals, Pyrrhus and Hannibal. For the former, owing to his probity, we entertain no great feelings of enmity: the latter, owing to his cruelty, our country has detested and always will detest.

Well, then, when thinking about friendship, I have often felt that one question matters most: Do weakness and need make people seek friendship? Is the aim to exchange favors, so that each person gives where he is strong and receives where he is weak? Or does friendship have a different origin, even though such an exchange is one of its natural benefits? Does friendship begin with something earlier, nobler, and more deeply rooted in our nature? The Latin word for friendship, amicitia, comes from the word for love, amor. And love is certainly the driving force behind mutual affection. Material benefits, after all, often come even to men courted with false friendship and treated respectfully for selfish reasons. But friendship, by its nature, allows no deception or pretense. As far as it goes, friendship is both genuine and freely given. So I conclude that friendship springs from a natural impulse rather than a desire for help. Friendship comes from an attraction of the heart, joined with an instinctive feeling of love. It does not come from carefully calculating the material benefits friendship might bring. You can see the strength of this feeling in certain animals. For a time, these animals show such love for their young, and receive such love in return. They clearly share this natural, instinctive affection. But this affection is, of course, more obvious in human beings. First, there is the natural affection between children and parents, which only shocking wickedness can break. Next, there is the love that grows equally strong when we find someone whose character and nature fully suit our own. We feel this love because we think we see in that person what I might call virtue's guiding light. For nothing inspires love or wins affection like virtue. Indeed, in a sense, we may even feel affection for men we have never seen, because of their honesty and virtue. Who remembers Gaius Fabricius and Manius Curius without some affection and warmth, though he has never seen them? Or who does not loathe Tarquinius Superbus, Spurius Cassius, and Spurius Maelius? We fought two great generals, Pyrrhus and Hannibal, for control of Italy. Because of Pyrrhus's integrity, we feel no great hostility toward him. But because of Hannibal's cruelty, our country has hated him and always will.

9. Now, if the attraction of probity is so great that we can love it not only in those whom we have never seen, but, what is more, actually in an enemy, we need not be surprised if men's affections are roused when they fancy that they have seen virtue and goodness in those with whom a close intimacy is possible. I do not deny that affection is strengthened by the actual receipt of benefits, as well as by the perception of a wish to render service, combined with a closer intercourse. When these are added to the original impulse of the heart, to which I have alluded, a quite surprising warmth of feeling springs up. And if any one thinks that this comes from a sense of weakness, that each may have some one to help him to his particular need, all I can say is that, when he maintains it to be born of want and poverty, he allows to friendship an origin very base, and a pedigree, if I may be allowed the expression, far from noble. If this had been the case, a man's inclination to friendship would be exactly in proportion to his low opinion of his own resources. Whereas the truth is quite the other way. For when a man's confidence in himself is greatest, when he is so fortified by virtue and wisdom as to want nothing and to feel absolutely self-dependent, it is then that he is most conspicuous for seeking out and keeping up friendships. Did Africanus, for example, want anything of me? Not the least in the world! Neither did I of him. In my case it was an admiration of his virtue, in his an opinion, may be, which he entertained of my character, that caused our affection. Closer intimacy added to the warmth of our feelings. But though many great material advantages did ensue, they were not the source from which our affection proceeded. For as we are not beneficent and liberal with any view of extorting gratitude, and do not regard an act of kindness as an investment, but follow a natural inclination to liberality; so we look on friendship as worth trying for, not because we are attracted to it by the expectation of ulterior gain, but in the conviction that what it has to give us is from first to last included in the feeling itself.

9. Honesty has such a strong appeal that we can love it even in people we have never seen. More than that, we can love it even in an enemy. So we should not be surprised when people feel affection for those they believe are virtuous and good, and with whom they could become close. I do not deny that receiving kindness strengthens affection. So does recognizing someone's wish to help, along with spending more time together. When these are added to the heart's first impulse, which I mentioned earlier, a remarkably warm affection develops. Some may think affection comes from weakness, because each person needs someone to help meet a particular need. All I can say is that such a view gives friendship a very low origin. To describe friendship as born of need and poverty gives it a far from noble ancestry, if I may put it that way. If that were true, the less confidence people had in their own resources, the more they would seek friendship. But the truth is just the opposite. A person may have complete confidence in himself, strengthened by virtue and wisdom. He may need nothing and feel entirely self-reliant. Yet that is precisely when he is most eager to seek and maintain friendships. Did Africanus, for example, need anything from me? Nothing at all! Nor did I need anything from him. My admiration for his virtue gave rise to my affection. His affection arose, perhaps, from his opinion of my character. As we grew closer, our feelings became warmer. Although our friendship brought many great material benefits, those benefits were not the source of our affection. We do not act kindly and generously to force gratitude from others. Nor do we treat kindness as an investment. Instead, we follow a natural impulse to be generous. In the same way, we consider friendship worth seeking, not because we expect some further gain. Rather, we believe that everything friendship offers lies, from beginning to end, in the affection itself.

Far different is the view of those who, like brute beasts, refer everything to sensual pleasure. And no wonder. Men who have degraded all their powers of thought to an object so mean and contemptible can of course raise their eyes to nothing lofty, to nothing grand and divine. Such persons indeed let us leave out of the present question. And let us accept the doctrine that the sensation of love and the warmth of inclination have their origin in a spontaneous feeling which arises directly the presence of probity is indicated. When once men have conceived the inclination, they of course try to attach themselves to the object of it, and move themselves nearer and nearer to him. Their aim is that they may be on the same footing and the same level in regard to affection, and be more inclined to do a good service than to ask a return, and that there should be this noble rivalry between them. Thus both truths will be established. We shall get the most important material advantages from friendship; and its origin from a natural impulse rather than from a sense of need will be at once more dignified and more in accordance with fact. For if it were true that its material advantages cemented friendship, it would be equally true that any change in them would dissolve it. But nature being incapable of change, it follows that genuine friendships are eternal.

Those who, like brute beasts, judge everything by bodily pleasure take a very different view. And no wonder. They have devoted all their powers of thought to something so low and contemptible. Naturally, they cannot look up to anything lofty, grand, or divine. Let us leave such people out of this discussion. Instead, let us accept that love and affection begin with a spontaneous feeling, arising as soon as goodness becomes apparent. Once people feel this attraction, they naturally try to form a bond with the person who inspires it. They draw closer and closer to him. They aim to love each other equally and to be more eager to offer help than to seek anything in return. They want this noble rivalry to exist between them. In this way, both points will hold true. We will gain the greatest practical benefits from friendship. And friendship's origin in a natural impulse, rather than need, will be both more honorable and more faithful to reality. For if practical benefits held friendship together, any change in those benefits would also break the friendship apart. But nature cannot change, so genuine friendships last forever.

So much for the origin of friendship. But perhaps you would not care to hear any more.

That covers how friendship begins. But perhaps you would rather not hear any more.

Fannius. Nay, pray go on; let us have the rest, Laelius. I take on myself to speak for my friend here as his senior.

Fannius. No, please go on, Laelius. Let us hear the rest. As the older of us, I take it upon myself to speak for my friend here.

Scaevola. Quite right! Therefore, pray let us hear.

Scaevola. Exactly right! So please, let us hear.

10. Loelius. Well, then, my good friends, listen to some conversations about friendship which very frequently passed between Scipio and myself. I must begin by telling you, however, that he used to say that the most difficult thing in the world was for a friendship to remain unimpaired to the end of life. So many things might intervene: conflicting interests; differences of opinion in politics; frequent changes in character, owing sometimes to misfortunes, sometimes to advancing years. He used to illustrate these facts from the analogy of boyhood, since the warmest affections between boys are often laid aside with the boyish toga; and even if they did manage to keep them up to adolescence, they were sometimes broken by a rivalry in courtship, or for some other advantage to which their mutual claims were not compatible. Even if the friendship was prolonged beyond that time, yet it frequently received a rude shock should the two happen to be competitors for office. For while the most fatal blow to friendship in the majority of cases was the lust of gold, in the case of the best men it was a rivalry for office and reputation, by which it had often happened that the most violent enmity had arisen between the closest friends.

10. Loelius. Well then, my good friends, listen to some conversations about friendship that Scipio and I had very often. First, though, I must tell you something he used to say. The hardest thing in the world was for a friendship to last undamaged until the end of life. So many things could get in the way: conflicting interests, political disagreements, and frequent changes in character. Such changes came sometimes from misfortune, sometimes from growing older. He used to illustrate these points by comparing friendship to the friendships of boys. Even the warmest affection between boys is often put aside along with the toga worn in boyhood. Even if boys managed to maintain their friendships into adolescence, rivalry sometimes broke those friendships apart. They might compete for someone's affection or for some other advantage that both could not have. Even if a friendship lasted beyond adolescence, competition for public office often dealt the friendship a severe blow. For most people, greed for money struck the deadliest blow to friendship. But among the best men, rivalry for office and reputation did the most harm. Such rivalry had often turned the closest friends into the bitterest enemies.

Again, wide breaches and, for the most part, justifiable ones were caused by an immoral request being made of friends, to pander to a man's unholy desires or to assist him in inflicting a wrong. A refusal, though perfectly right, is attacked by those to whom they refuse compliance as a violation of the laws of friendship. Now the people who have no scruples as to the requests they make to their friends, thereby allow that they are ready to have no scruples as to what they will do for their friends; and it is the recriminations of such people which commonly not only quench friendships, but give rise to lasting enmities. "In fact," he used to say, "these fatalities overhang friendship in such numbers that it requires not only wisdom but good luck also to escape them all."

Again, immoral requests caused deep rifts between friends, and most of these breaks were justified. Such requests asked friends to satisfy someone's wicked desires or help that person wrong another. Refusing is perfectly right, but those turned down accuse their friends of breaking the rules of friendship. Now, people who make requests of friends without moral limits admit something by doing so. They are equally ready to act without moral limits for their friends. The accusations such people make commonly not only destroy friendships but also create lasting hatred. "In fact," he used to say, "so many dangers threaten friendship that escaping them all requires both wisdom and good luck."

