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      I HAVE just seen my former school-mate Claranus for the first time in many years.  You need not wait for me to add that he is an old man; but I assure you that I found him hale in spirit and sturdy, although he is wresthng with a frail and feeble body.  For Nature acted unfairly when she gave him a poor domicile for so rare a soul; or perhaps it was because she wished to prove to us that an absolutely strong and happy mind can lie hidden under any exterior.  Be that as it may, Claranus overcomes all these hindrances, and by despising his own body has arrived at a stage where he can despise other things also.  The poet who sang

Worth shows more pleasing in a form that's fair,/a

me to breed certain men of this stamp with the idea of proving that virtue springs into birth in any place whatever.  Had it been possible for her to produce souls by themselves and naked, she would have done so; as it is, Nature does a still greater thing, for she produces certain men who, though hampered in their bodies, none the less break through the obstruction. I think Claranus has been produced as a pattern, that we might be enabled to understand that the soul is not disfigured by the ugliness of the body, but rather the opposite, that the body is beautified by the comeliness of the soul.
      Now, though Claranus and I have spent very few days together, we have nevertheless had many conversations, which I will at once pour forth and pass on to you.  The first day we investigated this problem: how can goods be equal if they are of three kinds?/a For certain of them, according to our philosophical tenets, are primary, such as joy, peace, and the welfare of one's country.  Others are of the second order, moulded in an unhappy material, such as the endurance of suffering, and self-control during severe illness.  We shall pray outright for the goods of the first class; for the second class we shall pray only if the need shall arise.  There is still a third variety. as, for example, a modest gait, a calm and honest countenance, and a bearing that suits the man of wisdom.  Now how can these things be equal when we compare them, if you grant that we ought to pray for the one and avoid the other?  If we would make distinetions among them, we had better return to the First Good, and consider what its nature is: the soul that gazes upon truth, that is skilled in what should be sought and what should
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be avoided, establishing standards of value not according to opinion, but according to nature,-the soul that penetrates the whole world and directs its contemplating gaze upon all its Phenomena, paying strict attention to thoughts and actions, equally great and forceful, superior alike to hardships and blandishments, yielding itself to neither extreme of fortune, rising above all blessings and tribulations, absolutely beautiful, perfectly equipped with grace as well as with strength, healthy and sinewy,/a unruffled, undismayed, one which no violence can shatter, one which acts of chance can neither exalt nor depress, - a soul like this is virtue itself.  There you have its outward appearance, if it should ever come under a single view and show itself once in all its completeness.  But there are many aspects of it.  They unfold themselves according as life varies and as actions differ; but virtue itself does not become less or greater./b For the Supreme Good cannot diminish, nor may virtue retrograde; rat|her is it transformed, now into one quality and now into another, shaping itself according to the part which it is to play.  Whatever it has touched it brings into likeness with itself, and dyes with its own colour, It adorns our actions, our friendships, and sometimes entire households which it has entered and set in order. Whatever it has handled it forthwith makes lovable, notable, admirable.
      Therefore the power and the greatness of virtue cannot rise to greater heights, because increase is denied to that which is superlatively great.  You will find nothing straighter than the straight, nothing truer than the truth, and nothing more temperate than that which is temperate.  Every virtue is
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limitless; for limits depend upon definite measurements.  Constancy cannot advance further, any more than fidelity, or truthfulness, or loyalty.  What can be added to that which is perfect?  Nothin; otherwise that was not perfect to which something has been added.  Nor can anything be added to virtue, either, for if anything can be added thereto, it must have contained a defect.  Honour+, also, permits of no addition; for it is honourable because of the very qualities which I have mentioned./a What then?  Do you think that propriety, justice, lawfulness, do not also helong to the same type, and that they are kept within fixed limits?  The ability to increase is proof that a thing is still imperfect.
      The good, in every instance, is subject to these same laws.  The advantage of the state and that of the individual are yoked together; indeed it is as impossible to separate them as to separate the commendable from the desirable.  Therefore, virtues are mutually equal; and so are the works of virtue, and all men who are so fortunate as to possess these virtues.  But, since the virtues of plants and of animals are perishable, they are also frail and fleeting and uncertain.  They spring up, and they sink down again, and for this reason they are not rated at the same value; but to human virtues only one rule applies.  For right reason is single and of but one kind.  Nothing is more divine than the divine, or more heavenly than the heavenly.  Mortal things decay, fall, are worn out, grow up, are exhausted, and replenished.  Hence, in their case, in view of the uncertainty of their lot, there is inequality; but of things divine the nature is one.  Reason, however, is nothindg else than a portion of the divine spirit set
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in a human body./a If reason is divine, and the good in no case lacks reason, then the good in every case is divine.  And furthermore, there is no distinction between things divine; hence there is none between goods, either.  Therefore it follows that joy and a brave unyielding endu both there is the same greatness of soul relaxed and cheerful in the one case, in the other combative and braced for action.  What?  Do you not think that the virtue of him who bravely storms the enemy's stronghold is equal to that of him who endures a siege with the utmost patience+?  Great is Scipio when he invests Numantia,/b and constrains and compels the hands of an enemy, whom he could not conquer, to resort to their own destruction.  Great also are the souls of the defenders -men who know that, as long as the path to death lies open, the blockade is not complete, men who breathe their last in the arms of liberty.  In like manner, the other virtues are also equal as compared with one another: tranquillity,simplicity+, generosity+, constancy+, equanimity, endurance.  For underlying them all is a single virtue - that which renders the soul straight and unswerving.
     "What then," you say; "is there no difference between joy and unyielding endurance of pain?" None at all, as regards the virtues themselves; very great, however, in the circumstances in which either of these two virtues is displayed.  In the one case, there is a natural relaxation and loosening of the soul; in the other there is an unnatural pain.  Hence these circumstances, between which a great distinction can be drawn, belong to the category of indifferent things,/c but the virtue shown in each case is equal.  Virtue is not changed by the matter with
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which it deals; if the matter is hard and stubborn, it does not make the virtue worse; if pleasant and joyous, it does not make it better.  Therefore, virtue necessarily remains equall.  For, in each case, what is done is done with equal uprightness, with equal wisdom, and with equal honour+.  Hence the states of goodness involved are equal, and it is impossible for a man to transcend these states of goodness by conducting himself better, either the one man in his joy, or the other amid his suffering.  And two goods, neither of which can possibly be better, are equal.  For if things which are extrinsic to virtue can either diminish or increase virtue, then that which is honourable/c {honestum+} ceases to be the only good.  If you grant this, honour has wholly perished.  And why?  Let me tell you: it is because no act is honourable that is done by an unwilling agent, that is compulsory. Every honourable act is voluntary.  Alloy it with reluctance, complaints, cowardice, or fear, and it loses its best characteristic - self-approval. That which is not free cannot be honourable; for fear means slavery+.  The honourable is wholly free from anxiety and is calm; if it ever objects, laments, or regards anything as an evil, it becomes subject to disturbance and begins to flounder about amid great confusion.  For on one side the semblance of right calls to it, on the other the suspicion of evil drags it back, therefore, when a man is about to do something honourable, he should not regard any obstacles as evils, even though he regard them as inconvenient, but he should will to do the deed, and do it willingly.  For every honourable act is done without commands or compulsion; it is unalloyed and contains no admixture of evil.
      I know what you may reply to me at this point:
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"Are you trying to make us believe that it does not matter whether a man feels joy, or whether he lies upon the rack and tires out his torturer?" I might say in answer:  "Epicurus also maintains that the wise man, though he is being burned in the bull of Phalaris,a will cry out: 'Tis pleasant, and concerns me not at all.'" Why need you wonder, if I maintain that he who reclines at a banquet and the victim who stoutly withstands torture possess equal goods, when Epicurus maintains a thing that is harder to believe, namely, that it is pleasant to be roasted in this way?  But the reply which I do make, is that there is great difference between joy and pain; if I am asked to choose, I shall seek the former and avoid the latter. The former is according to nature, the latter contrary to it.  So long as they are rated by this standard, there is a great gulf between; but when it comes to a question of the virtue involved, the virtue in each case is the same, whether it comes through joy or through sorrow.  Vexation and pain and other inconveniences are of no consequence, for they are overcome by virtue.  Just as the brightness of the sun dims all lesser lights, so virtue, by its own greatness, shatters and overwhelms all pains, annoyances, and wrongs; and wherever its radiance reaches, all lights which shine without the help of virtue are extinguished; and inconveniences, when they come in contact with virtue, play no more important a part than does a storm-cloud at sea.
      This can be proved to you by the fact that the good man will hasten unhesitatingly to any noble deed; even though he be confronted by the hangman, the torturer, and the stake, he will persist, regarding not what be must suffer, but what he must do; and
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he will entrust himself as readily to an honourable deed as he would to a good man; he will consider it advantageous to himself, safe, propitious. And he will hold the same view concerning an honourable deed, even though it be fraught with sorrow and hardship, as concerning a good man who is poor or wasting away in exile.  Come now, contrast a good man who is rolling in wealth with a man who has nothing, except that in himself he has all things; they will be equally good, though they experience unequal fortune. This same standard, as I have remarked, is to be applied to things as well as to men; virtue is just as praiseworthy if it dwells in a sound and free body, as in one which is sickly or in bondage.  Therefore, as regards your own virtue also, you will not praise it any more, if fortune has favoured it by granting you a sound body, than if fortune has endowed you with a body that is crippled in some member, since that would mean rating a master low because he is dressed like a slave.  For all those things over which Chance holds sway are chattels, money, person, position; they are weak, shifting, prone to perish, and of uncertain tenure.  On the other hand, the works of virtue are free and unsubdued, neither more worthy to be sought when fortune treats them kindly, nor less worthy when any adversity weighs upon them.
      Now friendship+ in the case of men corresponds to desirability in the case of things.  You would not, I fancy, love a good man if he were rich any more than if he were poor, nor would you love a strong and muscular person more than one who was slender and of delicate constitution.  Accordingly, neither will you seek or love a good thing that is mirthful and tranquil more than one that is full of perplexity
