ON ENDS BOOK V  By Cicero  - Translated by

Major Points:

My dear Brutus, — Once I had been attending a lecture of Antiochus, as I was in the habit of doing, with Marcus Piso, in the building called the School of Ptolemy; and with us were my brother Quintus, Titus Pomponius, and Lucius Cicero, whom I loved as a brother but who was really my first cousin. We arranged to take our afternoon stroll in the Academy, chiefly because the place would be quiet and deserted at that hour of the day. Accordingly at the time appointed we met at our rendezvous, Piso's lodgings, and starting out beguiled with conversation on various subjects the •three-quarters of a mile from the Dipylon Gate. When we reached the walks of the Academy, which are so deservedly famous, we had them entirely to ourselves, as we had hoped. Thereupon Piso remarked: "Whether it is a natural instinct or a mere illusion, I can't say; but one's emotions are more strongly aroused by seeing the places that tradition records to have been the favourite resort of men of note in former days, than by hearing about their deeds or reading their writings. My own feelings at the present moment are a case in point. I am reminded of Plato, the first philosopher, so we are told, that made a practice of holding discussions in this place; and indeed the garden close at hand yonder not only recalls his memory but seems to bring the actual man before my eyes. This was the haunt of Speusippus, of Xenocrates, and of Xenocrates' pupil Polemo, who used to sit on the pvery seat we see over there. For my own part even the sight of our senate-house at home (I mean the Curia Hostilia, not the present new building, which looks to my eyes smaller since its enlargement) used to call up to me thoughts of Scipio, Cato, Laelius, and chief of all, my grandfather; such powers of suggestion do places possess. No wonder the scientific training of the memory is based upon locality."

"Perfectly true, Piso," rejoined Quintus. "I myself on the way here just now noticed yonder village of Colonus, and it brought to my imagination Sophocles who resided there, and who is as you know my great admiration and delight. Indeed my memory took me further back; for I had a vision of Oedipus, advancing towards this very spot and asking in those most tender verses, 'What place is this?' — a mere fancy no doubt, yet still it affected me strongly."

"For my part," said Pomponius, "you are fond of attacking me as a devotee of Epicurus, and I do spend much of my time with Phaedrus, who as you know is my dearest friend, in Epicurus's Gardens which we passed just now; but I obey the old saw: I 'think of those that are alive.' Still I could not forget Epicurus, even if I wanted; the members of our body not only have pictures of him, but even have his likeness on their drinking-cups and rings."

"As for our friend Pomponius," I interposed, "I believe he is joking; and no doubt he is a licensed wit, for he has so taken root in Athens that he is almost an Athenian; in fact I expect he will get the surname of Atticus! But I, Piso, agree with you; it is a common experience that places do strongly stimulate the imagination and vivify our ideas of famous men. You remember how I once came with you to Metapontum, and would not go to the house where we were to stay until I had seen the very place where Pythagoras breathed his last and the seat he sat in. All over Athens, I know, there are many reminders of eminent men in the actual place where they lived; but at the present moment it is that alcove over there which appeals to me, for not long ago it belonged to Carneades. I fancy I see him now (for his portrait is familiar), and I can imagine that the very place where he used to sit misses the sound of his voice, and mourns the loss of that mighty intellect."

"Well, then," said Piso, "as we all have some association that appeals to us, what is it that interests our young friend Lucius? Does he enjoy visiting the spot where Demosthenes and Aeschines used to fight their battles? For we are all specially influenced by our own favourite study."

"Pray don't ask me," answer Lucius with a blush; "I have actually made a pilgrimage down to the Bay of Phalerum, where they say Demosthenes used to practise declaiming on the beach, to learn to pitch his voice so as to overcome an uproar. Also only just now I turned off the road a little way on the right, to visit the tomb of Pericles. Though in fact there is no end to it in this city; wherever we go we tread historic ground."

"Well, Cicero," said Piso, "these enthusiasms befit a young man of parts, if they lead him to copy the example of the great. If they only stimulate antiquarian curiosity, they are mere dilettantism. But we all of us exhort you — though I hope it is a case of spurring a willing steed — to resolve to imitate your heroes as well as to know about them." "He is practising your precepts already, Piso," said I, "as you are aware; but all the same thank you for encouraging him." "Well," said Piso, with his usual amiability, "let us all join forces to promote the lad's improvement; and especially let us try to make him spare some of his interest for philosophy, either so as to follow the example of yourself for whom he has such an affection, or in order to be better equipped for the very study to which he is devoted. But, Lucius," he asked, "do you need our urging, or have you a natural leaning of your own towards philosophy? You are keeping Antiochus's lectures, and seem to me to be a pretty attentive pupil." "I try to be," replied Lucius with a timid or rather a modest air; "but have you heard any lectures on Carneades lately? He attracts me immensely; but Antiochus calls me in the other direction; and there is no other lecturer to go to."