11. With these premises, then, let us first, if you please, examine the question—how far ought personal feeling to go in friendship? For instance: suppose Coriolanus to have had friends, ought they to have joined him in invading his country? Again, in the case of Vecellinus or Spurius Maelius, ought their friends to have assisted them in their attempt to establish a tyranny? Take two instances of either line of conduct. When Tiberius Gracchus attempted his revolutionary measures he was deserted, as we saw, by Quintus Tubero and the friends of his own standing. On the other hand, a friend of your own family, Scaevola, Gaius Blossius of Cumae, took a different course. I was acting as assessor to the consuls Laenas and Rupilius to try the conspirators, and Blossius pleaded for my pardon on the ground that his regard for Tiberius Gracchus had been so high that he looked upon his wishes as law. "Even if he had wished you to set fire to the Capitol?" said I. "That is a thing," he replied, "that he never would have wished." "Ah, but if he had wished it?" said I. "I would have obeyed." The wickedness of such a speech needs no comment. And in point of fact he was as good and better than his word for he did not wait for orders in the audacious proceedings of Tiberius Gracchus, but was the head and front of them, and was a leader rather than an abettor of his madness. The result of his infatuation was that he fled to Asia, terrified by the special commission appointed to try him, joined the enemies of his country, and paid a penalty to the republic as heavy as it was deserved. I conclude, then, that the plea of having acted in the interests of a friend is not a valid excuse for a wrong action. For, seeing that a belief in a man's virtue is the original cause of friendship, friendship can hardly remain if virtue he abandoned. But if we decide it to be right to grant our friends whatever they wish, and to ask them for whatever we wish, perfect wisdom must be assumed on both sides if no mischief is to happen. But we cannot assume this perfect wisdom; for we are speaking only of such friends as are ordinarily to be met with, whether we have actually seen them or have been told about them—men, that is to say, of everyday life. I must quote some examples of such persons, taking care to select such as approach nearest to our standard of wisdom. We read, for instance, that Papus Aemilius was a close friend of Gaius Luscinus. History tells us that they were twice consuls together, and colleagues in the censorship. Again, it is on record that Manius Curius and Tiberius Coruncanius were on the most intimate terms with them and with each other. Now, we cannot even suspect that any one of these men ever asked of his friend anything that militated against his honour or his oath or the interests of the republic. In the case of such men as these there is no point in saying that one of them would not have obtained such a request if he had made it; for they were men of the most scrupulous piety, and the making of such a request would involve a breach of religious obligation no less than the granting it. However, it is quite true that Gaius Carbo and Gaius Cato did follow Tiberius Gracchus; and though his brother Caius Gracchus did not do so at the time, he is now the most eager of them all.

11. With these points established, let us first consider how far personal loyalty should go in friendship, if you please. Suppose Coriolanus had friends. Should they have joined him in invading his country? And should the friends of Vecellinus or Spurius Maelius have helped them establish a tyranny? Consider two examples of these opposite choices. When Tiberius Gracchus attempted his revolutionary measures, Quintus Tubero and his friends of equal standing deserted him, as we saw. But Gaius Blossius of Cumae took a different course. He was a friend of your own family, Scaevola. I was assisting the consuls Laenas and Rupilius in trying the conspirators. Blossius begged me to pardon him because his devotion to Tiberius Gracchus had made him treat Gracchus’s wishes as law. "Even if he had wished you to set fire to the Capitol?" I asked. "He would never have wished that," he replied. "But what if he had wished it?" I asked. "I would have obeyed." The wickedness of such a statement needs no comment. In fact, Blossius did as he said he would, and more. He did not wait for orders during the reckless actions of Tiberius Gracchus. Instead, he drove those actions, leading Gracchus’s madness rather than merely supporting it. His blind devotion led him to flee to Asia, terrified by the special commission appointed to try him. He joined his country’s enemies and paid the republic a penalty as severe as he deserved. I conclude, then, that acting for a friend’s benefit is no valid excuse for wrongdoing. Friendship begins with a belief in someone’s virtue, so friendship can hardly survive if that virtue is abandoned. But suppose we decide to grant our friends whatever they wish and ask them for whatever we wish. We must then assume perfect wisdom on both sides if no harm is to follow. But we cannot assume such perfect wisdom. We are discussing only the friends found in ordinary life, whether we have met them or heard about them. I must give some examples of such people, carefully choosing those who come closest to our standard of wisdom. We read, for instance, that Papus Aemilius was a close friend of Gaius Luscinus. History tells us they served twice as consuls together and were colleagues as censors. Records also tell us that Manius Curius and Tiberius Coruncanius were close friends of both men and of each other. We cannot even suspect that any of these men asked a friend for anything against his honor, oath, or republic’s interests. With men like these, there is no point in saying that such a request would have been refused. They were deeply conscientious in their religious duties. Making such a request would have violated their religious obligations just as much as granting it. Still, Gaius Carbo and Gaius Cato certainly did follow Tiberius Gracchus. And although his brother Caius Gracchus did not follow him then, he is now the most eager of them all.

12. We may then lay down this rule of friendship—neither ask nor consent to do what is wrong. For the plea "for friendship's sake" is a discreditable one, and not to be admitted for a moment. This rule holds good for all wrong-doing, but more especially in such as involves disloyalty to the republic. For things have come to such a point with us, my dear Fannius and Scaevola, that we are bound to look somewhat far ahead to what is likely to happen to the republic. The constitution, as known to our ancestors, has already swerved somewhat from the regular course and the lines marked out for it. Tiberius Gracchus made an attempt to obtain the power of a king, or, I might rather say, enjoyed that power for a few months. Had the Roman people ever heard or seen the like before? What the friends and connexions that followed him, even after his death, have succeeded in doing in the case of Publius Scipio I cannot describe without tears. As for Carbo, thanks to the punishment recently inflicted on Tiberius Gracchus, we have by hook or by crook managed to hold out against his attacks. But what to expect of the tribuneship of Caius Gracchus I do not like to forecast. One thing leads to another; and once set going, the downward course proceeds with ever-increasing velocity. There is the case of the ballot: what a blow was inflicted first by the lex Gabinia, and two years afterwards by the lex Cassia! I seem already to see the people estranged from the Senate, and the most important affairs at the mercy of the multitude. For you may be sure that more people will learn how to set such things in motion than how to stop them. What is the point of these remarks? This: no one ever makes any attempt of this sort without friends to help him. We must therefore impress upon good men that, should they become inevitably involved in friendships with men of this kind, they ought not to consider themselves under any obligation to stand by friends who are disloyal to the republic. Bad men must have the fear of punishment before their eyes: a punishment not less severe for those who follow than for those who lead others to crime. Who was more famous and powerful in Greece than Themistocles? At the head of the army in the Persian war he had freed Greece; he owed his exile to personal envy: but he did not submit to the wrong done him by his ungrateful country as he ought to have done. He acted as Coriolanus had acted among us twenty years before. But no one was found to help them in their attacks upon their fatherland. Both of them accordingly committed suicide.

12. We can therefore set down this rule of friendship: never ask anyone to do wrong or agree to do wrong yourself. The excuse "for friendship's sake" is shameful and must not be accepted for a moment. This rule applies to all wrongdoing, but especially to acts of disloyalty to the republic. My dear Fannius and Scaevola, our situation now requires us to look well ahead at what may happen to the republic. The constitution our ancestors knew has already strayed somewhat from its proper course and established principles. Tiberius Gracchus tried to gain the power of a king. Or rather, I might say, he held that power for a few months. Had the Roman people ever heard of or seen anything like it before? His friends and associates continued to follow him even after his death. I cannot describe without tears what they succeeded in doing in the case of Publius Scipio. As for Carbo, we have somehow managed to resist his attacks, thanks to the punishment recently inflicted on Tiberius Gracchus. But I do not like to predict what to expect from the tribuneship of Caius Gracchus. One thing leads to another. Once the decline begins, it moves faster and faster. Take the secret ballot: what a blow the lex Gabinia dealt, followed two years later by the lex Cassia! I already seem to see the people turning away from the Senate. I seem to see our most important affairs at the mercy of the masses. You can be sure that more people will learn to start such changes than will learn to stop them. What is the point of these remarks? It is this: no one ever attempts anything of this kind without friends to help him. We must therefore make the following clear to good men. If they become unavoidably tied by friendship to such men, they should feel no obligation to support friends disloyal to the republic. Bad men must face the fear of punishment. Those who follow others into crime must face punishment no less severe than those who lead them. Who was more famous and powerful in Greece than Themistocles? Leading the army in the Persian war, he had freed Greece. Personal envy caused his exile. But he did not accept the injustice of his ungrateful country as he should have done. He acted as Coriolanus had acted among us twenty years earlier. Yet neither man found anyone to help him attack his homeland. Both therefore took their own lives.

We conclude, then, not only that no such confederation of evilly disposed men must be allowed to shelter itself under the plea of friendship, but that, on the contrary, it must be visited with the severest punishment, lest the idea should prevail that fidelity to a friend justifies even making war upon one's country. And this is a case which I am inclined to think, considering how things are beginning to go, will sooner or later arise. And I care quite as much what the state of the constitution will be after my death as what it is now.

We conclude, then, that no alliance of men with evil intentions should be allowed to use friendship as an excuse. On the contrary, such an alliance must face the harshest punishment. Otherwise, people might come to believe that loyalty to a friend justifies even waging war against their own country. Given how things are developing, I am inclined to think that such a situation will arise sooner or later. And I care just as much about the state of the constitution after my death as I do now.

13. Let this, then, be laid down as the first law of friendship, that we should ask from friends, and do for friends', only what is good. But do not let us wait to be asked either: let there be ever an eager readiness, and an absence of hesitation. Let us have the courage to give advice with candour. In friendship, let the influence of friends who give good advice be paramount; and let this influence be used to enforce advice not only in plain-spoken terms, but sometimes, if the case demands it, with sharpness; and when so used, let it be obeyed.

13. Let this, then, be the first law of friendship: we should ask friends for, and do for friends, only what is good. But we should not wait to be asked. We should always be eager to help and never hesitate. Let us have the courage to give honest advice. In friendship, the influence of friends who give good advice should carry the greatest weight. Friends should use this influence to press their advice, not only plainly but sometimes sharply, if the situation demands it. And when friends use their influence this way, their advice should be followed.

I give you these rules because I believe that some wonderful opinions are entertained by certain persons who have, I am told, a reputation for wisdom in Greece. There is nothing in the world, by the way, beyond the reach of their sophistry. Well, some of them teach that we should avoid very close friendships, for fear that one man should have to endure the anxieties of several. Each man, say they, has enough and to spare on his own hands; it is too bad to be involved in the cares of other people. The wisest course is to hold the reins of friendship as loose as possible; you can then tighten or slacken them at your will. For the first condition of a happy life is freedom from care, which no one's mind can enjoy if it has to travail, so to speak, for others besides itself. Another sect, I am told, gives vent to opinions still less generous. I briefly touched on this subject just now. They affirm that friendships should be sought solely for the sake of the assistance they give, and not at all from motives of feeling and affection; and that therefore just in proportion as a man's power and means of support are lowest, he is most eager to gain friendships: thence it comes that weak women seek the support of friendship more than men, the poor more than the rich, the unfortunate rather than those esteemed prosperous. What noble philosophy! You might just as well take the sun out of the sky as friendship from life; for the immortal gods have given us nothing better or more delightful.

