{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_64576/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_64576","id":"gutenberg_64576","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64576","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Education of princes -- Early works to 1800","Latin prose literature -- Translations into English","Mercy -- Early works to 1800","Political ethics -- Early works to 1800"],"text":"L. ANNAEUS SENECA\n\n MINOR DIALOGUES TOGETHER WITH THE DIALOGUE ON CLEMENCY\n\n\n _TRANSLATED BY_ AUBREY STEWART, M.A. LATE FELLOW OF TRINITY\n COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE\n\n\n LONDON \u2014 GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET COVENT GARDEN 1889\n\n\n CHISWICK PRESS :\u2014C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY\n LANE\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nI can say little by way of preface to Seneca\u2019s \u201cMinor Dialogues\u201d\nwhich I have not already expressed in my preface to \u201cDe Beneficiis,\u201d\nexcept that the \u201cMinor Dialogues\u201d seem to me to be composed in a\ngloomier key than either the \u201cDe Beneficiis\u201d or \u201cDe Clementia,\u201d and\nprobably were written at a time when the author had already begun\nto experience the ingratitude of his imperial pupil. Some of the\nDialogues are dated from Corsica, Seneca\u2019s place of exile, which\nhe seems to have found peculiarly uncomfortable, although he remarks\nthat there are people who live there from choice. Nevertheless,\nmournful as they are in tone, these Dialogues have a certain value,\nbecause they teach us what was meant by Stoic philosophy in the\ntime of the Twelve Caesars. I have only to add that the value of\nmy work has been materially enhanced by the kindness of the Rev.\nProfessor J. E. B. Mayor, who has been good enough to read and\ncorrect almost all the proof sheets of this volume.\n\nAUBREY STEWART. _London,_ 1889.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n PAGE\nOf Providence 1\nOn the Firmness of the Wise Man 22\nOf Anger. I. 48\n \" II. 76\n \" III. 115\nOf Consolation. To Marcia 162\nOf a Happy Life 204\nOf Leisure 240\nOf Peace of Mind 250\nOf the Shortness of Life 288\nOf Consolation. To Helvia 320\n \" To Polybius 353\nOf Clemency. I. 380\n \" II. 415\n\n\n\n\n{1}\n\nTHE FIRST BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO\nLUCILIUS.\n\n\u201cWHY, WHEN A PROVIDENCE EXISTS, ANY MISFORTUNES BEFALL GOOD MEN;\u201d\nOR, \u201cOF PROVIDENCE\u201d\n\n\nI. You have asked me, Lucilius, why, if the world be ruled by\nprovidence, so many evils befall good men? The answer to this would\nbe more conveniently given in the course of this work, after we\nhave proved that providence governs the universe, and that God is\namongst us: but, since you wish me to deal with one point apart\nfrom the whole, and to answer one replication before the main action\nhas been decided, I will do what is not difficult, and plead the\ncause of the gods. At the present time it is superfluous to point\nout that it is not without some guardian that so great a work\nmaintains its position, that the assemblage and movements of the\nstars do not depend upon accidental impulses, or that objects whose\nmotion is regulated by chance often fall into confusion and soon\nstumble, whereas this swift and safe movement goes on, governed by\neternal law, bearing with it so many things both on sea and land,\nso many most brilliant lights shining in order in the skies; that\nthis regularity does not belong to matter moving at random, and\nthat particles brought together by chance could not {2} arrange\nthemselves with such art as to make the heaviest weight, that of\nthe earth, remain unmoved, and behold the flight of the heavens as\nthey hasten round it, to make the seas pour into the valleys and\nso temper the climate of the land, without any sensible increase\nfrom the rivers which flow into them, or to cause huge growths to\nproceed from minute seeds. Even those phenomena which appear to be\nconfused and irregular, I mean showers of rain and clouds, the rush\nof lightning from the heavens, fire that pours from the riven peaks\nof mountains, quakings of the trembling earth, and everything else\nwhich is produced on earth by the unquiet element in the universe,\ndo not come to pass without reason, though they do so suddenly: but\nthey also have their causes, as also have those things which excite\nour wonder by the strangeness of their position, such as warm springs\namidst the waves of the sea, and new islands that spring up in the\nwide ocean. Moreover, any one who has watched how the shore is laid\nbare by the retreat of the sea into itself, and how within a short\ntime it is again covered, will believe that it is in obedience to\nsome hidden law of change that the waves are at one time contracted\nand driven inwards, at another burst forth and regain their bed\nwith a strong current, since all the while they wax in regular\nproportion, and come up at their appointed day and hour greater or\nless, according as the moon, at whose pleasure the ocean flows,\ndraws them. Let these matters be set aside for discussion at their\nown proper season, but I, since you do not doubt the existence of\nprovidence but complain of it, will on that account more readily\nreconcile you to gods who are most excellent to excellent men: for\nindeed the nature of things does not ever permit good to be injured\nby good. Between good men and the gods there is a friendship which\nis brought about by virtue\u2014 friendship do I say? nay, rather\nrelationship and likeness, since the good man differs from a god\nin time alone, {3} being his pupil and rival and true offspring,\nwhom his glorious parent trains more severely than other men,\ninsisting sternly on virtuous conduct, just as strict fathers do.\nWhen therefore you see men who are good and acceptable to the gods\ntoiling, sweating, painfully struggling upwards, while bad men run\nriot and are steeped in pleasures, reflect that modesty pleases us\nin our sons, and forwardness in our house-born slave-boys; that the\nformer are held in check by a somewhat stern rule, whereas the\nboldness of the latter is encouraged. Be thou sure that God acts\nin like manner: He does not pet the good man: He tries him, hardens\nhim, and fits him for Himself.\n\nII. Why do many things turn out badly for good men? Why, no evil\ncan befall a good man: contraries cannot combine. Just as so many\nrivers, so many showers of rain from the clouds, such a number of\nmedicinal springs, do not alter the taste of the sea, indeed, do\nnot so much as soften it, so the pressure of adversity does not\naffect the mind of a brave man; for the mind of a brave man maintains\nits balance and throws its own complexion over all that takes place,\nbecause it is more powerful than any external circumstances. I do\nnot say that he does not feel them, but he conquers them, and on\noccasion calmly and tranquilly rises superior to their attacks,\nholding all misfortunes to be trials of his own firmness. Yet who\nis there who, provided he be a man and have honourable ambition,\ndoes not long for due employment, and is not eager to do his duty\nin spite of danger? Is there any hard-working man to whom idleness\nis not a punishment? We see athletes, who study only their bodily\nstrength, engage in contests with the strongest of men, and insist\nthat those who train them for the arena should put out their whole\nstrength when practising with them: they endure blows and maltreatment,\nand, if they cannot find any single person who is their match, they\nengage with several at once: their {4} strength and courage droop\nwithout an antagonist: they can only prove how great and how mighty\nit is by proving how much they can endure. You should know that\ngood men ought to act in like manner, so as not to fear troubles\nand difficulties, nor to lament their hard fate, to take in good\npart whatever befalls them, and force it to become a blessing to\nthem. It does not matter what you bear, but how you bear it. Do you\nnot see how differently fathers and mothers indulge their children?\nhow the former urge them to begin their tasks betimes, will not\nsuffer them to be idle even on holidays, and exercise them till\nthey perspire, and sometimes till they shed tears\u2014while their mothers\nwant to cuddle them in their laps, and keep them out of the sun,\nand never wish them to be vexed, or to cry, or to work. God bears\na fatherly mind towards good men, and loves them in a manly spirit.\n\u201cLet them,\u201d says He, \u201cbe exercised by labours, sufferings, and\nlosses, that so they may gather true strength.\u201d Those who are\nsurfeited with ease break down not only with labour, but with mere\nmotion and by their own weight. Unbroken prosperity cannot bear a\nsingle blow; but he who has waged an unceasing strife with his\nmisfortunes has gained a thicker skin by his sufferings, yields to\nno disaster, and even though he fall yet fights on his knee. Do you\nwonder that God, who so loves the good, who would have them attain\nthe highest goodness and pre-eminence, should appoint fortune to\nbe their adversary? I should not be surprised if the gods sometimes\nexperience a wish to behold great men struggling with some misfortune.\nWe sometimes are delighted when a youth of steady courage receives\non his spear the wild beast that attacks him; or when he meets the\ncharge of a lion without flinching; and the more eminent the man\nis who acts thus,[1] the more {5} attractive is the sight: yet these\nare not matters which can attract the attention of the gods, but\nare mere pastime and diversions of human frivolity. Behold a sight\nworthy to be viewed by a god interested in his own work, behold a\npair[2] worthy of a god, a brave man matched with evil fortune,\nespecially if he himself has given the challenge. I say, I do not\nknow what nobler spectacle Jupiter could find on earth, should he\nturn his eyes thither, than that of Cato, after his party had more\nthan once been defeated, still standing upright amid the ruins of\nthe commonwealth. Quoth he, \u201cWhat though all be fallen into one\nman\u2019s power, though the land be guarded by his legions, the sea by\nhis fleets, though Caesar\u2019s soldiers beset the city gate? Cato has\na way out of it: with one hand he will open a wide path to freedom;\nhis sword, which he has borne unstained by disgrace and innocent\nof crime even in a civil war, will still perform good and noble\ndeeds; it will give to Cato that freedom which it could not give\nto his country. Begin, my soul, the work which thou so long hast\ncontemplated, snatch thyself away from the world of man. Already\nPetreius and Juba have met and fallen, each slain by the other\u2019s\nhand\u2014a brave and noble compact with fate, yet not one befitting my\ngreatness: it is as disgraceful for Cato to beg his death of any\none as it would be for him to beg his life.\u201d\n\nIt is clear to me that the gods must have looked on with great joy,\nwhile that man, his own most ruthless avenger, took thought for the\nsafety of others and arranged the escape of those who departed,\nwhile even on his last night he pursued his studies, while he drove\nthe sword into his sacred breast, while he tore forth his vitals\nand laid his hand upon that most holy life which was unworthy to\nbe defiled by steel. This, I am inclined to think, was the reason\nthat {6} his wound was not well-aimed and mortal: the gods were not\nsatisfied with seeing Cato die once: his courage was kept in action\nand recalled to the stage, that it might display itself in a more\ndifficult part: for it needs a greater mind to return a second time\nto death. How could they fail to view their pupil with interest\nwhen leaving his life by such a noble and memorable departure? Men\nare raised to the level of the gods by a death which is admired\neven by those who fear them.\n\nIII. However, as my argument proceeds, I shall prove that what\nappear to be evils are not so; for the present I say this, that\nwhat you call hard measure, misfortunes, and things against which\nwe ought to pray, are really to the advantage, firstly, of those\nto whom they happen, and secondly, of all mankind, for whom the\ngods care more than for individuals; and next, that these evils\nbefall them with their own good will, and that men deserve to endure\nmisfortunes, if they are unwilling to receive them. To this I shall\nadd, that misfortunes proceed thus by destiny, and that they befall\ngood men by the same law which makes them good. After this, I shall\nprevail upon you never to pity any good man; for though he may be\ncalled unhappy, he cannot be so.\n\nOf all these propositions that which I have stated first appears\nthe most difficult to prove. I mean, that the things which we dread\nand shudder at are to the advantage of those to whom they happen.\n\u201cIs it,\u201d say you, \u201cto their advantage to be driven into exile, to\nbe brought to want, to carry out to burial their children and wife,\nto be publicly disgraced, to lose their health?\u201d Yes! if you are\nsurprised at these being to any man\u2019s advantage, you will also be\nsurprised at any man being benefited by the knife and cautery, or\nby hunger and thirst as well. Yet if you consider that some men,\nin order to be cured, have their bones scraped, and pieces of them\nextracted, that their veins are pulled out {7} and that some have\nlimbs cut off, which could not remain in their place without ruin\nto the whole body, you will allow me to prove to you this also,\nthat some misfortunes are for the good of those to whom they happen,\njust as much, by Hercules, as some things which are praised and\nsought after are harmful to those who enjoy them like indigestions\nand drunkenness and other matters which kill us through pleasure.\nAmong many grand sayings of our Demetrius is this, which I have but\njust heard, and which still rings and thrills in my ears: \u201cNo one,\u201d\nsaid he, \u201cseems to me more unhappy than the man whom no misfortune\nhas ever befallen.\u201d He never has had an opportunity of testing\nhimself; though everything has happened to him according to his\nwish, nay, even before he has formed a wish, yet the gods have\njudged him unfavourably; he has never been deemed worthy to conquer\nill fortune, which avoids the greatest cowards, as though it said,\n\u201cWhy should I take that man for my antagonist? He will straightway\nlay down his arms: I shall not need all my strength against him:\nhe will be put to flight by a mere menace: he dares not even face\nme; let me look around for some other with whom I may fight hand\nto hand: I blush to join battle with one who is prepared to be\nbeaten.\u201d A gladiator deems it a disgrace to be matched with an\ninferior, and knows that to win without danger is to win without\nglory. Just so Fortune; she seeks out the bravest to match herself\nwith, passes over some with disdain, and makes for the most unyielding\nand upright of men, to exert her strength against them. She tried\nMucius fire, Fabricius by poverty, Rutilius by exile, Regulus by\ntorture, Socrates by poison, Cato by death: it is ill fortune alone\nthat discovers these glorious examples. Was Mucius unhappy, because\nhe grasped the enemy\u2019s fire with his right hand, and of his own\naccord paid the penalty of his mistake? because he overcame the\nKing with his hand when it was burned, though he could {8} not when\nit held a sword? Would he have been happier, if he had warmed his\nhand in his mistress\u2019s bosom? Was Fabricius unhappy, because when\nthe state could spare him, he dug his own land? because he waged\nwar against riches as keenly as against Pyrrhus? because he supped\nbeside his hearth off the very roots and herbs which he himself,\nthough an old man, and one who had enjoyed a triumph, had grubbed\nup while clearing his field of weeds? What then? would he have been\nhappier if he had gorged himself with fishes from distant shores,\nand birds caught in foreign lands? if he had roused the torpor of\nhis queasy stomach with shellfish from the upper and the lower sea?