On Duties De Officiis - Book III by Marcus Tullius Cicero Lyrics

1. My son Marcus, Cato, who was nearly of the same age1 with Publius Scipio, the first of the family that bore the name of Africanus, represents him as in the habit of saying that he was never less at leisure than when he was at leisure, or less alone than when he was alone, — a truly magnificent utterance and worthy of a great and wise man, indicating that in leisure he was wont to think of business2 and in solitude to commune with himself,3 so that he was never idle, and had no need betweenwhile4 of another person’s conversation. Thus the two things, leisure and solitude, which with others occasion languor, quickened his energies. I could wish that I were able to say the same; but if I cannot by imitation attain such transcendent excellence of temperament, I at any rate in my inclination make as near an approach to it as I can; for, debarred from political and forensic employments by sacrilegious arms and violence, I am abandoning myself to leisure, and therefore, leaving the city and wandering from one place in the country to another, I am often alone. But neither is this leisure of mine to be compared with the leisure of Africanus, nor this solitude with his. He, indeed, reposing from the most honorable public trusts, upon certain occasions snatched leisure for himself, and from the company and concourse of men betweenwhile betook himself to solitude as to a harbor. But my leisure proceeds from lack of employment, not from desire for repose. For, the Senate being silenced1 and the courts suspended,2 what is there worthy of myself that I can do either in the senate-house or in the forum? Thus, after having lived in the greatest publicity and in the presence of my fellow-citizens, I now hide myself to escape the sight of bad men who swarm everywhere, and I am often alone. Yet since philosophers say that one ought not only of evils to choose the least, but from even these least evils to extract whatever of good there may be in them, I therefore am utilizing my leisure, though it be not that to which I was entitled after having obtained leisure3 for the state, nor am I suffering this solitude — which necessity, not choice, imposes upon me — to remain idle. Africanus, indeed, as I think, attained a higher merit; for no monuments of his genius were committed to writing, there remains no work of his leisure, no fruit of his solitude, — whence it should be inferred that it was in consequence of mental activity and the investigation of those things to which he directed his thoughts, that he was never at leisure or alone. But I who have not such strength of mind that I can abstract myself from the weariness of solitude by silent meditation, am directing all my study and care to this labor of writing, and thus in the short time that has elapsed since the overthrow of the state, I have written more than in many years while it stood.1

2. But while all philosophy, my Cicero, is fertile and fruitful, nor is any part of it untilled or unoccupied, there is no department within its pale more productive or more prolific than that relating to the duties whence are derived rules for living consistently and virtuously. Therefore, although I trust that you are diligently hearing and receiving instruction on this subject from Cratippus, the foremost philosopher of the present age, yet I think that it will be for your benefit that your ears should constantly ring with such themes, and, were it possible, should hear nothing else. While this should be the case with all who mean to enter on a virtuous life, I am inclined to think that there is no one for whom it is more fitting than for you, — liable as you are to no small anticipation of imitating my diligence, to the confident expectation that you will succeed me in public trusts, and to some hope, perhaps, of rivalling my reputation. You have, beside, taken upon yourself the heavy responsibility of both Athens and Cratippus, to which and to whom, after resorting as to a mart of good culture, it would be in the last degree shameful for you to return empty-minded, thus disgracing the reputation of both the city and the master. Look to it, then, that you accomplish as much as you can aim after in purpose, and strive for by labor, — if learning be labor rather than pleasure, — nor suffer it so to be, that when I have given you the most liberal supplies,1 you may appear to have been false to your own interest. But enough of this; for I have written to you much and often by way of exhortation. Let us now return to the remaining head of my proposed division.

Panaetius, then, who without doubt discussed the subject of duty with the utmost precision, and whom I have thus far followed for the most part, with an occasional correction, having laid down three heads under which men were wont to reason and deliberate concerning duty, — one, the inquiry whether the act under discussion is right or wrong, the second, whether it is expedient or inexpedient, the third, the mode of settling the discrepancy in case what has the appearance of right is repugnant to what seems expedient, — treated of the first two heads in three books, and said that he would speak of the third head in its turn, but failed to keep his promise. I am the more surprised at this, because Posidonius, his pupil, says that he lived thirty years after writing those first three books. I am surprised, too, to find this head but slightly touched upon in certain essays of Posidonius, especially as he says that there is no subject of so essential importance in all philosophy. I by no means agree with those who maintain that this subject was not overlooked by Panaetius, but purposely omitted, and that it ought not to have been written upon at all, inasmuch as expediency can never be in conflict with the right. With regard to this assertion one thing admits of doubt, whether this third head of Panaetius ought to have been taken into consideration or entirely omitted; the other thing admits of no doubt, that it was undertaken by Panaetius, but left unwritten; for to him who has finished two heads of a threefold division the third of necessity remains. Besides, at the close of his third book he promises to treat of this division in its turn. We have further the testimony of Posidonius, a credible witness, who also writes in one of his letters that Publius Rutilius Rufus, a pupil of Panaetius, used to say that as no painter could be found who would finish the part of the Venus of Cos1 which Apelles had left imperfect — the beauty of the countenance putting it beyond hope that the rest of the body could be finished so as to bear comparison with it — so no one had attempted what Panaetius had left incomplete, on account of the surpassing excellence of the things that he had completed.