I give you these rules because I believe certain people hold some extraordinary views. These people, I am told, have a reputation for wisdom in Greece. Nothing in the world, by the way, is beyond the reach of their clever but misleading arguments. Some of them teach that we should avoid very close friendships. Otherwise, one person might have to bear the worries of several people. Each person, they say, has more than enough troubles of his own. It is too much to become involved in other people's worries. The wisest course is to keep the reins of friendship as loose as possible. You can then tighten or loosen them as you please. For the first requirement of a happy life is freedom from worry. No one's mind can enjoy that freedom if it must struggle, so to speak, for others as well as itself. Another school of thought, I am told, expresses even less generous views. I briefly touched on this subject just now. These thinkers claim that friendships should be sought only for the help they offer, never out of feeling or affection. Therefore, the less power and means of support a man has, the more eager he is to make friends. This, they say, explains why weak women seek the support of friendship more than men do. It also explains why the poor seek it more than the rich, and the unfortunate more than those considered prosperous. What noble philosophy! You might just as well take the sun out of the sky as take friendship out of life. For the immortal gods have given us nothing better or more delightful.

But let us examine the two doctrines. What is the value of this "freedom from care"? It is very tempting at first sight, but in practice it has in many cases to be put on one side. For there is no business and no course of action demanded from us by our honour which you can consistently decline, or lay aside when begun, from a mere wish to escape from anxiety. Nay, if we wish to avoid anxiety we must avoid virtue itself, which necessarily involves some anxious thoughts in showing its loathing and abhorrence for the qualities which are opposite to itself—as kindness for ill-nature, self-control for licentiousness, courage for cowardice. Thus you may notice that it is the just who are most pained at injustice, the brave at cowardly actions, the temperate at depravity. It is then characteristic of a rightly ordered mind to be pleased at what is good and grieved at the reverse. Seeing then that the wise are not exempt from the heart-ache (which must be the case unless we suppose all human nature rooted out of their hearts), why should we banish friendship from our lives, for fear of being involved by it in some amount of distress? If you take away emotion, what difference remains I don't say between a man and a beast, but between a man and a stone or a log of wood, or anything else of that kind?

But let us examine the two doctrines. What is the value of this "freedom from care"? At first, it seems very appealing, but in practice we often have to set it aside. Honour demands certain duties and actions from us. We cannot rightly refuse them, or abandon them once begun, merely to escape anxiety. Indeed, if we want to avoid anxiety, we must avoid virtue itself. Virtue necessarily brings some anxiety through its hatred and disgust for its opposites. Kindness hates spite, self-control hates unrestrained indulgence, and courage hates cowardice. So you may notice that just people are most troubled by injustice, brave people by cowardly actions, and temperate people by depravity. A well-balanced mind, then, naturally takes pleasure in good and feels sorrow at its opposite. Even wise people, then, are not free from heartache. They could be free from heartache only if we supposed that all human feeling had been rooted out of them. Why, then, should we banish friendship from our lives for fear that friendship might bring us some distress? If you take away emotion, what difference remains between a human being and a stone, a log, or anything similar? I am not even speaking of the difference between a human being and an animal.

Neither should we give any weight to the doctrine that virtue is something rigid and unyielding as iron. In point of fact it is in regard to friendship, as in so many other things, so supple and sensitive that it expands, so to speak, at a friend's good fortune, contracts at his misfortunes. We conclude then that mental pain which we must often encounter on a friend's account is not of sufficient consequence to banish friendship from our life, any more than it is true that the cardinal virtues are to be dispensed with because they involve certain anxieties and distresses.

Nor should we take seriously the idea that virtue is rigid and unyielding as iron. In fact, in friendship, as in so many other things, virtue is flexible and sensitive. Virtue expands, so to speak, at a friend's good fortune and contracts at a friend's misfortunes. We therefore conclude that the emotional pain we must often suffer for a friend does not justify rejecting friendship. Nor should we give up the cardinal virtues because they bring certain worries and troubles.

14. Let me repeat then, "the clear indication of virtue, to which a mind of like character is naturally attracted, is the beginning of friendship." When that is the case the rise of affection is a necessity. For what can be more irrational than to take delight in many objects incapable of response, such as office, fame, splendid buildings, and personal decoration, and yet to take little or none in a sentient being endowed with virtue, which has the faculty of loving or, if I may use the expression, loving back? For nothing is really more delightful than a return of affection, and the mutual interchange of kind feeling and good offices. And if we add, as we may fairly do, that nothing so powerfully attracts and draws one thing to itself as likeness does to friendship, it will at once be admitted to be true that the good love the good and attach them to themselves as though they were united by blood and nature. For nothing can be more eager, or rather greedy, for what is like itself than nature. So, my dear Fannius and Scaevola, we may look upon this as an established fact, that between good men there is, as it were of necessity, a kindly feeling, which is the source of friendship ordained by nature. But this same kindliness affects the many also. For that is no unsympathetic or selfish or exclusive virtue, which protects even whole nations and consults their best interests. And that certainly it would not have done had it disdained all affection for the common herd.

14. Let me repeat, then: "Friendship begins with clear signs of virtue, which naturally attract a mind of similar character." When that happens, affection must follow. What could be more irrational than enjoying things that cannot respond, yet finding little or no joy in a virtuous person? We delight in public office, fame, splendid buildings, and personal adornment. Yet a virtuous person can love, or, if I may put it this way, love us back. Nothing is more delightful than affection returned, with kindness and helpful acts exchanged on both sides. We may fairly add that nothing draws one thing toward another more powerfully than similarity draws people into friendship. If we accept this, we must immediately admit that good people love other good people and draw them close. They do so as though joined by blood and nature. For nothing seeks its own likeness more eagerly, or rather more greedily, than nature. So, my dear Fannius and Scaevola, we may regard the following as an established fact. Good men feel kindness toward one another almost by necessity. That kindness is the source of friendship, as nature has ordained. But this same kindness also extends to people at large. For virtue is not cold, selfish, or exclusive. Virtue protects even whole nations and looks after their best interests. And virtue certainly would not have done so if it had rejected all affection for ordinary people.

Again, the believers in the "interest" theory appear to me to destroy the most attractive link in the chain of friendship. For it is not so much what one gets by a friend that gives one pleasure, as the warmth of his feeling; and we only care for a friend's service if it has been prompted by affection. And so far from its being true that lack of means is a motive for seeking friendship, it is usually those who being most richly endowed with wealth and means, and above all with virtue (which, after all, is a man's best support), are least in need of another, that are most openhanded and beneficent. Indeed I am inclined to think that friends ought at times to be in want of something. For instance, what scope would my affections have had if Scipio had never wanted my advice or co-operation at home or abroad? It is not friendship, then, that follows material advantage, but material advantage friendship.

Again, those who believe in the "interest" theory seem to me to destroy friendship's most appealing bond. For the pleasure of friendship comes less from what a friend gives us than from the warmth of his affection. And we value a friend's help only if affection prompted it. Nor is a lack of resources a reason for seeking friendship. Usually, the most generous and helpful people have the greatest wealth and resources, and above all, virtue. After all, virtue is a person's best support. These people need others least, yet they give the most freely. Indeed, I am inclined to think that friends ought sometimes to need something. For example, what chance would I have had to express my affection if Scipio had never needed my advice? What if he had never needed my help at home or abroad? So friendship does not follow material gain. Rather, material gain follows friendship.

15. We must not therefore listen to these superfine gentlemen when they talk of friendship, which they know neither in theory nor in practice. For who, in heaven's name, would choose a life of the greatest wealth and abundance on condition of neither loving or being beloved by any creature? That is the sort of life tyrants endure. They, of course, can count on no fidelity, no affection, no security for the goodwill of any one. For them all is suspicion and anxiety; for them there is no possibility of friendship. Who can love one whom he fears, or by whom he knows that he is feared? Yet such men have a show of friendship offered them, but it is only a fair-weather show. If it ever happen that they fall, as it generally does, they will at once understand how friendless they are. So they say Tarquin observed in his exile that he never knew which of his friends were real and which sham, until he had ceased to be able to repay either. Though what surprises me is that a man of his proud and overbearing character should have a friend at all. And as it was his character that prevented his having genuine friends, so it often happens in the case of men of unusually great means—their very wealth forbids faithful friendships. For not only is Fortune blind herself; but she generally makes those blind also who enjoy her favours. They are carried, so to speak, beyond themselves with self-conceit and self-will; nor can anything be more perfectly intolerable than a successful fool. You may often see it. Men who before had pleasant manners enough undergo a complete change on attaining power of office. They despise their old friends: devote themselves to new.

15. So we must not listen to these oh-so-refined gentlemen when they talk about friendship. They understand neither its principles nor its practice. For who, in heaven's name, would choose the greatest wealth and abundance if they could neither love nor be loved by anyone? That is the kind of life tyrants endure. They can count on no loyalty, no affection, and no assurance of anyone's goodwill. For tyrants, everything is suspicion and anxiety. Friendship is impossible for them. Who can love someone they fear, or someone they know is afraid of them? Yet tyrants receive displays of friendship, but only while things are going well. If tyrants ever fall, as they generally do, they will immediately discover how friendless they are. So Tarquin is said to have remarked during his exile that he had never known his true friends from his false ones. He learned the difference only when he could no longer reward either. Though what surprises me is that anyone so proud and overbearing should have had a friend at all. Just as Tarquin's character kept him from having genuine friends, great wealth often keeps people from having faithful friends. For not only is Fortune blind herself, but she generally blinds those she favors as well. Their arrogance and insistence on having their own way carry them beyond themselves, so to speak. Nothing is more utterly unbearable than a successful fool. You can often see this. Men who once had perfectly pleasant manners change completely when they gain the power of public office. They despise their old friends and devote themselves to new ones.