\nif he had piled a great heap of fruits round game of the first head,\nwhich many huntsmen had been killed in capturing? Was Rutilius\nunhappy, because those who condemned him will have to plead their\ncause for all ages? because he endured the loss of his country more\ncomposedly than that of his banishment? because he was the only man\nwho refused anything to Sulla the dictator, and when recalled from\nexile all but went further away and banished himself still more.\n\u201cLet those,\u201d said he, \u201cwhom thy fortunate reign catches at Rome,\nsee to the Forum drenched with blood,[3] and the heads of Senators\nabove the Pool of Servilius\u2014the place where the victims of Sulla\u2019s\nproscriptions were stripped\u2014the bands of assassins roaming at large\nthrough the city, and many thousands of Roman citizens slaughtered\nin one place, after, nay, by means of a promise of quarter. Let\nthose who are unable to go into exile behold these things.\u201d Well!\nis Lucius Sulla happy, because when he comes down into the Forum\nroom is made for him with sword-strokes, because he allows the heads\nof consulars to be shown to him, and counts out the price of blood\nthrough the quaestor and the state exchequer? {9} And this, this\nwas the man who passed the Lex Cornelia! Let us now come to Regulus:\nwhat injury did fortune do him when she made him an example of good\nfaith, an example of endurance? They pierce his skin with nails:\nwherever he leans his weary body, it rests on a wound; his eyes are\nfixed for ever open; the greater his sufferings, the greater is his\nglory. Would you know how far he is from regretting that he valued\nhis honour at such a price? heal his wounds and send him again into\nthe senate-house; he will give the same advice. So, then, you think\nMaecenas a happier man, who when troubled by love, and weeping at\nthe daily repulses of his ill-natured wife, sought for sleep by\nlistening to distant strains of music? Though he drug himself with\nwine, divert himself with the sound of falling waters, and distract\nhis troubled thoughts with a thousand pleasures, yet Maecenas will\nno more sleep on his down cushions than Regulus on the rack. Yet\nit consoles the latter that he suffers for the sake of honour, and\nhe looks away from his torments to their cause: whilst the other,\njaded with pleasures and sick with over-enjoyment, is more hurt by\nthe cause of his sufferings than by the sufferings themselves. Vice\nhas not so utterly taken possession of the human race that, if men\nwere allowed to choose their destiny, there can be any doubt but\nthat more would choose to be Reguluses than to be Maecenases: or\nif there were any one who dared to say that he would prefer to be\nborn Maecenas than Regulus that man, whether he says so or not,\nwould rather have been Terentia (than Cicero).\n\nDo you consider Socrates to have been badly used, because he took\nthat draught which the state assigned to him as though it were a\ncharm to make him immortal, and argued about death until death\nitself? Was he ill treated, because his blood froze and the current\nof his veins gradually stopped as the chill of death crept over\nthem? How much more is this man to be envied than he who is {10}\nserved on precious stones, whose drink a creature trained to every\nvice, a eunuch or much the same, cools with snow in a golden cup?\nSuch men as these bring up again all that they drink, in misery and\ndisgust at the taste of their own bile, while Socrates cheerfully\nand willingly drains his poison. As for Cato, enough has been said,\nand all men must agree that the highest happiness was reached by\none who was chosen by Nature herself as worthy to contend with all\nher terrors: \u201cThe enmity,\u201d says she, \u201cof the powerful is grievous,\ntherefore let him be opposed at once by Pompeius, Caesar, and\nCrassus: it is grievous, when a candidate for public offices, to\nbe defeated by one\u2019s inferiors; therefore let him be defeated by\nVatinius: it is grievous to take part in civil wars, therefore let\nhim fight in every part of the world for the good cause with equal\nobstinacy and ill-luck: it is grievous to lay hands upon one\u2019s self,\ntherefore let him do so. What shall I gain by this? That all men\nmay know that these things, which I have deemed Cato worthy to\nundergo, are not real evils.\u201d\n\nIV. Prosperity comes to the mob, and to low-minded men as well as\nto great ones; but it is the privilege of great men alone to send\nunder the yoke[4] the disasters and terrors of mortal life: whereas\nto be always prosperous, and to pass through life without a twinge\nof mental distress, is to remain ignorant of one half of nature.\nYou are a great man; but how am I to know it, if fortune gives you\nno opportunity of showing your virtue? You have entered the arena\nof the Olympic games, but no one {11} else has done so: you have\nthe crown, but not the victory: I do not congratulate you as I would\na brave man, but as one who has obtained a consulship or praetorship.\nYou have gained dignity. I may say the same of a good man, if\ntroublesome circumstances have never given him a single opportunity\nof displaying the strength of his mind. I think you unhappy because\nyou never have been unhappy: you have passed through your life\nwithout meeting an antagonist: no one will know your powers, not\neven you yourself. For a man cannot know himself without a trial:\nno one ever learnt what he could do without putting himself to the\ntest; for which reason many have of their own free will exposed\nthemselves to misfortunes which no longer came in their way, and\nhave sought for an opportunity of making their virtue, which otherwise\nwould have been lost in darkness, shine before the world. Great\nmen, I say, often rejoice at crosses of fortune just as brave\nsoldiers do at wars. I remember to have heard Triumphus, who was a\ngladiator[5] in the reign of Tiberius Caesar, complaining about the\nscarcity of prizes; \u201cWhat a glorious time,\u201d said he, \u201cis past.\u201d\nValour is greedy of danger, and thinks only of whither it strives\nto go, not of what it will suffer, since even what it will suffer\nis part of its glory. Soldiers pride themselves on their wounds,\nthey joyously display their blood flowing over their breastplate.[6]\nThough those who return unwounded from battle may have done as\nbravely, yet he who returns wounded is more admired. God, I say,\nfavours those whom He wishes to enjoy the greatest honours, whenever\nHe affords them the means of performing some exploit with spirit\nand courage, something which is not easily to be accomplished: you\ncan judge of a pilot in a storm, of a soldier in a battle. How can\nI know with {12} how great a spirit you could endure poverty, if\nyou overflow with riches? How can I tell with how great firmness\nyou could bear up against disgrace, dishonour, and public hatred,\nif you grow old to the sound of applause, if popular favour cannot\nbe alienated from you, and seems to flow to you by the natural bent\nof men\u2019s minds? How can I know how calmly you would endure to be\nchildless, if you see all your children around you? I have heard\nwhat you said when you were consoling others: then I should have\nseen whether you could have consoled yourself, whether you could\nhave forbidden yourself to grieve. Do not, I beg you, dread those\nthings which the immortal gods apply to our minds like spurs:\nmisfortune is virtue\u2019s opportunity. Those men may justly be called\nunhappy who are stupified with excess of enjoyment, whom sluggish\ncontentment keeps as it were becalmed in a quiet sea: whatever\nbefalls them will come strange to them. Misfortunes press hardest\non those who are unacquainted with them: the yoke feels heavy to\nthe tender neck. The recruit turns pale at the thought of a wound:\nthe veteran, who knows that he has often won the victory after\nlosing blood, looks boldly at his own flowing gore. In like manner\nGod hardens, reviews, and exercises those whom He tests and loves:\nthose whom He seems to indulge and spare, He is keeping out of\ncondition to meet their coming misfortunes: for you are mistaken\nif you suppose that any one is exempt from misfortune: he who has\nlong prospered will have his share some day; those who seem to have\nbeen spared them have only had them put off. Why does God afflict\nthe best of men with ill-health, or sorrow, or other troubles?\nBecause in the army the most hazardous services are assigned to the\nbravest soldiers: a general sends his choicest troops to attack the\nenemy in a midnight ambuscade, to reconnoitre his line of march,\nor to drive the hostile garrisons from their strong places. No one\nof these {13} men says as he begins his march, \u201cThe general has\ndealt hardly with me,\u201d but \u201cHe has judged well of me.\u201d Let those\nwho are bidden to suffer what makes the weak and cowardly weep, say\nlikewise, \u201cGod has thought us worthy subjects on whom to try how\nmuch suffering human nature can endure.\u201d Avoid luxury, avoid\neffeminate enjoyment, by which men\u2019s minds are softened, and in\nwhich, unless something occurs to remind them of the common lot of\nhumanity, they lie unconscious, as though plunged in continual\ndrunkenness. He whom glazed windows have always guarded from the\nwind, whose feet are warmed by constantly renewed fomentations,\nwhose dining-room is heated by hot air beneath the floor and spread\nthrough the walls, cannot meet the gentlest breeze without danger.\nWhile all excesses are hurtful, excess of comfort is the most hurtful\nof all; it affects the brain; it leads men\u2019s minds into vain\nimaginings; it spreads a thick cloud over the boundaries of truth\nand falsehood. Is it not better, with virtue by one\u2019s side, to\nendure continual misfortune, than to burst with an endless surfeit\nof good things? It is the overloaded stomach that is rent asunder:\ndeath treats starvation more gently. The gods deal with good men\naccording to the same rule as schoolmasters with their pupils, who\nexact most labour from those of whom they have the surest hopes.\nDo you imagine that the Lacedaemonians, who test the mettle of their\nchildren by public flogging, do not love them? Their own fathers\ncall upon them to endure the strokes of the rod bravely, and when\nthey are torn and half dead, ask them to offer their wounded skin\nto receive fresh wounds. Why then should we wonder if God tries\nnoble spirits severely? There can be no easy proof of virtue. Fortune\nlashes and mangles us: well, let us endure it: it is not cruelty,\nit is a struggle, in which the oftener we engage the braver we shall\nbecome. The strongest part of the {14} body is that which is exercised\nby the most frequent use: we must entrust ourselves to fortune to\nbe hardened by her against herself: by degrees she will make us a\nmatch for herself. Familiarity with danger leads us to despise it.\nThus the bodies of sailors are hardened by endurance of the sea,\nand the hands of farmers by work; the arms of soldiers are powerful\nto hurl darts, the legs of runners are active: that part of each\nman which he exercises is the strongest: so by endurance the mind\nbecomes able to despise the power of misfortunes. You may see what\nendurance might effect in us if you observe what labour does among\ntribes that are naked and rendered stronger by want. Look at all\nthe nations that dwell beyond the Roman Empire: I mean the Germans\nand all the nomad tribes that war against us along the Danube. They\nsuffer from eternal winter, and a dismal climate, the barren soil\ngrudges them sustenance, they keep off the rain with leaves or\nthatch, they bound across frozen marshes, and hunt wild beasts for\nfood. Do you think them unhappy? There is no unhappiness in what\nuse has made part of one\u2019s nature: by degrees men find pleasure in\ndoing what they were first driven to do by necessity. They have no\nhomes and no resting-places save those which weariness appoints\nthem for the day; their food, though coarse, yet must be sought\nwith their own hands; the harshness of the climate is terrible, and\ntheir bodies are unclothed. This, which you think a hardship, is\nthe mode of life of all these races: how then can you wonder at\ngood men being shaken, in order that they may be strengthened? No\ntree which the wind does not often blow against is firm and strong;\nfor it is stiffened by the very act of being shaken, and plants its\nroots more securely: those which grow in a sheltered valley are\nbrittle: and so it is to the advantage of good men, and causes them\nto be undismayed, that they should live much {15} amidst alarms,\nand learn to bear with patience what is not evil save to him who\nendures it ill.\n\nV. Add to this that it is to the advantage of every one that the\nbest men should, so to speak, be on active service and perform\nlabours: God has the same purpose as the wise man, that is, to prove\nthat the things which the herd covets and dreads are neither good\nnor bad in themselves. If, however, He only bestows them upon good\nmen, it will be evident that they are good things, and bad, if He\nonly inflicts them upon bad men. Blindness would be execrable if\nno one lost his eyes except those who deserve to have them pulled\nout; therefore let Appius and Metellus be doomed to darkness. Riches\nare not a good thing: therefore let Elius the pander possess them,\nthat men who have consecrated money in the temple, may see the same\nin the brothel: for by no means can God discredit objects of desire\nso effectually as by bestowing them upon the worst of men, and\nremoving them from the best. \u201cBut,\u201d you say, \u201cit is unjust that a\ngood man should be enfeebled, or transfixed, or chained, while bad\nmen swagger at large with a whole skin.\u201d What! is it not unjust\nthat brave men should bear arms, pass the night in camps, and stand\non guard along the rampart with their wounds still bandaged, while\nwithin the city eunuchs and professional profligates live at their\nease? what? is it not unjust that maidens of the highest birth\nshould be roused at night to perform Divine service, while fallen\nwomen enjoy the soundest sleep? Labour calls for the best man: the\nsenate often passes the whole day in debate, while at the same time\nevery scoundrel either amuses his leisure in the Campus Martius,\nor lurks in a tavern, or passes his time in some pleasant society.