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and ton.  Or, if you do this, you in the case of two equally good men, care more for him who is neat and well-groomed than for him who is dirty and unkempt, You would next go so far as to care more for a good man who is sound in all his limbs and without blemish, than for one who is weak or purblind; and gradually your fastidiousness would reach such a point that, of two equally just and prudent men, you would choose him who has long curling hair!  Whenever the virtue in each one is equal, the inequality in their other attributes is not apparent.  For all other things are not parts, but merely accessories.  Would any man judge his children so unfairly as to care more for a healthy son than for one who was sickly, or for a tall child of unusual stature more than for one who was short or of middling height?  Wild beasts show no favouritism among their offspring; they lie down in order to suckle all alike; birds make fair distribution of their food.  Ulysses hastens back to the rocks of his Ithaca as eagerly as Agamemnon speeds to the kingly walls of Mycenae.  For no man loves his native land because it is great; he loves it because it is his own."
      And what is the purpose of all this? That you may know that virtue regards all her works in the same light, as if they were her children, showing equal kindness to all, and still deeper kindness to those which encounter hardships; for even parents lean with more affection towards those of their offspring for whom they feel pity.  Virtue, too, does not necessarily love more deeply those of her works which she beholds in trouble and under heavy burdens, but, like good parents, she gives them more of ber fostering care.
      Why is no good greater than any other good?
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It is because nothing can be more fitting than that which is fitting, and nothing more level than that which is level.  You cannot say that one thing is more equal to a given object than another thing; hence also nothing is more honourable than that which is honourable.  Accordingly, if all the virtues are by nature equal, the three varietie/a of goods are equal.  This is what I mean: there is an equality between feeling joy with self- control and suffering pain with self-control.  The joy in the one case does not surpass in the other the steadfastness of soul that gulps down the groan when the victim is in the clutches of the torturer; goods of the first kind are desirable, while those of the second are worthy of admiration; and in each case they are none the less equal, because whatever inconvenience attaches to the latter is compensated by the qualities of the good, which is so much greater.  Any man who believes them to be unequal is turning away from the virtues themselves and is surveying mere externals; true goods have the same weight and the same width./b The spurious sort contain much emptiness; hence, when they are weighed in the balance, they are found wanting, although they look imposing and grand to the gaze.
      Yes, my dear Lucilius, the good which true reason+ approves is solid and everlasting; it strengthens the spirit and exalts it, so that it will always be on the heights; but those things which are thoughtlessly praised, and are goods in the opinion of the mob merely puff us up with empty joy.  And again, those things which are feared as if they were evils merely inspire trepidation in men's minds, for the mind is disturbed by the semblance of danger, just as animals are disturbed. Hence it is without
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reason that both these things distract and sting the spirit; the one is not worthy of joy, nor the other of fear.  It is reason alone that is unchangeable, that holds fast to its decisions.  For reason is not a slave to the senses, but a ruler over them.  Reason is equal to reason, as one straight line to another; therefore virtue also is equal to virtue.  Virtue+ is nothing else than right reason.  All virtues are reasons.  Reasons are reasons, if they are right reasons.  If they are right, they are also equal. As reason is, so also are actions; therefore all actions are equal.  For since they resemble reason, they also resemble each other.  Moreover, I hold that actions are equal to each other in so far as they are honourable and right actions.  There will be, of course, great differences according as the material varies, as it becomes now broader and now narrower, now glorious and now base, now manifold in scope and now limited.  However, that which is best in all these cases is equa]; they are all honourable. In the same way, all good men, in so far as they are good, are equal.  There are, indeed, differences of age, one is older, another younger; of body, - one is comely, another is ugly; of fortune, - this man is rich, that man poor, this one is influential, powerful, and well-known to cities and peoples, that man is unknown to most, and is obscure.  But all, in respect of that wherein they are good, are equal.  The senses/a do not decide upon things good and evil; they do not know what is useful and what is not useful. They cannot record their opinion unless they are brought face to face with a fact; they can neither see into the future nor recollect the past; and they do not know what results from what.  But it is from such knowledge that a sequence and
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succession of actions is woven, and a unity of life is created, - a unity which will proceed in a straight course.  Reason, therefore, is the judge of good and evil; that which is foreign and external she regards as dross, and that which is neither good nor evil she judges as merely accessory, insignificant and trivial.  For all her good resides in the soul.
      But there are certain goods which reason regards as primary, to which she addresses herself purposely; these are, for example, victory, good children, and the welfare of one's country.{goods_primary+} Certain others she regards as secondary; these become manifest only in adversity, - for example, equanimity in enduring severe illness or exile.  Certain goods are indifferent; these are no more according to nature than contrary to nature, as, for example, a discreet gait and a sedate posture in a chair.  For sitting is an act that is not less according to nature than standing or walking.  The two kinds of goods which are of a higher order are different; the primary are according to nature, - such as deriving joy from the dutiful behaviour of one's children and from the well-being of one's country.  The secondary are contrary to nature, - such as fortitude in resisting torture or in enduring thirst when illness makes the vitals feverish.  "What then," you say; "can anything that is contrary to nature be a good?" Of course not; but that in which this good takes its rise is sometimes contrary to nature.  For being wounded, wasting away over a fire, being afflicted with had health, - such things are contrary to nature; but it is in accordance with nature for a man to preserve an indomitable soul amid such distresses.  To explain my thought briefly, the material with which a good is concerned is sometimes contrary to nature,
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even though death has permitted the one to proceed farther along the pathway of life, has cut off the life of the second in his flower, and has broken off the life of the third at its very beginning.  Some get their release at the dinner-table.  Others extend their sleep into the sleep of death.  Some are blotted out during dissipation.  Now contrast with these persons individuals who have been pierced by the sword, or bitten to death by snakes, or crushed in ruins, or tortured piecemeal out of existence by the prolonged twisting of their sinews.  Some of these departures may be regarded as better, some as worse; but the act of dying is equal in all.  The methods of ending life are different; but the end is one and the same.  Death has no degrees of greater or less; for it has the same limit in all instances, - the finishing of life.
      The same thing holds true, I assure you, concerning goods; you will find one amid circumstances of pure pleasure, another amid sorrow and bitterness.  The one controls the favours of fortune; the other overcomes her onslaughts.  Each is equally a good, although the one travels a level and easy road, and the other a rough road.  And the end of them all is the same - they are goods, they are worthy of praise, they accompany virtue and reason.  Virtue makes all the things that it acknowledges equal to one another.  You need not wonder that this is one of our principles; we find mentioned in the works of Epicurus/a two goods, of which his Supreme Good, or blessedness, is composed, namely, a body free from pain and a soul free from disturbance.  These goods, if they are complete, do not increase; for how can that which is complete increase?  The body is, let us suppose, free from pain; what increase can there be to this
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absence of pain?  The soul is composed and calm; what increase can there be to this tranquillity?  Just as fair meather, purified into the purest brilliancy, does not adinit of a still greater degree of clearness; so, when a man takes care of his body and of his soul, weaving the texture of his good from both, his condition is perfect, and he has found the consummation of his prayers, if there is no commotion in his soul or pain in his body. Whatever delights fall to his lot over and above these two things do not increase his Supreme Good; they merely season it, so to speak, and add spice to it.  For the absolute good of man's nature is satisfied with peace in the body and peace in the soul.  I can show you at this moment in the writings of Epicurus/a a graded list of goods just like that of our own school.  For there are some things, he declares, which he prefers should fall to his lot, such as bodily rest free from all inconvenience, and relaxation of the soul as it takes delight in the contemplation of its own goods. And there are other things which, though he would prefer that they did not happen, he nevertheless praises and approves, for example, the kind of resignation, in times of ill-health and serious suffering, to which I alluded a moment ago, and which Epicurus displayed on that last and most blessed day of his life.  For he tells us/b that he had to endure excruciating agony from a diseased bladder and from an ulcerated stomach, so acute that it permitted no increase of pain; "and yet," he says, "that day was none the less happy." And no man can spend such a day in happiness unless he possesses the Supreme Good.
      We therefore find mentioned, even by Epicurus,/c those goods which one would prefer not to experience; which, however, because circumstances have decided
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thus, must be welcomed and approved and placed on a level with the highest goods.  We cannot say that the good which has rounded out/a a happy life, the good for which Epicurus rendered thanks in the last words he uttered, is not equal to the greatest.  Allow me, excellent Lucilius, to utter a still bolder word: if any goods could be greater than others, I should prefer those which seem harsh to those which are mild and alluring, and should pronounce them greater.  For it is more of an accomplishment to break one's way through difficulties than to keep joy within bounds.  It requires the same use of reason, I am fully aware, for a man to endure prosperity well and also to endure misfortune bravely.  What man may be just as brave who sleeps in front of the ramparts without fear of danger when no enemy attacks the camp, as the man who, when the tendons of his legs have been severed, holds himself up on his knees and does not let fall his weapons; but it is to the blood-stained soldier returning from the front that men cry:  "Well done, thou hero!"/b And therefore I should bestow greater praise upon those goods that have stood trial and show courage, and have fought it out with fortune.  Should I hesitate whether to give greater praise to the maimed and shrivelled hand of Mucius/c than to the uninjured hand of the bravest man in the world?  There stood Mucius, despising the enemy and despising the fire, and watched his hand as it dripped blood over the fire on his enemy's altar, until Porsenna, envying the fame of the hero whose punisbment he was advocating, ordered the fire to be removed against the will of the victim.
      Why should I not reckon this good among the primary goods, and deem it in so far greater than
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those other goods which are unattended by danger and have made no trial of fortune, as it is a rarer thing to have overcome a foe with a hand lost than with a hand armed?  "What then?  " you say; "shall you desire this good for yourself?" Of course I shall.  For this is a thing that a man cannot achieve unless he can also desire it.  Should I desire, instead, to be allowed to stretch out my limbs for my slaves to massage,/a or to have a woman, or a man changed into the likeness of a woman, pull my finger-joints?  I cannot help believing that Mucius was all the more lucky because he manipulated the flames as calmly as if he were holding out his hand to the manipulator. He had wiped out all his previous mistakes; he finished the war unarmed and maimed; and with that stump of a hand he conquered two kings./b Farewell.
 