3. There can, then, be no doubt about the intention of Panaetius; but whether he was right or not in annexing this third head to his discussion of duty may, perhaps, admit of doubt. For whether the right is the sole good, as the Stoics think, or whether, as your Peripatetics maintain, the right is the supreme good in such a sense that all things else placed in the opposite scale are of insignificant moment, it is beyond question that expediency can never clash with the right. Thus we learn that Socrates used to denounce as worthy of execration those who regarded as separable the expedient and the right, which are conjoined by nature. The Stoics have agreed with him in maintaining that whatever is right must be expedient, and that nothing can be expedient which is not right. Now if Panaetius were the sort of man to say that virtue ought to be cultivated because it is productive of utility, as those do who measure the desirableness of objects by the pleasure or the freedom from pain that they may afford, he might in that case have said that expediency is sometimes repugnant to the right. But since he belongs to the class of men who regard what is right as alone good, and consider life as made neither better by the acquisition nor worse by the loss of those things which with a certain show of expediency are in conflict with the right, it does not seem as if he ought to have introduced a discussion in which what appears to be expedient should be compared with what is right. For what the Stoics term the supreme good, to live in conformity with nature, means, as I think, to be always in harmony with virtue, yet to make free choice among things in general that are in accordance with nature, only on condition of their not being repugnant to virtue. Such being the case, some think that this comparison is not properly brought forward, and that no practical lessons ought to have been given under this head. Indeed, that which is properly and with literal truth called the right is found in the wise alone, nor can it ever be separated from virtue; while in those not possessed of perfect wisdom, the perfect right itself cannot possibly be, but only semblances of the right. For all these duties discussed in the present treatise — contingent,1 as the Stoics call them — are common, and are largely practised, and many attain to them by excellence of natural disposition and by advancement in knowledge. But that duty which the Stoics term the right is perfect and absolute, and, in the phrase of those same philosophers, has all the numbers,2 nor can it come into the possession of any one except the wise man. But when anything is done in which contingent duties are manifest, it seems to be abundantly perfect, because people in general do not understand what in it is wanting to perfection, while so far as they do understand, they think nothing omitted. The like is of ordinary occurrence in poems, pictures, and many other matters, namely, that the unskilled view with delight and commendation things that do not deserve praise, because, I suppose, there is in them something good of a kind to take the fancy of the ignorant, who are incapable of determining what defect there may be in the several objects thus placed before them; while after they have been taught by experts, they readily change their opinion.

4. These duties which I am discussing in the present treatise the Stoics call a sort of second-grade duties, not belonging to the wise alone, but common to them with the whole human race. Thus all in whom there is a virtuous disposition are favorably inclined to them. Nor, indeed, when the two Decii or the two Scipios are commemorated as brave men, or when Fabricius is called just, is the example of fortitude sought from them, or of justice from him, as from men in the strict sense of the term “wise;” for neither of them was wise as we would have the word “wise” understood. Nor yet were the men who were esteemed and surnamed Wise, Marcus Cato and Caius Laelius, wise in this sense, nor yet those famous seven;1 but from their constant practice of common duties they bore to a certain degree the semblance and aspect of wise men.2 Therefore, while it is an error to compare the right properly so called with expediency when repugnant to it, at the same time that which is commonly called right, and is held sacred by those who want to be regarded as good men, should never be compared with external goods; and it is as incumbent on us to defend and preserve that right which is on a level with our apprehension, as it is on the wise to cherish the right properly and truly so called. Otherwise, if any progress toward virtue has been made, it cannot be maintained. Enough has now been said about those who are reputed as good men on account of the discharge of common duties. But those who measure everything by the standard of gain and personal convenience, nor are willing that these goods should be outweighed by virtue, are accustomed, in their plans of life, to compare the right with what they deem expedient; good men are not so accustomed. I therefore think that when Panaetius said that men are wont to hesitate in this comparison, he meant precisely what he said; for he said only that they were wont, not that they ought, to hesitate. And, indeed, it is in the utmost degree base not only to prize what seems expedient above what is right, but even to compare them with each other and to incline to doubt with regard to them. What is it, then, that is wont sometimes to occasion doubt and may seem worthy of consideration? I believe that if doubt ever occurs, it is as to the actual character of that which is under consideration; for it often happens, under special circumstances, that what is wont for the most part to be accounted as wrong is found not to be wrong. Let a case which admits of a wider application be taken by way of example. What greater crime can there be than to kill not only a man, but an intimate friend? Has one, then, involved himself in guilt by killing a tyrant, however intimate with him?1 This is not the opinion of the Roman people, who of all deeds worthy of renown regard this as the most noble. Has expediency, then, got the advantage over the right? Nay, but expediency has followed in the direction of the right.

Therefore, that we may be able to discriminate without mistake, if at any time what we call expedient shall seem repugnant to what we conceive of as right, there must be established some general rule,2 which if we recognize in the comparison of things, we shall never be false to our duty. But this rule shall be in close accordance with the method and system of the Stoics, whom I am following in this treatise, because though by the early Academics and by the Peripatetics who were formerly identical with them those things that are right are preferred to those that seem expedient, yet these themes are discussed in a loftier tone by those to whom both whatever is right is also expedient, and there is nothing expedient that is not right, than by those to whom anything right can be otherwise than expedient, or anything expedient otherwise than right. Moreover, my sect of the Academy gives me broad liberty, so that I have a right to defend whatever seems to me probable. But I return to the general rule.

5. For a man to take anything wrongfully from another, and to increase his own means of comfort by his fellow-man’s discomfort, is more contrary to nature than death, than poverty, than pain, than anything else that can happen to one’s body or his external condition.1 In the first place, it destroys human intercourse and society; for if we are so disposed that every one for his own gain is ready to rob or outrage another, that fellowship of the human race which is in the closest accordance with nature must of necessity be broken in sunder. As if each member of the body were so affected as to suppose itself capable of getting strength by appropriating the strength of the adjacent member, the whole body must needs be enfeebled and destroyed, so if each of us seizes for himself the goods of others, and takes what he can from every one for his own emolument, the society and intercourse of men must necessarily be subverted. It is, indeed, permitted, with no repugnancy of nature, that each person may prefer to acquire for himself, rather than for another, whatever belongs to the means of living; this, however, nature does not suffer, — that we should increase our means, resources, wealth, by the spoils of others. Nor is this so merely by the law of nature and of nations; but also by those statutes of particular communities on which the body politic in each state depends for its safety, it is in like manner enacted that no one can be permitted to injure another for his own benefit. It is to this that the laws look, it is this that they mean, that the union of citizens shall be secure; and those who dissever it they restrain by death, exile, imprisonment, fine. Moreover, much more is this end effected by the reason inherent in nature, which is the law of gods and of men, which he who wills to obey — and all will obey it who desire to live according to nature — will never so act as to seek what belongs to another and to appropriate to himself what he has taken from another. For loftiness and largeness of soul, and therewith affability, justice, kindness, are more in accordance with nature than pleasure, than life, than wealth, to despise which and to count them as naught when compared with the common good is the token of a great and lofty mind. To take aught from another for one’s own benefit is, then, more opposed to nature than death, or pain, or any other adverse experience. At the same time, it is more in accordance with nature to assume the greatest labors and discomforts for the preservation and succor of all nations, were it possible, imitating that Hercules whom human gratitude, commemorative of his services, exalted to a seat among the gods, than to live in isolation, not only free from all causes of disturbance, but even in the fulness of sensual gratification, abounding in resources of every kind, nay, even surpassing all others in beauty and in strength. Therefore every man endowed with a mind of superior excellence and brilliancy prefers the former to the latter mode of life, whence it may be inferred that man, when obedient to nature, cannot injure man. Still further, he who maltreats another that he himself may obtain some benefit, either is unaware that he is acting contrary to nature, or else thinks that poverty, pain, loss of children, of kindred, of friends, is to be avoided rather than wrong-doing to a fellow-man. If he is unaware that he is acting contrary to nature in maltreating men, how are you to reason with one who takes away from man all that makes him man? But if he thinks that wrong-doing ought indeed to be shunned, but that death, poverty, or pain is much more to be shunned, he errs in imagining any evil affecting the bodily condition or property to be of greater consequence than moral evil.