\nThe same thing happens in this great commonwealth (of the world):\ngood men labour, spend and are spent, and that too of their own\nfree will; they are not dragged along by fortune, but follow {16}\nher and take equal steps with her; if they knew how, they would\noutstrip her. I remember, also, to have heard this spirited saying\nof that stoutest-hearted of men, Demetrius. \u201cYe immortal Gods,\u201d\nsaid he, \u201cthe only complaint which I have to make of you is that\nyou did not make your will known to me earlier; for then I would\nsooner have gone into that state of life to which I now have been\ncalled. Do you wish to take my children? it was for you that I\nbrought them up. Do you wish to take some part of my body? take it:\nit is no great thing that I am offering you, I shall soon have done\nwith the whole of it. Do you wish for my life? why should I hesitate\nto return to you what you gave me? whatever you ask you shall receive\nwith my good will: nay, I would rather give it than be forced to\nhand it over to you: what need had you to take away what you did?\nyou might have received it from me: yet even as it is you cannot\ntake anything from me, because you cannot rob a man unless he\nresists.\u201d\n\nI am constrained to nothing, I suffer nothing against my will, nor\nam I God\u2019s slave, but his willing follower, and so much the more\nbecause I know that everything is ordained and proceeds according\nto a law that endures for ever. The fates guide us, and the length\nof every man\u2019s days is decided at the first hour of his birth: every\ncause depends upon some earlier cause: one long chain of destiny\ndecides all things, public or private. Wherefore, everything must\nbe patiently endured, because events do not fall in our way, as we\nimagine, but come by a regular law. It has long ago been settled\nat what you should rejoice and at what you should weep, and although\nthe lives of individual men appear to differ from one another in a\ngreat variety of particulars, yet the sum total comes to one and\nthe same thing: we soon perish, and the gifts which we receive soon\nperish. Why, then, should we be angry? why should we lament? we are\nprepared for our fate: let nature deal {17} as she will with her\nown bodies; let us be cheerful whatever befalls, and stoutly reflect\nthat it is not anything of our own that perishes. What is the duty\nof a good man? to submit himself to fate: it is a great consolation\nto be swept away together with the entire universe: whatever law\nis laid upon us that thus we must live and thus we must die, is\nlaid upon the gods also: one unchangeable stream bears along men\nand gods alike: the creator and ruler of the universe himself,\nthough he has given laws to the fates, yet is guided by them: he\nalways obeys, he only once commanded. \u201cBut why was God so unjust\nin His distribution of fate, as to assign poverty, wounds, and\nuntimely deaths to good men?\u201d The workman cannot alter his materials:\nthis is their nature. Some qualities cannot be separated from some\nothers: they cling together; are indivisible. Dull minds, tending\nto sleep or to a waking state exactly like sleep, are composed of\nsluggish elements: it requires stronger stuff to form a man meriting\ncareful description. His course will not be straightforward; he\nmust go upwards and downwards, be tossed about, and guide his vessel\nthrough troubled waters: he must make his way in spite of fortune:\nhe will meet with much that is hard which he must soften, much that\nis rough that he must make smooth. Fire tries gold, misfortune tries\nbrave men. See how high virtue has to climb: you may be sure that\nit has no safe path to tread.\n\n \u201cSteep is the path at first: the steeds, though strong, Fresh\n from their rest, can hardly crawl along; The middle part lies\n through the topmost sky, Whence oft, as I the earth and sea\n descry, I shudder, terrors through my bosom thrill. The ending\n of the path is sheer down hill, And needs the careful guidance\n of the rein, For ever when I sink beneath the main, {18} Old\n Tethys trembles in her depths below Lest headlong down upon\n her I should go.\u201d[7]\n\nWhen the spirited youth heard this, he said, \u201cI have no fault to\nfind with the road: I will mount it, it is worth while to go through\nthese places, even though one fall.\u201d His father did not cease from\ntrying to scare his brave spirit with terrors:\u2014\n\n \u201cThen, too, that thou may\u2019st hold thy course aright, And neither\n turn aside to left nor right. Straight through the Bull\u2019s fell\n horns thy path must go. Through the fierce Lion, and the\n Archer\u2019s bow.\u201d\n\nAfter this Phaethon says:\u2014\n\n \u201cHarness the chariot which you yield to me,\n\nI am encouraged by these things with which you think to scare me:\nI long to stand where the Sun himself trembles to stand.\u201d It is the\npart of grovellers and cowards to follow the safe track; courage\nloves a lofty path.\n\nVI. \u201cYet, why does God permit evil to happen to good men?\u201d He does\nnot permit it: he takes away from them all evils, such as crimes\nand scandalous wickedness, daring thoughts, grasping schemes, blind\nlusts, and avarice coveting its neighbour\u2019s goods. He protects and\nsaves them. Does any one besides this demand that God should look\nafter the baggage of good men also? Why, they themselves leave the\ncare of this to God: they scorn external accessories. Democritus\nforswore riches, holding them to be a burden to a virtuous mind:\nwhat wonder then, if God permits that to happen to a good man, which\na good man sometimes chooses should happen to himself? Good men,\nyou say, lose their children: why should they not, since sometimes\nthey even put them to death? They are banished: why should they not\nbe, since sometimes they {19} leave their country of their own free\nwill, never to return? They are slain: why not, since sometimes\nthey choose to lay violent hands on themselves? Why do they suffer\ncertain miseries? it is that they may teach others how to do so.\nThey are born as patterns. Conceive, therefore, that God says:\u2014\u201cYou,\nwho have chosen righteousness, what complaint can you make of me?\nI have encompassed other men with unreal good things, and have\ndeceived their inane minds as it were by a long and misleading\ndream: I have bedecked them with gold, silver, and ivory, but within\nthem there is no good thing. Those men whom you regard as fortunate,\nif you could see, not their outward show, but their hidden life,\nare really unhappy, mean, and base, ornamented on the outside like\nthe walls of their houses: that good fortune of theirs is not sound\nand genuine: it is only a veneer, and that a thin one. As long,\ntherefore, as they can stand upright and display themselves as they\nchoose, they shine and impose upon one; when something occurs to\nshake and unmask them, we see how deep and real a rottenness was\nhidden by that factitious magnificence. To you I have given sure\nand lasting good things, which become greater and better the more\none turns them over and views them on every side: I have granted\nto you to scorn danger, to disdain passion. You do not shine\noutwardly, all your good qualities are turned inwards; even so does\nthe world neglect what lies without it, and rejoices in the\ncontemplation of itself. I have placed every good thing within your\nown breasts: it is your good fortune not to need any good fortune.\n\u2018Yet many things befall you which are sad, dreadful, hard to be\nborne.\u2019 Well, as I have not been able to remove these from your\npath, I have given your minds strength to combat all: bear them\nbravely. In this you can surpass God himself; He is beyond suffering\nevil: you are above it. Despise poverty; no man lives as poor as\nhe was born: {20} despise pain; either it will cease or you will\ncease: despise death; it either ends you or takes you elsewhere:\ndespise fortune; I have given her no weapon that can reach the mind.\nAbove all, I have taken care that no one should hold you captive\nagainst your will: the way of escape lies open before you: if you\ndo not choose to fight, you may fly. For this reason, of all those\nmatters which I have deemed essential for you, I have made nothing\neasier for you than to die. I have set man\u2019s life as it were on a\nmountain side: it soon slips down.[8] Do but watch, and you will\nsee how short and how ready a path leads to freedom. I have not\nimposed such long delays upon those who quit the world as upon those\nwho enter it: were it not so, fortune would hold a wide dominion\nover you, if a man died as slowly as he is born. Let all time, let\nevery place teach you, how simple it is to renounce nature, and to\nfling back her gifts to her: before the altar itself and during the\nsolemn rites of sacrifice, while life is being prayed for, learn\nhow to die. Fat oxen fall dead with a tiny wound; a blow from a\nman\u2019s hand fells animals of great strength: the sutures of the neck\nare severed by a thin blade, and when the joint which connects the\nhead and neck is cut, all that great mass falls. The breath of life\nis not deep seated, {21} nor only to be let forth by steel\u2014the\nvitals need not be searched throughout by plunging a sword among\nthem to the hilt: death lies near the surface, I have not appointed\nany particular spot for these blows\u2014the body may be pierced wherever\nyou please. That very act which is called dying, by which the breath\nof life leaves the body, is too short for you to be able to estimate\nits quickness: whether a knot crushes the windpipe, or water stops\nyour breathing: whether you fall headlong from a height and perish\nupon the hard ground below, or a mouthful of fire checks the drawing\nof your breath\u2014whatever it is, it acts swiftly. Do you not blush\nto spend so long a time in dreading what takes so short a time to\ndo?\u201d\n\n\n[1] _honestior_ opposed to the gladiator\u2014the loftier the station\nof the combatant. The Gracchus of Juvenal, Sat. ii. and viii.,\nillustrates, the passage.\n\n[2] _par_, a technical term in the language of sport (_worthy_ of\nsuch a spectator).\n\n[3] _viderint_\u2014Let them see to it: it is no matter of mine.\n\n[4] That is, to triumph over. \u201cTwo spears were set upright ... and\na third was fastened across them at the top; and through this gateway\nthe vanquished army marched out, as a token that they had been\nconquered in war, and owed their lives to the enemy\u2019s mercy. It was\nno peculiar insult devised for this occasion, but a common usage,\nso far as appears, in similar cases; like the modern ceremony of\npiling arms when a garrison or army surrender themselves as prisoners\nof war.\u201d\u2014 Arnold\u2019s _History of Rome_, ch. xxxi.\n\n[5] He was a \u201cmirmillo,\u201d a kind of gladiator who was armed with a\nGaulish helmet.\n\n[6] _e lorica_.\n\n[7] The lines occur in Ovid\u2019s Metamorphoses, ii. 63. Phoebus is\ntelling Phaethon how to drive the chariot of the Sun.\n\n[8] Compare Walter Scott: \u201cAll. . . . must have felt that but for\nthe dictates of religion, or the natural recoil of the mind from\nthe idea of dissolution, there have been times when they would have\nbeen willing to throw away life as a child does a broken toy. I am\nsure I know one who has often felt so. O God! what are we?\u2014Lords\nof nature?\u2014Why, a tile drops from a house-top, which an elephant\nwould not feel more than a sheet of pasteboard, and there lies his\nlordship. Or something of inconceivably minute origin, the pressure\nof a bone, or the inflammation of a particle of the brain takes\nplace, and the emblem of the Deity destroys himself or some one\nelse. We hold our health and our reason on terms slighter than any\none would desire, were it in their choice, to hold an Irish\ncabin.\u201d\u2014Lockhart\u2019s _Life of Sir Walter Scott_, vol. vii., p. 11.\n\n\n\n\n{22}\n\nTHE SECOND BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED\nTO SERENUS.\n\n\u201cTHAT THE WISE MAN CAN NEITHER RECEIVE INJURY NOR INSULT,\u201d OR, AN\nESSAY ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN.\n\n\nI. I might truly say, Serenus, that there is as wide a difference\nbetween the Stoics and the other sects of philosophers as there is\nbetween men and women, since each class contributes an equal share\nto human society, but the one is born to command, the other to obey.\nThe other philosophers deal with us gently and coaxingly, just as\nour accustomed family physicians usually do with our bodies, treating\nthem not by the best and shortest method, but by that which we allow\nthem to employ; whereas the Stoics adopt a manly course, and do not\ncare about its appearing attractive to those who are entering upon\nit, but that it should as quickly as possible take us out of the\nworld, and lead us to that lofty eminence which is so far beyond\nthe scope of any missile weapon that it is above the reach of Fortune\nherself. \u201cBut the way by which we are asked to climb is steep and\nuneven.\u201d What then? Can heights be reached by a level path? Yet\nthey are not so sheer and precipitous as some think. It is only the\nfirst part that {23} has rocks and cliffs and no apparent outlet,\njust as many hills seen from a long way off appear abruptly steep\nand joined together, because the distance deceives our sight, and\nthen, as we draw nearer, those very hills which our mistaken eyes\nhad made into one gradually unfold themselves, those parts which\nseemed precipitous from afar assume a gently sloping outline. When\njust now mention was made of Marcus Cato, you whose mind revolts\nat injustice were indignant at Cato\u2019s own age having so little\nunderstood him, at its having allotted a place below Vatinius to\none who towered above both Caesar and Pompeius; it seemed shameful\nto you, that when he spoke against some law in the Forum his toga\nwas torn from him, and that he was hustled through the hands of a\nmutinous mob from the Rostra as far as the arch of Fabius, enduring\nall the bad language, spitting, and other insults of the frantic\nrabble.\n\nII. I then answered, that you had good cause to be anxious on behalf\nof the commonwealth, which Publius Clodius on the one side, Vatinius\nand all the greatest scoundrels on the other, were putting up for\nsale, and, carried away by their blind covetousness, did not\nunderstand that when they sold it they themselves were sold with\nit; I bade you have no fears on behalf of Cato himself, because the\nwise man can neither receive injury nor insult, and it is more\ncertain that the immortal gods have given Cato as a pattern of a\nwise man to us, than that they gave Ulysses or Hercules to the\nearlier ages; for these our Stoics have declared were wise men,\nunconquered by labours, despisers of pleasure, and superior to all\nterrors. Cato did not slay wild beasts, whose pursuit belongs to\nhuntsmen and countrymen, nor did he exterminate fabulous creatures\nwith fire and sword, or live in times when it was possible to believe\nthat the heavens could be supported on the shoulders of one man.\nIn an age which had thrown {24} off its belief in antiquated\nsuperstitions, and had carried material knowledge to its highest\npoint, he had to struggle against that many-headed monster, ambition,\nagainst that boundless lust for power which the whole world divided\namong three men could not satisfy. He alone withstood the vices of\na worn-out State, sinking into ruin through its own bulk; he upheld\nthe falling commonwealth as far as it could be upheld by one man\u2019s\nhand, until at last his support was withdrawn, and he shared the\ncrash which he had so long averted, and perished together with that\nfrom which it was impious to separate him\u2014for Cato did not outlive\nfreedom, nor did freedom outlive Cato. Think you that the people\ncould do any wrong to such a man when they tore away his praetorship\nor his toga? when they bespattered his sacred head with the rinsings\nof their mouths? The wise man is safe, and no injury or insult can\ntouch him.