 

      If I may begin with a commonplace remark,/c spring is gradually diselosing itself; but though it is rounding into summer, when you would expect hot weather, it has kept rather ceool, and one cannot yet be sure of it.  For it often slides back into winter weather.  Do you wish to know how uncertain it still is?  I do not yet trust myself to a bath which is absolutely cold; even at this time I break its chill.  You may say that this is no way to show the endnrance either of heat or of cold; very true, dear Lucilius, but at my time of life one is at length contented with the natural chill of the body.  I can scarcely thaw out in
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the middle of summer.  Accordingly, I spend most of the time bundled up; and I thank old age for keeping me fastened to my bed./a Why should I not thank old age on this account?  That which I ought not to wish to do, I lack the ability to do.  Most of my converse is with books.  Whenever your letters arrive, I imagine that I am with you, and I have the feeling that I am about to speak my answer, instead of writing it.  Therefore let us together investigate the nature of this problem of yours, just as if we were conversing with one another./b You ask me whether every good is desirable.  You say:  "If it is a good to be brave under torture, to go to the stake with a stout heart, to endure illness with resignation, it follows that these things are desirable.  But I do not see that any of them is worth praying for.  At any rate I have as yet known of no man who has paid a vow by reason of having been cut to pieces by the rod, or twisted out of shape by the gout, or made taller by the rack." My dear Lucilius, you must distinguish between these cases; you will then comprehend that there is something in them that is to be desired.  I should prefer to be free from torture; but if the time comes when it must be endured, I shall desire that I may conduct myself therein with bravery, honour, and courage.  Of course I prefer that war should not occur; but if war does occur, I shall desire that I may nobly endure the wounds, the starvation, and all that the exigency of war brings.  Nor am I so mad as to crave illness; but if I must suffer illness, I shall desire that I may do nothing which shows lack of restraint, and nothing that is unmanly.  The conclusion is, not that hardships are desirable, but that virtue is desirable, which enables us patiently to endure bardships.
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      Certain of our school,/a think that, of all such qualities, a stout endurance is not desirable, - though not to be deprecated either - because we ought to seek by prayer only the good which is unalloyed, peaceful, and beyond the reach of trouble.  Personally, I do not agree with them.  And why?  First, because it is impossible for anything to be good without being also desirable.  Because, again, if virtue is desirable, and if nothitig that is good lacks virtue, then everything good is desirable.  And, lastly, because a brave endurance even under torture is desirable.  At this point I ask you: is not bravery desirable?  And yet bravery despises and challenges danger.  The most beautiful and most admirable part of bravery is that it does not shrink from the stake, advances to meet wounds, and sometimes does not even avoid the spear, but meets it with opposing breast.  If bravery is desirable, so is patient endurance of torture; for this is a part of bravery.  Only sift these things, as I have suggested; then there will be nothing which can lead you astray.  For it is not mere endurance of torture, but brave endurance, that is desirable. I therefore desire that "brave" endurance; and this is virtue.
  "    "But," you say, "who ever desired such a thing for himself?" Some prayers are open and outspoken, when the requests are offered specifically; other prayers are indirectly expressed, when they include many requests under one title.  For example, I desire a life of honour.  Now a life of honour includes various kinds of conduct; it may include the chest in which Regulus was confined, or the wound of Cato which was torn open by Cato's own hand, or the exile of Rutilius,/b or the cup of poison which removed Socrates from gaol to heaven.  Accordingly, in praying for a life of
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honour, I have prayed also for those things without which, on some occasions, life cannot be honourable

O thrice and four times blest were they
Who underneath the lofty walls of Troy
Met bappy death before their parents' eyes!/a

      desirable which come to us amid pleasure and ease, and which we bedecl, our doors to welcome"?  There are certain goods whose features are forbidding.  There are certain prayers which are offered by a throng, not of men who rejoice, but of men who bow down reverently and worship.  Was it not in this fashion, think you, that Regulus prayed that he might reach Carthage?  Clothe yourself with a hero's courage, and withdraw for a little space from the opinions of the common man.  Form a proper conception of the image of virtue, a thing of exceeding beauty and grandeur; this image is not to be worshipped by us with incense or garlands, but with sweat and blood.  Behold Marcus Cato, laying upon that hallowed breast his unspotted hands, and tearing apart the wounds which had not gone deep enough to kill him!  Which, pray, shall you say to him:  "I hope all will be as you wish," and "I am grieved," or shall it be "Good fortune in your undertaking!"?
      In this connexion I think of our friend Demetrius, who calls an easy existence, untroubled by the attacks of Fortune, a "Dead Sea."/b If you have nothing to stir you up and rouse you to action, nothing which will test your resolution by its threats and hostilities; if you recline in unshaken comfort, it is not tranquillity; it is merely a flat calm.  The Stoic Attalus was wont to say:  "I should prefer that Fortune keep me in her camp rather than in the lap of luxury.  If I am tortured, but bear it bravely, all is well; if I die, but die bravely, it is also well." Listen to Epicurus; he will tell you that it is actually pleasant./c I myself shall never apply an effeminate+ word to an act so honourable and austere.  If I go
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c Cf.  Ep. lxvi. 18.
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to the stake, I shall go unbeaten.  Why should I not regard this as desirable -not because the fire, burns me, but because it does not overcome me?  Nothing is more excellent or more beautiful than virtue; whatever we do in obedience to her orders is both good and desirable.  Farewell.
 
 

      I fall in with your plan; retire and conceal yourself in repose.  But at the same time conceal your retirement also.  In doing this, you may be sure that you will be following the example of the Stoics, if not their precept.  But you will be acting according to their precept also; you will thus satisfy both yourself and any Stoic you please.  We Stoics a do not urge men to take up public life in every case, or at all times, or without any qualification.  Besides, when we have assigned to our wise man that field of public life which is worthy of him, - in other words, the universe, - he is then not apart from public life, even if he withdraws; nay, perhaps be has abandoned only one little corner thereof and has passed over into greater and wider regions; and when he has been set in the heavens, he understands how lowly was the place in which he sat when he mounted the curule chair or the judgment-seat.  Lay this to heart, that the wise man is never more active in affairs than when things divine as well as things human have come within his ken.
      I now return to the advice which I set out to give
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you, - that you keep your retirement in the background.  There is no need to fasten a placard upon yourself with the words:  "Philosopher and Quietist." Give your purpose some other name; call it ill-health and bodily weakness, or mere laziness.  To boast of our retirement is but idle self-seeking. Certain animals hide themselves from discovery by confusing the marks of their foot-prints in the neighbourhood of their lairs.  You should do the same.  Otherwise, there will always be someone dogging your footsteps.  Many men pass by that which is visible, and peer after things hidden and concealed; a locked room invites the thief.  Things which lie in the open appear cheap; the house- breaker passes by that which is exposed to view.  This is the way of the world, and the way of all ignorant men: they crave to burst in upon hidden things.  It is therefore best not to vaunt one's retirement. It is, however, a sort of vaunting to make too much of one's concealment and of one's withdrawal from the sight of men.  So-and-so/a has gone into his retreat at Tarentum; that other man has shut himself up at Naples; this third person. for many years has not crossed the threshold of his own house.  To advertise one's retirement is to collect a crowd.  When you withdraw from the world your business is to talk with yourself, not to have men talk about you.  But what shall you talk about?  Do just what people are fond of doing when they talk about their neighbours, - speak ill of yourself when by yourself; then you will become accustomed both to speak and to hear the truth. {self_criticism+} Above all, however, ponder that which you come to feel is your greatest weakness.  Each man knows best the defects of his own body.  And so one relieves his stomach by vomiting, another props it up by frequent eating,
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another drains and purges his body by periodic fasting.  Those whose feet are visited by pain abstain either from wine or from the bath.  In general, men who are careless in other respects go out of their way to relieve the disease which frequently afflicts them.  So it is with our souls; there are in them certain parts which are, so to speak, on the sick-list,/a and to these parts the cure must be applied.
      What, then, am I myself doing with my leisure?  I am trying to cure my own sores.  If I were to show you a swollen foot, or an inflamed hand, or some shrivelled sinews in a withered leg, you would permit me to lie quiet in one place and to apply lotions to the diseased member./b But my trouble is greater than any of these, and I cannot show it to you.  The abscess, or ulcer, is deep within my breast.  Pray, pray, do not commend me, do not say:  "What a great man!  He has learned to despise all things; condemning the madnesses of man's life, he has made his escape!" I have condemned nothing except myself. {humility+} There is no reason why you should desire to come to me for the sake of making progress.  You are mistaken if you think that you will get any assistance from this quarter; it is not a physician that dwells here, but a sick man. I would rather have you say, on leaving my presence:  "I used to think him a happy man and a learned one, and I had pricked up my ears to hear him; but I have been defrauded.  I have seen nothing, heard nothing which I craved and which I came back to hear." If you feel thus, and speak thus, some progress has been made.  I prefer you to pardon rather than envy my retirement.
      Then you say:  "Is it retirement, Seneca, that you are recommending to me?  You will soon be
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falling back upon the maxims of Epicurus!"/a I do recommend retirement to you, but only that you may use it for greater and more beautiful activities than those which you have resigned; to knock at the haughty doors of the influential, to make alphabetical lists of childless old men,/b to wield the highest authority in public life, - this kind of power exposes you to hatred, is short-lived, and, if you rate it at its true value, is tawdry. One man shall be far ahead of me as regards his influence in public life, another in salary as an army officer and in the position which results from this, another in the throng of his clients; but it is worth while to be outdone by all tlhese men, provided that I myself can outdo Fortune. And I am no match for her in the throng; she has the greater backing./c Would that in earlier days you had been minded to follow this purpose! Would that we were not discussing the happy life in plain view of death! But even now let us have no delay.  For now we can take the word of experience, which tells us that there are many superfluous and hostile things; for this we should long since have taken the word of reason.  Let us do what men are wont to do when they are late in setting forth, and wish to make up for lost time by increasing their speed - let us ply the spur.  Our time of life is the best possible for these pursuits; for the period of boiling and foaming is now past./d The faults that were uncontrolled in the first fierce heat of youth are now weakened, and but little further effort is needed to extinguish them.
  "    "And when," you ask, "will that profit you which you do not learn until your departure, and how will it profit you?" Precisely in this way, that I shall depart a better man.  You need not think,
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d Cf.  De Ira, ii. 20 ut nimius ille fervor despumet.
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however, that any time of life is more fitted to the attainment of a sound mind than that which has gained the victory over itself by many trials and by long and oft-repeateted regret for past mistakes, and, its passions assuaged, has reached a state of health. {self_criticism+} This is indeed the time to have acquired this good; he who has attained wisdom in his old age, has attained it by his years.  Farewell.
 