"Perhaps," said Piso, "it will not be altogether easy, while our friend here" (meaning me) "is by, still I will venture to urge you to leave the present New Academy for the Old, which includes, as you heard Antiochus declare, not only those who bear the name of Academics, Speusippus, Xenocrates, Polemo, Crantor and the rest, but also the early Peripatetics, headed by their chief, Aristotle, who, if Plato be excepted, I almost think deserves to be called the prince of philosophers. Do you then join them, I beg of you. From their writings and teachings can be learnt the whole of liberal culture, of history and of style; moreover they include such a variety of sciences, that without the equipment that they give no one can be adequately prepared to embark on any of the higher careers. They have produced orators, generals and statesmen. To come to the less distinguished professions, this factory of experts in all the sciences has turned out mathematicians, poets, musicians and physicians." "You know that I agree with you about that, Piso," I replied; "but you have raised the point most opportunely; for my cousin Cicero is eager to hear the doctrine of the Old Academy of which you speak, and of the Peripatetics, on the subject of the Ends of Goods. We feel sure you can expound it with the greatest ease, for you have had Staseas from Naples in your household for many years, and also we know you have been studying this very subject under Antiochus for several months at Athens." "Here goes, then," replied Piso, smiling, "(for you have rather craftily arranged for our discussion to start with me), let me see what I can do to give the lad a lecture. If an oracle had foretold that I should find myself discoursing in the Academy like a philosopher, I should not have believed it, but here I am, thanks to our having the place to ourselves. Only don't let me bore the rest of you while I am obliging our young friend." "What, bore me?" said I. "Why, it is I who asked you to speak." Thereupon Quintus and Pomponius having declared that they wished it too, Piso began. And I will ask you, Brutus, kindly to consider whether you think his discourse a satisfactory summary of the doctrine of Antiochus, which I believe to be the system which you most approve, as you have often attended the lectures of his brother Aristus.

Accordingly Piso spoke as follows: "About the educational value of the Peripatetic system I have said enough, in the briefest possible way, a few moments ago. Its arrangement, like that of most other systems, is threefold: one part deals with nature, the second with discourse, and the third with conduct. Natural Philosophy the Peripatetics have investigated so thoroughly that no region in sky or sea or land (to speak poetically) has been passed over. Nay more, in treating of the elements of being and the constitution of the universe they have established much of their doctrine not merely by probable arguments but by conclusive mathematical demonstration, applying a quantity of material derived from facts that they have themselves investigated to the discovery of other facts beyond the reach of observation. Aristotle gave a complete account of the birth, nutrition and structure of all living creatures, Theophrastus of the natural history of plants and the causes and constitution of vegetable organisms in general; and the knowledge thus attained facilitated the investigation of the most obscure questions. In Logic their teachings include the rules of rhetoric as well as of dialectic; and Aristotle their founder started the practice of arguing both pro and contra upon every topic, not like Arcesilas, always controverting every proposition, but setting out all the possible arguments on either side in every subject. The third division of philosophy investigates the rules of human well-being; this too was treated by the Peripatetics, so as to comprise not only the principles of individual conduct but also of the government of states. From Aristotle we learn the manners, customs and institutions, and from Theophrastus the laws also, of nearly all the states not only of Greece but of the barbarians as well. Both described the proper qualifications of a statesman, both moreover wrote lengthy treatises on the best form of constitution; Theophrastus treated the subject more fully, discussing the forces and occasions of political change, and their control as circumstances demand. Among the alternative ideals of conduct they gave the highest place to the life of retirement, devoted to contemplation and to study. This was pronounced to be most worthy of the Wise Man, as most nearly resembling the life of the gods. And these topics they handle in a style as brilliant as it is illuminating.

"Their books on the subject of the Chief Good fall into two classes, one popular in style, and this class they used to call their exoteric works; the other more carefully wrought. The latter treatises they left in the form of note-books. This distinction occasionally gives them an appearance of inconsistency; but as a matter of fact in the main body of their doctrine there is no divergence, at all events among the philosophers I have mentioned, nor did they disagree among themselves. But on the chief object of inquiry, namely Happiness, and the one question which philosophy has to consider and to investigate, whether this lies entirely within the control of the Wise Man, or whether it can be impaired or destroyed by adversity, here there does appear sometimes to exist among them some divergence and uncertainty. This effect is chiefly produced by Theophrastus's book On Happiness, in which a very considerable amount of importance is assigned to fortune; though if this be correct, wisdom alone could not guarantee happiness. This theory seems to me to be, if I may so call it, too enervating and unmanly to be adequate to the force and dignity of virtue. Hence we had better keep to Aristotle and his son Nicomachus; the latter's elaborate volumes on Ethics are ascribed, it is true, to Aristotle, but I do not see why the son should not have been capable of emulating the father. Still, we may use Theophrastus on most points, so long as we maintain a larger element of strength and solidity in virtue than he did. Let us then limit ourselves to these authorities. Their successors are indeed in my opinion superior to the philosophers of any other school, but are so unworthy of their ancestry that one might imagine them to have been their own teachers. To begin with, Theophrastus's pupil Strato set up to be a natural philosopher; but great as he is in this department, he is nevertheless for the most part an innovator; and on ethics he has hardly anything. His successor Lyco has a copious style, but his matter is somewhat barren. Lyco's pupil Aristo is polished and graceful, but has not the authority that we expect to find in a great thinker; he wrote much, it is true, and he wrote well, but his style is somehow lacking in weight.