\n\nIII. I think I see your excited and boiling temper. You are preparing\nto exclaim: \u201cThese are the things which take away all weight from\nyour maxims; you promise great matters, such as I should not even\nwish for, let alone believe to be possible, and then, after all\nyour brave words, though you say that the wise man is not poor, you\nadmit that he often is in want of servants, shelter, and food. You\nsay that the wise man is not mad, yet you admit that he sometimes\nloses his reason, talks nonsense, and is driven to the wildest\nactions by the stress of his disorder. When you say that the wise\nman cannot be a slave, you do not deny that he will be sold, carry\nout orders, and perform menial services at the bidding of his master;\nso, for all your proud looks, you come down to the level of every\none else, and merely call things by different names. Consequently,\nI suspect that something of this kind lurks behind this maxim, which\nat first sight appears so beautiful and noble, \u2018that the wise man\ncan neither receive {25} injury nor insult.\u2019 It makes a great deal\nof difference whether you declare that the wise man is beyond feeling\nresentment, or beyond receiving injury; for if you say that he will\nbear it calmly, he has no special privilege in that, for he has\ndeveloped a very common quality, and one which is learned by long\nendurance of wrong itself, namely, patience. If you declare that\nhe can never receive an injury, that is, that no one will attempt\nto do him one, then I will throw up all my occupations in life and\nbecome a Stoic.\u201d\n\nIt has not been my object to decorate the wise man with mere imaginary\nverbal honours, but to raise him to a position where no injury will\nbe permitted to reach him. \u201cWhat? will there be no one to tease\nhim, to try to wrong him?\u201d There is nothing on earth so sacred as\nnot to be liable to sacrilege; yet holy things exist on high none\nthe less because there are men who strike at a greatness which is\nfar above themselves, though with no hope of reaching it. The\ninvulnerable is not that which is never struck, but that which is\nnever wounded. In this class I will show you the wise man. Can we\ndoubt that the strength which is never overcome in fight is more\nto be relied on than that which is never challenged, seeing that\nuntested power is untrustworthy, whereas that solidity which hurls\nback all attacks is deservedly regarded as the most trustworthy of\nall? In like manner you may know that the wise man, if no injury\nhurts him, is of a higher type than if none is offered to him, and\nI should call him a brave man whom war does not subdue and the\nviolence of the enemy does not alarm, not him who enjoys luxurious\nease amid a slothful people. I say, then, that such a wise man is\ninvulnerable against all injury; it matters not, therefore, how\nmany darts be hurled at him, since he can be pierced by none of\nthem. Just as the hardness of some stones is impervious to steel,\nand adamant can neither be cut, {26} broken, or ground, but blunts\nall instruments used upon it; just as some things cannot be destroyed\nby fire, but when encircled by flame still retain their hardness\nand shape; just as some tall projecting cliffs break the waves of\nthe sea, and though lashed by them through many centuries, yet show\nno traces of their rage; even so the mind of the wise man is firm,\nand gathers so much strength, that it is as safe from injury as any\nof those things which I have mentioned.\n\nIV. \u201cWhat then? Will there be no one who will try to do an injury\nto the wise man?\u201d Yes, some one will try, but the injury will not\nreach him; for he is separated from the contact of his inferiors\nby so wide a distance that no evil impulse can retain its power of\nharm until it reaches him. Even when powerful men, raised to positions\nof high authority, and strong in the obedience of their dependents,\nstrive to injure him, all their darts fall as far short of his\nwisdom as those which are shot upwards by bowstrings or catapults,\nwhich, although they rise so high as to pass out of sight, yet fall\nback again without reaching the heavens. Why, do you suppose that\nwhen that stupid king[1] clouded the daylight with the multitude\nof his darts, that any arrow of them all went into the sun? or that\nwhen he flung his chains into the deep, that he was able to reach\nNeptune? Just as sacred things escape from the hands of men, and\nno injury is done to the godhead by those who destroy temples and\nmelt down images, so whoever attempts to treat the wise man with\nimpertinence, insolence, or scorn, does so in vain. \u201cIt would be\nbetter,\u201d say you, \u201cif no one wished to do so.\u201d You are expressing\na wish that the whole human race were inoffensive, which may hardly\nbe; moreover, those who would gain by such wrongs not being done\nare those who would do them, not he who could not suffer from them\neven if they were done; nay, I {27} know not whether wisdom is not\nbest displayed by calmness in the midst of annoyances, just as the\ngreatest proof of a general\u2019s strength in arms and men consists in\nhis quietness and confidence in the midst of an enemy\u2019s country.\n\nV. If you think fit, my Serenus, let us distinguish between injury\nand insult. The former is naturally the more grievous, the latter\nless important, and grievous only to the thin-skinned, since it\nangers men but does not wound them. Yet such is the weakness of\nmen\u2019s minds, that many think that there is nothing more bitter than\ninsult; thus you will find slaves who prefer to be flogged to being\nslapped, and who think stripes and death more endurable than insulting\nwords. To such a pitch of absurdity have we come that we suffer not\nonly from pain, but from the idea of pain, like children, who are\nterror-stricken by darkness, misshapen masks, and distorted faces,\nand whose tears flow at hearing names unpleasing to their ears, at\nthe movement of our fingers, and other things which they ignorantly\nshrink from with a sort of mistaken spasm. The object which injury\nproposes to itself is to do evil to some one. Now wisdom leaves no\nroom for evil; to it, the only evil is baseness, which cannot enter\ninto the place already occupied by virtue and honour. If, therefore,\nthere can be no injury without evil, and no evil without baseness,\nand baseness cannot find any place with a man who is already filled\nwith honour, it follows that no injury can reach the wise man: for\nif injury be the endurance of some evil, and the wise man can endure\nno evil, it follows that no injury takes effect upon the wise man.\nAll injury implies a making less of that which it affects, and no\none can sustain an injury without some loss either of his dignity,\nor of some part of his body, or of some of the things external to\nourselves; but the wise man can lose nothing. He has invested\neverything in himself, has entrusted nothing to fortune, has his\nproperty in safety, {28} and is content with virtue, which does not\nneed casual accessories, and therefore can neither be increased or\ndiminished; for virtue, as having attained to the highest position,\nhas no room for addition to herself, and fortune can take nothing\naway save what she gave. Now fortune does not give virtue; therefore\nshe does not take it away. Virtue is free, inviolable, not to be\nmoved, not to be shaken, and so hardened against misfortunes that\nshe cannot be bent, let alone overcome by them. She looks unfalteringly\non while tortures are being prepared for her; she makes no change\nof countenance, whether misery or pleasure be offered to her. The\nwise man therefore can lose nothing of whose loss he will be sensible,\nfor he is the property of virtue alone, from whom he never can be\ntaken away. He enjoys all other things at the good pleasure of\nfortune; but who is grieved at the loss of what is not his own? If\ninjury can hurt none of those things which are the peculiar property\nof the wise man, because while his virtue is safe they are safe,\nthen it is impossible that an injury should be done to a wise man.\nDemetrius, who was surnamed Poliorcetes, took Megara, and the\nphilosopher Stilbo, when asked by him whether he had lost anything,\nanswered, \u201cNo, I carry all my property about me.\u201d Yet his inheritance\nhad been given up to pillage, his daughters had been outraged by\nthe enemy, his country had fallen under a foreign dominion, and it\nwas the king, enthroned on high, surrounded by the spears of his\nvictorious troops, who put this question to him; yet he struck the\nvictory out of the king\u2019s hands, and proved that, though the city\nwas taken, he himself was not only unconquered but unharmed, for\nhe bore with him those true goods which no one can lay hands upon.\nWhat was being plundered and carried away hither and thither he did\nnot consider to be his own, but to be merely things which come and\ngo at the caprice of fortune; therefore he had not loved them as\nhis own, for {29} the possession of all things which come from\nwithout is slippery and insecure.\n\nVI. Consider now, whether any thief, or false accuser, or headstrong\nneighbour, or rich man enjoying the power conferred by a childless\nold age, could do any injury to this man, from whom neither war nor\nan enemy whose profession was the noble art of battering city walls\ncould take away anything. Amid the flash of swords on all sides,\nand the riot of the plundering soldiery, amid the flames and blood\nand ruin of the fallen city, amid the crash of temples falling upon\ntheir gods, one man was at peace. You need not therefore account\nthat a reckless boast, for which I will give you a surety, if my\nwords goes for nothing. Indeed, you would hardly believe so much\nconstancy or such greatness of mind to belong to any man; but here\na man comes forward to prove that you have no reason for doubting\nthat one who is but of human birth can raise himself above human\nnecessities, can tranquilly behold pains, losses, diseases, wounds,\nand great natural convulsions roaring around him, can bear adversity\nwith calm and prosperity with moderation, neither yielding to the\nformer nor trusting to the latter, that he can remain the same amid\nall varieties of fortune, and think nothing to be his own save\nhimself, and himself too only as regards his better part. \u201cBehold,\u201d\nsays he, \u201cI am here to prove to you that although, under the direction\nof that destroyer of so many cities, walls may be shaken by the\nstroke of the ram, lofty towers may be suddenly brought low by\ngalleries and hidden mines, and mounds arise so high as to rival\nthe highest citadel, yet that no siege engines can be discovered\nwhich can shake a well-established mind. I have just crept from\namid the ruins of my house, and with conflagrations blazing all\naround I have escaped from the flames through blood. What fate has\nbefallen my daughters, whether a worse one than that of their\ncountry, I {30} know not. Alone and elderly, and seeing everything\naround me in the hands of the enemy, still I declare that my property\nis whole and untouched. I have, I hold whatever of mine I have ever\nhad. There is no reason for you to suppose me conquered and yourself\nmy conqueror. It is your fortune which has overcome mine. As for\nthose fleeting possessions which change their owners, I know not\nwhere they are; what belongs to myself is with me, and ever will\nbe. I see rich men who have lost their estates; lustful men who\nhave lost their loves, the courtesans whom they cherished at the\ncost of much shame; ambitious men who have lost the senate, the law\ncourts, the places set apart for the public display of men\u2019s vices;\nusurers who have lost their account-books, in which avarice vainly\nenjoyed an unreal wealth; but I possess everything whole and\nuninjured. Leave me, and go and ask those who are weeping and\nlamenting over the loss of their money, who are offering their bare\nbreasts to drawn swords in its defence, or who are fleeing from the\nenemy with weighty pockets.\u201d See then, Serenus, that the perfect\nman, full of human and divine virtues, can lose nothing; his goods\nare surrounded by strong and impassable walls. You cannot compare\nwith them the walls of Babylon, which Alexander entered, nor the\nfortifications of Carthage and Numantia, won by one and the same\nhand,[2] nor the Capitol and citadel of Rome, which are branded\nwith the marks of the victors\u2019 insults; the ramparts which protect\nthe wise man are safe from fire and hostile invasion; they afford\nno passage; they are lofty, impregnable, divine.\n\nVII. You have no cause for saying, as you are wont to do, that this\nwise man of ours[3] is nowhere to be found; we do not invent him\nas an unreal glory of the human race, or conceive a mighty shadow\nof an untruth, but we have displayed and will display him just as\nwe sketch him, though {31} he may perhaps be uncommon, and only one\nappears at long intervals; for what is great and transcends the\ncommon ordinary type is not often produced; but this very Marcus\nCato himself, the mention of whom started this discussion, was a\nman who I fancy even surpassed our model. Moreover, that which hurts\nmust be stronger than that which is hurt. Now wickedness is not\nstronger than virtue; therefore the wise man cannot be hurt. Only\nthe bad attempt to injure the good. Good men are at peace among\nthemselves; bad ones are equally mischievous to the good and to one\nanother. If a man cannot be hurt by one weaker than himself, and a\nbad man be weaker than a good one, and the good have no injury to\ndread, except from one unlike themselves; then, no injury takes\neffect upon the wise man; for by this time I need not remind you\nthat no one save the wise man is good.\n\n\u201cIf,\u201d says our adversary, \u201cSocrates was unjustly condemned, he\nreceived an injury.\u201d At this point it is needful for us to bear in\nmind that it is possible for some one to do an injury to me, and\nyet for me not to receive it, as if any one were to steal something\nfrom my country-house and leave it in my town-house, that man would\ncommit a theft, yet I should lose nothing. A man may become\nmischievous, and yet do no actual mischief: if a man lies with his\nown wife as if she were a stranger, he will commit adultery, but\nhis wife will not; if a man gives me poison and the poison lose its\nstrength when mixed with food, that man, by administering the poison,\nhas made himself a criminal, even though he has done no hurt. A man\nis no less a brigand because his sword becomes entangled in his\nvictim\u2019s clothes and misses its mark. All crimes, as far as concerns\ntheir criminality, are completed before the actual deed is accomplished.\nSome crimes are of such a nature and bound by such conditions that\nthe first part can take place without the second. {32} though the\nsecond cannot take place without the first. I will endeavour to\nexplain these words: I can move my feet and yet not run; but I\ncannot run without moving my feet. I can be in the water without\nswimming; but if I swim, I cannot help being in the water. The\nmatter of which we are treating is of this character: if I have\nreceived an injury, it is necessary that some one must have done\nit to me; but if an injury has been done me, it is not necessary\nthat I should have received one; for many circumstances may intervene\nto avert the injury, as, for example, some chance may strike the\nhand that is aiming at us, and the dart, after it has been thrown,\nmay swerve aside. So injuries of all kinds may by certain circumstances\nbe thrown back and intercepted in mid-course, so that they may be\ndone and yet not received.