 

I do not like you to change your headquarters and scurry about from one place to another.  My reasons are, - first, that such frequent flitting means an unsteady spirit.  And the spirit cannot through retirement grow into unity unless it has ceased from its inquisitiveness and its wanderings. To be able to hold your spirit in check, you must first stop the runaway flight of the body.  My second reason is, that the remedies which are most helpful are those which are not interrupted./a You should not allow your quiet, or the oblivion to which you have consigned your former life, to be broken into.  Give your eyes time to unlearn what they have seen, and your ears to grow accustomed to more wholesome words.  Whenever you stir abroad you will meet,, even as you pass from one place to another, things that will bring back your old cravings.  Just as he who tries to be rid of an old love must avoid every reminder of the person once held dear (for nothing grows again so easily as love), similarly, he who would lay aside his desire for all the things which he
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used to crave so passionately, must turn away both eyes and ears from the objects which he has abandoned.  The emotions soon return to the attack; at every turn they will notice before their eyes an object worth their attention.  There is no evil that does not offer inducements.  Avarice promises money; luxury, a varied assortment of pleasures; ambition, a purple robe and applause, and the influence which results from applause, and all that influence can do.  Vices tempt you by the rewards which they offer; but in the life of which I speak, you must live without being paid.  Scarcely will a whole life-time suffice to bring our vices into subjection and to make them accept the yoke, swollen as they are by long-continued indulgence; and still less, if we cut into our brief span by any interruptions.  Even constant care and attention can scarcely bring any one undertaking to full completion.  If you will give ear to my advice, ponder and practise this, - how to welcome death, or even, if circumstances commend that course, to invite it.  There is no difference whether death comes to us, or whether we go to death.  Make yourself believe that all ignorant men are wrong when they say:  "It is a beautiful thing to die one's own death." But there is no man who does not die his own death.  What is more, you may reflect on this thought:  No one dies except on his own day.  You are throwing away none of your own time; for what you leave behind does not belong to you. Farewell.
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      After a long space of time I have seen your beloved Pompeii./a I was thus brought again face to face with the days of my youth.  And it seemed to me that I could still do, nay, had only done a short time ago, all the things which I did there when a young man. We have sailed past life, Lucilius, as if we were on a voyage, and just as when at sea, to quote from our poet Vergil,