"I pass over a number of writers, including the learned and entertaining Hieronymus. Indeed I know no reason for calling the latter a Peripatetic at all; for he defined the Chief Good as freedom from pain: and to hold a different view of the Chief Good is to hold a different system of philosophy paltogether. Critolaus professed to imitate the ancients; and he does in fact come nearest to them in weight, and has a flowing style; all the same, even he is not true to the principles of his ancestors. Diodorus, his pupil, couples with Moral Worth freedom from pain. He too stands by himself; differing about the Chief Good he cannot correctly be called a Peripatetic. Our master Antiochus seems to me to adhere most scrupulously to the doctrine of the ancients, which according to his teaching was common to Aristotle and to Polemo.

"Our young friend Lucius is therefore well advised in desiring most of all to hear about the Chief Good; for when you have settled that point in a system of philosophy, you have settled everything. On any other topic, some degree of incompleteness or uncertainty causes no more mischief than is proportionate to the importance of the particular topic on which the neglect has occurred; but uncertainty as to the Chief Good necessarily involves uncertainty as to the principles of conduct, and this must carry men so far out of their course that they cannot know what harbour to steer for. On the other hand when we have ascertained the Ends of things, knowing the ultimate Good and ultimate Evil, we have discovered a map of life, a chart of all the duties; and therefore have discovered a standard to which each action may be referred; and from this we can discover and construct that rule of happiness which all desire.

"Now there is great difference of opinion as to what constitutes the Chief Good. Let us therefore adopt the classification of Carneades, which our teacher Antiochus is very fond of employing. Carneades passed in review all the opinions as of that Chief Good, not only that actually had been held by philosophers hitherto, but that it was possible to hold. He then pointed out that no science or art can supply its own starting-point; its subject-matter must always lie outside it. There is no need to enlarge upon or illustrate this point; for it is evident that no art is occupied with itself: the art is distinct from the subject with which it deals; since therefore, as medicine is the art of health and navigation the art of sailing the ship, so Prudence or Practical Wisdom is the art of conduct, it follows that Prudence also must have something as its base and point of departure. Now practically all have agreed that the subject with which Prudence is occupied and the end which it desires to attain is bound to be something intimately adapted to our nature; it must be capable of directly arousing and awakening an impulse of desire, what in Greek is called hormē. But what it is that at the first moment of our existence excites in our nature this impulse of desire — as to this there is no agreement. It is at this point that all the difference of opinion among students of the ethical problem arises. Of the whole inquiry into the Ends of Goods and Evils and the question which among them is ultimate and final, the fountain-head is to be found in the earliest instincts of nature; discover these and you have the source of the stream, the starting-point of the debate as to the Chief Good and Evil.

"One school holds that our earliest desire is for pleasure and our earliest repulsion is from pain; another thinks that freedom from pain is the earliest thing welcomed, and pain the earliest thing avoided; others again start from what they term the primary objects in accordance with nature, among which they reckon the soundness and safety of all the parts of the body, health, perfect senses, freedom from pain, strength, beauty and the like, analogous to which are the primary intellectual excellences which are the sparks and seeds of the virtues. Now it must be one or other of these three sets of things which first excites our nature to feel desire or repulsion; nor can it be anything whatsoever beside these three things. It follows therefore that every right act of avoidance or of pursuit is aimed at one of these objects, and that consequently one of these three must form the subject-matter of Prudence, which we spoke of as the art of life; from one of the three Prudence derives the initial motive of the whole of conduct.

"Now, from whichever Prudence decides to be the object of the primary natural impulses, will arise a theory of right and of Moral Worth which may correspond with one or other of the three objects aforesaid. Thus Morality will consist either in aiming all our actions at pleasure, even though one may not succeeded in attaining it; or at absence of pain, even though one is unable to secure it; or at getting the things in accordance with nature, even though one does not attain any of them. Hence there is a divergence between the different conceptions of the Ends of Goods and Evils, precisely equivalent to the difference of opinion as to the primary natural objects. — Others again starting from the same primary objects will make the sole standard of right action the actual attainment of pleasure, freedom from pain, or the primary things in accordance with nature, respectively.