\n\nVIII. Moreover, justice can suffer nothing unjust, because contraries\ncannot co-exist; but an injury can only be done unjustly, therefore\nan injury cannot be done to the wise man. Nor need you wonder at\nno one being able to do him an injury; for no one can do him any\ngood service either. The wise man lacks nothing which he can accept\nby way of a present, and the bad man can bestow nothing that is\nworthy of the wise man\u2019s acceptance; for he must possess it before\nhe can bestow it, and he possesses nothing which the wise man would\nrejoice to have handed over to him. Consequently, no one can do\neither harm or good to the wise man, because divine things neither\nwant help nor are capable of being hurt; and the wise man is near,\nindeed very near to the gods, being like a god in every respect\nsave that he is mortal. As he presses forward and makes his way\ntowards the life that is sublime, well-ordered, without fear,\nproceeding in a regular and harmonious course, tranquil, beneficent,\nmade for the good of mankind, useful both to itself and to others,\nhe will neither long nor weep for anything that is grovelling. He\nwho, trusting to {33} reason, passes through human affairs with\ngodlike mind, has no quarter from which he can receive injury. Do\nyou suppose that I mean merely from no man? He cannot receive an\ninjury even from fortune, which, whenever she contends with virtue,\nalways retires beaten. If we accept with an undisturbed and tranquil\nmind that greatest terror of all, beyond which the angry laws and\nthe most cruel masters have nothing to threaten us with, in which\nfortune\u2019s dominion is contained\u2014if we know that death is not an\nevil, and therefore is not an injury either, we shall much more\neasily endure the other things, such as losses, pains, disgraces,\nchanges of abode, bereavements, and partings, which do not overwhelm\nthe wise man even if they all befall him at once, much less does\nhe grieve at them when they assail him separately. And if he bears\nthe injuries of fortune calmly, how much more will he bear those\nof powerful men, whom he knows to be the hands of fortune.\n\nIX. He therefore endures everything in the same spirit with which\nhe endures the cold of winter and the severities of climate, fevers,\ndiseases, and other chance accidents, nor does he entertain so high\nan opinion of any man as to suppose that he acts of set purpose,\nwhich belongs to the wise man alone. All other men have no plans,\nbut only plots and deceits and irregular impulses of mind, which\nhe reckons the same as pure accident; now, what depends upon pure\naccident cannot rage around us designedly. He reflects, also, that\nthe largest sources of injury are to be found in those things by\nmeans of which danger is sought for against us, as, for example,\nby a suborned accuser, or a false charge, or by the stirring up\nagainst us of the anger of great men, and the other forms of the\nbrigandage of civilized life. Another common type of injury is when\na man loses some profit or prize for which he has long been angling;\nwhen an inheritance which he {34} has spent great pains to render\nhis own is left to some one else, or the favour of some noble house,\nthrough which he makes great gain, is taken from him. The wise man\nescapes all this, since he knows not what it is to live for hope\nor for fear. Add to this, that no one receives an injury unmoved,\nbut is disturbed by the feeling of it. Now, the man free from\nmistakes has no disturbance; he is master of himself, enjoying a\ndeep and tranquil repose of mind; for if an injury reaches him it\nmoves and rouses him. But the wise man is without anger, which is\ncaused by the appearance of injury, and he could not be free from\nanger unless he were also free from injury, which he knows cannot\nbe done to him; hence it is that he is so upright and cheerful,\nhence he is elate with constant joy. So far, however, is he from\nshrinking from the encounter either of circumstances or of men,\nthat he makes use of injury itself to make trial of himself and\ntest his own virtue. Let us, I beseech you, show favour to this\nthesis and listen with impartial ears and minds while the wise man\nis being made exempt from injury; for nothing is thereby taken away\nfrom your insolence, your greediest lusts, your blind rashness and\npride; it is without prejudice to your vices that this freedom is\nsought for the wise man; we do not strive to prevent your doing an\ninjury, but to enable him to sink all injuries beneath himself and\nprotect himself from them by his own greatness of mind. So in the\nsacred games many have won the victory by patiently enduring the\nblows of their adversaries and so wearying them out. Think that the\nwise man belongs to this class, that of men who, by long and faithful\npractice, have acquired strength to endure and tire out all the\nviolence of their enemies.\n\nX. Since we have now discussed the first part of our subject, let\nus pass on to the second, in which we will prove by arguments, some\nof which are our own, but {35} which for the most part are Stoic\ncommonplaces, that the wise man cannot be insulted. There is a\nlesser form of injury, which we must complain of rather than avenge,\nwhich the laws also have considered not to deserve any special\npunishment. This passion is produced by a meanness of mind which\nshrinks at any act or deed which treats it with disrespect. \u201cHe did\nnot admit me to his house to-day, although he admitted others; he\neither turned haughtily away or openly laughed when I spoke;\u201d or,\n\u201che placed me at dinner, not on the middle couch (the place of\nhonour), but on the lowest one;\u201d and other matters of the same sort,\nwhich I can call nothing but the whinings of a queasy spirit. These\nmatters chiefly affect the luxuriously-nurtured and prosperous; for\nthose who are pressed by worse evils have no time to notice such\nthings as these. Through excessive idleness, dispositions naturally\nweak and womanish and prone to indulge in fancies through want of\nreal injuries are disturbed at these things, the greater part of\nwhich arise from misunderstanding. He therefore who is affected by\ninsult shows that he possesses neither sense nor trustfulness; for\nhe considers it certain that he is scorned, and this vexation affects\nhim with a certain sense of degradation, as he effaces himself and\ntakes a lower room; whereas the wise man is scorned by no one, for\nhe knows his own greatness, gives himself to understand that he\nallows no one to have such power over him, and as for all of what\nI should not so much call distress as uneasiness of mind, he does\nnot overcome it, but never so much as feels it. Some other things\nstrike the wise man, though they may not shake his principles, such\nas bodily pain and weakness, the loss of friends and children, and\nthe ruin of his country in war-time. I do not say that the wise man\ndoes not feel these, for we do not ascribe to him the hardness of\nstone or iron; there is no virtue but is conscious of its own\nendurance. What then does he? He receives some {36} blows, but when\nhe has received them he rises superior to them, heals them, and\nbrings them to an end; these more trivial things he does not even\nfeel, nor does he make use of his accustomed fortitude in the\nendurance of evil against them, but either takes no notice of them\nor considers them to deserve to be laughed at.\n\nXI. Besides this, as most insults proceed from those who are haughty\nand arrogant and bear their prosperity ill, he has something wherewith\nto repel this haughty passion, namely, that noblest of all the\nvirtues, magnanimity, which passes over everything of that kind as\nlike unreal apparitions in dreams and visions of the night, which\nhave nothing in them substantial or true. At the same time he\nreflects that all men are too low to venture to look down upon what\nis so far above them. The Latin word _contumelia_ is derived from\nthe word _contempt_, because no one does that injury to another\nunless he regards him with contempt; and no one can treat his elders\nand betters with contempt, even though he does what contemptuous\npersons are wont to do; for children strike their parents\u2019 faces,\ninfants rumple and tear their mother\u2019s hair, and spit upon her and\nexpose what should be covered before her, and do not shrink from\nusing dirty language; yet we do not call any of these things\ncontemptuous. And why? Because he who does it is not able to show\ncontempt. For the same reason the scurrilous raillery of our slaves\nagainst their masters amuses us, as their boldness only gains licence\nto exercise itself at the expense of the guests if they begin with\nthe master; and the more contemptible and the more an object of\nderision each one of them is, the greater licence he gives his\ntongue. Some buy forward slave-boys for this purpose, cultivate\ntheir scurrility and send them to school that they may vent\npremeditated libels, which we do not call insults, but smart sayings;\nyet what madness, at one time to be amused and at another to be\naffronted by the same thing, {37} and to call a phrase an outrage\nwhen spoken by a friend, and an amusing piece of raillery when used\nby a slave-boy!\n\nXII. In the same spirit in which we deal with boys, the wise man\ndeals with all those whose childhood still endures after their youth\nis past and their hair is grey. What do men profit by age when their\nmind has all the faults of childhood and their defects are intensified\nby time? when they differ from children only in the size and\nappearance of their bodies, and are just as unsteady and capricious,\neager for pleasure without discrimination, timorous and quiet through\nfear rather than through natural disposition? One cannot say that\nsuch men differ from children because the latter are greedy for\nknuckle-bones and nuts and coppers, while the former are greedy for\ngold and silver and cities; because the latter play amongst themselves\nat being magistrates, and imitate the purple-edged robe of state,\nthe lictors\u2019 axes, and the judgment-seat, while the former play\nwith the same things in earnest in the Campus Martius and the courts\nof justice; because the latter pile up the sand on the seashore\ninto the likeness of houses, and the former, with an air of being\nengaged in important business, employ themselves in piling up stones\nand walls and roofs until they have turned what was intended for\nthe protection of the body into a danger to it? Children and those\nmore advanced in age both make the same mistake, but the latter\ndeal with different and more important things; the wise man,\ntherefore, is quite justified in treating the affronts which he\nreceives from such men as jokes: and sometimes he corrects them,\nas he would children, by pain and punishment, not because he has\nreceived an injury, but because they have done one and in order\nthat they may do so no more. Thus we break in animals with stripes,\nyet we are not angry with them when they refuse to carry their\nrider, but curb them in order that pain may overcome {38} their\nobstinacy. Now, therefore, you know the answer to the question which\nwas put to us, \u201cWhy, if the wise man receives neither injury nor\ninsult, he punishes those who do these things?\u201d He does not revenge\nhimself, but corrects them.\n\nXIII. What, then, is there to prevent your believing this strength\nof mind to belong to the wise man, when you can see the same thing\nexisting in others, though not from the same cause?\u2014for what physician\nis angry with a crazy patient? who takes to heart the curses of a\nfever-stricken one who is denied cold water? The wise man retains\nin his dealings with all men this same habit of mind which the\nphysician adopts in dealing with his patients, whose parts of shame\nhe does not scorn to handle should they need treatment, nor yet to\nlook at their solid and liquid evacuations, nor to endure their\nreproaches when frenzied by disease. The wise man knows that all\nthose who strut about in purple-edged togas,[4] healthy and embrowned,\nare brain-sick people, whom he regards as sick and full of follies.\nHe is not, therefore, angry, should they in their sickness presume\nto bear themselves somewhat impertinently towards their physician,\nand in the same spirit as that in which he sets no value upon their\ntitles of honour, he will set but little value upon their acts of\ndisrespect to himself. He will not rise in his own esteem if a\nbeggar pays his court to him, and he will not think it an affront\nif one of the dregs of the people does not return his greeting. So\nalso he will not admire himself even if many rich men admire him;\nfor he knows that they differ in no respect from beggars\u2014nay, are\neven more wretched than they; for {39} beggars want but a little,\nwhereas rich men want a great deal. Again, he will not be moved if\nthe King of the Medes, or Attalus, King of Asia, passes by him in\nsilence with a scornful air when he offers his greeting; for he\nknows that such a man\u2019s position has nothing to render it more\nenviable than that of the man whose duty it is in some great household\nto keep the sick and mad servants in order. Shall I be put out if\none of those who do business at the temple of Castor, buying and\nselling worthless slaves, does not return my salute, a man whose\nshops are crowded with throngs of the worst of bondmen? I trow not;\nfor what good can there be in a man who owns none but bad men? As\nthe wise man is indifferent to the courtesy or incivility of such\na man, so is he to that of a king. \u201cYou own,\u201d says he, \u201cthe Parthians\nand Bactrians, but they are men whom you keep in order by fear,\nthey are people whose possession forbids you to unstring the bow,\nthey are fierce enemies, on sale, and eagerly looking out for a new\nmaster.\u201d He will not, then, be moved by an insult from any man for\nthough all men differ one from another, yet the wise man regards\nthem all as alike on account of their equal folly; for should he\nonce lower himself to the point of being affected by either injury\nor insult, he could never feel safe afterwards, and safety is the\nespecial advantage of the wise man, and he will not be guilty of\nshowing respect to the man who has done him an injury by admitting\nthat he has received one, because it necessarily follows that he\nwho is disquieted at any one\u2019s scorn would value that person\u2019s\nadmiration.\n\nXIV. Such madness possesses some men that they imagine it possible\nfor an affront to be put upon them by a woman. What matters it who\nshe may be, how many slaves bear her litter, how heavily her ears\nare laden, how soft her seat? she is always the same thoughtless\ncreature, and unless she possesses acquired knowledge and {40} much\nlearning, she is fierce and passionate in her desires. Some are\nannoyed at being jostled by a heater of curling-tongs, and call the\nreluctance of a great man\u2019s porter to open the door, the pride of\nhis nomenclator,[5] or the disdainfulness of his chamberlain,\ninsults. O! what laughter is to be got out of such things, with\nwhat amusement the mind may be filled when it contrasts the frantic\nfollies of others with its own peace! \u201cHow then? will the wise man\nnot approach doors which are kept by a surly porter?