6. This, then, above all, ought to be regarded by every one as an established principle, that the interest of each individual and that of the entire body of citizens are identical, which interest if any one appropriate to himself alone, he does it to the sundering of all human intercourse. And further, if nature prescribes this, that man shall desire the promotion of man’s good for the very reason that he is man, it follows in accordance with that same nature that there are interests common to all. The antecedent is true; therefore the consequent is true. For this is absurd indeed which some say, that they would take nothing from a parent or a brother for their own benefit, but that it is quite another thing with persons outside of one’s own family. These men disclaim all mutual right and partnership with their fellow-citizens for the common benefit, — a state of feeling which dismembers the fellowship of the community. Those, too, who say that account is to be taken of citizens, but not of foreigners, destroy the common sodality of the human race, which abrogated, beneficence, liberality, kindness, justice, are removed from their very foundations. And those who remove them are to be regarded as impious toward the immortal gods; for they overturn the fellowship established among men by the gods, the closest bond of which fellowship is the opinion that it is more contrary to nature for man to take anything from man for his own benefit than to endure all forms of discomfort, whether external, or bodily, or even mental, which leave room for the exercise of justice. For this one virtue is mistress and queen of all the virtues. One may perhaps say, “Should not then a wise man who is perishing with hunger take away food from another man who is good for nothing?” No, indeed, by no means; for my life is not of greater service to me than is such a disposition of mind as would preclude my injuring any one for my own benefit. What if a good man, to save himself from perishing with the cold, should rob of his clothes the cruel and savage tyrant Phalaris? May he do it? These matters are very easy of determination. If, indeed, you were to take anything from a perfectly worthless man merely for your own benefit, you would perform an inhuman act and one contrary to nature. If, however, you are a person capable, by prolonging your life, of rendering great service to the state and to human society, and for that reason you take something from another person, you would not be blameworthy. But except in such a case, each man must bear his own privations rather than take what belongs to another. Sickness, or poverty, or anything of this kind is not, indeed, more opposed to nature than is the appropriation or coveting of what belongs to another. But at the same time the dereliction of the common good is opposed to nature, for it is unjust; and therefore the very law of nature, which preserves and maintains the good of man, undoubtedly prescribes that the necessaries of life should be transferred from an inefficient and useless man to a wise, good, brave man, whose death would make a large deduction from the common good, — provided he effect the transfer in such a way that his self-esteem and self-love may not furnish a pretext for wrong-doing. In this way he will perform his duty with reference to the good of mankind and to the human fellowship of which I have so often spoken. Now as regards Phalaris the decision is very easy; for we1 have no fellowship with tyrants, but rather the broadest dissiliency from them, and this whole pestiferous and impious class of men ought to be exterminated from human society. Indeed, as limbs are amputated when they are bloodless and virtually lifeless, and injure the rest of the body, so this beastly savageness and cruelty in human form ought to be cut off from what may be called the common body of humanity. Of this sort are all the questions in which duty is to be determined from circumstances.

7. Panaetius would, I think, have followed up topics of this kind, had not some accident or some other occupation frustrated his intention. Toward these very inquiries there may be drawn from his first three books many maxims, from which it can be clearly seen what is to be avoided on account of its immorality, and what is not to be avoided because not absolutely immoral.

But since I am, as it were, putting the topstone on a work incomplete, yet almost finished, as mathematicians are wont, instead of demonstrating everything, to ask that some things be admitted1 in order to explain more easily what they want to prove, so I ask of you, my Cicero, to admit, if you can, that nothing except what is right is to be sought for its own sake. If, however, you cannot grant this without hindrance from the teachings of Cratippus, you can certainly admit that what is right is to be sought chiefly for its own sake. Either proposition is sufficient for my purpose; and now this, now that, seems the more probable, while no other proposition relating to this subject is in any degree probable. At the same time, Panaetius ought in the first place to be defended on this point; inasmuch as he said, not that expediency could ever be in conflict with the right, — for this he could not consistently say, — but that things that seemed expedient might be thus in conflict. Indeed, he often affirms that nothing is expedient which is not also right, and nothing right which is not also expedient; and he maintains that no more prolific source of evil has ever found its way into human society than the opinion of those who have divorced the expedient and the right. Therefore, it was not in order that on certain occasions we should prefer expediency to the right, but that we might discriminate without mistake between appearance and reality, if at any time there were a seeming conflict, that he introduced into the plan of his work a seeming, not an actual, collision between the expedient and the right. This division, then, which he left unwritten, I propose to fill out, relying on no authority, from my own resources;1 for since the time of Panaetius there has been nothing written on this head of a nature to satisfy me, among the works that have come into my hands.