Lands and towns are left astern,/b

are aware, one shonld not always cling.  For mere living is not a good, but living well.  Accordingly, the wise man will live as long as he ought, not as long as be can./a He will mark in what place, with whom, and how he is to conduct his existence, and what he is about to do.  He always reflects concerning the quality, and not the quantity, of his life.  As soon as there are many events in his life that give him trouble and disturb his peace of mind, he sets himself free.  And this privilege is his, not only when the crisis is upon him, but as soon as Fortune seems to be playing hiin false; then he looks about carefully and sees whether he ought, or ought not, to end his life on that account.  He holds that it makes no difference to him whether his taking-off be natural or self-inflicted, whether it comes later or earlier.  He does not regard it with fear, as if it were a great loss; for no man can lose very much when but a driblet remains. It is not a question of dying earlier or later, but of dying well or ill. And dying well means escape from the danger of living ill. {dying_well+}
      That is why I regard the words of the well-known Rhodian/b as most unmanly.  This person was thrown into a cage by his tyrant, and fed there like some wild animal.  And when a certain man advised him to end his life by fasting, he replied:  "A man may hope for anything while he has life." This may be true; but life is not to be purchased at any price.  No matter how great or how well-assured certain rewards may be I shall not strive to attain them at the price of a shameful confession of weakness.  Shall I reflect that Fortune+ has all power over one who lives, rather than reflect that she has no power over one who knows how to die?  There
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are times, nevertheless, when a man, even though certain death impends and he knows that torture is in store for him, will refrain from lending a hand to his own punishment, to himself, however, he would lend a hand. It is folly to die through fear of dying.  The executioner is upon you; wait for him.  Why anticipate him?  Why assume the management of a cruel task that belongs to another? do you grudge your executioner his privilege, or do you merely relieve him of his task?  Socrates might have ended his life by fasting; he might have died by starvation rather than by poison. But instead of this be spent thirty days in prison awaiting death, not with the idea "everything may happen," or "so long an interval has room for many a hope" but in order that he might show himself submissive to the laws/b and make the last moments of Socrates an edification to his friends.  What would have been more foolish than to scorn death, and yet fear poison?/c
      Scribonia, a woman of the stern old type, was an aunt of Drusus Libo./d This young man was as stupid as he was well born, with higher ambitions than anyone could have been expected to entertain in that epoch, or a man like himself in any epoch at all. When Libo had been carried away ill from the senate-house in his litter, though certainly with a very scanty train of followers, - for all his kinsfolk undutifully deserted him, when be was no longer a criminal but a corpse, - he began to consider whether he should commit suicide, or await death. Scribonia said to him:  "What pleasure do
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Tacitus, Annals, ii. 27 ff.  Libo was duped by Firmius Catus (16 A.D.) into seeking imperial power, was detected, and finally freed by Tiberius to commit suicide.
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you find in doing another man's work?" But he did not follow her advice; he laid violent hands upon himself.  And he was right, after all; for when a man is doomed to die in two or three days at his enemy's pleasure, he is really "doing another man's work" if he continues to live.
      No general statement can be made, therefore, with regard to the question whether, when a power beyond our control threatens us with death, we should anticipate death, or await it.  For there are many arguments to pull us in either direction.  If one death is accompanied by torture, and the other is simple and easy, why not snatch the latter?  Just as I shall select my ship when I am about to go on a voyage or my house when I propose to take a residence, so I shall choose my death when I am about to depart from life.  Moreover, just as a long-drawn out life does not necessarily mean a better one, so a long-drawn-out death necessarily means a worse one.  There is no occasion when the soul should be humoured more than at the moment of death.  Let the soul depart as it feels itself impelled to go;/a whether it seeks the sword, or the halter, or some drought that attacks the veins, let it proceed and burst the bonds of its slavery. Every man ought to make his life acceptable to others besides himself, but his death to himself alone.  The best form of death is the one we like. Men are foolish who reflect thus:  "One person will say that my conduct was not brave enough; another, that I was too headstrong; a third, that a particular kind of death would have betokened more spirit." What you should really reflect is:  "I have under consideration a purpose with which the talk of men has no concern!" Your sole aim should be to escape from Fortune as
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speedily as possible; otherwise, there will be no lack of persons who will think ill of what you have done.
      You can find men who have gone so far as to profess wisdom and yet maintain that one should not offer violence to one's own life, and hold it accursed for a man to be the means of his own destruction; we should wait, say they, for the end decreed by nature. But one who says this does not see that he is shutting off the path to freedom.  The best thing which eternal law ever ordained was that it allowed to us one entrance into life, but many exits.  Must I await the cruelty either of disease or of man, when I can depart through the midst of torture, and shake off my troubles?  This is the one reason why we cannot complain of life; it keeps no one against his will.  Humanity is well situated, because no man is unhappy except by his own fault.  Live, if you so desire; if not, you may return to the place whence you came.  You have often been cupped in order to relieve headaches./a You have had veins cut for the purpose of reducing your weight.  If you would pierce your heart, a gaping wound is not necessary - a lancet will open the way to that great freedom, and tranquillity can be purchased at the cost of a pin- prick.
      What, then, is it which makes us lazy and sluggish?  None of us reflects that some day he must depart from this house of life; just so old tenants are kept from moving by fondness for a particular place and by custom, even in spite of ill-treatment.  Would you be free from the restraint of your body?  Live in it as if you were about to leave it.  Keep thinkidg of the fact that some day you will be deprived of this tenure; then you will be more brave against the necessity of departing.  But how will a man
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take thought of his own end, if he craves all things without end?  And yet there is nothing so essential for us to consider.  For our training in other things is perhaps superfluous.  Our souls have been made ready to meet poverty; but our riches have held out.  We have armed ourselves to scorn pain; but we have had the good fortune to possess sound and healthy bodies, and so have never been forced to put this virtue to the test.  We have taught ourselves to endure bravely the loss of those we love; but Fortune has preserved to us all whom we loved.  It is in this one matter only that the day will come which will require us to test our training.
      You need not think that none but great men have had the strength to burst the bonds of human servitude; you need not believe that this cannot be done except by a Cato, - Cato, who with his hand dragged forth the spirit which he bad not succeeded in freeing by the sword.  Nay, men of the meanest lot in life have by a mighty impulse escaped to safety, and when they were not allowed to die at their own convenience, or to suit themselves in their choice of the instruments of death, they have snatched up whatever was lying ready to hand, and by sheer strength have turned objects which were by nature harmless into weapons of their own.  For example, there was lately in a training-school for wild-beast gladiators a German, who was making ready for the morning exhibition; he withdrew in order to relieve himself, - the only thing which he was allowed to do in secret and without the presence of a guard.  While so engaged, he seized the stick of wood, tipped with a sponge, which was devoted to the vilest uses, and stuffed it, just as it was, down his throat; thus he blocked up his windpipe, and choked
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the breath from his body.  That was truly to insult death!  Yes, indeed; it was not a very elegant or becoming way to die; but what is more foolish than to be over-nice about dying?  What a brave fellow!  He surely deserved to be allowed to choose his fate!  How bravely he would have wielded a sword! With what courage he would have hurled himself into the depths of the sea, or down a precipice!  Cut off from resources on every hand, he yet found a way to furnish himself with death, and with a weapon for death.  Hence you can understand that nothing but the will need postpone death.  Let each man judge the deed of this most zealous fellow as he likes, provided we agree on this point, - that the foulest death is preferable to the fairest slavery.  Inasmuch as I began with an illustration taken from humble life I shall keep on with that sort.  For men will make greater demands upon themselves, if they see that death can be despised even by the most despised class of men.  The Catos, the Scipios, and the others whose names we are wont to hear with admiration, we regard as beyond the sphere of imitation; but I shall now prove to you that the virtue of which I speak is found as frequently in the gladiators' training-sehool as among the leaders in a civil war.  Lately a gladiator, who had been sent forth to the morning exhibition, was being conveyed in a cart along with the other prisoners/a; nodding as if he were heavy with sleep, he let his head fall over so far that it was caught in the spokes; then he kept his body in position long enough to break his neck by the revolution of the wheel.  So he made his escape by means of the very wagon which was carrying him to his punishment.
      When a man desires to burst forth and take his
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departure, nothing stands in his way.  It is an open space in which Nature guards us.  When our plight is such as to permit it, we may look about us for an easy exit.  If you have many opportunities ready to hand, by means of which you may liberate yourself, you may make a selection and think over the best way of gaining freedom; but if a chance is hard to find, instead of the best, snatch the next best, even though it be something unheard of, something new.  If you do not lack the courage, you will not lack the cleverness, to die.  See how even the lowest class of slave, when suffering goads him on, is aroused and discovers a way to deceive even the most watchful guards!  He is truly great who not only has given himself the order to die, but has also found the means.
      I have promised you, however, some more illustrations drawn from the same games.  During the second event in a sham sea-fight one of the barbarians sank deep into his own throat a spear which had been given him for use against his foe.  "Why, oh why," he said, "have I not long ago escaped from all this torture and all this mockery?  Why should I be armed and yet wait for death to come?" This exhibition was all the more striking because of the lesson men learn from it that dying is more honourable than killing.
      What then?  If such a spirit is possessed by abandoned and dangerous men, shall it not be possessed also by those who have trained themselves to meet such contingencies by long meditation, and by reason, the mistress of all things?  It is reason which teaches us that fate has various ways of approach, but the same end, and that it makes no difference at what point the inevitable event begins.
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LXXI.  Reason, too, advises us to die, if we may, according to our taste; if this cannot be, she advises us to die according to our ability, and to seize upon whatever means shall offer itself for doing violence to ourselves. It is criminal to "live by robbery"/a; but, on the other hand, it is most noble to "die by robbery." Farewell.
 
 