Now, can anything be more foolish than that men who have all the opportunities which prosperity, wealth, and great means can bestow, should secure all else which money can buy—horses, servants, splendid upholstering, and costly plate—but do not secure friends, who are, if I may use the expression, the most valuable and beautiful furniture of life? And yet, when they acquire the former, they know not who will enjoy them, nor for whom they may be taking all this trouble; for they will one and all eventually belong to the strongest: while each man has a stable and inalienable ownership in his friendships. And even if those possessions, which are, in a manner, the gifts of fortune, do prove permanent, life can never be anything but joyless which is without the consolations and companionship of friends.

Now, could anything be more foolish than this? Men with every opportunity that prosperity, wealth, and great resources can offer buy everything else money can provide. They buy horses, servants, fine furnishings, and expensive silverware. But they fail to secure friends, who are, if I may put it this way, life’s most valuable and beautiful furnishings. Yet when these men acquire possessions, they do not know who will enjoy them. Nor do they know for whom they may be taking all this trouble. For every one of these possessions will eventually belong to whoever is strongest. By contrast, each person has a lasting ownership of his friendships that cannot be taken away. And even if those possessions, which are in a sense gifts of fortune, do last, life without friends remains joyless. Without the comfort and companionship of friends, life can never be anything else.

16. To turn to another branch of our subject. We must now endeavour to ascertain what limits are to be observed in friendship—what is the boundary-line, so to speak, beyond which our affection is not to go. On this point I notice three opinions, with none of which I agree. One is that we should love our friend just as much as we love ourselves, and no more; another, that our affection to them should exactly correspond and equal theirs to us; a third, that a man should be valued at exactly the same rate as he values himself. To not one of these opinions do I assent. The first, which holds that our regard for ourselves is to be the measure of our regard for our friend, is not true; for how many things there are which we would never have done for our own sakes, but do for the sake of a friend! We submit to make requests from unworthy people, to descend even to supplication; to be sharper in invective, more violent in attack. Such actions are not creditable in our own interests, but highly so in those of our friends. There are many advantages too which men of upright character voluntarily forego, or of which they are content to be deprived, that their friends may enjoy them rather than themselves.

16. Let us turn to another part of our subject. We must now decide what limits friendship should have. Where, so to speak, should we draw the line beyond which our affection should not go? I see three views on this question, and I agree with none of them. One is that we should love our friends just as much as we love ourselves, and no more. Another is that our affection for our friends should exactly match their affection for us. A third is that we should value a person at exactly the same level as he values himself. I accept none of these views. The first view makes our regard for ourselves the measure of our regard for a friend. But this cannot be right. How many things would we never do for ourselves, yet do for a friend! We agree to ask favors of unworthy people, even lowering ourselves to beg. We use harsher insults and attack more fiercely. Such actions bring us no credit when done for ourselves, but great credit when done for our friends. Upright people also willingly give up many advantages, or accept being deprived of them, so their friends can enjoy them instead.

The second doctrine is that which limits friendship to an exact equality in mutual good offices and good feelings. But such a view reduces friendship to a question of figures in a spirit far too narrow and illiberal, as though the object were to have an exact balance in a debtor and creditor account. True friendship appears to me to be something richer and more generous than that comes to; and not to be so narrowly on its guard against giving more than it receives. In such a matter we must not be always afraid of something being wasted or running over in our measure, or of more than is justly due being devoted to our friendship.

The second view limits friendship to an exact balance of favors and affection given and received. But this view reduces friendship to a matter of numbers, in a spirit far too narrow and ungenerous. It treats friendship as if the goal were to balance an account between a debtor and a creditor. True friendship seems to me richer and more generous than that. It does not guard so carefully against giving more than it receives. In friendship, we must not always fear that some generosity will go to waste or overflow the measure. Nor must we fear giving our friendship more than is strictly owed.

But the last limit proposed is the worst, namely, that a friend's estimate of himself is to be the measure of our estimate of him. It often happens that a man has too humble an idea of himself, or takes too despairing a view of his chance of bettering his fortune. In such a case a friend ought not to take the view of him which he takes of himself. Rather he should do all he can to raise his drooping spirits, and lead him to more cheerful hopes and thoughts.

But the last proposed limit is the worst: we should judge a friend only as highly as he judges himself. A man often thinks too little of himself or feels too hopeless about his chances of improving his circumstances. In such a case, a friend should not share the man's low opinion of himself. Instead, he should do all he can to lift his friend's spirits and encourage more hopeful, cheerful thoughts.

We must then find some other limit. But I must first mention the sentiment which used to call forth Scipio's severest criticism. He often said that no one ever gave utterance to anything more diametrically opposed to the spirit of friendship than the author of the dictum, "You should love your friend with the consciousness that you may one day hate him." He could not be induced to believe that it was rightfully attributed to Bias, who was counted as one of the Seven Sages. It was the sentiment of some person with sinister motives or selfish ambition, or who regarded everything as it affected his own supremacy. How can a man be friends with another, if he thinks it possible that he may be his enemy? Why, it will follow that he must wish and desire his friend to commit as many mistakes as possible, that he may have all the more handles against him; and, conversely, that he must be annoyed, irritated, and jealous at the right actions or good fortune of his friends. This maxim, then, let it be whose it will, is the utter destruction of friendship. The true rule is to take such care in the selection of our friends as never to enter upon a friendship with a man whom we could under any circumstances come to hate. And even if we are unlucky in our choice, we must put up with it—according to Scipio—in preference to making calculations as to a future breach.

We must then find some other limit. But first I must mention the view that drew Scipio's harshest criticism. He often said that no one had ever said anything more opposed to the spirit of friendship than this saying: "You should love your friend knowing that you may one day hate him." He could not be persuaded that Bias, one of the Seven Sages, had really said those words. Such a view came from someone with sinister motives or selfish ambition, or someone concerned only with his own power. How can a man be friends with someone if he thinks that person may become his enemy? Why, he must then wish and hope that his friend makes as many mistakes as possible. Those mistakes would give him all the more to use against his friend. And, on the other hand, his friends' good actions or good fortune must annoy him and make him resentful and jealous. So this saying, whoever said it, utterly destroys friendship. The true rule is to choose our friends so carefully that we never befriend anyone we could ever come to hate. And even if we choose badly, Scipio said we must put up with our choice. That is better than planning for a future break in the friendship.

17. The real limit to be observed in friendship is this: the characters of two friends must be stainless. There must be complete harmony of interests, purpose, and aims, without exception. Then if the case arises of a friend's wish (not strictly right in itself) calling for support in a matter involving his life or reputation, we must make some concession from the straight path—on condition, that is to say, that extreme disgrace is not the consequence. Something must be conceded to friendship. And yet we must not be entirely careless of our reputation, nor regard the good opinion of our fellow-citizens as a weapon which we can afford to despise in conducting the business of our life, however lowering it may be to tout for it by flattery and smooth words. We must by no means abjure virtue, which secures us affection.

17. The true boundary of friendship is this: both friends must have spotless character. Their interests, purposes, and aims must agree completely, without exception. Suppose a friend asks for support in something not strictly right, but involving his life or reputation. Then we must bend the rules somewhat, provided doing so does not bring extreme disgrace. We must make some concessions to friendship. Yet we must not be entirely careless about our reputation. Nor should we dismiss our fellow citizens' good opinion as a tool we can afford to ignore in life. Seeking that opinion through flattery and smooth words may be degrading. But we must never abandon virtue, which wins us affection.

But to return again to Scipio, the sole author of the discourse on friendship. He used to complain that there was nothing on which men bestowed so little pains: that every one could tell exactly how many goats or sheep he had, but not how many friends; and while they took pains in procuring the former, they were utterly careless in selecting friends, and possessed no particular marks, so to speak, or tokens by which they might judge of their suitability for friendship. Now the qualities we ought to look out for in making our selection are firmness, stability, constancy. There is a plentiful lack of men so endowed, and it is difficult to form a judgment without testing. Now this testing can only be made during the actual existence of the friendship; for friendship so often precedes the formation of a judgment, and makes a previous test impossible. If we are prudent then, we shall rein in our impulse to affection as we do chariot horses. We make a preliminary trial of horses. So we should of friendship; and should test our friends' characters by a kind of tentative friendship. It may often happen that the untrustworthiness of certain men is completely displayed in a small money matter; others who are proof against a small sum are detected if it be large. But even if some are found who think it mean to prefer money to friendship, where shall we look for those who put friendship before office, civil or military promotions, and political power, and who, when the choice lies between these things on the one side and the claims of friendship on the other, do not give a strong preference to the former? It is not in human nature to be indifferent to political power; and if the price men have to pay for it is the sacrifice of friendship, they think their treason will be thrown into the shade by the magnitude of the reward. This is why true friendship is very difficult to find among those who engage in politics and the contest for office. Where can you find the man to prefer his friend's advancement to his own? And to say nothing of that, think how grievous and almost intolerable it is to most men to share political disaster. You will scarcely find anyone who can bring himself to do that. And though what Ennius says is quite true,—" the hour of need shews the friend indeed,"—yet it is in these two ways that most people betray their untrustworthiness and inconstancy, by looking down on friends when they are themselves prosperous, or deserting them in their distress. A man, then, who has shewn a firm, unshaken, and unvarying friendship in both these contingencies we must reckon as one of a class the rarest in the world, and all but superhuman.

But let us return to Scipio, the sole source of this discussion of friendship. He used to complain that people put less effort into friendship than into anything else. Everyone could say exactly how many goats or sheep he owned, but not how many friends he had. People took care when acquiring livestock, yet were utterly careless when choosing friends. They had no particular signs or tests, so to speak, for judging whether someone would make a suitable friend. Now the qualities we should look for when choosing friends are firmness, stability, and loyalty. Men with these qualities are in remarkably short supply, and judging them without testing them is difficult. Yet we can test them only once the friendship has begun. Friendship so often comes before judgment and makes an earlier test impossible. If we are wise, then, we will rein in our impulse toward affection as we would chariot horses. We give horses a trial before choosing them. We should do the same with friendship, testing our friends' characters through a kind of trial friendship. Some men may often reveal their complete untrustworthiness over a small amount of money. Others resist the temptation of a small sum but reveal their weakness when the sum is large. But suppose we find some who consider it shameful to put money before friendship. Where will we find those who put friendship before public office, civil or military promotion, and political power? When forced to choose between these rewards and the demands of friendship, who does not strongly prefer the rewards? Human nature does not allow us to be indifferent to political power. If gaining power costs men a friendship, they think the great reward will overshadow their betrayal. This is why true friendship is so difficult to find among those involved in politics and competing for office. Where can you find a man who puts his friend's advancement before his own? And even leaving that aside, consider how painful and almost unbearable most men find sharing a friend's political downfall. You will scarcely find anyone willing to do so. And although Ennius speaks the truth when he says, "a friend in need is a friend indeed," most people fail in two ways. They show their untrustworthiness and disloyalty by looking down on friends when they themselves prosper, or abandoning friends in distress. A man who remains firm, unshaken, and unwavering in friendship in both situations belongs to the rarest class of men. We must regard him as almost superhuman.