"Thus we have now set forth six views as to the Chief Good. The leading upholders of the latter three are: of pleasure, Aristippus; of freedom from pain, Hieronymus; of the enjoyment of what we have called the primary things in accordance with nature, Carneades, — that is, he did not originate this view but he upheld it for purposes of argument. The three former were possible views, but only one of them has been actually maintained, though that with great vigour. No one has asserted pleasure to be the sole aim of action in the sense that the mere intention of attaining pleasure, although unsuccessful, is in itself desirable and moral and the only good. Nor yet has anyone held that the effort to avoid pain is in itself a thing desirable, without one's being able actually to avoid it. On the other hand, that morality consists in using every endeavour to obtain the things in accordance with nature, and that this endeavour even though unsuccessful is itself the sole thing desirable and the sole good, is actually maintained by the Stoics.

"These then are the six simple views about the End of Goods and Evils; two of them without a champion, and four actually upheld. Of composite or dualistic definitions of the Supreme Good there have been three in all; nor were more than three possible, if you examine the nature of the case closely. There is the combination of Morality with pleasure, adopted by Callipho and Dinomachus; with freedom from pain, by Diodorus; or with the primary objects of nature, the view of the ancients, as we entitle both the Academics and the Peripatetics.

"But it is impossible to set forth the whole of our position at once; so for the present we need only notice that pleasure must be discarded, on the ground that, as will be shown later, we are intended by nature for greater things. Freedom from pain is open to practically the same objections as pleasure. Nor need we look for other arguments to refute the opinion of Carneades; for any conceivable account of the Chief Good which does not include the factor of Moral Worth gives a system under which there is no room either for duty, virtue or friendship. Moreover the combination with Moral Worth either of pleasure or of freedom from pain debases the very morality that it aims at supporting. For to uphold two standards of conduct jointly, one of which declares freedom from evil to be the Supreme Good, while the other is a thing concerned with the most frivolous part of our nature, is to dim, if not to defile, all the radiance of Moral Worth. There remain the Stoics, who took over their whole system from the Peripatetics and the Academics, adopting the same ideas under other names.

"The best way to deal with these different schools would be to refute each separately; but for the present we must keep to the business in hand; we will discuss these other schools at our leisure.

"The calmness or tranquillity of mind which is the Chief Good of Democritus, euthumia as he calls it, has had to be excluded from this discussion, because this mental tranquillity is in itself the happiness in question; and we are inquiring not what happiness is, but what produces it. Again, the discredited and abandoned theories of Pyrrho, Aristo and Erillus cannot be brought within the circle we have drawn, and so we have not been concerned to consider them at all. For the whole of this inquiry into the Ends or, so to speak, the limits of Goods and Evils must begin from that which we have spoken of as adapted and suited to nature and which is the earliest object of desire for its own sake; now this is entirely done away with by those who maintain that, in the sphere of things which contain no element of Moral Worth or baseness, there is no reason why any one thing should be preferred to any other, and who consider these things to be absolutely indifferent; and Erillus also, if he actually held that there is nothing good but knowledge, destroyed every motive of rational action and every clue to right conduct.

"Thus we have eliminated the views of all the other philosophers; and no other view is possible; therefore this doctrine of the Ancients must hold good. Let us then follow the practice of the old philosophers, adopted also by the Stoics, and start as follows.

"Every living creature loves itself, and from the moment of birth strives to secure its own preservation; because the earliest impulse bestowed on it by nature for its life-long protection is the instinct for self-preservation and for the maintenance of itself in the best condition possible to it in accordance with its nature. At the outset this tendency is vague and uncertain, so that it merely aims at protecting itself whatever its character may be; it does not understand itself nor its own capacities and nature. When, however, it has grown a little older, and has begun to understand the degree in which different things affect and concern itself, it now gradually commences to make progress. Self-consciousness dawns, and the creature begins to comprehend the reason why it possesses the instinctive appetition aforesaid, and to try to obtain the things which it perceives to be adapted to its nature and to repel their opposites. Every living creature therefore finds its object of appetition in the thing suited to its nature. Thus arises The End of Goods, namely to live in accordance with nature and in that condition which is the best and most suited to nature that is possible. At the same time every animal has its own nature; and consequently, while for all alike the End consists in the realization of their nature (for there is no reason why certain things should not be common to all the lower animals, and also to the lower animals and man, since all have a common nature), yet the ultimate and supreme objects that we are investigating must be differentiated and distributed among the different kinds of animals, each kind having its own peculiar to itself and adapted to the requirements of its individual nature. Hence when we say that the End of all living creatures is to live in accordance with nature, this must not be construed as meaning that all have one and the same end; but just as it is correct to say that all the arts and sciences have the common characteristic of occupying themselves with some branch of knowledge, while each art has its own particular branch of knowledge belonging to it, so all animals have the common End of living according to nature, but their natures are diverse, so that one thing is in accordance with nature for the horse, another for the ox, and another for man, and yet in all the Supreme End is common, and that not only in animals but also in all those things upon which nature bestows nourishment, increase and protection. Among these things we notice that plants can, in a sense, perform on their own behalf a number of actions conducive to their life and growth, so that they may attain their End after their kind. So that finally we may embrace all animate existence in one broad generalization, and say without hesitation, that all nature is self-preserving, and has before it the end and aim of maintaining itself in the best possible condition after its kind; and that consequently all things endowed by nature with life have a similar, but not an identical, End. This leads to the inference, that the ultimate Good of man is life in accordance with nature, which we may interpret as meaning life in accordance with human nature developed to its full perfection and supplied with all its needs. This, then, is the theory that we have to expound; but if it requires a good deal of explanation, you will receive it with forbearance. For this is perhaps the first time that Lucius has heard the subject debated, and we must make allowance for his youth." "Very true," said I; "albeit the style of your discourse so far has been suited to hearers of any age."