\u201d Nay, if any\nneed calls him thither, he will make trial of him, however fierce\nhe may be, will tame him as one tames a dog by offering it food,\nand will not be enraged at having to expend entrance-money, reflecting\nthat on certain bridges also one has to pay toll; in like fashion\nhe will pay his fee to whoever farms this revenue of letting in\nvisitors, for he knows that men are wont to buy whatever is offered\nfor sale.[6] A man shows a poor spirit if he is pleased with himself\nfor having answered the porter cavalierly, broken his staff, forced\nhis way into his master\u2019s presence, and demanded a whipping for\nhim. He who strives with a man makes himself that man\u2019s rival, and\nmust be on equal terms with him before he can overcome him. But\nwhat will the wise man do when he receives a cuff? He will do as\nCato did when he was struck in the face; he did not flare up and\nrevenge the outrage, he did not even pardon it, but ignored it,\nshowing more magnanimity in not acknowledging it than if he had\nforgiven it. We will not dwell long upon this point; for who is\nthere who knows not that none of those things which are thought to\nbe good or evil are looked upon by the wise man and by mankind in\ngeneral in the same manner? He does not regard what all men think\nlow or wretched; he does not follow the people\u2019s track, but as the\n{41} stars move in a path opposite to that of the earth, so he\nproceeds contrary to the prejudices of all.\n\nXV. Cease then to say, \u201cWill not the wise man, then, receive an\ninjury if he be beaten, if his eye be knocked out? will he not\nreceive an insult if he be hooted through the Forum by the foul\nvoices of ruffians? if at a court banquet he be bidden to leave the\ntable and eat with slaves appointed to degrading duties? if he be\nforced to endure anything else that can be thought of that would\ngall a high spirit?\u201d However many or however severe these crosses\nmay be, they will all be of the same kind; and if small ones do not\naffect him, neither will greater ones; if a few do not affect him,\nneither will more. It is from your own weakness that you form your\nidea of his colossal mind, and when you have thought how much you\nyourselves could endure to suffer, you place the limit of the wise\nman\u2019s endurance a little way beyond that. But his virtue has placed\nhim in another region of the universe which has nothing in common\nwith you. Seek out sufferings and all things hard to be borne,\nrepulsive to be heard or seen; he will not be overwhelmed by their\ncombination, and will bear all just as he bears each one of them.\nHe who says that the wise man can bear this and cannot bear that,\nand restrains his magnanimity within certain limits, does wrong;\nfor Fortune overcomes us unless she is entirely overcome. Think not\nthat this is mere Stoic austerity. Epicurus, whom you adopt as the\npatron of your laziness, and who, you imagine, always taught what\nwas soft and slothful and conducive to pleasure, said, \u201cFortune\nseldom stands in a wise man\u2019s way.\u201d How near he came to a manly\nsentiment! Do thou dare to speak more boldly, and clear her out of\nthe way altogether! This is the house of the wise man\u2014narrow,\nunadorned, without bustle and splendour, the threshold guarded by\nno porters who marshal the crowd of visitors with a haughtiness\nproportionate to their bribes\u2014but For {42} tune cannot cross this\nopen and unguarded threshold. She knows that there is no room for\nher where there is nothing of hers.\n\nXVI. Now if even Epicurus, who made more concessions to the body\nthan any one, takes a spirited tone with regard to injuries, what\ncan appear beyond belief or beyond the scope of human nature amongst\nus Stoics? He says that injuries may be endured by the wise man,\nwe say that they do not exist for him. Nor is there any reason why\nyou should declare this to be repugnant to nature. We do not deny\nthat it is an unpleasant thing to be beaten or struck, or to lose\none of our limbs, but we say that none of these things are injuries.\nWe do not take away from them the feeling of pain, but the name of\n\u201cinjury,\u201d which cannot be received while our virtue is unimpaired.\nWe shall see which of the two is nearest the truth; each of them\nagree in despising injury. You ask what difference there is between\nthem? All that there is between two very brave gladiators, one of\nwhom conceals his wound and holds his ground, while the other turns\nround to the shouting populace, gives them to understand that his\nwound is nothing, and does not permit them to interfere on his\nbehalf. You need not think that it is any great thing about which\nwe differ; the whole gist of the matter, that which alone concerns\nyou, is what both schools of philosophy urge you to do, namely, to\ndespise injuries and insults, which I may call the shadows and\noutlines of injuries, to despise which does not need a wise man,\nbut merely a sensible one, who can say to himself, \u201cDo these things\nbefall me deservedly or undeservedly? If deservedly, it is not an\ninsult, but a judicial sentence; if undeservedly, then he who does\ninjustice ought to blush, not I. And what is this which is called\nan insult? Some one has made a joke about the baldness of my head,\nthe weakness of my eyes, the thinness of my legs, the shortness of\nmy stature; what insult is there in {43} telling me that which every\none sees? We laugh when _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_ at the same thing at which\nwe are indignant when it is said before a crowd, and we do not allow\nothers the privilege of saying what we ourselves are wont to say\nabout ourselves; we are amused at decorous jests, but are angry if\nthey are carried too far.\u201d\n\nXVII. Chrysippus says that a man was enraged because some one called\nhim a sea-sheep; we have seen Fidus Cornelius, the son-in-law of\nOvidius Naso, weeping in the Senate-house because Corbulo called\nhim a plucked ostrich; his command of his countenance did not fail\nhim at other abusive charges, which damaged his character and way\nof life; at this ridiculous saying he burst into tears. So deplorable\nis the weakness of men\u2019s minds when reason no longer guides them.\nWhat of our taking offence if any one imitates our talk, our walk,\nor apes any defect of our person or our pronunciation? as if they\nwould become more notorious by another\u2019s imitation than by our doing\nthem ourselves. Some are unwilling to hear about their age and grey\nhairs, and all the rest of what men pray to arrive at. The reproach\nof poverty agonizes some men, and whoever conceals it makes it a\nreproach to himself; and therefore if you of your own accord are\nthe first to acknowledge it, you cut the ground from under the feet\nof those who would sneer and politely insult you; no one is laughed\nat who begins by laughing at himself. Tradition tells us that\nVatinius, a man born both to be laughed at and hated, was a witty\nand clever jester. He made many jokes about his feet and his short\nneck, and thus escaped the sarcasms of Cicero above all, and of his\nother enemies, of whom he had more than he had diseases. If he, who\nthrough constant abuse had forgotten how to blush, could do this\nby sheer brazenness, why should not he who has made some progress\nin the education of a gentleman and the study of philosophy? Besides,\nit is a sort of revenge to spoil a man\u2019s {44} enjoyment of the\ninsult he has offered to us; such men say, \u201cDear me, I suppose he\ndid not understand it.\u201d Thus the success of an insult lies in the\nsensitiveness and rage of the victim; hereafter the insulter will\nsometimes meet his match; some one will be found to revenge you\nalso.\n\nXVIII. Gaius Caesar, among the other vices with which he overflowed,\nwas possessed by a strange insolent passion for marking every one\nwith some note of ridicule, he himself being the most tempting\nsubject for derision; so ugly was the paleness which proved him\nmad, so savage the glare of the eyes which lurked under his old\nwoman\u2019s brow, so hideous his misshapen head, bald and dotted about\nwith a few cherished hairs; besides the neck set thick with bristles,\nhis thin legs, his monstrous feet. It would be endless were I to\nmention all the insults which he heaped upon his parents and\nancestors, and people of every class of life. I will mention those\nwhich brought him to ruin. An especial friend of his was Asiaticus\nValerius, a proud-spirited man and one hardly likely to put up with\nanother\u2019s insults quietly. At a drinking bout, that is, a public\nassembly, Gaius, at the top of his voice, reproached this man with\nthe way his wife behaved in bed. Good gods! that a man should hear\nthat the emperor knew this, and that he, the emperor, should describe\nhis adultery and his disappointment to the lady\u2019s husband, I do not\nsay to a man of consular rank and his own friend. Chaerea, on the\nother hand, the military tribune, had a voice not befitting his\nprowess, feeble in sound, and somewhat suspicious unless you knew\nhis achievements. When he asked for the watchword Gaius at one time\ngave him \u201cVenus,\u201d and at another \u201cPriapus,\u201d and by various means\nreproached the man-at-arms with effeminate vice; while he himself\nwas dressed in transparent clothes, wearing sandals and jewellery.\nThus he forced him to use his sword, that he might not have to ask\nfor the watchword oftener; it was Chaerea who {45} first of all the\nconspirators raised his hand, who cut through the middle of Caligula\u2019s\nneck with one blow. After that, many swords, belonging to men who\nhad public or private injuries to avenge, were thrust into his body,\nbut he first showed himself a man who seemed least like one. The\nsame Gaius construed everything as an insult (since those who are\nmost eager to offer affronts are least able to endure them). He was\nangry with Herennius Macer for having greeted him as Gaius\u2014nor did\nthe chief centurion of triarii get off scot-free for having saluted\nhim as Caligula; having been born in the camp and brought up as the\nchild of the legions, he had been wont to be called by this name,\nnor was there any by which he was better known to the troops, but\nby this time he held \u201cCaligula\u201d to be a reproach and a dishonour.\nLet wounded spirits, then, console themselves with this reflexion,\nthat, even though our easy temper may have neglected to revenge\nitself, nevertheless that there will be some one who will punish\nthe impertinent, proud, and insulting man, for these are vices which\nhe never confines to one victim or one single offensive act. Let\nus look at the examples of those men whose endurance we admire, as,\nfor instance, that of Socrates, who took in good part the published\nand acted jibes of the comedians upon himself, and laughed no less\nthan he did when he was drenched with dirty water by his wife\nXanthippe. Antisthenes was reproached with his mother being a\nbarbarian and a Thracian; he answered that the mother of the gods,\ntoo, came from Mount Ida.\n\nXIX. We ought not to engage in quarrels and wrangling; we ought to\nbetake ourselves far away and to disregard everything of this kind\nwhich thoughtless people do (indeed thoughtless people alone do\nit), and to set equal value upon the honours and the reproaches of\nthe mob; we ought not to be hurt by the one or to be pleased by the\nother. Otherwise we shall neglect many essential points, shall\ndesert our {46} duty both to the state and in private life through\nexcessive fear of insults or weariness of them, and sometimes we\nshall even miss what would do us good, while tortured by this\nwomanish pain at hearing something not to our mind. Sometimes, too,\nwhen enraged with powerful men we shall expose this failing by our\nreckless freedom of speech; yet it is not freedom to suffer nothing\u2014we\nare mistaken\u2014freedom consists in raising one\u2019s mind superior to\ninjuries and becoming a person whose pleasures come from himself\nalone, in separating oneself from external circumstances that one\nmay not have to lead a disturbed life in fear of the laughter and\ntongues of all men; for if any man can offer an insult, who is there\nwho cannot? The wise man and the would-be wise man will apply\ndifferent remedies to this; for it is only those whose philosophical\neducation is incomplete, and who still guide themselves by public\nopinion, who would suppose that they ought to spend their lives in\nthe midst of insults and injuries; yet all things happen in a more\nendurable fashion to men who are prepared for them. The nobler a\nman is by birth, by reputation, or by inheritance, the more bravely\nhe should bear himself, remembering that the tallest men stand in\nthe front rank in battle. As for insults, offensive language, marks\nof disgrace, and such-like disfigurements, he ought to bear them\nas he would bear the shouts of the enemy, and darts or stones flung\nfrom a distance, which rattle upon his helmet without causing a\nwound; while he should look upon injuries as wounds, some received\non his armour and others on his body, which, he endures without\nfalling or even leaving his place in the ranks. Even though you be\nhard pressed and violently attacked by the enemy, still it is base\nto give way; hold the post assigned to you by nature. You ask, what\nthis post is? it is that of being a man. The wise man has another\nhelp, of the opposite kind to this; you are hard at work, while he\nhas already won the victory. Do not {47} quarrel with your own good\nadvantage, and, until you shall have made your way to the truth,\nkeep alive this hope in your minds, be willing to receive the news\nof a better life, and encourage it by your admiration and your\nprayers; it is to the interest of the commonwealth of mankind that\nthere should be some one who is unconquered, some one against whom\nfortune has no power.\n\n\n[1] Xerxes.\n\n[2] Scipio.\n\n[3] The Stoics.\n\n[4] Seneca here speaks of men wearing the toga as officials,\ncontrasted with the mass of Roman citizens, among whom the wearing\nof the toga was already falling into disuse in the time of Augustus.\nSee Macrob., \u201cSat.,\u201d vi. 5 extr., and Suetonius, \u201cLife of Octavius,\u201d\n40, where the author mentions that Augustus used sarcastically to\napply the verse, Virg., \u2018Aen.,\u2019 i. 282, to the Romans of his day.\n\n[5] See note, \u201cDe Beneficiis,\u201d vi. 33.\n\n[6] Gertz reads \u2018decet emere venalia,\u2019 \u2018there is no harm in buying\nwhat is for sale.\u2019\n\n\n\n\n{48}\n\nTHE THIRD BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO\nNOVATUS.\n\nOF ANGER.\n\nBook I.