18. Now, what is the quality to look out for as a warrant for the stability and permanence of friendship? It is loyalty. Nothing that lacks this can be stable. We should also in making our selection look out for simplicity, a social disposition, and a sympathetic nature, moved by what moves us. These all contribute to maintain loyalty. You can never trust a character which is intricate and tortuous. Nor, indeed, is it possible for one to be trustworthy and firm who is unsympathetic by nature and unmoved by what affects ourselves. We may add, that he must neither take pleasure in bringing accusations against us himself, nor believe them when they are brought. All these contribute to form that constancy which I have been endeavouring to describe. And the result is, what I started by saying, that friendship is only possible between good men.

18. Now, what quality should we look for to ensure that a friendship will be stable and lasting? Loyalty. Nothing can be stable without loyalty. When choosing friends, we should also look for honesty, a friendly manner, and a sympathetic nature. A friend should be moved by what moves us. All these qualities help maintain loyalty. You can never trust someone whose character is complicated and devious. Nor can someone be trustworthy and dependable if they lack sympathy and remain unmoved by what affects us. We may add that a friend must neither enjoy making accusations against us nor believe accusations made by others. All these qualities help build the steadfastness I have been trying to describe. The result brings us back to my opening point: friendship is possible only between good men.

Now there are two characteristic features in his treatment of his friends that a good (which may be regarded as equivalent to a wise) man will always display. First, he will be entirely without any make-believe or pretence of feeling; for the open display even of dislike is more becoming to an ingenuous character than a studied concealment of sentiment. Secondly, he will not only reject all accusations brought against his friend by another, but he will not be suspicious himself either, nor be always thinking that his friend has acted improperly. Besides this, there should be a certain pleasantness in word and manner which adds no little flavour to friendship. A gloomy temper and unvarying gravity may be very impressive; but friendship should be a little less unbending, more indulgent and gracious, and more inclined to all kinds of good-fellowship and good-nature.

A good man will always show two qualities in his treatment of friends. A good man may be considered the same as a wise man. First, he will never fake or pretend to feel anything. For an honest person, even openly showing dislike is more fitting than carefully hiding his feelings. Second, he will reject all accusations others bring against his friend. Nor will he be suspicious himself or constantly think his friend has acted wrongly. Besides these qualities, a certain warmth in speech and manner should add a great deal to friendship. A gloomy mood and constant seriousness may be very impressive. But friendship should be a little less rigid, more forgiving and gracious, and more open to every kind of companionship and goodwill.

19. But here arises a question of some little difficulty. Are there any occasions on which, assuming their worthiness, we should prefer new to old friends, just as we prefer young to aged horses? The answer admits of no doubt whatever. For there should be no satiety in friendship, as there is in other things. The older the sweeter, as in wines that keep well. And the proverb is a true one, "You must eat many a peck of salt with a man to be thorough friends with him." Novelty, indeed, has its advantage, which we must not despise. There is always hope of fruit, as there is in healthy blades of corn. But age too must have its proper position; and, in fact, the influence of time and habit is very great. To recur to the illustration of the horse which I have just now used. Every one likes ceteris paribus to use the horse to which he has been accustomed, rather than one that is untried and new. And it is not only in the case of a living thing that this rule holds good, but in inanimate things also; for we like places where we have lived the longest, even though they are mountainous and covered with forest. But here is another golden rule in friendship: put yourself on a level with your friend. For it often happens that there are certain superiorities, as for example Scipio's in what I may call our set. Now he never assumed any airs of superiority over Philus, or Rupilius, or Mummius, or over friends of a lower rank still. For instance, he always shewed a deference to his brother Quintus Maximus because he was his senior, who, though a man no doubt of eminent character, was by no means his equal. He used also to wish that all his friends should be the better for his support. This is an example we should all follow. If any of us have any advantage in personal character, intellect, or fortune, we should be ready to make our friends sharers and partners in it with ourselves. For instance, if their parents are in humble circumstances, if their relations are powerful neither in intellect nor means, we should supply their deficiencies and promote their rank and dignity. You know the legends of children brought up as servants in ignorance of their parentage and family. When they are recognized and discovered to be the sons of gods or kings, they still retain their affection for the shepherds whom they have for many years looked upon as their parents. Much more ought this to be so in the case of real and undoubted parents. For the advantages of genius and virtue, and in short, of every kind of superiority, are never realized to their fullest extent until they are bestowed upon our nearest and dearest.

19. But a somewhat difficult question arises here. Should we ever prefer new friends to old ones, assuming both are worthy, just as we prefer young horses to aged ones? The answer is beyond doubt. We should never grow tired of friendship as we do of other things. The older a friendship, the sweeter it becomes, like wine that ages well. And the proverb is true: "You must eat many a peck of salt with a man to be thorough friends with him." New friendships certainly have an advantage we must not dismiss. They always hold the promise of fruit, like healthy young shoots of grain. But old friendships must also have their rightful place. Time and habit have a very powerful influence. Let me return to the example of the horse I just used. Everyone prefers, all else being equal, a familiar horse to one that is new and untried. This preference applies not only to living things but also to things without life. We like the places where we have lived longest, even if they are mountainous and covered with forest. But here is another golden rule of friendship: put yourself on an equal footing with your friend. For some people have advantages over others, as Scipio did in what I might call our circle. Yet he never acted superior to Philus, Rupilius, Mummius, or even friends of lower rank. For example, he always showed respect for his brother Quintus Maximus because Quintus was older. Quintus was undoubtedly a man of outstanding character, though by no means Scipio's equal. Scipio also wanted all his friends to benefit from his support. We should all follow his example. If we have any advantage in character, intelligence, or wealth, we should be ready to share it with our friends. Suppose their parents are poor, or their relatives have little ability or wealth. We should make up for what our friends lack and help raise their standing and dignity. You know the legends of children raised as servants, unaware of their parents or family. Later, they are recognized and discovered to be the children of gods or kings. Yet they still love the shepherds they regarded as their parents for so many years. How much more should we retain our affection for our actual parents, whose parenthood is beyond doubt. For the benefits of talent, virtue, and every other kind of advantage are never fully realized until shared with those closest and dearest to us.

20. But the converse must also be observed. For in friendship and relationship, just as those who possess any superiority must put themselves on an equal footing with those who are less fortunate, so these latter must not be annoyed at being surpassed in genius, fortune, or rank. But most people of that sort are forever either grumbling at something, or harping on their claims; and especially if they consider that they have services of their own to allege involving zeal and friendship and some trouble to themselves. People who are always bringing up their services are a nuisance. The recipient ought to remember them; the performer should never mention them. In the case of friends, then, as the superior are bound to descend, so are they bound in a certain sense to raise those below them. For there are people who make their friendship disagreeable by imagining themselves undervalued. This generally happens only to those who think that they deserve to be so; and they ought to be shewn by deeds as well as by words the groundlessness of their opinion. Now the measure of your benefits should be in the first place your own power to bestow, and in the second place the capacity to bear them on the part of him on whom you are bestowing affection and help. For, however great your personal prestige may be, you cannot raise all your friends to the highest offices of the State. For instance, Scipio was able to make Publius Rupilius consul, but not his brother Lucius. But granting that you can give anyone anything you choose, you must have a care that it does not prove to be beyond his powers. As a general rule, we must wait to make up our mind about friendships till men's characters and years have arrived at their full strength and development. People must not, for instance, regard as fast friends all whom in their youthful enthusiasm for hunting or football they liked for having the same tastes. By that rule, if it were a mere question of time, no one would have such claims on our affections as nurses and slave-tutors. Not that they are to be neglected, but they stand on a different ground. It is only these mature friendships that can be permanent. For difference of character leads to difference of aims, and the result of such diversity is to estrange friends. The sole reason, for instance, which prevents good men from making friends with bad, or bad with good, is that the divergence of their characters and aims is the greatest possible.

20. But the reverse must also be observed. In friendships and family relationships, those with greater advantages must put themselves on an equal footing with the less fortunate. In turn, the less fortunate must not resent being surpassed in talent, wealth, or rank. But most people in that position are always complaining about something or dwelling on what they feel owed. They do so especially if they believe their devoted service as friends has cost them some trouble. People who constantly bring up their services are a nuisance. Those who receive such services should remember them. Those who perform them should never mention them. So friends with greater advantages must lower themselves to their friends' level. They must also, in a sense, raise those below them. For some people make their friendship unpleasant by imagining they are undervalued. This generally happens only to people who think they deserve to be undervalued. They should be shown, through actions as well as words, that their belief is groundless. Now, the help you give should depend first on your own ability to give it. Second, it should depend on your friend's ability to handle the affection and support you offer. For however great your influence, you cannot raise all your friends to the highest offices of the State. For example, Scipio could make Publius Rupilius consul, but not his brother Lucius. But suppose you could give anyone anything you chose. Even then, you must take care not to give someone more responsibility than he can handle. As a general rule, we must wait until people are fully mature in character and age before deciding on friendships. For example, people must not regard everyone who shared their youthful enthusiasm for hunting or football as a close friend. By that rule, if time alone mattered, no one would have a stronger claim on our affection than nurses and slave-tutors. Not that we should neglect them, but those relationships have a different basis. Only friendships formed in maturity can last. For differences in character lead to differences in aims, and these differences drive friends apart. For example, good men do not become friends with bad men, nor bad men with good. The sole reason is that their characters and aims differ as much as possible.

Another good rule in friendship is this: do not let an excessive affection hinder the highest interests of your friends. This very often happens. I will go again to the region of fable for an instance. Neoptolemus could never have taken Troy if he had been willing to listen to Lycomedes, who had brought him up, and with many tears tried to prevent his going there. Again, it often happens that important business makes it necessary to part from friends: the man who tries to baulk it, because he thinks that he cannot endure the separation, is of a weak and effeminate nature, and on that very account makes but a poor friend. There are, of course, limits to what you ought to expect from a friend and to what you should allow him to demand of you. And these you must take into calculation in every case.