"Well then," he resumed, "having explained what the principle is which determines what things are desirable, I have next to show why the matter is as I have stated. Let us therefore begin from the position which I laid down first and which is also first in the order of reality: let us understand that every living creature loves itself. The fact that this is so admits of no doubt, for indeed it is a fundamental fact of nature, and one that everybody can grasp for himself by the evidence of his senses, so much so that did anyone choose to deny it, he would not get a hearing; nevertheless, so that no step may be omitted, I suppose I ought also to give reasons why it is so. Yet how can you form any intelligible conception of an animal that should hate itself? The thing is a contradiction in terms. For the creature being its own enemy, the instinctive appetition we spoke of will deliberately set about drawing to itself something harmful to itself; yet it will be doing this for its own sake; therefore the animal will both hate and love itself at the same time, which is impossible. Also, if a man is his own enemy, it follows that he will think good evil and evil good; that he will avoid things that are desirable and seek things that ought to be avoided; but this undeniably would mean to turn the whole of life upside down. A few people may be found who attempt to end their lives with a halter or by other means; but these, or the character of Terence who (in his own words) 'resolved that if he made himself to suffer, he so made less the wrong he did his son,' are not to be put down as haters of themselves. The motive with some is grief, with others passion; many are rendered insane by anger, and plunge into ruin with their eyes open, fancying all the time that what they do is for their own best interests. Hence they say, and say in all sincerity:

'It is my way; do you do as it suits you.'

Men who had really declared war against themselves would desire to have days of torment and nights of anguish, and they would not reproach themselves and say that they had been misguided and imprudent: such lamentations show that they love and care for themselves. It follows that whenever pit is said of a man that he has ruined himself and is his own worst enemy, and that he is tied of life, you may be sure that there is really an explanation which would justify the inference, even from such a case as this, that every man loves himself. Nor is it enough to say that nobody exists who hates himself; we must also realize that nobody exists who thinks it makes no difference to him what his own condition is. For it will be destructive of the very faculty of desire if we come to think of our own circumstances as a matter of indifference to us, and feel in our own case the absolute neutrality which is our attitude towards the things that are really indifferent.

"It would also be utterly absurd if anyone desired to maintain that, though the fact of self-love is admitted, this instinct of affection is really directed toward some other object and not towards the person himself who feels it. When this is said of friendship, of right action or of virtue, whether correct or not, it has some intelligible meaning; but in the case of ourselves it is utterly meaningless to say that we love ourselves for the sake of something else, for example, for the sake of pleasure. Clearly we do not love ourselves for the sake of pleasure, but pleasure for the sake of ourselves. Yet what fact is more self-evident than that every man not merely loves himself, but loves himself very much indeed? For who is there, what percentage of mankind, whose

'Blood does not ebb with horror, and face turn pale with fear,'
at the approach of death? No doubt it is a fault to precoil so violently from the dissolution of our being (and the same timidity in regard to pain is blameworthy); but the fact that practically everybody has this feeling is conclusive proof that nature shrinks from destruction; and the more some people act thus — as indeed they do to a blameworthy degree — the more it is to be inferred that this very excess would not have occurred in exceptional cases, were not a certain moderate degree of such timidity natural. I am not referring to the fear of death felt by those who shun death because they believe it means the loss of the good things of life, or because they are afraid of certain horrors after death, or if they dread lest death may be painful: for very often young children, who do not think of any of these things, are terribly frightened if in fun we threaten to let them fall from a height. Even 'wild creatures,' says Pacuvius,

'Lacking discourse of reason
To look before,'

when seized with fear of death, 'bristle with horror.' Who does not suppose that the Wise Man himself, even when he has resolved that he must die, will yet be affected by parting from his friends and merely by leaving the light of day? The strength of natural impulse, in this manifestation of it, is extremely obvious, since many men endure to beg their bread in order that they may live, and men broken with age suffer anguish at the approach of death, and endure torments like those of Philoctetes in the play; who though racked with intolerable pains, nevertheless prolonged life by fowling;