      You are continually referring special questions to me, forgetting that a vast stretch of sea sunders us.  Since, however, the value of advice depends mostly on the time when it is given, it must necessarily result that by the time my opinion on certain matters reaches you, the opposite opinion is the better.  For advice conforms to circumstances; and our circumstances are carried along, or rather whirled along.  Accordingly, advice should be produced at short notice; and even this is too late; it should "grow while we work," as the saying is.  And I propose to show you how you may discover the method.  As often as you wish to know what is to be avoided or what is to be sought, consider its relation to the Supreme Good, to the purpose of your whole life.  For whatever we do ought to be in harmony with this; no man can set in order the details unless he has already set before himself the chief purpose of his life. The artist may have his colours all prepared, but be cannot produce a likeness unless he has already made up his mind what he wishes to paint./b The reason we make mistakes is because we all consider the parts of life, but never life as a whole.
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The archer must know what he is seeking to hit; then he must aim and control the weapon by his skill.  Our plans miscarry because they have no aim.  When a man does not know what harbour he is making for, no wind is the right wind.  Chance must necessarily have great influence over our lives, because we live by chance.  It is the case with certain men, however, that they do not know that they know certain things.  Just as we often go searching for those who stand beside us, so we are apt to forget that the goal of the Supreme Good lies near us.
      To infer the nature of this Supreme Good, one does not need many words or any round-about discussion; it should be pointed out with the forefinger, so to speak, and not be dissipated into many parts.  For what good is there in breaking it up into tiny bits, when you can say: the Supreme Good is that which is honourable/a?  Besides (and you may be still more surprised at this), that which is honourable+ is the only good; all other goods are alloyed and debased.  If you once convince yourself of this, and if you come to love virtue devotedly (for mere loving is not enough), anything that has been touched by virtue will be fraught with blessing and prosperity for you, no matter how it shall be regarded by others.  Torture, if only, as you lie suffering, you are more calm in mind than your very torturer; illness, if only you curse not Fortune and yield not to the disease - in short, all those things which others regard as ills will become manageable and will end in good, if you succeed in rising above them.
      Let this once be clear, that there is nothing good except that which is honourable, and all hardships will have a just title to the name of "goods," when
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once virtue has made them honourable.  Many think that we Stoics are holding out expectations greater than our human lot admits of; and they have a right to think so.  For they have regard to the body only.  But let them turn back to the soul, and they will soon measure man by the standard of God.  Rouse yourself, most excellent Lucilius, and leave off all this word-play of the philosophers, who reduce a most glorious subject to a matter of syllables, and lower and wear out the soul by teaching fragments; then you will become like the men who discovered these precepts, instead of those who by their teaching do their best to make philosopliy seem difficult rather than great.\a
      Socrates, who recalled/b the whole of philosophy to rules of conduct, and asserted that the highest wisdom consisted in distinguishing between good and evil, said:  "Follow these rules, if my words carry weight with you, in order that you may be happy; and let some men think you even a fool.  Allow any man who so desires to insult you and work you wrong; but if only virtue dwells with you, you will suffer nothing.  If you wish to be happy, if you would be in good faith a good man/c let one person or another despise you." No man can accomplish this unless he has come to regard all goods as equal, for the reason that no good exists without that which is honourable, and that which is honourable is in every case equal.  You may say:  "What then?  Is there no difference between Cato's being elected praetor and his failure at the polls?  Or whether Cato is conquered or conqueror in the battle-line of Pharsalia?  And when Cato could not be defeated, though his party met defeat, was not this goodness of his equal to that which would have been his if
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he had returned victorious to his native land and arranged a peace?" Of course it was; for it is by the same virtue that evil fortune is overcome and good fortune is controlled.  Virtue however, cannot be increased or decreased; its stature is uniform.  "But," you will object, "Gnaeus Pompey will lose his army; the patricians, those noblest patterns of the State's creation, and the front-rank men of Pompey's party, a senate under arms, will be routed in a single engagement; the ruins of that great oligarchy will be scattered all over the world; one division will fall in Egypt, another in Africa, and another in Spain!/a And the poor State will not be allowed even the privilege of being ruined once for all!" Yes, all this may happen; Juba's familiarity with every position in his own kingdom may be of no avail to him, of no avail the resolute bravery of his people when fighting for their king; even the men of Utica, crushed by their troubles, may waver in their allegiance; and the good fortune which ever attended men of the name of Scipio may desert Scipio in Africa.  But long ago destiny "saw to it that Cato should come to no harm."/b
  "    "He was conquered in spite of it all!" Well, you may include this among Cato's "failures "; Cato will bear with an equally stout heart anything that thwarts him of his victory, as he bore that which thwarted him of his praetorship.  The day whereon be failed of election, he spent in play; the night wherein he intended to die, he spent in reading./c{Sidney+} He regarded in the same light both the loss of his praetorship and the loss of his life; he had convinced himself that he ought to endure anything which might happen.  Why should he not suffer, bravely and calmly, a change in the govern-
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c Plato's Phaedo.
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ment?  For what is free from the risk of change?  Neither earth, nor sky, nor the whole fabric of our universe, though it be controlled by the hand of God.  It will not always preserve its present order; it will be thrown from its course in days to come./a All things move in accord with their appointed times; they are destined to be born, to grow, and to be destroyed. The stars which you see moving above us, and this seemingly immovable earth to which we cling and on which we are set, will be consumed and will cease to exist.  There is nothing that does not have its old age; the intervals are merely unequal at which Nature sends forth all these things towards the same goal.  Whatever is will cease to be, and yet it will not perish, but will be resolved into its elements.  To our minds, this process means perishing, for we behold only that which is nearest; our sluggish mind, under allegiance to the body, does not penetrate to bournes beyond.  Were it not so, the mind would endure with greater courage its own ending and that of its possessions, if only it could hope that life and death, like the whole universe about us, go by turns, that whatever has been put together is broken up again, that whatever has been broken up is put together again, and that the eternal craftsmanship of God, who controls all things is working at this task.
      Therefore the wise man will say just what a Marcus Cato would say, after reviewing his past life:  "The whole race of man, both that which is and that which is to be, is condemned to die.  Of all the cities that at any time have held sway over the world, and of all that have been the splendid ornaments of empires not their own, men shall some day ask where they were, and they shall be swept away
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by destructions of various kinds; some shall be ruined by wars, others shall be wasted away by inactivity and by the kind of peace which ends in slotlh, or by that vice which is fraught with destruction even for mighty dynasties, - luxury.  All these fertile plains shall be buried out of sight by a sudden overflowing of the sea, or a slipplng of the soil, as it settles to lower levels, shall draw them suddenly into a yawning chasm.  Why then should I be angry or feel sorrow, if I precede the general destruction by a tiny interval of time?" Let great souls comply with God's wishes, and suffer unhesitatingly whatever fate the law of the universe ordains; for the soul at death is either sent forth into a better life, destined to dwell with deity amid greater radiance and calm, or else, at least, without suffering any harm to itself, it will be mingled with nature again, and will return to the universe./a {Lucy+}
      Therefore Cato's honourable death was no less a good than his honourable life, since virtue admits of no stretching./b Socrates used to say that verity/c and virtue were the same.  Just as truth does not grow, so neither does virtue grow; for it has its due proportions and is complete.  You need not, therefore, wonder that goods are equal,/d both those which are to be deliberately chosen, and those which circumstances have imposed.  For if you once adopt the view that they are unequal, deeming, for instance, a brave endurance of torture as among the lesser goods, you will be including it among the evils also; you will pronounce Socrates unhappy in his prison, Cato unhappy when he reopens his wounds with more courage than he allowed in
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inflicting them, and Regulus the most ill-starred of all when he pays the penalty for keeping his word even with his enemies.  And yet no man, even the most effeminate+ person in the world, has ever dared to maintain such an opinion.  For though such persons deny that a man like Regulus is happy, yet for all that they also deny that he is wretched.  The carlier Academics/a do indeed admit that a man is happy even amid such tortures, but do not admit that he is completely or fully happy.  With this view we cannot in any wise agree; for unless a man is happy, he has not attained the Supreme Good; and the good which is supreme admits of no higher degree, if only virtue exists within this man, and if adversity does not impair his virtue, and if, though the body be injured, the virtue abides unharmed. And it does abide.  For I understand virtue to behigh_spirited+ and exalted, so that it is aroused by anything that molests it.  This spirit, which young men of noble breeding often assume, when they are so deeply stirred by the beauty of some honourable+ object that they despise all the gifts of chance, is assuredly infused in us and communicated to us by wisdom.  Wisdom will bring the conviction that there is but one good - that which is honourable; that this can neither be shortened nor extended, any more than a carpenter's rule, with which straight lines are tested, can be bent.  Any change in the rule means spoiling the straight line.  Applying, therefore, this same figure to virtue, we shall say: virtue also is straight, and admits of no bending.  What can be made more tense than a thing which is already rigid? Such is virtue, which passes judgment on everything, but nothing passes judgment on virtue.  And if this rule, virtue, cannot
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itself be made more straight, neither can the things created by virtue be in one case straighter and in another less straight.  For they must necessarily correspond to virtue; hence they are equal.
  "    "What," you say, "do you call reclining at a banquet and submitting to torture equally good?" Does this seem surprising to you?  You may be still more surprised at the following, - that reclining at a banquet is an evil, while reclining on the rack is a good, if the former act is done in a shameful, and the latter in an honourable manner. It is not the material that makes these actions good or bad; it is the virtue.  All acts in which virtue has disclosed itself are of the same measure and value.  At this moment the man who measures the souls of all men by his own is shaking his fist in my face because I hold that there is a parity between the goods involved in the case of one who passes sentence honourably, and of one who suffers sentence honourably; or because I hold that there is a parity between the goods of one who celebrates a triumph, and of one who, unconquered in spirit, is carried before the victor's chariot.  For such critics think that whatever they themselves cannot do, is not done; they pass judgment on virtue in the light of their own weaknesses.  Why do you marvel if it helps a man, and on occasion even pleases him, to be burned, wounded, slain, or bound in prison?  To a luxurious man, a simple life is a penalty; to a lazy man, work is punishment; the dandy pities the diligent man; to the slothful, studies are torture.  Similarly, we regard those things with respect to which we are all infirm of disposition, as hard and beyond endurance, forgetting what a torment it is to many men to abstain from wine or to be routed from their beds at break of day.  These
<Ep2-87>

actions are not essentially difficult; it is we ourselves that are soft and flabby.  We must pass judgment concerning great matters with greatness of soul; otherwise, that which is really our fault will seem to be their fault.  So it is that certain objects which are perfectly straight, when sunk in water appear to the onlooker as bent or broken off./a It matters not only what you see, but with what eyes you see it; our souls are too dull of vision to perceive the truth.  But give me an unspoiled and sturdy-minded young man; he will pronounce more fortunate one who sustains on unbending shoulders the whole weight of adversity, who stands out superior to Fortune. It is not a cause for wonder that one is not tossed about when the weather is calm; reserve your wonderment for cases where a man is lifted up when all others sink, and keeps his footing when all others are prostrate.
      What element of evil is there in torture and in the other things which we call hardships?  It seems to me that there is this evil, - that the mind sags, and bends, and collapses.  But none of these things can happen to the sage; he stands erect under any load. Nothing can subdue him; nothing that must be endured annoys him.  For he does not complain that he has been struck by that which can strike any man.  He knows his own strength; he knows that he was born to carry burdens. I do not withdraw the wise man from the category of man, nor do I deny to him the sense of pain as though he were a rock that has no feelings at all.  I remember that he is made up of two parts: the one part is irrational, - it is this that may be bitten, burned, or hurt; the other part is rational, -it is this which holds resolutely to opinions, is courageous, and unconquerable./b In the
<Ep2-89>

latter is situated man's Supreme Good.  Before this is completely attained, the mind wavers in uncertainty; only when it is fully achieved is the mind fixed and steady.  And so when one has just begun, or is on one's way to the heights and is cultivating virtue, or even if one is drawing near the perfect good but has not yet put the finishing touch upon it, one will retrograde at times and there will be a certain slackening of mental effort. For such a man has not yet traversed the doubtful ground; he is still standing in slippery places.  But the happy man, whose virtue is complete, loves himself most of all when his bravery has been submitted to the severest test, and when he not only, endures but welcomes that which all other men regard with fear, if it is the price which he must pay for the performnance of a duty which honour imposes, and he greatly prefers to have men say of him:  "how much more noble!" rather than "how much more lucky!"/a
      And now I have reached the point to which your patient waiting summons me.  You must not think that our human virtue transcends nature; the wise man will tremble, will feel pain, will turn pale,/b For all these are sensations of the body.  Where, then, is the abode of utter distress, of that which is truly an evil?  In the other part of us, no doubt, if it is the mind that these trials drag down, force to a confession of its servitude, and cause to regret its existence.  The wise man, indeed, overcomes Fortune by his virtue, but many who profess wisdom are sometimes frightened by the most unsubstantial threats.  And at this stage it is a mistake on our part to make the same demands upon the wise man and upon the learner./c I still exhort myself to do
<Ep2-91>