Another good rule for friendship is this: do not let excessive affection stand in the way of your friends’ best interests. This happens very often. I will turn again to legend for an example. Neoptolemus could never have taken Troy if he had listened to Lycomedes. Lycomedes had raised him and tried, with many tears, to stop him from going there. Important business also often makes it necessary to leave friends. A man who tries to prevent such a departure because he thinks he cannot bear the separation is weak and unmanly. That very weakness makes him a poor friend. Of course, there are limits to what you should expect from a friend and what you should let him demand of you. You must consider these limits in every case.

21. Again, there is such a disaster, so to speak, as having to break off friendship. And sometimes it is one we cannot avoid. For at this point the stream of our discourse is leaving the intimacies of the wise and touching on the friendship of ordinary people. It will happen at times that an outbreak of vicious conduct affects either a man's friends themselves or strangers, yet the discredit falls on the friends. In such cases friendships should be allowed to die out gradually by an intermission of intercourse. They should, as I have been told that Cato used to say, rather be unstitched than torn in twain; unless, indeed, the injurious conduct be of so violent and outrageous a nature as to make an instant breach and separation the only possible course consistent with honour and rectitude. Again, if a change in character and aim takes place, as often happens, or if party politics produces an alienation of feeling (I am now speaking, as I said a short time ago, of ordinary friendships, not of those of the wise), we shall have to be on our guard against appearing to embark upon active enmity while we only mean to resign a friendship. For there can be nothing more discreditable than to be at open war with a man with whom you have been intimate. Scipio, as you are aware, had abandoned his friendship for Quintus Pompeius on my account; and again, from differences of opinion in politics, he became estranged from my colleague Metellus. In both cases he acted with dignity and moderation, shewing that he was offended indeed, but without rancour.

21. Then there is the disaster, so to speak, of having to end a friendship. Sometimes we cannot avoid it. At this point, our discussion moves away from close friendships among the wise and turns to friendships among ordinary people. Sometimes a person's wrongdoing harms either his friends or strangers, yet brings disgrace on his friends. In such cases, friendships should be allowed to fade gradually through less frequent contact. As I have heard Cato used to say, friendships should be unstitched rather than torn apart. But the harmful conduct may be so violent and outrageous that honor and integrity demand an immediate break. Again, people's character and aims may change, as often happens, or party politics may drive them apart. As I said a little earlier, I am speaking of ordinary friendships, not those of the wise. In such cases, we must take care not to seem actively hostile when we only mean to end a friendship. For nothing can be more disgraceful than open conflict with someone who was once a close friend. As you know, Scipio had ended his friendship with Quintus Pompeius because of me. Later, political disagreements also estranged him from my colleague Metellus. In both cases, he acted with dignity and restraint. He showed that he was offended, but without bitterness.

Our first object, then, should be to prevent a breach; our second, to secure that, if it does occur, our friendship should seem to have died a natural rather than a violent death. Next, we should take care that friendship is not converted into active hostility, from which flow personal quarrels, abusive language, and angry recriminations. These last, however, provided that they do not pass all reasonable limits of forbearance, we ought to put up with, and, in compliment to an old friendship, allow the party that inflicts the injury, not the one that submits to it, to be in the wrong. Generally speaking, there is but one way of securing and providing oneself against faults and inconveniences of this sort—not to be too hasty in bestowing our affection, and not to bestow it at all on unworthy objects.

Our first aim, then, should be to prevent a break in our friendship. If a break does occur, our second aim should be to make the friendship seem to have died naturally, not violently. Next, we should keep friendship from turning into open hostility, which leads to personal quarrels, insults, and angry accusations. However, we should put up with these attacks as long as they stay within reasonable limits of what we can bear. Out of respect for an old friendship, we should let the person causing the harm remain in the wrong, rather than the person enduring it. Generally speaking, there is only one way to guard against faults and troubles of this kind. We should not be too quick to give our affection, and we should never give it to unworthy people.

Now, by "worthy of friendship" I mean those who have in themselves the qualities which attract affection. This sort of man is rare; and indeed all excellent things are rare; and nothing in the world is so hard to find as a thing entirely and completely perfect of its kind. But most people not only recognize nothing as good in our life unless it is profitable, but look upon friends as so much stock, caring most for those by whom they hope to make most profit. Accordingly they never possess that most beautiful and most spontaneous friendship which must be sought solely for itself without any ulterior object. They fail also to learn from their own feelings the nature and the strength of friendship. For every one loves himself, not for any reward which such love may bring, but because he is dear to himself independently of anything else. But unless this feeling is transferred to another, what a real friend is will never be revealed; for he is, as it were, a second self. But if we find these two instincts shewing themselves in animals,—whether of the air or the sea or the land, whether wild or tame,—first, a love of self, which in fact is born in everything that lives alike; and, secondly, an eagerness to find and attach themselves to other creatures of their own kind; and if this natural action is accompanied by desire and by something resembling human love, how much more must this be the case in man by the law of his nature? For man not only loves himself, but seeks another whose spirit he may so blend with his own as almost to make one being of two.

Now, by "worthy of friendship" I mean people whose qualities inspire affection. Such people are rare. Indeed, all excellent things are rare. Nothing in the world is harder to find than something entirely perfect of its kind. But most people consider nothing in life good unless it brings them some benefit. They also treat friends like investments, valuing most those they hope will bring them the greatest profit. As a result, they never experience the most beautiful and freely given friendship. Such friendship must be sought for its own sake alone, with no other purpose. They also fail to learn from their own feelings what friendship is and how strong it can be. Everyone loves himself, not for any reward that love may bring, but because he is dear to himself, regardless of anything else. But unless someone extends this feeling to another person, he will never understand what a true friend is. For a true friend is, in a sense, a second self. But consider two instincts we find in animals, whether in the air, sea, or on land, whether wild or tame. First comes self-love, an instinct born in every living thing. Second comes an eagerness to find and form bonds with other creatures of their own kind. If animals show these instincts, and their natural behavior includes desire and something resembling human love, what follows? How much more must human beings show these instincts by the laws of their own nature? For a person not only loves himself, but seeks another whose spirit he can blend with his own. In this way, the two may almost become one being.

22. But most people unreasonably, not to speak of modesty, want such a friend as they are unable to be themselves, and expect from their friends what they do not themselves give. The fair course is first to be good yourself, and then to look out for another of like character. It is between such that the stability in friendship of which we have been talking can be secured; when, that is to say, men who are united by affection learn, first of all, to rule those passions which enslave others, and in the next place to take delight in fair and equitable conduct, to bear each other's burdens, never to ask each other for anything inconsistent with virtue and rectitude, and not only to serve and love but also to respect each other. I say "respect"; for if respect is gone, friendship has lost its brightest jewel. And this shows the mistake of those who imagine that friendship gives a privilege to licentiousness and sin. Nature has given us friendship as the handmaid of virtue, not as a partner in guilt: to the end that virtue, being powerless when isolated to reach the highest objects, might succeed in doing so in union and partnership with another. Those who enjoy in the present, or have enjoyed in the past, or are destined to enjoy in the future such a partnership as this, must be considered to have secured the most excellent and auspicious combination for reaching nature's highest good. This is the partnership, I say, which combines moral rectitude, fame, peace of mind, serenity: all that men think desirable because with them life is happy, but without them cannot be so. This being our best and highest object, we must, if we desire to attain it, devote ourselves to virtue; for without virtue we can obtain neither friendship nor anything else desirable. In fact, if virtue be neglected, those who imagine themselves to possess friends will find out their error as soon as some grave disaster forces them to make trial of them. Wherefore, I must again and again repeat, you must satisfy your judgment before engaging your affections: not love first and judge afterwards. We suffer from carelessness in many of our undertakings: in none more than in selecting and cultivating our friends. We put the cart before the horse, and shut the stable door when the steed is stolen, in defiance of the old proverb. For, having mutually involved ourselves in a long-standing intimacy or by actual obligations, all on a sudden some cause of offence arises and we break off our friendships in full career.

22. But most people want a kind of friend they cannot be themselves. This is unreasonable, not to mention immodest. They expect their friends to give what they themselves do not give. The fair approach is to be good yourself first, then seek someone with a similar character. People like these can build the lasting friendship we have been discussing. Those joined by affection must first learn to control the passions that enslave others. Next, they must take pleasure in fair and just conduct and help carry each other's burdens. They must never ask each other for anything that goes against virtue and moral integrity. They must not only help and love each other, but also respect each other. I say "respect" because, without respect, friendship loses its brightest jewel. This shows how mistaken people are when they think friendship gives them permission to behave immorally and do wrong. Nature has given us friendship to serve virtue, not to share in guilt. Virtue alone cannot reach the highest goals, but friendship allows virtue to reach them through partnership with another. Some people enjoy such a partnership now, others enjoyed one in the past, and others will enjoy one in the future. All must be considered to have secured the finest and most promising partnership for reaching nature's highest good. Such a partnership, I say, brings together moral integrity, a good reputation, peace of mind, and serenity. These are all things people consider desirable because life is happy with them and cannot be happy without them. Since this happiness is our best and highest goal, we must devote ourselves to virtue if we want to achieve it. Without virtue, we can gain neither friendship nor anything else desirable. Indeed, people who neglect virtue but imagine they have friends will discover their mistake when serious misfortune tests those friendships. So I must repeat again and again: judge someone carefully before giving them your affection. Do not love first and judge afterward. We are careless in many things, but nowhere more than in choosing friends and developing friendships. We put the cart before the horse and, despite the old proverb, shut the stable door after the horse is stolen. For we first become deeply involved through years of closeness or through actual obligations to each other. Then, suddenly, something causes offense, and we break off our friendships in full stride.

23. It is this that makes such carelessness in a matter of supreme importance all the more worthy of blame. I say "supreme importance," because friendship is the one thing about the utility of which everybody with one accord is agreed. That is not the case in regard even to virtue itself; for many people speak slightingly of virtue as though it were mere puffing and self-glorification. Nor is it the case with riches. Many look down on riches, being content with a little and taking pleasure in poor fare and dress, And as to the political offices for which some have a burning desire—how many entertain such a contempt for them as to think nothing in the world more empty and trivial!

23. This makes such carelessness about something so important all the more blameworthy. I say "supreme importance," because friendship is the one thing everyone agrees is useful. Even virtue itself does not command such agreement. Many people dismiss virtue as though it were nothing but boasting and self-praise. Nor does everyone agree about wealth. Many look down on wealth, content with little and happy with simple food and clothing. And what about the political offices some people desire so intensely? How many others despise those offices so much that they consider nothing in the world more empty and trivial!