'Slow he pierced the swift with arrows, standing shot them on the wing,'

as Attius has it, and wove their plumage together to make himself garments. But do I speak of the human race or of animals generally, when the nature of trees and plants is almost the same? For whether it be, as very learned men have thought, that this capacity has been engendered in them by some higher and diviner power, or whether it is the result of chance, we see that the vegetable species secure by means of their bark and roots that support and protection which animals derive from the distribution of the sensory organs and from the well-knit framework of the limbs. On this matter I agree, it is true, with those who hold that all these things are regulated by nature, because if nature were to neglect them her own existence would be impossible; yet I allow those who think otherwise on this point to hold whatever view they please: whenever I mention 'the nature of man,' let them, if they like, understand me to mean 'man,' as it makes no difference. For the individual can no more lose the instinct to seek the things that are good for him than he can divest himself of his own personality. The wisest authorities have therefore been right in finding the basis of the Chief Good in nature, and in holding that this instinctive desire for things suited to our nature is innate in all men, because it is founded on that natural attraction which makes them love themselves.

"Having made it sufficiently clear that self-love is an instinct of nature, we must next examine what is the nature of man; for it is human nature that is the object of our investigation. Now it is manifest that man consists of body and mind, although the mind plays the more important part and the body the less. Next we further observe both that man's body is of a structure surpassing that of other animals, and that his mind is so constituted as not only to be equipped with senses but also to possess the dominant factor of intellect, which commands the obedience of the whole of man's nature, being endowed with the marvellous faculties of reason, of cognition, of knowledge and of all the virtues. In fact the faculties of the body are not comparable in importance with the parts of the mind. Moreover they are easier to understand. We will therefore begin with them.

"It is manifest how well the parts of our body, and its entire shape, form and attitude are adapted to our nature; and that special conformation of the brow, eyes, ears and other parts which is appropriate to man can be recognized without hesitation by the understanding. But of course it is necessary that these organs should be healthy and vigorous and possessed of their natural motions and uses; no part must be lacking and none must be diseased or enfeebled — this is a requirement of nature. Again, there is also a certain form of bodily activity which keeps the motions and postures in harmony with nature; and any error in these, due to distortion or abnormality of movement or posture, — for example, if a man were to walk on his hands, or backwards instead of forwards, — would make a man appear alienated from himself, as if he had stripped off his proper humanity and hated his own nature. Hence certain attitudes in sitting, and slouching, languishing movements, such as are affected by the wanton and the effeminate, are contrary to nature, and though really arising from a defect of mind, suggest to the eye a bodily perversion of man's nature. And so, on the contrary, a controlled and well-regulated bearing, condition and movement of the body has the appearance of being in harmony with nature.

"Turning now to the mind, this must not only exist, but also be of a certain character; it must have all its parts intact and lack none of the virtues. The senses also possess their several virtues or excellences, consisting in the unimpeded performance of their several functions of swiftly and readily perceiving sensible objects. The mind, on the other hand, and that dominant part of the mind which is called the intellect, possess many excellences or virtues, but these are of two main classes; one class consists of those excellences which are implanted by their own nature, and which are called non‑volitional; and the other of those which, depending on our volition, are usually styled 'virtues' in the more special sense; and the latter are the pre‑eminent glory and distinction of the mind. To the former class belong receptiveness and memory; and practically all the excellences of this class are included under one name of 'talent,' and their possessors are spoken of as 'talented.' The other class consists of the lofty virtues properly so called, which we speak of as dependent on volition, for instance, Prudence, Temperance, Courage, Justice, and the others of the same kind.

"Such is the account, a brief one, it is true, that it was necessary to give of the body and the mind. It has indicated in outline what the requirements of man's nature are; and it has clearly shown that, since we love ourselves, and desire all our faculties both of mind and body to be perfect, those faculties are themselves dear to us for their own sakes, and are of the highest importance for our general well-being. For he who aims at the preservation of himself, must necessarily feel an affection for the parts of himself also, and the more so, the more perfect and admirable in their own kind they are. For the life we desire is one fully equipped with the virtues of mind and body; and such a life must constitute the Chief Good, inasmuch as it must necessarily be such as to be the limit of things desirable. This truth realized, it cannot be doubted that, as men feel an affection towards themselves for their own sakes and of their own accord, the parts also of the body and mind, and of those faculties which are displayed in each while in motion or at rest, are esteemed for their own attractiveness and desired for their own sake. From these explanations, it may readily be inferred that the most desirable of our faculties are those possessed of the highest intrinsic worth; so that the most desirable excellences are the excellences of the noblest parts of us, which are desirable for their own sake. The result will be that excellence of mind will be rated higher than excellence of body, and the volitional virtues of the mind will surpass the non‑volitional; the former, indeed, are the 'virtues' specially so called, and are far superior, in that they spring from reason, the most divine element in man. For the inanimate or nearly inanimate creatures that are under nature's charge, all of them have their supreme good in the body; hence it has been cleverly said, as I think, about the pig, that a mind has been bestowed upon this animal to serve as salt and keep it from going bad. But there are some animals which possess something resembling virtue, for example, lions, dogs and horses; in these we observe not only bodily movements as in pigs, but in some degree a sort of mental activity also. In man, however, the whole importance belongs to the mind, and to the rational part of the mind, which is the source of virtue; and virtue is defined as the perfection of reason, a doctrine which the Peripatetics think cannot be expounded too often.