8. When any specious appearance of expediency is presented, one cannot help being impressed by it. But if, when you give it closer attention, you see that there is something morally wrong connected with what thus seems expedient, in that case you are not to sacrifice expediency, but you are to understand that where there is moral wrong expediency cannot be. For if nothing is so contrary to nature as immorality (inasmuch as nature craves things right, and fitting, and consistent), and nothing so in unison with nature as expediency, then it is certain that expediency and immorality cannot exist in the same thing.2 Still further, if we were born for virtue, and the right either is alone worthy to be sought (as Zeno maintained), or is assuredly to be regarded as immeasurably outweighing all things else (as is Aristotle’s doctrine), then, of necessity, what is right must be either the sole or the supreme good. But what is good is certainly expedient. Consequently whatever is right is expedient.1 It is then the misapprehension of bad men which, when it lays hold on anything that seems expedient, considers it independently of the question of right. This is the origin of assassinations, poisonings, forgeries of wills. Hence come thefts, embezzlements of public money, plunderings and pillagings of allies and of citizens. Hence, too, proceed the intolerable usurpations of excessive wealth, and, lastly, even in free states, the yearning for sovereign authority, than which nothing can be imagined more foul or more offensive. Men, indeed, in their false appreciation, see the profit of the wrong they do; they see not the punishment, I do not say, of the laws which they often evade, but of the guilt itself, of which the punishment is intensely bitter. Therefore let no quarter be given to this class of doubters, utterly wicked and impious, who deliberate whether they shall pursue what they see to be right, or shall knowingly defile themselves with guilt; for there is crime in the mere hesitation, even if they do not go so far as the outward act. Therefore those things in which the very deliberation is criminal ought not to be deliberated at all. Moreover, the hope and expectation of concealment, whether of the act or of the actor, ought to be excluded from every deliberation on the conduct to be pursued. If we have made even the least proficiency in philosophy, we ought to be thoroughly persuaded that, even though we could escape the view of all gods and men, still nothing ought to be done by us avariciously, nothing unjustly, nothing lustfully, nothing extravagantly.
9. For this reason Plato introduces the wellknown story of Gyges,1 who, when the ground had caved away on account of heavy rains, passed down into the opening, and saw, as the story goes, a brazen horse with doors in his sides. Opening these doors, he saw a man of unusual size, with a gold ring on his finger, which drawing off, he put it on his own finger (he was a shepherd in the king’s service), and then repaired to the company of the shepherds. There, as often as he turned the part of the ring where the stone was set to the palm of his hand, he became invisible, yet himself saw everything; and was again visible when he restored the ring to its proper place. Then, availing himself of the advantage which the ring gave him, he committed adultery with the queen, and by her assistance killed the king his master, and removed by death those whom he thought in his way. Nor could any one see him in connection with these crimes. By means of the ring he in a short time became king of Lydia. Now if a wise man had this ring, he would not think himself any more at liberty to do wrong than if he had it not; for it is right things, not hidden things, that are sought by good men. Here, however, certain philosophers, by no means ill-disposed, yet somewhat deficient in acuteness, say that this is only a fictitious and imaginary story that Plato has told, — as though, forsooth, he asserted that such a thing took place or could have taken place. The meaning of this ring and of this example is as follows: If no one would ever know, if no one would ever suspect, when you performed some act for the sake of wealth, power, ascendency, lust, — if it would remain forever unknown to gods and men, would you do it? They say that it is impossible. Yet it is not utterly impossible. But I ask, If that were possible which they say is impossible, what would they do? They persist, awkwardly indeed; they maintain that such a thing could not be, and they stand firm in this assertion; they do not take in the meaning of the phrase, “If it were possible.” For when we ask what they would do if they could conceal what they did, we do not ask whether they can hide it; but we put them, as it were, on the rack, that if they answer that they would do what seemed expedient if assured of impunity, they may confess themselves atrociously guilty; and if they make the contrary answer, that they may grant that whatever is wrong in itself ought to be shunned. Let us now return to the subject under discussion.

10. There occur many cases of a nature to perplex the mind under the aspect of expediency, — cases in which the real question is not whether the right is to be sacrificed on account of the greatness of the benefit to be gained (for that is unquestionably wrong), but whether that which seems expedient can be done without guilt. When Brutus deposed his colleague Collatinus from the consulship, he might seem to have done this unjustly; for Collatinus had been the associate of Brutus, and his assistant in measures for the expulsion of the royal family. But when the chief men of the state had come to the determination that the kindred of Superbus, and the name of the Tarquins, and the remembrance of kingly government must be put out of the way, what was expedient — that is, care for the well-being of the country — was so entirely right that it ought to have satisfied Collatinus himself. Thus expediency became valid on account of the right that was in it, without which, indeed, there could not have been any expediency. Not so, however, in the case of the king who founded the city; for a bare show of expediency struck his mind. When it seemed to him better to reign alone than with a colleague, he killed his brother. He set aside both brotherly affection and humanity, in order to attain what seemed expedient, yet was not so; and then offered in defence the pretext of the wall, — a mere show of right, improbable in itself, and insufficient even if true. He was therefore entirely in the wrong. With his leave I would say it, whether he be Quirinus or Romulus.1 Nevertheless, advantages that are properly our own we are not to abandon, or to yield up to others, if we ourselves need them; but each one must minister to his own advantage only so far as it may be done without wrong to others. Chrysippus,2 who has written many sensible things, wisely says: “He who is running a race ought to endeavor and strive to the utmost of his ability to come off victor; but it is utterly wrong for him to trip up his competitor, or to push him aside. So in life it is not unfair for one to seek for himself what may accrue to his benefit; but it is not right to take it from another.”

But in the case of friendships there is the greatest perplexity as to duty, it being equally opposed to duty to withhold what you can rightfully concede to a friend, and to concede what is not right. Office, wealth, pleasure, other things of that sort, are certainly never to be preferred to friendship. At the same time a good man will do nothing against the state, or in violation of his oath or of good faith, for the sake of his friend, not even if he were a judge in his friend’s case. For

“He drops the friend, when he puts on the judge.”1

He will yield so far to friendship as to wish his friend’s case to be worthy of succeeding, and to accommodate him as to the time of trial within legal limits. But inasmuch as he must pass sentence upon his oath, he will bear it in mind that he has God for a witness, that is, as I think, his own conscience, than which God himself has given man nothing more divine. In this view, it is an admirable custom derived from our ancestors — if we would only adhere to it — that when a favor is asked of a judge, it is in the words, “So far as it can be done without a breach of good faith.” A request proffered in such terms applies to things which, as I just said, can be granted by a friend who is acting as a judge. On the other hand, were one to feel bound to do all that friends might desire, such connections ought to be considered as not friendships, but conspiracies. I am speaking of ordinary friendships; for in the case of wise and perfect men there can be nothing of the kind. It is related that Damon and Phintias,2 Pythagoreans, were so disposed toward each other, that when Dionysius the tyrant had fixed for one of them the day of execution, and he that was condemned to death asked for a few days’ respite to make arrangements for the care of his family, the other became surety for his appearance, to die in his stead if he did not return. When he returned on the day appointed, the tyrant, admiring their mutual good faith, begged them to admit him to their friendship as a third person. In fine, whenever what seems expedient in friendship comes into competition with what is right, let the apparent expediency be disregarded; let the right prevail. Moreover, when in friendship things that are not right are demanded, religion and good faith are to take precedence of friendship. Thus will the choice of duty, which is the subject of our inquiry, be determined.