\n\n\nYou have demanded of me, Novatus, that I should write how anger may\nbe soothed, and it appears to me that you are right in feeling\nespecial fear of this passion, which is above all others hideous\nand wild: for the others have some alloy of peace and quiet, but\nthis consists wholly in action and the impulse of grief, raging\nwith an utterly inhuman lust for arms, blood and tortures, careless\nof itself provided it hurts another, rushing upon the very point\nof the sword, and greedy for revenge even when it drags the avenger\nto ruin with itself. Some of the wisest of men have in consequence\nof this called anger a short madness: for it is equally devoid of\nself control, regardless of decorum, forgetful of kinship, obstinately\nengrossed in whatever it begins to do, deaf to reason and advice,\nexcited by trifling causes, awkward at perceiving what is true and\njust, and very like a falling rock which breaks itself to pieces\nupon the very thing which it crushes. That you may know that they\nwhom anger possesses are not sane, look at their appearance; for\nas there are distinct symptoms which mark madmen, such as a bold\nand menacing air, a gloomy {49} brow, a stern face, a hurried walk,\nrestless hands, changed colour, quick and strongly-drawn breathing;\nthe signs of angry men, too, are the same: their eyes blaze and\nsparkle, their whole face is a deep red with the blood which boils\nup from the bottom of their heart, their lips quiver, their teeth\nare set, their hair bristles and stands on end, their breath is\nlaboured and hissing; their joints crack as they twist them about,\nthey groan, bellow, and burst into scarcely intelligible talk, they\noften clap their hands together and stamp on the ground with their\nfeet, and their whole body is highly-strung and plays those tricks\nwhich mark a distraught mind, so as to furnish an ugly and shocking\npicture of self-perversion and excitement. You cannot tell whether\nthis vice is more execrable or more disgusting. Other vices can be\nconcealed and cherished in secret; anger shows itself openly and\nappears in the countenance, and the greater it is, the more plainly\nit boils forth. Do you not see how in all animals certain signs\nappear before they proceed to mischief, and how their entire bodies\nput off their usual quiet appearance and stir up their ferocity?\nBoars foam at the mouth and sharpen their teeth by rubbing them\nagainst trees, bulls toss their horns in the air and scatter the\nsand with blows of their feet, lions growl, the necks of enraged\nsnakes swell, mad dogs have a sullen look\u2014there is no animal so\nhateful and venomous by nature that it does not, when seized by\nanger, show additional fierceness. I know well that the other\npassions, can hardly be concealed, and that lust, fear, and boldness\ngive signs of their presence and may be discovered beforehand, for\nthere is no one of the stronger passions that does not affect the\ncountenance: what then is the difference between them and anger?\nWhy, that the other passions are visible, but that this is conspicuous.\n\nII. Next, if you choose to view its results and the mischief that\nit does, no plague has cost the human race {50} more dear: you will\nsee slaughterings and poisonings, accusations and counter-accusations,\nsacking of cities, ruin of whole peoples, the persons of princes\nsold into slavery by auction, torches applied to roofs, and fires\nnot merely confined within city-walls but making whole tracts of\ncountry glow with hostile flame. See the foundations of the most\ncelebrated cities hardly now to be discerned; they were ruined by\nanger. See deserts extending for many miles without an inhabitant:\nthey have been desolated by anger. See all the chiefs whom tradition\nmentions as instances of ill fate; anger stabbed one of them in his\nbed, struck down another, though he was protected by the sacred\nrights of hospitality, tore another to pieces in the very home of\nthe laws and in sight of the crowded forum, bade one shed his own\nblood by the parricide hand of his son, another to have his royal\nthroat cut by the hand of a slave, another to stretch out his limbs\non the cross: and hitherto I am speaking merely of individual cases.\nWhat, if you were to pass from the consideration of those single\nmen against whom anger has broken out to view whole assemblies cut\ndown by the sword, the people butchered by the soldiery let loose\nupon it, and whole nations condemned to death in one common ruin .\n. . .[1] as though by {51} men who either freed themselves from our\ncharge or despised our authority? Why, wherefore is the people angry\nwith gladiators, and so unjust as to think itself wronged if they\ndo not die cheerfully? It thinks itself scorned, and by looks,\ngestures, and excitement turns itself from a mere spectator into\nan adversary. Everything of this sort is not anger, but the semblance\nof anger, like that of boys who want to beat the ground when they\nhave fallen upon it, and who often do not even know why they are\nangry, but are merely angry without any reason or having received\nany injury, yet not without some semblance of injury received, or\nwithout some wish to exact a penalty for it. Thus they are deceived\nby the likeness of blows, and are appeased by the pretended tears\nof those who deprecate their wrath, and thus an unreal grief is\nhealed by an unreal revenge.\n\nIII. \u201cWe often are angry,\u201d says our adversary, \u201cnot with men who\nhave hurt us, but with men who are going to hurt us: so you may be\nsure that anger is not born of injury.\u201d It is true that we are angry\nwith those who are going to hurt us, but they do already hurt us\nin intention, and one who is going to do an injury is already doing\nit. \u201cThe weakest of men,\u201d argues he, \u201care often angry with the most\npowerful: so you may be sure that anger is not a desire to punish\ntheir antagonist\u2014for men do not desire to punish him when they\ncannot hope to do so.\u201d In the first place, I spoke of a desire to\ninflict punishment, not a power to do so: now men desire even what\nthey cannot obtain. In the next place, no one is so low in station\nas not to be able to hope to inflict punishment even upon the\ngreatest of men: we all are powerful for mischief. {52} Aristotle\u2019s\ndefinition differs little from mine: for he declares anger to be a\ndesire to repay suffering. It would be a long task to examine the\ndifferences between his definition and mine: it may be urged against\nboth of them that wild beasts become angry without being excited\nby injury, and without any idea of punishing others or requiting\nthem with pain: for, even though they do these things, these are\nnot what they aim at doing. We must admit, however, that neither\nwild beasts nor any other creature except man is subject to anger:\nfor, whilst anger is the foe of reason, it nevertheless does not\narise in any place where reason cannot dwell. Wild beasts have\nimpulses, fury, cruelty, combativeness: they have not anger any\nmore than they have luxury: yet they indulge in some pleasures with\nless self-control than human beings. Do not believe the poet who\nsays:\n\n \u201cThe boar his wrath forgets, the stag forgets the hounds. The\n bear forgets how \u2019midst the herd he leaped with frantic bounds.\u201d[2]\n\nWhen he speaks of beasts being angry he means that they are excited,\nroused up: for indeed they know no more how to be angry than they\nknow how to pardon. Dumb creatures have not human feelings, but\nhave certain impulses which resemble them: for if it were not so,\nif they could feel love and hate, they would likewise be capable\nof friendship and enmity, of disagreement and agreement. Some traces\nof these qualities exist even in them, though properly all of them,\nwhether good or bad, belong to the human breast alone. To no creature\nbesides man has been given wisdom, foresight, industry, and reflexion.\nTo animals not only human virtues but even human vices are forbidden:\ntheir whole constitution, mental and bodily, is unlike that of human\nbeings: in them the royal[3] and {53} leading principle is drawn\nfrom another source, as, for instance, they possess a voice, yet\nnot a clear one, but indistinct and incapable of forming words: a\ntongue, but one which is fettered and not sufficiently nimble for\ncomplex movements: so, too, they possess intellect, the greatest\nattribute of all, but in a rough and inexact condition. It is,\nconsequently, able to grasp those visions and semblances which rouse\nit to action, but only in a cloudy and indistinct fashion. It follows\nfrom this that their impulses and outbreaks are violent, and that\nthey do not feel fear, anxieties, grief, or anger, but some semblances\nof these feelings: wherefore they quickly drop them and adopt the\nconverse of them: they graze after showing the most vehement rage\nand terror, and after frantic bellowing and plunging they straightway\nsink into quiet sleep.\n\nIV. What anger is has been sufficiently explained. The difference\nbetween it and irascibility is evident: it is the same as that\nbetween a drunken man and a drunkard; between a frightened man and\na coward. It is possible for an angry man not to be irascible; an\nirascible man may sometimes not be angry. I shall omit the other\nvarieties of anger, which the Greeks distinguish by various names,\nbecause we have no distinctive words for them in our language,\nalthough we call men bitter, and harsh, and also peevish, frantic,\nclamorous, surly, and fierce: all of which are different forms of\nirascibility. Among these you may class sulkiness, a refined form\nof irascibility; for there are some sorts of anger which go no\nfurther than noise, while some are as lasting as they are common:\nsome are fierce in deed, but inclined to be sparing of words: some\nexpend themselves in bitter words and curses: some do not go beyond\ncomplaining and turning one\u2019s back: some are great, deep-seated,\nand brood within a man: there are a thousand other forms of a\nmultiform evil.\n\nV. We have now finished our enquiry as to what anger {54} is, whether\nit exists in any other creature besides man, what the difference\nis between it and irascibility, and how many forms it possesses.\nLet us now enquire whether anger be in accordance with nature, and\nwhether it be useful and worth entertaining in some measure.\n\nWhether it be according to nature will become evident if we consider\nman\u2019s nature, than which what is more gentle while it is in its\nproper condition? Yet what is more cruel than anger? What is more\naffectionate to others than man? Yet what is more savage against\nthem than anger? Mankind is born for mutual assistance, anger for\nmutual ruin: the former loves society, the latter estrangement. The\none loves to do good, the other to do harm; the one to help even\nstrangers, the other to attack even its dearest friends. The one\nis ready even to sacrifice itself for the good of others, the other\nto plunge into peril provided it drags others with it. Who, then,\ncan be more ignorant of nature than he who classes this cruel and\nhurtful vice as belonging to her best and most polished work? Anger,\nas we have said, is eager to punish; and that such a desire should\nexist in man\u2019s peaceful breast is least of all according to his\nnature; for human life is founded on benefits and harmony, and is\nbound together into an alliance for the common help of all, not by\nterror, but by love towards one another.\n\nVI. \u201cWhat, then? Is not correction sometimes necessary?\u201d Of course\nit is; but with discretion, not with anger; for it does not injure,\nbut heals under the guise of injury. We char crooked spearshafts\nto straighten them, and force them by driving in wedges, not in\norder to break them, but to take the bends out of them; and, in\nlike manner, by applying pain to the body or mind we correct\ndispositions which have been rendered crooked by vice. So the\nphysician at first, when dealing with slight disorders, tries not\nto make much change in his patient\u2019s daily habits, to regulate {55}\nhis food, drink, and exercise, and to improve his health merely by\naltering the order in which he takes them. The next step is to see\nwhether an alteration in their amount will be of service. If neither\nalteration of the order or of the amount is of use, he cuts off\nsome and reduces others. If even this does not answer, he forbids\nfood, and disburdens the body by fasting. If milder remedies have\nproved useless he opens a vein; if the extremities are injuring the\nbody and infecting it with disease he lays his hands upon the limbs;\nyet none of his treatment is considered harsh if its result is to\ngive health. Similarly, it is the duty of the chief administrator\nof the laws, or the ruler of a state, to correct ill-disposed men,\nas long as he is able, with words, and even with gentle ones, that\nhe may persuade them to do what they ought, inspire them with a\nlove of honour and justice, and cause them to hate vice and set\nstore upon virtue. He must then pass on to severer language, still\nconfining himself to advising and reprimanding; last of all he must\nbetake himself to punishments, yet still making them slight and\ntemporary. He ought to assign extreme punishments only to extreme\ncrimes, that no one may die unless it be even to the criminal\u2019s own\nadvantage that he should die. He will differ from the physician in\none point alone; for whereas physicians render it easy to die for\nthose to whom they cannot grant the boon of life, he will drive the\ncondemned out of life with ignominy and disgrace, not because he\ntakes pleasure in any man\u2019s being punished, for the wise man is far\nfrom such inhuman ferocity, but that they may be a warning to all\nmen, and that, since they would not be useful when alive, the state\nmay at any rate profit by their death. Man\u2019s nature is not, therefore,\ndesirous of inflicting punishment; neither, therefore, is anger in\naccordance with man\u2019s nature, because that is desirous of inflicting\npunishment. I will also adduce Plato\u2019s argument\u2014for what harm is\nthere in using {56} other men\u2019s arguments, so far as they are on\nour side? \u201cA good man,\u201d says he, \u201cdoes not do any hurt: it is only\npunishment which hurts. Punishment, therefore, does not accord with\na good man: wherefore anger does not do so either, because punishment\nand anger accord one with another. If a good man takes no pleasure\nin punishment, he will also take no pleasure in that state of mind\nto which punishment gives pleasure: consequently anger is not natural\nto man.\u201d\n\nVII. May it not be that, although anger be not natural, it may be\nright to adopt it, because it often proves useful? It rouses the\nspirit and excites it; and courage does nothing grand in war without\nit, unless its flame be supplied from this source; this is the goad\nwhich stirs up bold men and sends them to encounter perils. Some\ntherefore consider it to be best to control anger, not to banish\nit utterly, but to cut off its extravagances, and force it to keep\nwithin useful bounds, so as to retain that part of it without which\naction will become languid and all strength and activity of mind\nwill die away.\n\nIn the first place, it is easier to banish dangerous passions than\nto rule them; it is easier not to admit them than to keep them in\norder when admitted; for when they have established themselves in\npossession of the mind they are more powerful than the lawful ruler,\nand will in no wise permit themselves to be weakened or abridged.\nIn the next place, Reason herself, who holds the reins, is only\nstrong while she remains apart from the passions; if she mixes and\nbefouls herself with them she becomes no longer able to restrain\nthose whom she might once have cleared out of her path; for the\nmind, when once excited and shaken up, goes whither the passions\ndrive it. There are certain things whose beginnings lie in our own\npower, but which, when developed, drag us along by their own force\nand leave us no retreat. Those who have flung themselves over a\nprecipice {57} have no control over their movements, nor can they\nstop or slacken their pace when once started, for their own headlong\nand irremediable rashness has left no room for either reflexion or\nremorse, and they cannot help going to lengths which they might\nhave avoided. So, also, the mind, when it has abandoned itself to\nanger, love, or any other passion, is unable to check itself: its\nown weight and the downward tendency of vices must needs carry the\nman off and hurl him into the lowest depth.