"Plants also have a development and progress to maturity that is not unlike that of animals; hence we speak of a vine living and dying, or of a tree as young or old, in the prime of life or decrepit; consequently it is appropriate to suppose that with them as with animals certain things are suited and certain other things foreign to their nature; and that their growth and nurture is tended by a foster-mother, the science and art of husbandry, which trims and prunes, straightens, raises and props, enabling them to advance to the goal that nature prescribes, till the vines themselves, could they speak, would acknowledge this to be their proper mode of treatment and of tendance. In reality, of course, the power that tends the vine, to take that particular instance, is something outside of it; for the vine does not possess force enough in itself to be able to attain its highest possible development without the aid of cultivation. But suppose the vine to receive the gift of sensation, bestowing on it some degree of appetition and power of movement; then what do you think it will do? Will it not endeavour to provide for itself the benefits which it previously obtained by the aid of the vine-dresser? But do you mark how it will further be concerned to protect its sensory faculties also and all their appetitive instincts, and any additional organs it may have developed? Thus with the properties that it always possessed it will combine those subsequently added to it, and it will not have the same end as the husbandman who tended it had, but will desire to live in accordance with that nature which it has subsequently acquired. And so its End or Good will be similar to, but not the same as, what it was before; it will no longer seek the Good of a plant, but that of an animal. Suppose again that it have bestowed upon it not merely sensation but also a human mind. Will it not result that while its former properties remain objects of its care, these added properties will be far more dear to it, and that the best parts of the mind will be the dearest of all? Will it not find its End or Chief Good in this crowning development of its nature, inasmuch as intellect and reason are far and away the highest of all faculties? Thus there has emerged the final term of the series of objects of desire; thus starting from the primary attraction of nature, by gradual stages of ascent we have arrived at the summit, the consummation of perfect bodily integrity combined with the full development of the mental faculty of reason.

"The plan of our nature being then that which I have explained, if, as I said at the outset, every man as soon as he is born could know himself and could appreciate the powers of his nature as a whole and of its several parts, he would at once perceive the true essence of the thing that is the subject of our inquiry, namely the highest and last of the objects of our desires, and he would be incapable of error in anything. But as it is, our nature at all events at the outset is curiously hidden from us, and we cannot fully realize or understand it; yet as we grow older we gradually or I should say tardily come, as it were, to know ourselves. Accordingly, the earliest feeling of attraction which nature has created in us towards ourselves is vague and obscure, and the earliest instinct of appetition only strives to secure our safety and freedom from injury. When, however, we begin to look about us and to perceive what we are and how we differ from the rest of living creatures, we then commence to pursue the objects for which we are intended by nature. Some resemblance to this process we observe in the lower animals. At first they do not move from the place where they were born. Then they begin to move, under the influence of their several instincts of appetition; we see little snakes gliding, ducklings swimming, blackbirds flying, oxen using their horns, scorpions their stings; each in fact has its own nature as its guide to life. A similar proceeds is clearly seen in the human race. Infants just born lie helpless, as if absolutely inanimate; when they have acquired a little more strength, they exercise their mind and senses; they strive to stand erect, they use their hands, they recognize their nurses; then they take pleasure in the society of other children, and enjoy meeting them, they take part in games and love to hear stories; they desire to bestow of their own abundance in bounty to others; they take an inquisitive interest in what goes on in their homes; they begin to reflect and to learn, and want to know the names of the people they see; in their contests with their companions they are elated by victory, discouraged and disheartened pby defeat. For every stage of this development there must be supposed to be a reason. It is that human capacity is so constituted by nature that it appears designed to achieve every kind of virtue; hence children, without instruction, are actuated by semblances of the virtues, of which they possess in themselves the seeds, for these are primary elements of our nature, and they sprout and blossom into virtue. For we are so constituted from birth as to contain within us the primary instincts of action, of affection, of liberality and of gratitude; we are also gifted with minds that are adapted to knowledge, prudence and courage, and averse from their opposites; hence there is a reason why we observe in children those sparks of virtue I have mentioned, from which the philosopher's torch of reason must be kindled, that he may follow reason as his divine guide and so arrive at nature's goal. For as I have repeatedly said already, in the years of immaturity when the intellect is weak the powers of our nature are discerned as through a mist; but as the mind grows older and stronger it learns to know the capacity of our nature, while recognizing that this nature is susceptible of further development and has by itself only reached an incomplete condition.