11. But it is in affairs of state that wrong is the most frequently committed under the show of expediency. Our own people were thus guilty with reference to the demolition of Corinth. The Athenians acted with still greater severity in decreeing that the men of Aegina,1 who were able seamen, should have their thumbs cut off. This seemed expedient; for Aegina was too threatening on account of its proximity to the Piraeus. But nothing that is cruel is expedient; for cruelty is in the utmost degree hostile to human nature, which ought to be our guide. Those also are to be blamed who prohibit foreigners from living in their cities, and expel them, as Fannius did in the time of our fathers, and Papius more recently.1 It is indeed right that one who is not a citizen should lack the full privileges of citizenship, as is enacted by the law passed under the consulship of those very wise men Crassus and Scaevola; but it is clearly inhumane to prohibit foreigners from living in the city. On the other hand, a worthy renown rests upon the instances in which the show of public benefit is despised in comparison with the right. Our history is full of examples of this kind, while often at other times, especially in the second Punic war, when, after the disaster of Cannae, the people manifested greater spirit than ever in prosperity. There was no symptom of fear, no intimation of peace. Such is the power of the right, that it eclipses the show of expediency. When the Athenians were utterly unable to sustain the assault of the Persians, and determined that, deserting the city and leaving their wives and children at Troezen, they would go on board of their ships and defend the liberty of Greece by their fleet, they stoned to death a certain Cyrsilus who pressed upon them the advice to stay in the city and receive Xerxes. He, indeed, seemed to advocate expediency; but expediency did not exist, when the right was on the other side. Themistocles, after the victory in the Persian war, said in a popular assembly that he had a plan conducive to the public good, but that it was not desirable that it should be generally known. He asked that the people should name some one with whom he might confer. Aristides was named. Themistocles said to him that the fleet of the Lacedaemonians, which was drawn ashore at Gytheum, could be burned clandestinely, and if that were done, the power of the Lacedaemonians would be inevitably broken. Aristides, having heard this, returned to the assembly amidst the anxious expectation of all, and said that the measure proposed by Themistocles was very advantageous, but utterly devoid of right. Thereupon the Athenians concluded that what was not right was not expedient, and they repudiated the entire plan which they had not heard, on the authority of Aristides. Better this than our conduct in holding pirates free from all exactions,1 our allies tributary.2

12. Let it be settled, then, that what is wrong is never expedient, not even when you obtain by it what you think to be of advantage to you. Nay, the mere thinking that what is wrong is expedient is in itself a misfortune. But, as I have already said, there often occur cases of such a nature that expediency seems in conflict with the right, so that it must be ascertained by close examination whether it is really thus in conflict, or whether it can be brought into harmony with the right. Of this class are questions like the following: If, for example, a good man has brought from Alexandria to Rhodes a large cargo of corn, when there is a great scarcity and dearth at Rhodes and corn is at the highest price, — in case this man knows that a considerable number of merchants have set sail from Alexandria, and on his passage he has seen ships laden with corn bound for Rhodes, shall he give this information to the Rhodians, or shall he keep silence and sell his cargo for the most that it will bring? We are imagining the case of a wise and good man. We want to know about the thought and feeling of such a man as would not leave the Rhodians uninformed if he thinks it wrong, but who doubts whether it is wrong or not. In cases of this kind Diogenes of Babylon,1 an eminent Stoic of high authority, is wont to express one opinion, Antipater1 his pupil, a man of superior acuteness, another. According to Antipater, all things ought to be laid open, so that the buyer may be left in ignorance of nothing at all that the seller knows. According to Diogenes, the seller is bound to disclose defects in his goods so far as the law of the land requires, to transact the rest of the business without fraud, and then, since he is the seller, to sell for as much as he can get. “I have brought my cargo; I have offered it for sale; I am selling my corn for no more than others ask, perhaps even for less than they would ask, since my arrival has increased the supply. Whom do I wrong?” On the other side comes the reasoning of Antipater: “What say you? While you ought to consult the welfare of mankind and to render service to human society, and by the very condition of your being have such innate natural principles which you are bound to obey and follow, that the common good should be your good, and reciprocally yours the common good, will you conceal from men what comfort and plenty are nigh at hand for them?” Diogenes, perhaps, will reply as follows: “It is one thing to conceal, another not to tell. Nor am I now concealing anything from you, by not telling you what is the nature of the gods, or what is the supreme good, — things which it would profit you much more to know than to know the cheapness of wheat. But am I under the necessity of telling you all that it would do you good to hear?” “Yes, indeed, you are under that necessity, if you bear it in mind that nature establishes a community of interest among men.” “I do bear this in mind. But is this community of interest such that one can have nothing of his own? If it be so, everything ought, indeed, to be given, not sold.”