And so on with the rest; things desirable in the eyes of some are regarded by very many as worthless. But of friendship all think alike to a man, whether those have devoted themselves to politics, or those who delight in science and philosophy, or those who follow a private way of life and care for nothing but their own business, or those lastly who have given themselves body and soul to sensuality—they all think, I say, that without friendship life is no life, if they want some part of it, at any rate, to be noble. For friendship, in one way or another, penetrates into the lives of us all, and suffers no career to be entirely free from its influence. Though a man be of so churlish and unsociable a nature as to loathe and shun the company of mankind, as we are told was the case with a certain Timon at Athens, yet even he cannot refrain from seeking some one in whose hearing he may disgorge the venom of his bitter temper. We should see this most clearly, if it were possible that some god should carry us away from these haunts of men, and place us somewhere in perfect solitude, and then should supply us in abundance with everything necessary to our nature, and yet take from us entirely the opportunity of looking upon a human being. Who could steel himself to endure such a life? Who would not lose in his loneliness the zest for all pleasures? And indeed this is the point of the observation of, I think, Archytas of Tarentum. I have it third hand; men who were my seniors told me that their seniors had told them. It was this: "If a man could ascend to heaven and get a clear view of the natural order of the universe, and the beauty of the heavenly bodies, that wonderful spectacle would give him small pleasure, though nothing could be conceived more delightful if he had but had some one to whom to tell what he had seen." So true it is that nature abhors isolation, and ever leans upon something as a stay and support; and this is found in its most pleasing form in our closest friend.

And so it is with the rest. Things some people find desirable are considered worthless by very many others. But everyone agrees about friendship. Some devote themselves to politics. Others delight in science and philosophy. Others live privately and care only about their own affairs. Still others give themselves body and soul to physical pleasure. All of them, I say, think life without friendship is no life at all, if any part is to be noble. For friendship enters all our lives in one way or another. No way of life is entirely free from its influence. A man may be so ill-tempered and unsociable that he hates and avoids human company. We are told that a certain Timon at Athens was like this. Yet even such a man cannot help seeking someone to hear him pour out his bitter thoughts. We would see this need most clearly if some god could take us away from human society. Suppose the god placed us somewhere completely alone and supplied everything our nature needs in abundance. But suppose the god also took away every chance of seeing another human being. Who could find the strength to endure such a life? Who would not, in such loneliness, lose all enjoyment of pleasure? This is indeed the point of a remark by, I think, Archytas of Tarentum. I heard the remark thirdhand. Men older than me told me that their elders had told them. The remark was this: "Suppose a man could rise to heaven and clearly see the universe’s natural order and the beauty of the stars. That wonderful sight would give him little pleasure without someone to tell about what he had seen. Yet with someone to tell, nothing could be imagined more delightful." So truly does nature reject isolation and always lean on something for support. And we find that support in its most pleasing form in our closest friend.

24. But though Nature also declares by so many indications what her wish and object and desire is, we yet in a manner turn a deaf ear and will not hear her warnings. The intercourse between friends is varied and complex, and it must often happen that causes of suspicion and offence arise, which a wise man will sometimes avoid, at other times remove, at others treat with indulgence. The one possible cause of offence that must be faced is when the interests of your friend and your own sincerity are at stake. For instance, it often happens that friends need remonstrance and even reproof. When these are administered in a kindly spirit they ought to be taken in good part. But somehow or other there is truth in what my friend Terence says in his Andria:

24. But though Nature gives so many signs of her wishes, aims, and desires, we still seem to turn a deaf ear. We refuse to listen to her warnings. Relationships between friends are varied and complex, and reasons for suspicion and hurt feelings must often arise. A wise man will sometimes avoid these problems, sometimes resolve them, and sometimes treat them with understanding. But one possible cause of hurt feelings must be faced: when your friend's interests and your own honesty are at stake. For example, friends often need advice about their faults, and even criticism. When advice and criticism are offered kindly, friends ought to accept them in good spirit. But somehow there is truth in what my friend Terence says in his Andria:

Compliance gets us friends, plain speaking hate.

Going along with others wins us friends, but speaking plainly earns us hatred.

Plain speaking is a cause of trouble, if the result of it is resentment, which is poison of friendship; but compliance is really the cause of much more trouble, because by indulging his faults it lets a friend plunge into headlong ruin. But the man who is most to blame is he who resents plain speaking and allows flattery to egg him on to his ruin. On this point, then, from first to last there is need of deliberation and care. If we remonstrate, it should be without bitterness; if we reprove, there should be no word of insult. In the matter of compliance (for I am glad to adopt Terence's word), though there should be every courtesy, yet that base kind which assists a man in vice should be far from us, for it is unworthy of a free-born man, to say nothing of a friend. It is one thing to live with a tyrant, another with a friend. But if a man's ears are so closed to plain speaking that he cannot bear to hear the truth from a friend, we may give him up in despair. This remark of Cato's, as so many of his did, shews great acuteness: "There are people who owe more to bitter enemies than to apparently pleasant friends: the former often speak the truth, the latter never." Besides, it is a strange paradox that the recipients of advice should feel no annoyance where they ought to feel it, and yet feel so much where they ought not. They are not at all vexed at having committed a fault, but very angry at being reproved for it. On the contrary, they ought to be grieved at the crime and glad of the correction.

Speaking honestly causes trouble if it leads to resentment, which poisons friendship. But going along with a friend causes far more trouble, because indulging his faults lets him rush headlong into ruin. Yet the person most to blame is the one who resents honesty and lets flattery drive him toward ruin. So this whole matter calls for careful thought from beginning to end. If we object, we should do so without bitterness. If we correct a friend, we should not insult him. When it comes to going along with others, I am happy to use Terence's word, "compliance." Though we should show every courtesy, we must avoid the shameful kind of compliance that encourages someone in wrongdoing. Such behavior is unworthy of a free-born man, let alone a friend. Living with a tyrant is one thing, living with a friend is another. But if a man refuses to listen to honest words and cannot bear the truth from a friend, we may despair of him. Cato made a very perceptive remark about this, as he did about so many things: "Some people owe more to bitter enemies than to seemingly pleasant friends. Their enemies often tell the truth, while those friends never do." Besides, people receiving advice react in a strangely contradictory way. They feel no annoyance where they should, yet feel great annoyance where they should not. They are not at all upset about having done wrong, but they are very angry at being corrected. Instead, they should be sorry for the wrongdoing and grateful for the correction.

25. Well, then, if it is true that to give and receive advice—the former with freedom and yet without bitterness, the latter with patience and without irritation—is peculiarly appropriate to genuine friendship, it is no less true that there can be nothing more utterly subversive of friendship than flattery, adulation, and base compliance. I use as many terms as possible to brand this vice of light-minded, untrustworthy men, whose sole object in speaking is to please without any regard to truth. In everything false pretence is bad, for it suspends and vitiates our power of discerning the truth. But to nothing it is so hostile as to friendship; for it destroys that frankness without which friendship is an empty name. For the essence of friendship being that two minds become as one, how can that ever take place if the mind of each of the separate parties to it is not single and uniform, but variable, changeable, and complex? Can anything be so pliable, so wavering, as the mind of a man whose attitude depends not only on another's feeling and wish, but on his very looks and nods?

25. Well, then, if giving and receiving advice is especially fitting for true friendship, nothing undermines friendship more than flattery, excessive praise, and servile agreement. Advice should be given freely but without bitterness, and received patiently and without irritation. I use as many terms as possible to condemn this fault in shallow, untrustworthy men. Their only aim in speaking is to please, with no regard for truth. All false pretenses are bad, because they block and distort our ability to recognize the truth. But false pretenses are especially harmful to friendship. They destroy the openness without which friendship is just an empty name. The essence of friendship is that two minds become one. But how can two minds unite if neither is consistent and whole, but instead shifts, changes, and has conflicting sides? Can any mind be so easily bent or so unsteady as the mind of such a man? His attitude depends not only on another person's feelings and wishes, but even on that person's expressions and nods.

to quote my old friend Terence again. But he puts these words into the mouth of a Gnatho. To admit such a man into one's intimacy at all is a sign of folly. But there are many people like Gnatho, and it is when they are superior either in position or fortune or reputation that their flatteries become mischievous, the weight of their position making up for the lightness of their character. But if we only take reasonable care, it is as easy to separate and distinguish a genuine from a specious friend as anything else that is coloured and artificial from what is sincere and genuine. A public assembly, though composed of men of the smallest possible culture, nevertheless will see clearly the difference between a mere demagogue (that is, a flatterer and untrustworthy citizen) and a man of principle, standing, and solidity. It was by this kind of flattering language that Gaius Papirius the other day endeavoured to tickle the ears of the assembled people, when proposing his law to make the tribunes re-eligible. I spoke against it. But I will leave the personal question. I prefer speaking of Scipio. Good heavens! how impressive his speech was, what a majesty there was in it! You would have pronounced him, without hesitation, to be no mere henchman of the Roman people, but their leader. However, you were there, and moreover have the speech in your hands. The result was that a law meant to please the people was by the people's votes rejected. Once more to refer to myself, you remember how apparently popular was the law proposed by Gaius Licinius Crassus "about the election to the College of Priests" in the consulship of Quintus Maximus, Scipio's brother, and Lucius Mancinus. For the power of filling up their own vacancies on the part of the colleges was by this proposal to be transferred to the people. It was this man, by the way, who began the practice of turning towards the forum when addressing the people. In spite of this, however, upon my speaking on the conservative side, religion gained an easy victory over his plausible speech. This took place in my praetorship, five years before I was elected consul, which shows that the cause was successfully maintained more by the merits of the case than by the prestige of the highest office.

to quote my old friend Terence again. But he puts these words into the mouth of a Gnatho. Letting such a man become a close friend at all is foolish. Yet there are many people like Gnatho. Their flattery becomes harmful when they hold a higher position or have greater wealth or reputation. The weight of their position makes up for their lack of character. But with reasonable care, we can easily tell a genuine friend from a false one. It is as easy as distinguishing anything artificial and dressed up from something sincere and genuine. Even a public assembly of men with the least possible education can clearly recognize the difference. They can distinguish a mere demagogue (a flatterer and untrustworthy citizen) from a principled, respected, and dependable man. Gaius Papirius recently used this kind of flattery to tell the assembled people what they wanted to hear. He was proposing a law allowing tribunes to be elected again. I spoke against the law. But I will leave my own part aside. I would rather speak about Scipio. Good heavens! How impressive his speech was, and how much dignity it carried! You would have said without hesitation that he was no mere servant of the Roman people, but their leader. However, you were there, and you also have the speech in your hands. As a result, the people voted down a law intended to please them. To return to myself, you remember how popular Gaius Licinius Crassus's proposed law "about the election to the College of Priests" seemed. He proposed the law during the consulship of Quintus Maximus, Scipio's brother, and Lucius Mancinus. The law would transfer the power to fill vacancies from the priestly colleges themselves to the people. Crassus, by the way, began the practice of turning toward the forum when addressing the people. Despite the law's apparent popularity, I spoke in defense of the existing system. Religion then won an easy victory over his persuasive speech. This happened during my praetorship, five years before I was elected consul. That timing shows our cause succeeded more through its own merits than through the prestige of the highest office.