"We must therefore penetrate into the nature of things, and come to understand thoroughly its requirements; otherwise we cannot know ourselves. That maxim was too lofty for it to be thought to have emanated from a human being, and it was therefore ascribed to a god. Accordingly the Pythian Apollo bids us 'learn to know ourselves'; but the sole road to self-knowledge is to know our powers of body and of mind, and to follow the path of life that gives us their full employment.

p "Now inasmuch as our original instinct of desire was for the possession of the parts aforesaid in their fullest natural perfection, it must be allowed that, when we have attained the object of our desire, our nature takes its stand in this as its final End, and this constitutes our Chief Good; and that this End as a whole must be desired intrinsically and in and for itself, follows of necessity from the fact that the several parts of it also have already been proved to be desirable for themselves.

"If however anyone thinks that our enumeration of bodily advantages is incomplete owing to the omission of pleasure, let us postpone this question to another time. For whether pleasure is or is not one of the objects we have called the primary things in accordance with nature makes no difference for our present inquiry. If, as I hold, pleasure adds nothing to the sum‑total of nature's goods, it has rightly been omitted. If on the contrary pleasure does possess the property that some assign to it, this fact does not impair the general outline we have just given of the Chief Good; since if to the primary objects of nature as we have explained them, pleasure be added, this only adds one more to the list of bodily advantages, and does not alter the interpretation of the Chief Good which has been propounded.

"So far as our argument has proceeded hitherto, it has been based entirely upon the primary attractions of nature. But from this point on let us adopt a different line of reasoning, namely to show that, in addition to the argument from self-love, the fact that each part of our nature, both mental and bodily, possesses its own peculiar faculty goes to prove that the activity of our several parts is pre‑eminently spontaneous. To start with the body, do you notice how men try to hide a deformed or infirm or maimed limb? They actually take great pains and trouble to conceal, if they possibly can, their bodily defect, or at all events to let it be seen as little as possible; they even undergo painful courses of treatment in order to restore the natural appearance of their limbs, even though the actual use of them will not only not be improved but will even be diminished. In fact, since every man instinctively thinks that he himself in his entirety is a thing to be desired, and this not for the sake of anything else but for his own sake, it follows that when a thing is desired as a whole for its own sake, the parts also of that thing are desired for their own sakes. Again, is there nothing in the movements and postures of the body which Nature herself judges to be of importance? A man's mode of walking and sitting, his particular cast of features and expression — is there nothing in these things that we consider worthy or unworthy of a free man? Do we not often think people deserving of dislike, who by some movement or posture appear to have violated a law or principle of nature? And since people try to get rid of these defects of bearing, why should not even beauty have a good claim to be considered as desirable for its own sake? For we think imperfection or mutilation of the body things to be avoided for their own sake, why should we not with equal or perhaps still greater reason pursue distinction of form for its own sake? And if we avoid ugliness in bodily movement and posture, why should we not pursue beauty? Health also, and strength and freedom from pain we shall desire not merely for their utility but also for their own sakes. For since our nature aims at the full development of all its parts, she desires for its own sake that state of body which is most in accordance with himself; because she is thrown into utter disorder if the body is diseased or in pain or weak.

"Let us consider the parts of the mind, which are of nobler aspect. The loftier these are, the more unmistakable indications of nature do they afford. So great is our innate love of learning and of knowledge, that no one can doubt that man's nature is strongly attracted to these things even without the lure of any profit. Do we notice how children cannot be deterred even by punishment from studying and inquiry into the world around them? Drive them away, and back they come. They delight in knowing things; they are eager to impart their knowledge to others; pageants, games and shows of that sort hold them spell-bound, and they will even endure hunger and thirst so as to be able to see them. Again, take persons who delight in the liberal arts and studies; do we not see them careless of health or business, patiently enduring any inconvenience when under the spell of learning and of science, and repaid for endless toil and trouble by the pleasure they derive from acquiring knowledge? For my part I believe Homer had something of this sort in view in his imaginary account of the songs of the Sirens. Apparently it was not the sweetness of their voices or the novelty and diversity of their songs, but their professions of knowledge that used to attract the passing voyageurs; it was the passion for learning that kept men rooted to the Sirens' rocky shores. This is their invitation to Ulysses (for I have translated this among other passages of Homer):

Ulysses, pride of Argos, turn thy bark
And listen to our music. Never yet
Did voyager sail these waters blue, but stayed
His course, enchanted by our voices sweet,
And having filled his soul with harmony,
Went on his homeward way a wiser man.
We know the direful strife and clash of war
That Greece by Heaven's mandate bore to Troy,
And whatsoe'er on the wide earth befalls.