13. You see that in this whole discussion it is not said, “Although this be wrong, yet, because it is expedient I will do it;” but that it is expedient without being morally wrong, and, on the other side, that because it is wrong it ought not to be done. A good man sells a house on account of some defects, of which he himself is aware and others ignorant. Perhaps it is unhealthy, and is supposed to be healthy, — it is not generally known that snakes make their appearance in all the bedrooms, — it is built of bad materials, and is in a ruinous condition; but nobody knows this except the owner. I ask, if the seller should have failed to tell these things to the buyer, and should thus have sold his house for a higher price than he could have reasonably expected, whether he would have acted unjustly or unfairly? “Yes, he would,” says Antipater; “for what is meant by not putting into the right way one who has lost his way (which at Athens exposed a man to public execration), if it does not include the case in which a buyer is permitted to rush blindly on, and through his mistake to fall into a heavy loss by fraudulent means? It is even worse than not showing the right way; it is knowingly leading another into the wrong way.” Diogenes, on the other hand, says: “Did he who did not even advise you to buy, force you to buy? He advertised for sale what he did not like; you bought what you did like. Certainly, if those who advertise a good and well-built house are not regarded as swindlers, even though it is neither good nor properly built, much less should those be so regarded who have said nothing in praise of their house. For in a case in which the buyer can exercise his own judgment, what fraud can there be on the part of the seller? And if all that is said is not to be guaranteed, do you think that what is not said ought to be guaranteed? What could be more foolish than for the seller to tell the defects of the article that he is selling? Nay, what so absurd as for an auctioneer, by the owner’s direction, to proclaim, ‘I am selling an unhealthy house’?” Thus, then, in certain doubtful cases the right is defended on the one side; on the other, expediency is urged on the ground that it is not only right to do what seems expedient, but even wrong not to do it. This is the discrepancy which seems often to exist between the expedient and the right. But I must state my decision in these cases; for I introduced them, not to raise the inquiry concerning them, but to give their solution. It seems to me, then, that neither that Rhodian corn-merchant nor this seller of the house ought to have practised concealment with the buyers. In truth, reticence with regard to any matter whatever does not constitute concealment; but concealment consists in willingly hiding from others for your own advantage something that you know. Who does not see what sort of an act such concealment is, and what sort of a man he must be who practises it? Certainly this is not the conduct of an open, frank, honest, good man, but rather of a wily, dark, crafty, deceitful, ill-meaning, cunning man, an old rogue, a swindler. Is it not inexpedient to become liable to these so numerous and to many more bad names?1

14. But if those who keep silence deserve censure, what is to be thought of those who employ absolute falsehood? Caius Canius, a Roman knight, a man not without wit and of respectable literary culture, having gone to Syracuse, for rest, as he used to say, not for business, wanted to buy a small estate, to which he could invite his friends, and where he could take his own pleasure without intruders. When his wish had become generally known, a certain Pythius, who was doing a banker’s business at Syracuse, told him that he had a country-seat, not, indeed, for sale, but which Canius was at liberty to use as his own if he wished to do so; and at the same time he invited the man to supper at the country-seat for the next day. He having accepted the invitation, Pythius, who, as being a banker, was popular among all classes, called the fishermen together, asked them to fish the next day in front of his villa, and told them what he wanted them to do. Canius came to supper at the right time; a magnificent entertainment was prepared by Pythius; a multitude of little boats were in full sight; every fisherman brought what he had taken; the fish were laid down at the feet of Pythius. Then Canius says, “Prithee, what does this mean? So many fish here? So many boats?” And he answered, “What wonder? All the fish for the Syracuse market are here; they come here to be in fresh water. The fishermen cannot dispense with this villa.” Canius, inflamed with longing, begs Pythius to sell the place. He hesitates at first. To cut the story short, Canius over-persuades him. The greedy and rich man buys the villa for as high a price as Pythius chooses to ask, and buys the furniture too. He gives security; he finishes the business. Canius the next day invites his friends. He comes early; he sees not a thole-pin. He asks his next neighbor whether it is a fishermen’s holiday, as he sees none of them. “Not so far as I know,” was the reply. “No fishermen are in the habit of fishing here. I therefore yesterday could not think what had occurred to bring them.” Canius was enraged. But what was he to do? My colleague and friend, Aquillius,1 had not then published his forms of legal procedure in the case of criminal fraud, as to which when he was asked for a definition of criminal fraud, he replied, “When one thing is pretended, another done.” This is perfectly clear, as might be expected from a man skilled in defining. Pythius, then, and all who do one thing while they pretend another, are treacherous, wicked, villanous. Therefore nothing that they do can be expedient, when defiled by so many vices.

15. But if the definition of Aquillius is correct, pretence and concealment should be entirely done away with. Thus a good man will neither pretend nor conceal anything for the sake of buying or selling on better terms. Indeed, this offence of criminal fraud had been previously punished both by the laws, as in the case of guardianship, by the Twelve Tables, and in the defrauding of minors, by the Plaetorian law,2 and also, without express statute, by legal decisions in which the phrase “As good faith requires” is employed.1 In other decisions the following words hold a prominent place: — in the case of arbitration about a wife’s property, “The better, the more equitable;”2 in the case of trust-property, “Fair dealing between good men.”3 What then? Can there be any admixture of deceit in “The better, the more equitable?” Or when “Fair dealing between good men” is specified, can anything be done craftily or fraudulently? But, as Aquillius says, criminal fraud consists in misrepresentation. All falsehood, then, must be removed from contracts. The seller must not employ a sham purchaser, nor the buyer one to depreciate the article on sale by too low a bid. Let either party, if it comes to naming the price, say once for all what he will give or take. Quintus Scaevola, the son of Publius, when he asked to have the price of an estate that he was buying named once for all, and the seller had complied with his request, said that he thought it worth more, and added a hundred thousand sesterces.1 There is no one who would say that this was not the act of a good man; but men in general would not regard it as the act of a wise man, any more than if he had sold an estate for less than it would bring. This, then, is the mischievous doctrine, — regarding some men as good, others as wise, according to which notion Ennius writes that the wise man who cannot provide for his own advantage is wise in vain. I would readily account this saying true, if I were agreed with Ennius as to what one’s advantage is. I see, indeed, that Hecato of Rhodes, a disciple of Panaetius, says, in the books on Duties which he dedicated to Quintus Tubero: “It is a wise man’s duty, while he does nothing contrary to morals, laws, and customs, to have regard to his private fortune. For we desire to be rich, not for ourselves alone, but for children, kindred, friends, and most of all for the state, — considering that the means and resources of individual citizens are the wealth of the state.” The act of Scaevola just named cannot, then, be in any way pleasing to Hecato. Nor is any great praise or favor to be rendered to a man who merely says that he will not do for his own benefit what is unlawful. But if pretence and concealment constitute criminal fraud, there are very few transactions entirely free from criminal fraud; or if he is a good man who does good to those to whom he can and injures no one, of a certainty we shall not easily find that good man. We conclude, then, that it is never expedient to do wrong, because wrong-doing is always disgraceful; and because to be a good man is always right, it is always expedient.