26. Now, if on a stage, such as a public assembly essentially is, where there is the amplest room for fiction and half-truths, truth nevertheless prevails if it be but fairly laid open and brought into the light of day, what ought to happen in the case of friendship, which rests entirely on truthfulness? Friendship, in which, unless you both see and show an open breast, to use a common expression, you can neither trust nor be certain of anything—no, not even of mutual affection, since you cannot be sure of its sincerity. However, this flattery, injurious as it is, can hurt no one but the man who takes it in and likes it. And it follows that the man to open his ears widest to flatterers is he who first flatters himself and is fondest of himself. I grant you that Virtue naturally loves herself; for she knows herself and perceives how worthy of love she is. But I am not now speaking of absolute virtue, but of the belief men have that they possess virtue. The fact is that fewer people are endowed with virtue than wish to be thought to be so. It is such people that take delight in flattery. When they are addressed in language expressly adapted to flatter their vanity, they look upon such empty persiflage as a testimony to the truth of their own praises. It is not then properly friendship at all when the one will not listen to the truth, and the other is prepared to lie. Nor would the servility of parasites in comedy have seemed humorous to us had there been no such things as braggart captains. "Is Thais really much obliged to me?" It would have been quite enough to answer "Much," but he must needs say "Immensely." Your servile flatterer always exaggerates what his victim wishes to be put strongly. Wherefore, though it is with those who catch at and invite it that this flattering falsehood is especially powerful, yet men even of soldier and steadier character must be warned to be on the watch against being taken in by cunningly disguised flattery. An open flatterer any one can detect, unless he is an absolute fool the covert insinuation of the cunning and the sly is what we have to be studiously on our guard against. His detection is not by any means the easiest thing in the world, for he often covers his servility under the guise of contradiction, and flatters by pretending to dispute, and then at last giving in and allowing himself to be beaten, that the person hoodwinked may think himself to have been the clearer-sighted. Now what can be more degrading than to be thus hoodwinked? You must be on your guard against this happening to you, like the man in the Heiress:

26. A public assembly is essentially a stage, with plenty of room for fiction and half-truths. Yet even there, truth prevails if it is fairly presented and brought into the light. What, then, should happen in friendship, which depends entirely on honesty? In friendship, both people must reveal their hearts openly, as the saying goes. Unless you see your friend's heart and reveal your own, you can neither trust nor be certain of anything. You cannot even be sure of your affection for each other, since you cannot know whether that affection is sincere. Yet flattery, harmful as it is, can hurt only someone who believes it and enjoys it. So the man most willing to listen to flatterers is the one who first flatters himself and loves himself most. I grant that Virtue naturally loves herself. She knows herself and recognizes how worthy she is of love. But I am not speaking here of perfect virtue. I mean people's belief that they possess virtue. The fact is, fewer people possess virtue than want to be considered virtuous. Those people delight in flattery. When someone uses words carefully chosen to flatter their vanity, they take such empty talk as confirmation of their self-praise. So there is no real friendship when one person refuses to hear the truth and the other is ready to lie. Nor would the groveling hangers-on in comedies have seemed funny to us if there were no boastful captains. "Is Thais really much obliged to me?" Answering "Much" would have been quite enough, but the flatterer has to say "Immensely." A groveling flatterer always exaggerates whatever his target wants emphasized. Such flattering lies have the greatest power over people who eagerly welcome and invite them. Yet even people of firmer, steadier character must be warned against cleverly disguised flattery. Anyone can spot an obvious flatterer, unless he is a complete fool. What we must carefully guard against is the hidden influence of cunning, sly flatterers. Spotting such a flatterer is by no means easy. He often disguises his groveling as disagreement. He flatters by pretending to argue, then finally gives in and lets himself be beaten. In this way, the person being fooled comes to believe he has shown better judgment. What could be more degrading than being fooled like this? You must guard against letting this happen to you, like the man in the Heiress:

For even on the stage we have no grosser representation of folly than that of short-sighted and credulous old men. But somehow or other I have strayed away from the friendship of the perfect, that is of the "wise" (meaning, of course, such "wisdom" as human nature is capable of), to the subject of vulgar, unsubstantial friendships. Let us then return to our original theme, and at length bring that, too, to a conclusion.

For even on stage, there is no greater display of foolishness than shortsighted old men who believe anything. But somehow I have drifted away from friendship between perfect people, that is, the "wise." By "wisdom," I mean, of course, only what human nature can achieve. I have turned instead to ordinary, shallow friendships. So let us return to our original subject and finally bring our discussion of it to a close.

27. Well, then, Fannius and Mucius, I repeat what I said before. It is virtue, virtue, which both creates and preserves friendship. On it depends harmony of interest, permanence, fidelity. When Virtue has reared her head and shewn the light of her countenance, and seen and recognised the same light in another, she gravitates towards it, and in her turn welcomes that which the other has to shew; and from it springs up a flame which you may call love or friendship as you please. Both words are from the same root in Latin; and love is just the cleaving to him whom you love without the prompting of need or any view to advantage—though this latter blossoms spontaneously on friendship, little as you may have looked for it. It is with such warmth of feeling that I cherished Lucius Paulus, Marcus Cato, Galus Gallus, Publius Nasica, Tiberius Gracchus, my dear Scipio's father-in-law. It shines with even greater warmth when men are of the same age, as in the case of Scipio and Lucius Furius, Publius Rupilius, Spurius Mummius, and myself. En revanche, in my old age I find comfort in the affection of young men, as in the case of yourselves and Quintus Tubero: nay more, I delight in the intimacy of such a very young man as Publius Rutilius and Aulus Verginius. And since the law of our nature and of our life is that a new generation is for ever springing up, the most desirable thing is that along with your contemporaries, with whom you started in the race, you may also teach what is to us the goal. But in view of the instability and perishableness of mortal things, we should be continually on the look-out for some to love and by whom to be loved; for if we lose affection and kindliness from our life, we lose all that gives it charm. For me, indeed, though torn away by a sudden stroke, Scipio still lives and ever wilt live. For it was the virtue of the man that I loved, and that has not suffered death. And it is not my eyes only, because I had all my life a personal experience of it, that never lose sight of it: it will shine to posterity also with undimmed glory. No one will ever cherish a nobler ambition or a loftier hope without thinking his memory and his image the best to put before his eyes. I declare that of all the blessings which either fortune or nature has bestowed upon me I know none to compare with Scipio's friendship. In it I found sympathy in public, counsel in private business; in it too a means of spending my leisure with unalloyed delight. Never, to the best of my knowledge, did I offend him even in the most trivial point; never did I hear a word from him I could have wished unsaid. We had one house, one table, one style of living; and not only were we together on foreign service, but in our tours also and country sojourns. Why speak of our eagerness to be ever gaining some knowledge, to be ever learning something, on which we spent all our leisure hours far from the gaze of the world? If the recollection and memory of these things had perished with the man, I could not possibly have endured the regret for one so closely united with me in life and affection. But these things have not perished; they are rather fed and strengthened by reflexion and memory. Even supposing me to have been entirely bereft of them, still my time of life of itself brings me no small consolation: for I cannot have much longer now to bear this regret; and everything that is brief ought to be endurable, however severe.

27. Well then, Fannius and Mucius, I repeat what I said before. It is virtue, virtue, that both creates and preserves friendship. Shared interests, lasting bonds, and loyalty all depend on virtue. When Virtue raises her head and reveals her radiant face, she recognizes the same light in another. She is drawn toward that light and welcomes the light the other offers in return. From this meeting springs a flame you may call love or friendship, as you please. Both words come from the same root in Latin. Love is simply devotion to someone you love, without any need driving you or any thought of gain. Yet benefits grow naturally from friendship, however little you may have expected them. With such warmth I cherished Lucius Paulus, Marcus Cato, Galus Gallus, Publius Nasica, and Tiberius Gracchus, my dear Scipio's father-in-law. Such affection burns even more warmly between men of the same age. So it was with Scipio, Lucius Furius, Publius Rupilius, Spurius Mummius, and me. In return, in my old age I find comfort in the affection of young men like yourselves and Quintus Tubero. More than that, I delight in close friendship with men as young as Publius Rutilius and Aulus Verginius. Our nature and our lives follow a law: a new generation is always rising. So our greatest wish is to reach life's finish line alongside the contemporaries with whom we began the race. But human life is uncertain and fleeting. So we should always seek people to love and who will love us. For if we lose affection and kindness from our lives, we lose everything that gives life its charm. For me, though death suddenly took him away, Scipio still lives and always will. For I loved his virtue, and his virtue has not died. I knew his virtue firsthand throughout my life, and I never lose sight of it. But its undimmed glory will shine for future generations too. No one will ever pursue a nobler ambition or a higher hope without seeing Scipio as the best example. They will keep his memory and image before them. Of all the blessings fortune or nature has given me, I know none that compares with Scipio's friendship. In his friendship I found understanding in public affairs and advice in private business. Our friendship also let me spend my leisure in pure delight. To the best of my knowledge, I never offended him, even in the smallest matter. I never heard him say a word I wished he had left unsaid. We shared one home, one table, and one way of life. We were together not only on service abroad, but also on our travels and stays in the countryside. Why mention our eagerness always to gain knowledge and learn something new? We devoted all our leisure to learning, far from public view. If the memories of our shared life had died with Scipio, I could not possibly have endured my grief. He had been so closely bound to me in life and affection. But those memories have not died. Reflection and remembrance nourish and strengthen them instead. Even if I had lost those memories entirely, my age alone would still bring me considerable comfort. For I cannot have much longer to bear this grief. And anything brief should be bearable, however severe.

This is all I had to say on friendship. One piece of advice on parting. Make up your minds to this. Virtue (without which friendship is impossible) is first; but next to it, and to it alone, the greatest of all things is Friendship.

That is all I have to say about friendship. I have one final piece of advice. Be certain of this: virtue comes first. Without virtue, friendship is impossible. But friendship is the greatest of all things after virtue, and virtue alone.