that which I recommend; but my exhortations are not yet followed.  And even if this were the case, I should not have these principles so ready for practice, or so well trained, that they would rush to my assistance in every crisis.  Just as wool takes up certain colours at once,/a while there are others which it will not absorb unless it is soaked and steeped in them many times; so other systems of doctrine can be immediately applied by men's minds after once being accepted, but this system of which I speak, unless it has gone deep and has sunk in for a long time, and has not merely coloured but thoroughly permeated the soul, does not fulfil any of its promises.  The matter can be imparted quickly and in very few words:  "Virtue is the only good; at any rate there is no good without virtue; and virtue itself is situated in our nobler part, that is, the rational part." And what will this virtue be?  A true and never-swerving judgment+.  For therefrom will spring all mental impulses, and by its agency every external appearance that stirs our impulses will be clarified.  It will be in keeping with this judgment to judge all things that have been coloured by virtue as goods, and as equal goods.
      Bodily goods are, to be sure, good for the body; but they are not absolutely good.  There will indeed be some value in them; but they will possess no genuine merit, for they will differ greatly; some will be less, others greater.  And we are constrained to acknowledge that there are great differences among the very followers of wisdom.  One man has already made so much progress that he dares to raise his eyes and look Fortune in the face, but not persistently, for his eyes soon drop, dazzled by her overwhelming splendour; another has made
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so much progress that he is able to match glances with her, -that is, unless he has already reached the summit and is full of confideuce./a That which is short of perfection must necessarily be unsteady, at one time progressing, at another slipping or growing faint; and it will surely slip back unless it keeps struggling ahead; for if a man slackens at all in zeal and faithful application, he must retrograde.  No one can resume his progress at the point where be left off.  Therefore let us press on and persevere.  There remains much more of the road than we have put behind us; but the greater part of progress is the desire to progress.
      I fully understand what this task is. It is a thing which I desire, and I desire it with all my heart.  I see that you also have been aroused and are hastening with great zeal towards infinite beauty.  Let us, then, hasten; only on these terms will life be a boon to us; otherwise, there is delay, and indeed disgraceful delay, while we busy ourselves with revolting things.  Let us see to it that all time belongs to us.  This, however, cannot be unless first of all our own selves begin to belong to us.  And when will it be our privilege to despise both kinds of fortune?  When will it be our privilege, after all the passions have been subdued and brought under our own control, to utter the words "I have conquered!"?  Do you ask me whom I have conquered?  Neither the Persians, nor the far-off Medes, nor any warlike race that lies beyond the Dahae/b; not these, but greed, ambition, and the fear of death that has conquered the conquerors of the world.  Farewell.
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      The subject/a concerning which you question me was once clear to my mind, and required no thought, so thoroughly had I mastered it.  But I have not tested my memory of it for some time, and therefore it does not readily come back to me.  I feel that I have suffered the fate of a book whose rolls have stuck together by disuse; my mind needs to be unrolled, and whatever has been stored away there ought to be examined from time to time, so that it may be ready for use when occasion demands. Let us therefore put this subject off for the present; for it demands much labour and much care.  As soon as I can hope to stay for any length of time in the same place, I shall then take your question in hand.  For there are certain subjects about which you can write even while travelling in a gig, and there are also subjects which need a study-chair, and quiet, and seclusion. Nevertheless I ought to accomplish something even on days like these, - days which are fully employed, and indeed from morning till night.  For there is never a moment when fresh employments will not come along; we sow them, and for this reason several spring up from one.  Then, too, we keep adjourning our own cases/b by saying:  "As soon as I am done with this, I shall settle down to hard work," or:  "If I ever set this troublesome matter in order, I shall devote yself to study."
      But the study of philosophy is not to be postponed until you have leisure;/c everything else is to be neglected in order that we may attend to philosophy,
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for no amount of time is long enough for it, even though our lives be prolonged from boyhood to the uttermost bounds of time allotted to man. It makes little difference whether you leave philosophy out altogether or study it intermittently; for it does not stay as it was when you dropped it, but, because its continuity has been broken, it goes back to the position in which it was at the beginning, like things which fly apart when they are stretched taut.  We must resist the affairs which occupy our time; they must not be untangled, but rather put out of the way.  Indeed, there is no time that is unsuitable for helpful studies; and yet many a man fails to study amid the very circumstances which make study necessary.  He says: "Something will happen to hinder me." No, not in the case of the man whose spirit, no matter what his business {negotio+} may be, is happy and alert. It is those who are still short of perfection whose happiness can be broken off; the joy of a wise man, on the other hand, is a woven fabric, rent by no chance happening and by no change of fortune; at all times and in all places be is at peace.  For his joy depends on nothing external and looks for no boon from man or fortune.  His happiness is something within himself; it would depart from his soul if it entered in from the outside; it is born there.  Sometimes an external happening reminds him of his mortality, but it is a light blow, and merely grazes the surface of his skin./a Some trouble, I repeat, may touch him like a breath of wind, but that Supreme Good of his is unshaken.  This is what I mean: there are external disadvantages, like pimples and boils that break out upon a body which is normally strong and sound; but there is no deep-seated malady.  The difference, I say, between
<Ep2-99>

a man of perfect wisdom and another who is progressing in wisdom is the same as the difference between a healthy man and one who is convalescing from a severe and lingering illness, for whom "health " means only a lighter attack of his disease.  If the latter does not take beed, there is an imnmediate relapse and a return to the same old trouble; but the wise man cannot slip back, or slip into any more illness at all.  For health of body is a temporary matter which the physician cannot guarantee, even though he has restored it; nay, he is often roused from his bed to visit the same patient who summoned him before.  The mind, however, once healed, is healed for good and all.
      I shall tell you what I mean by health: if the mind is content with its own self; if it has confidence in itself; if it understands that all those things for which men pray, all the benefits which are bestowed and sought for, are of no importance in relation to a life of happiness; under such conditions it is sound.  For anything that can be added to is imperfect; anything that can suffer loss is not lasting; but let the man whose happiness is to be lasting, rejoice in what is truly his own.  Now all that which the crowd gapes after, ebbs and flows.  Fortune+ gives us nothing which we can really own./a But even these gifts of Fortune please us when reason has tempered and blended them to our taste; for it is reason which makes acceptable to us even external goods that are disagreeable to use if we absorb them too greedily.  Attalus used to employ the following simile:  "Did you ever see a dog snapping with wide- open jaws at bits of bread or meat which his master tosses to him?  Whatever he catches, be straightway swallows whole, and always
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It seems to me erroneous to believe that those who have loyally dedicated themselves to philosophy are stubborn and rebellious, scorners of magistrates or kings or of those who control the administration of public affairs. For, on the contrary, no class of man is so popular with the philosopher as the ruler is; and rightly so, because rulers bestow upon no men a greater privilege than upon those who are allowed to enjoy peace and leisure.  Hence, those who are greatly profited, as regards their purpose of right living, by the security of the State, must needs cherish as a father the author of this good; much more so, at any rate, than those restless persons who are always in the public eye, who owe much to the ruler, but also expect much from him, and are never so generously loaded with favours that their cravings, which grow by being supplied, are thoroughly satisfied.  And yet he whose thoughts are of benefits to come has forgotten the benefits received; and there is no greater evil in covetousness than its ingratittide.  Besides, no man in public life thinks of the many whom be has outstripped; he thinks rather of those by whom he is outstripped.  And these men find it less pleasing to see many behind them than annoying to see anyone ahead of them./b That is the trouble with every sort of ambition; it does not look back.  Nor is it ambition alone that is fickle, but also every sort of craving, because it always begins where it ought to end.
      But that other man, upright and pure, who has left the senate and the bar and all affairs of state, that
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he may retire to nobler affairs,/a cherishes those who have made it possible for him to do this in security; he is the only person who returns spontaneous thanks to them, the only person who owes them a great debt without their knowledge.  Just as a man honours and reveres his teachers, by whose aid he has found release from his early wanderings, so the sage honours these men, also, under whose guardianship he can put his good theories into practice.  But you answer:  "Other men too are protected by a king's personal power." Perfectly true.  But just as, out of a number of persons who have profited by the same stretch of calm weather, a man deems that his debt to Neptune is greater if his cargo during that voyage has been more extensive and valuable, and just as the vow is paid with more of a will by the merchant than by the passenger, and just as, from among the merchants themselves, heartier thanks are uttered by the dealer in spices, purple fabrics, and objects worth their weight in gold, than by him who has gathered cheap merchandise that will be nothing but ballast for his ship; similarly, the benefits of this peace, which extends to all, are more deeply appreciated by those who make good use of it.
      For there are many of our toga-clad citizens to whom peace brings more trouble than war.  Or do those, think you, owe as much as we do for the peace they enjoy, who spend it in drunkenness, or in lust, or in other vices which it were worth even a war to interrupt? No, not unless you think that the wise man is so unfair as to believe that as an individual he owes nothing in return for the advantages which be enjoys with all the rest.  I owe a great debt to the sun and to the moon; and yet they do not rise for me alone.  I am personally beholden to the seasons
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and to the god who controls them, although in no respect have they been apportioned for my benefit.  The foolish greed of mortals makes a distinction between possession and ownership,/a and believes that it has ownership in nothing in which the general public has a share.  But our philosopher considers nothing more truly his own than that which he shares in partnership with all mankind.  For these things would not be common property, as indeed they are, unless every individual had his quota; even a joint interest based upon the slightest share makes one a partner.  Again, the great and true goods are not divided in such a manner that each has but a slight interest; they belong in their entirety to each individual.  At a distribution of grain men receive only the amount that has been promised to each person; the banquet and the meat-dole,/b or all else that a man can carry away with him, are divided into parts.  These goods, however, are indivisible, - l mean peace and liberty, - and they belong in their entirety to all men just as much as they belong to each individual. {common+}
      Therefore the philosopher thinks of the person who makes it possible for him to use and enjoy these things, of the person who exempts him when the state's dire need summons to arms, to sentry duty, to the defence of the walls, and to the manifold exactions of war; and he gives thanks to the helmsman of his state.  This is what philosophy teaches most of all, - honourably to avow the debt of benefits+ received, and honourably to pay them; sometimes, however, the acknowledgment itself constitutes payment.  Our philosopher will therefore acknowledge that he owes a large debt to the ruler who makes it possible, by his management and foresight,
<Ep2-109>

for him to enjoy rich leisure, control of his own time, and a tranquillity uninterrupted by public employments.  Shepherd! a god this leisure gave to me, For he shall be my god eternally./a And if even such leisure as that of our poet owes a great debt to its author, though its greatest boon is this:  As thou canst see,

He let me turn my cattle out to feed,
And play what fancy pleased on rustic reed;/b

them to others; the only use of them which belongs to him is this: he is the cause of their use to all men.  The wise man surveys and scorns all the possessions of others as calmly as does Jupiter, and regards himself with the greater esteem because, while Jupiter cannot make use of them, he, the wise man, does not wish to do so.  Let us therefore believe Sextius when he shows us the path of perfect beauty, and cries:  "'This is the way to the stars'/a; this is the way, by observing thrift, self- restraint, and courage!"
      The gods are not disdainful or envious; they open the door to you; they lend a hand as you climb.  Do you marvel that man goes to the gods?  God comes to men; nay, be comes nearer, - he comes into men./b No mind that has not God, is good.  Divine seeds are scattered throughout our mortal bodies; if a good husbandman receives them, they spring up in the likeness of their source and of a parity with those from which they came.  If, however, the husbandman be had, like a barren or marshy soil, he kills the seeds, and causes tares to grow up instead of wheat. {Jesus+} Farewell.
 