16. As to landed property, the law of the state enacts that defects known to the seller must be made known in selling it; and while by the law of the Twelve Tables it was enough for such things as were guaranteed to be made good, and for the seller who made false statements with regard to them to pay double damages, the jurisconsults have determined that the legal penalty applies also to reticence.1 Their doctrine is, that whatever defect there may be in an estate, if the seller knows it, he is bound to make it good. Thus when the augurs were going to take an augury on the Capitol,2 and had ordered Tiberius Claudius Centumalus, who had a house on the Coelian hill, to pull down those parts of it which were so high as to obstruct their view of the heavens, Claudius advertised the detached house, and sold it. The purchaser was Publius Calpurnius Lanarius. The same notice was given to him by the augurs. So when Calpurnius had complied with the order, and had ascertained that Claudius advertised the house for sale after being notified of the decree of the augurs, he procured the appearance of Claudius before a legally appointed arbitrator, suing him for damages for his breach of good faith. Marcus Cato pronounced the decision, the father of my friend Cato — for as other men are named from their fathers, so is the father of that illustrious man to be named from his son — he, I say, as judge, pronounced the decision: “Forasmuch as the seller knew of that decree when he sold the house, and did not make it known, the damage ought to be made good to the buyer.” He thus decided that in good faith a defect known by the seller ought to be known by the buyer. If this was a right decision, then neither that corn-merchant, nor the seller of the unhealthy house, had a right to keep silence. But all such cases of reticence cannot be comprised in the law of the land, though those which can be so comprised are carefully repressed. Marcus Marius Gratidianus, my kinsman, had sold to Caius Sergius Orata the house which he had bought from that same Orata a few years before. The estate was subject to certain rights of way, which Marius had omitted to name in the contract of sale. The case was brought into court. Crassus was advocate for Orata, Antonius for Gratidianus. Crassus laid stress on the law that any defect known by the seller and not mentioned ought to be made good. Antonius rested his plea on the equity of the case, that inasmuch as the defect was not unknown to Sergius, who had previously sold the house, there was no need of its being specified, nor had the purchaser been imposed upon, since he knew perfectly well to what the estate purchased was liable. To what purpose do I name these things? That you may understand that our ancestors did not approve of chicanery.1

17. But the laws remove chicanery in one way, philosophers in another, — the laws, so far as they can lay hold on overt acts; philosophers, so far as they can reach such cases by reason and understanding. Reason, then, demands that nothing be done ensnaringly, nothing under false pretence, nothing deceitfully. Yet is it not ensnaring to spread nets, even if you do not start and hunt your victims? For beasts themselves often fall into nets without being pursued. Is it not thus that you advertise a house, — put up a notice of sale as a net; sell the house on account of its defects; and some unwary person runs into the net? Yet such is the degenerate state of feeling, that I find this neither accounted as morally wrong, nor yet forbidden by statute or by the civil law, though it is forbidden by the law of nature. For there is — though I have often said it, there is need of its being said still oftener — a fellowship of men with men, which has, indeed, the broadest possible extent; a more intimate union, of those who belong to the same race; one closer still, of those who belong to the same state. Therefore our ancestors recognized a distinction between the law of nations and the law of the state. What is the law of the state is not necessarily also the law of nations; but whatever is the law of nations ought also to be the law of the state. But of true law and genuine justice we have no real and lifelike representation; their shadow and semblances alone are ours. Yet would that we might follow even these! For they are drawn from excellent models presented by nature and truth. How precious are these words: “That I be not taken in and defrauded through you or on account of my confidence in you!” What a golden formula is this: “As ought to be done between good men, fairly and without fraud!”1 But the great question is, Who are the “good men,” and what is it to be “fairly done”? Quintus Scaevola, the head of the pontifical college, said that there was the greatest force in all decisions to which the phrase “in good faith” was annexed, and he thought that as the term “good faith” had the broadest application as employed in guardianships, partnerships, trusts, commissions, purchases, sales, hiring, leases, which make up the whole system of social transactions, it required a judge of superior capacity to determine — especially as there are often cross-suits — what each party is bound to render, and to whom, in the satisfaction of just claims.

There should, then, be an end of chicanery and of that cunning which means indeed to pass for prudence, but is an entirely different thing and at the widest distance from it; for prudence has its proper place in the choice between good and evil, while cunning — if whatever is immoral is evil — prefers evil things to good.
Nor is it only with reference to landed estate that the civil law, derived from nature, punishes cunning and fraud; but in the sale of slaves also all fraud on the part of the seller is prohibited. By the edict of the aediles,1 the seller who may rightly be supposed to know about the health, the truant habits, the dishonesty of the slave, is bound to guarantee the purchaser against damage. The case of persons who sell slaves that have recently come to them by inheritance is different.2 From these instances it is clear, since nature is the fountain of law, that it is in accordance with nature that no one should act so as to prey upon another’s ignorance. Nor can there be found any greater source of mischief to human society than the false show of intelligence in the practice of cunning. Hence spring those countless cases in which expediency seems to be in conflict with the right. For how few will be found who, if impunity and absolute secrecy were offered, could refrain from wrong-doing!

18. Let us, if you please, try the principle that I have laid down, with reference to cases in which the generality of mankind do not think that any wrong is committed. For I am not going to speak here of assassins, poisoners, forgers of wills, thieves, peculators, who are to be repressed, not by words and philosophical discussion, but by chains and imprisonment. Let us consider the things that are done by those who are accounted as good men. Certain persons brought from Greece to Rome a forged will of Lucius Minucius Basilus, a rich man. That they might more easily maintain its validity, they made joint-heirs with themselves Marcus Crassus and Quintus Hortensius, the most influential men of that time, who, while they suspected the forgery, yet being conscious of no guilt of their own in the case, did not spurn the paltry present that came to them through the crime of others. What then? Is their freedom from the positive offence of forgery sufficient for their acquittal? I think not, though I loved one of them while he lived,1 and am not an enemy of the other now that he is dead.1 But when Basilus meant that his sister’s son, Marcus Satrius, should take his name, and had made him his heir, — I mean this patron of the Picene and Sabine territory, to the disgrace of our time,2 — was it right that those distinguished citizens should have the property, and that nothing save the name should descend to Satrius? Forsooth, if he who does not, when he can, ward off or repel wrong is guilty of injustice (as I showed in the First Book), what is to be thought of him who, so far from repelling, abets the wrong? To me, indeed, genuine inheritances do not seem right, if sought by knavish blandishments, — by attentions rendered not from sincere but simulated kindness.3 In such affairs, one thing sometimes appears expedient, another right. But it is a deceptive appearance; for the standard of expediency is the same as that of right. He who does not clearly see this is capable of any kind of fraud, of any crime. For he who thinks, “That is indeed right, but this is expedient,” will dare in his ignorance to divorce things united by nature, — a state of feeling which is the source of all frauds, wrongs, crimes.

19. Therefore, if a good man could by snapping his fingers make his name creep surreptitiously into rich men’s wills, he would not use this power, no, not even though he were absolutely certain that no one would ever have the least suspicion of it. But had you given this power to Marcus Crassus, that by snapping his fingers he could get his name inserted in a will though he were not really the heir, I warrant you he would have danced in the forum. A just man, however, and one whom we feel to be a good man, will take nothing from any one to transfer it to himself. Let him who marvels at this confess that he knows not what a good man is. But if one would only develop the idea of a good man wrapped up in his own mind, he would then at once tell himself that he is a good man who benefits all that he can, and does harm to no one unless provoked by injury.1 What then? Must not he do harm, who, as if by enchantment, displaces the true heirs, to put himself in their stead? “Is he not, then,” some one may say, “to do what is serviceable, what is expedient?” Yes, but let him understand that nothing unjust can be either expedient or serviceable. He who has not learned this cannot be a good man. In my boyhood I heard from my father that Fimbria, who had been consul, was appointed judge in the case of Marcus Lutatius Pinthias, a Roman knight, not otherwise than respectable, who had laid a wager, to be forfeited if he did not prove himself to be a good man. Fimbria said that he would never act as judge in the case, lest, if he decided against Pinthias, he might deprive a worthy man of his reputation, or if he decided in his favor, he might seem to have pronounced some ordinary person to be a good man, while such a character was made up of innumerable duties and merits. To a good man, then, even in the conception of Fimbria, not to say of Socrates,1 nothing can by any possibility seem expedient that is not right. Therefore such a man will not dare, not only to do, but even to think anything which he may not venture to proclaim publicly. Is it not shameful that philosophers should be in doubt about these matters as to which even peasants have no doubt? From the peasants sprang the old saying that has become proverbial. When they commend any one’s honesty and goodness, they say that you might trust him to play odd and even2 with you in the dark. What does this mean, unless that what is unbecoming is not expedient, even if you could obtain it without any one being able to prove it against you? Do you not see that according to this proverb there could be no apology either for that Gyges of whom I have spoken, or for this man whom I just now supposed by way of illustration, who by snapping his fingers could convert the inheritances of a whole community to his own use? For as what is immoral, though concealed, cannot be in any way made right, so it cannot be brought about that, in spite of the opposition and repugnancy of nature, what is not right should in any case be expedient.

20. Yet it may be said that when the gain is very great, there is justifying cause for wrong-doing. When Caius Marius had no near prospect of the consulship, and still remained in obscurity the seventh year after he had been praetor, nor gave any token that he was ever going to offer himself as a candidate for the consulship, having been sent to Rome by his commander Quintus Metellus, a man and citizen of the highest eminence, whose lieutenant he was, he charged Metellus before the Roman people with needlessly protracting the war, intimating that if they had made him consul, he would in a short time have given Jugurtha either living or dead into the power of the Roman people. And so he was indeed made consul; but in bringing into odium by a false accusation a citizen of the highest worth and eminence, whose lieutenant he was1 and by whom he had been sent home, he made a wide departure from good faith and honesty. My kinsman Gratidianus2 did not play the part of a good man on the occasion when he was praetor, and the tribunes of the people had called into counsel the college of praetors, that the currency might have its standard fixed by a joint resolution; for the value of money was then so fluctuating that no one could know how much or how little property he had. The tribunes and praetors jointly framed a decree, specifying the penalty and the judicial proceedings for its violation, and agreed to mount the rostrum together in the afternoon. The others went their several ways; while Marius from the seats of the tribunes directly mounted the rostrum, and alone announced the decree which had resulted from their combined action. This affair, if you want to know, brought him great popularity. Statues were erected in his honor in all the streets; incense and wax tapers were burned before them. To cut the story short, no man was ever more cherished by the multitude. These are the cases which sometimes perplex one in the discussion, — cases where the matter in which honesty is transgressed is not so very great, while that which is obtained by means of it is of the very highest value; as, for Marius, it was not so irredeemably shameful to forestall the popular favor from his colleagues and the tribunes of the people, while by this means to become consul, the end which he then had in view,1 seemed in the highest degree desirable. But there is one rule for all cases, which I would have profoundly impressed on your mind, — either that what seems expedient must not be wrong, or if it be wrong, that it must not seem to be expedient. Can we deem either that Marius or this a good man? Unfold and examine2 your own consciousness, that you may see what within it is the aspect, shape, and conception of a good man. Does it fall in with the character of a good man to lie, to slander, to forestall, to deceive? Nothing certainly can be less in harmony with it. Is there, then, any object of so much value, or any advantage so worthy of your quest, that you should forfeit for it the glory and reputation of a good man? What is there that so-called expediency can bring to you of equal worth with what it takes from you, if it robs you of the reputation of a good man, and deprives you of truth and honesty? For what difference does it make, whether one turns himself from a man into a beast, or in the form of a man carries the moral obduracy of a beast?

21. What? Do not those who violate all that is right and virtuous if they can only obtain power, do the same thing with him who chose to have even for a father-in-law the man by whose audacity he himself might become powerful?1 It seemed expedient to him to avail himself of the other’s unpopularity for his own great advancement. He did not perceive how unjust this was to the country, how base, and how harmful. The father-in-law himself had always on his lips the Greek verses from the Phoenissae, which I will render as I can, awkwardly it may be, but still so as to be intelligible: —

“Transcend the right in quest of power alone;
In all things else hold fast the bond of kindred.”
It was criminal in Eteocles,2 or rather in Euripides, to except that one thing which was the most wicked of all. Why, then, do we gather up crimes on a small scale, fraudulent heirships, bargains, sales? Here you have a man who desired to be king of the Roman people, and who accomplished his purpose. Whoever says that this desire was right, is mad; for he approves of the destruction of laws and of liberty, and deems their foul and detestable suppression gl