 

      Your letter has given me pleasure, and has roused me from sluggishness.  It has also prompted my memory, which has been for some time slack and nerveless.  You are right, of course, my dear Lucilius, in deeming the chief means of attaining the happy life
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to consist in the belief that the only good lies in that which is honourable+./a For anyone who deems other things to be good, puts himself in the power of Fortune, and goes under the control of another; but he who has in every case defined the good by the honourable, is happy with an inward happiness.
      One man is saddened when his children die; another is anxious when they become ill; a third is embittered when they do something disgraceful, or suffer a taint in their reputation.  One man, you will observe, is tortured by passion for his neighbour's wife, another by passion {amore+} for his own.  You will find men who are completely upset by failure to win an election, and others who are actually plagued by the offices which they have won.  But the largest throng of unhappy men among the host of mortals are those whom the expectation of death, which threatens them on every hand, drives to despair.  For there is no quarter from which death may not approach.  Hence, like soldiers scouting in the enemy's country, they must look about in all directions, and turn their heads at every sound; unless the breast be rid of this fear, one lives with a palpitating heart.  You will readily recall those who have been driven into exile and dispossessed of their property.  You will also recall (and this is the most serious kind of destitution) those who are poor in the midst of their riches./b You will recall men who have suffered shipwreck, or those whose sufferings resemble shipwreck; for they were untroubled and at ease, when the anger or perhaps the envy of the populace, - a missile most deadly to those in high places,c - dismantled them like a storm which is wont to rise when one is most confident of continued calm, or like a sudden stroke of lightning which even causes
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the region round about it to tremble.  For just as anyone who stands near the bolt is stunned and resembles one who is struck so in these sudden and violent mishaps, although but one person is overwhelmed by the disaster, the rest are overwhelmed by fear, and the possibility that they may suffer makes them as downcast as the actual sufferer.
      Every man is troubled in spirit by evils that come suddenly upon his neighbour.  Like birds, who cower even at the whirr of an empty sling, we are distracted by mere sounds as well as by blows.  No man therefore can be happy if he yields himself up to such foolish fancies.  For nothing brings happiness unless it also brings calm; it is a bad sort of existence that is spent in apprehension.  Whoever has largely surrendered himself to the power of Fortune has made for himself a huge web of disquietude, from which he cannot get free; if one would win a way to safety, there is but one road, - to despise externals and to be contented with that which is honourable.  For those who regard anything as better than virtue, or believe that there is any good except virtue, are spreading their arms to gather in that which Fortune tosses abroad, and are anxiously awaiting her favours.  Picture now to yourself that Fortune is holding a festival, and is showering down honours, riches, and influence upon this mob of mortals; some of these gifts have already been torn to pieces in the hands of those who try to snatch them, others have been divided up by treacherous partnerships, and still others have been seized to the great detriment of those into whose possession they have come.  Certain of these favours have fallen to men while they were absent-minded/a; others have been lost to their seekers because they were snatching too eagerly for
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them, and, just because they are greedily seized upon, have been knocked from their hands.  There is not a man among them all, however, - even be who has been lucky in the booty which has fallen to him, - whose joy in his spoil has lasted until the morrow.
      The most sensible man, therefore, as soon as he sees the dole being brought in,/a runs from the theatre; for he knows that one pays a high price for small favours.  No one will grapple with him on the way out, or strike him as he departs; the quarrelling takes place where the prizes are.  Similarly with the gifts which Fortune tosses down to us; wretches that we are, we become excited, we are torn asunder, we wish that we had many hands, we look back now in this direction and now in that.  All too slowly, as it seems, are the gifts thrown in our direction; they merely excite our cravings, since they can reach but few and are awaited by all.  We are keen to intercept them as they fall down.  We rejoice if we have laid hold of anything; and some have been mocked by the idle hope of laying hold; we have either paid a high price for worthless plunder with some disadvantage to ourselves, or else have been defrauded and are left in the lurch.  Let us therefore withdraw from a game like this, and give way to the greedy rabble; let them gaze after such "goods," which hang suspended above them, and be themselves still more in suspense./b Whoever makes up his mind to be happy should conclude that the good consists only in that which is honourable+.  For if he regards anything else as good, he is, in the first place, passing an unfavourable judgment upon Providence because of the fact that
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upright men often suffer misfortunes,/a and that the time which is allotted to us is but short and scanty, if you compare it with the eternity which is allotted to the universe.
      It is a result of complaints like these that we are unappreciative in our comments upon the gifts of heaven; we complain because they are not always granted to us, because they are few and unsure and fleeting.  Hence we have not the will either to live or to die; we are possessed by hatred of life, by fear of death.  Our plans are all at sea, and no amount of prosperity can satisfy us.  And the reason for all this is that we have not yet attained to that good which is immeasurable and unsurpassable, in which all wishing on our part must cease, because there is no place beyond the highest.  Do you ask why virtue needs nothing? Because it is pleased with what it has, and does not lust after that which it has not.  Whatever is enough is abundant in the eyes of virtue.
      Dissent from this judgment, and duty and loyalty will not abide.  For one who desires to exhibit these two qualities must endure much that the world calls evil; we must sacrifice many things to which we are addicted, thinking them to be goods.  Gone is courage, which should be continually testing itself; gone is greatness of soul, which cannot stand out clearly unless it has learned to scorn as trivial everything that the crowd covets as supremely important; and gone is kindness and the repaying of kindness, if we fear toil, if we have acknowledged anything to be more precious than loyalty, if our eyes are fixed upon anything except the best.
      But to pass these questions by: either these so-called goods are not goods, or else man is more
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fortunate than God because God has no enjoyment of the things which are given to us.  For lust pertains not to God, nor do elegant banquets, nor wealth, nor any of the things that allure mankind and lead him on through the influence of degrading pleasure.  Therefore, it is, either not incredible that there are goods which God does not possess, or else the very fact that God does not possess them is in itself a proof that these things are not goods.  Besides, many things which are wont to be regarded as goods are granted to animals in fuller measure than to men.  Animals eat their food with better appetite, are not in the same degree weakened by sexual indulgence, {effeminacy+} and have a greater and more uniform constancy in their strength.  Consequently, they are much more fortunate than man. For there is no wickedness, no injury to themselves, in their way of living. They enjoy their pleasures and they take them more often and more easily, without any of the fear that results from shame or regret.
      This being so, you should consider whether one has a right to call anything good in which God is outdone by man.  Let us limit the Supreme Good to the soul; it loses its meaning if it is taken from the best part of us and apphed to the worst, that is, if it is transferred to the senses; for the senses are more active in dumb beasts.  The sum total of our happiness must not be placed in the flesh; the true goods are those which reason bestows, substantial and eternal; they cannot fall away, neither can they grow less or be diminished.  Other things are goods according to opinion, and though they are called by the same name as the true goods, the essence of goodness is not in them.  Let us therefore call them "advantages," and, to use our technical term,
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"preferred" things./a Let us, however, recognize that they are our chattels, not parts of ourselves; and let us have them in our possession, but take heed to remember that they are outside ourselves.  Even though they are in our possession, they are to be reckoned as things subordinate and poor, the possession of which gives no man a right to plume himself.  For what is more foolish than being self-complacent about something which one has not accomplished by one's own efforts?  Let everything of this nature be added to us, and not stick fast to us, so that, if it is withdrawn, it may come away without tearing off any part of us.  Let us use these things, but not boast of them, and let us use them sparingly, as if they were given for safe-keeping and will be withdrawn.  Anyone who does not employ reason in his possession of them never keeps them long; for prosperity of itself, if uncontrolled by reason, overwhelms itself.  If anyone has put his trust in goods that are most fleeting, he is soon bereft of them, and, to avoid being bereft, he suffers distress.  Few men have been permitted to lay aside prosperity gently.  The rest all fall, together with the things amid which they have come into eminence, and they are weighted down by the very things which had before exalted them.  For this reason foresight must be brought into play, to insist upon a limit or upon frugality in the use of these things, since license overthrows and destroys its own abundance.  That which has no limit has never endured, unless reason, which sets limits, has held it in check.  The fate of many cities will prove the truth of this; their sway has ceased at the very prime because they were given to luxury+, and excess has ruined all that had been won by virtue.  We
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should fortify ourselves against such calamities.  But no wall can be erected against Fo