\n\nVIII. The best plan is to reject straightway the first incentives\nto anger, to resist its very beginnings, and to take care not to\nbe betrayed into it: for if once it begins to carry us away, it is\nhard to get back again into a healthy condition, because reason\ngoes for nothing when once passion has been admitted to the mind,\nand has by our own free will been given a certain authority, it\nwill for the future do as much as it chooses, not only as much as\nyou will allow it. The enemy, I repeat, must be met and driven back\nat the outermost frontier-line: for when he has once entered the\ncity and passed its gates, he will not allow his prisoners to set\nbounds to his victory. The mind does not stand apart and view its\npassions from without, so as not to permit them to advance further\nthan they ought, but it is itself changed into a passion, and is\ntherefore unable to check what once was useful and wholesome strength,\nnow that it has become degenerate and misapplied: for passion and\nreason, as I said before, have not distinct and separate provinces,\nbut consist of the changes of the mind itself for better or for\nworse. How then can reason recover itself when it is conquered and\nheld down by vices, when it has given way to anger? or how can it\nextricate itself from a confused mixture, the greater part of which\nconsists of the lower qualities? \u201cBut,\u201d argues our adversary, \u201csome\nmen when in anger control themselves.\u201d Do they so far control\nthemselves that they do nothing which anger dictates, or some {58}\nwhat? If they do nothing thereof, it becomes evident that anger is\nnot essential to the conduct of affairs, although your sect advocated\nit as possessing greater strength than reason . . . . Finally, I\nask, is anger stronger or weaker than reason? If stronger, how can\nreason impose any check upon it, since it is only the less powerful\nthat obey: if weaker, then reason is competent to effect its ends\nwithout anger, and does not need the help of a less powerful quality.\n\u201cBut some angry men remain consistent and control themselves.\u201d When\ndo they do so? It is when their anger is disappearing and leaving\nthem of its own accord, not when it was red-hot, for then it was\nmore powerful than they. What then? do not men, even in the height\nof their anger, sometimes let their enemies go whole and unhurt,\nand refrain from injuring them? \u201cThey do: but when do they do so?\nIt is when one passion overpowers another, and either fear or greed\ngets the upper hand for a while. On such occasions, it is not thanks\nto reason that anger is stilled, but owing to an untrustworthy and\nfleeting truce between the passions.\n\nIX. In the next place, anger has nothing useful in itself, and does\nnot rouse up the mind to warlike deeds: for a virtue, being\nself-sufficient, never needs the assistance of a vice: whenever it\nneeds an impetuous effort, it does not become angry, but rises to\nthe occasion, and excites or soothes itself as far as it deems\nrequisite, just as the machines which hurl darts may be twisted to\na greater or lesser degree of tension at the manager\u2019s pleasure.\n\u201cAnger,\u201d says Aristotle, \u201cis necessary, nor can any fight be won\nwithout it, unless it fills the mind, and kindles up the spirit.\nIt must, however, be made use of, not as a general, but as a soldier,\u201d\nNow this is untrue; for if it listens to reason and follows whither\nreason leads, it is no longer anger, whose characteristic is\nobstinacy: if, again, it is disobedient and will not be quiet when\nordered, but is carried away by its own {59} wilful and headstrong\nspirit, it is then as useless an aid to the mind as a soldier who\ndisregards the sounding of the retreat would be to a general. If,\ntherefore, anger allows limits to be imposed upon it, it must be\ncalled by some other name, and ceases to be anger, which I understand\nto be unbridled and unmanageable: and if it does not allow limits\nto be imposed upon it, it is harmful and not to be counted among\naids: wherefore either anger is not anger, or it is useless: for\nif any man demands the infliction of punishment, not because he is\neager for the punishment itself, but because it is right to inflict\nit, he ought not to be counted as an angry man: that will be the\nuseful soldier, who knows how to obey orders: the passions cannot\nobey any more than they can command.\n\nX. For this cause reason will never call to its aid blind and fierce\nimpulses, over whom she herself possesses no authority, and which\nshe never can restrain save by setting against them similar and\nequally powerful passions, as for example, fear against anger, anger\nagainst sloth, greed against timidity. May virtue never come to\nsuch a pass, that reason should fly for aid to vices! The mind can\nfind no safe repose there, it must needs be shaken and tempest-tossed\nif it be safe only because of its own defects, if it cannot be brave\nwithout anger, diligent without greed, quiet without fear: such is\nthe despotism under which a man must live if he becomes the slave\nof a passion. Are you not ashamed to put virtues under the patronage\nof vices? Then, too, reason ceases to have any power if she can do\nnothing without passion, and begins to be equal and like unto\npassion; for what difference is there between them if passion without\nreason be as rash as reason without passion is helpless? They are\nboth on the same level, if one cannot exist without the other. Yet\nwho could endure that passion should be made equal to reason? \u201cThen,\u201d\nsays our adversary, \u201cpassion is useful, provided it be moderate.\u201d\n{60} Nay, only if it be useful by nature: but if it be disobedient\nto authority and reason, al that we gain by its moderation is that\nthe less there is of it, the less harm it does: wherefore a moderate\npassion is nothing but a moderate evil.\n\nXI. \u201cBut,\u201d argues he, \u201cagainst our enemies anger is necessary.\u201d In\nno case is it less necessary; since our attacks ought not to be\ndisorderly, but regulated and under control. What, indeed, is it\nexcept anger, so ruinous to itself, that overthrows barbarians, who\nhave so much more bodily strength than we, and are so much better\nable to endure fatigue? Gladiators, too, protect themselves by\nskill, but expose themselves to wounds when they are angry. Moreover,\nof what use is anger, when the same end can be arrived at by reason?\nDo you suppose that a hunter is angry with the beasts he kills? Yet\nhe meets them when they attack him, and follows them when they flee\nfrom him, all of which is managed by reason without anger. When so\nmany thousands of Cimbri and Teutones poured over the Alps, what\nwas it that caused them to perish so completely, that no messenger,\nonly common rumour, carried the news of that great defeat to their\nhomes, except that with them anger stood in the place of courage?\nand anger, although sometimes it overthrows and breaks to pieces\nwhatever it meets, yet is more often its own destruction. Who can\nbe braver than the Germans? who charge more boldly? who have more\nlove of arms, among which they are born and bred, for which alone\nthey care, to the neglect of everything else? Who can be more\nhardened to undergo every hardship, since a large part of them have\nno store of clothing for the body, no shelter from the continual\nrigour of the climate: yet Spaniards and Gauls, and even the unwarlike\nraces of Asia and Syria cut them down before the main legion comes\nwithin sight, nothing but their own irascibility exposing them to\ndeath. Give but intelligence to those {61} minds, and discipline\nto those bodies of theirs, which now are ignorant of vicious\nrefinements, luxury, and wealth,\u2014to say nothing more, we should\ncertainly be obliged to go back to the ancient Roman habits of life.\nBy what did Fabius restore the shattered forces of the state, except\nby knowing how to delay and spin out time, which angry men know not\nhow to do? The empire, which then was at its last gasp, would have\nperished if Fabius had been as daring as anger urged him to be: but\nhe took thought about the condition of affairs, and after counting\nhis force, no part of which could be lost without everything being\nlost with it, he laid aside thoughts of grief and revenge, turning\nhis sole attention to what was profitable and to making the most\nof his opportunities, and conquered his anger before he conquered\nHannibal. What did Scipio do? Did he not leave behind Hannibal and\nthe Carthaginian army, and all with whom he had a right to be angry,\nand carry over the war into Africa with such deliberation that he\nmade his enemies think him luxurious and lazy? What did the second\nScipio do? Did he not remain a long, long time before Numantia, and\nbear with calmness the reproach to himself and to his country that\nNumantia took longer to conquer than Carthage? By blockading and\ninvesting his enemies, he brought them to such straits that they\nperished by their own swords. Anger, therefore, is not useful even\nin wars or battles: for it is prone to rashness, and while trying\nto bring others into danger, does not guard itself against danger.\nThe most trustworthy virtue is that which long and carefully considers\nitself, controls itself, and slowly and deliberately brings itself\nto the front.\n\nXII. \u201cWhat, then,\u201d asks our adversary, \u201cis a good man not to be\nangry if he sees his father murdered or his mother outraged?\u201d No,\nhe will not be angry, but will avenge them, or protect them. Why\ndo you fear that {62} filial piety will not prove a sufficient spur\nto him even without anger? You may as well say\u2014\u201cWhat then? When a\ngood man sees his father or his son being cut down, I suppose he\nwill not weep or faint,\u201d as we see women do whenever any trifling\nrumour of danger reaches them. The good man will do his duty without\ndisturbance or fear, and he will perform the duty of a good man,\nso as to do nothing unworthy of a man. My father will be murdered:\nthen I will defend him: he has been slain, then I will avenge him,\nnot because I am grieved, but because it is my duty. \u201cGood men are\nmade angry by injuries done to their friends.\u201d When you say this,\nTheophrastus, you seek to throw discredit upon more manly maxims;\nyou leave the judge and appeal to the mob: because every one is\nangry when such things befall his own friends, you suppose that men\nwill decide that it is their duty to do what they do: for as a rule\nevery man considers a passion which he recognises to be a righteous\none. But he does the same thing if the hot water is not ready for\nhis drink, if a glass be broken, or his shoe splashed with mud. It\nis not filial piety, but weakness of mind that produces this anger,\nas children weep when they lose their parents, just as they do when\nthey lose their toys. To feel anger on behalf of one\u2019s friends does\nnot show a loving, but a weak mind: it is admirable and worthy\nconduct to stand forth as the defender of one\u2019s parents, children,\nfriends, and countrymen, at the call of duty itself, acting of one\u2019s\nown free will, forming a deliberate judgment, and looking forward\nto the future, not in an impulsive, frenzied fashion. No passion\nis more eager for revenge than anger, and for that very reason it\nis unapt to obtain it: being over hasty and frantic, like almost\nall desires, it hinders itself in the attainment of its own object,\nand therefore has never been useful either in peace or war: for it\nmakes peace like war, and when in arms forgets that Mars belongs\n{63} to neither side, and falls into the power of the enemy, because\nit is not in its own. In the next place, vices ought not to be\nreceived into common use because on some occasions they have effected\nsomewhat: for so also fevers are good for certain kinds of ill-health,\nbut nevertheless it is better to be altogether free from them: it\nis a hateful mode of cure to owe one\u2019s health to disease. Similarly,\nalthough anger, like poison, or falling headlong, or being shipwrecked,\nmay have unexpectedly done good, yet it ought not on that account\nto be classed as wholesome, for poisons have often proved good for\nthe health.\n\nXIII. Moreover, qualities which we ought to possess become better\nand more desirable the more extensive they are: if justice is a\ngood thing, no one will say that it would be better if any part\nwere subtracted from it; if bravery is a good thing, no one would\nwish it to be in any way curtailed: consequently the greater anger\nis, the better it is, for who ever objected to a good thing being\nincreased? But it is not expedient that anger should be increased:\ntherefore it is not expedient that it should exist at all, for that\nwhich grows bad by increase cannot be a good thing. \u201cAnger is\nuseful,\u201d says our adversary, \u201cbecause it makes men more ready to\nfight.\u201d According to that mode of reasoning, then, drunkenness also\nis a good thing, for it makes men insolent and daring, and many use\ntheir weapons better when the worse for liquor: nay, according to\nthat reasoning, also, you may call frenzy and madness essential to\nstrength, because madness often makes men stronger. Why, does not\nfear often by the rule of contraries make men bolder, and does not\nthe terror of death rouse up even arrant cowards to join battle?\nYet anger, drunkenness, fear, and the like, are base and temporary\nincitements to action, and can furnish no arms to virtue, which has\nno need of vices, although they may at times be of some little\nassistance to sluggish and cowardly minds. {64} No man becomes\nbraver through anger, except one who without anger would not have\nbeen brave at all: anger does not therefore come to assist courage,\nbut to take its place. What are we to say to the argument that, if\nanger were a good thing it would attach itself to all the best men?\nYet the most irascible of creatures are infants, old men, and sick\npeople. Every weakling is naturally prone to complaint.\n\nXIV. It is impossible, says Theophrastus, for a good man not to be\nangry with bad men. By this reasoning, the better a man is, the\nmore irascible he will be: yet will he not rather be more tranquil,\nmore free from passions, and hating no one: indeed, what reason has\nhe for hating sinners, since it is error that leads them into such\ncrimes? now it does not become a sensible man to hate the erring,\nsince if so he will hate himself: let him think how many things he\ndoes contrary to good morals, how much of what he has done stands\nin need of pardon, and he will soon become angry with himself also,\nfor no righteous judge pronounces a different judgment in his own\ncase and in that of others. No one, I affirm, will be found who can\nacquit himself. Every one when he calls himself innocent looks\nrather to external witnesses than to his own conscience. How much\nmore philanthropic it is to deal with the erring in a gentle and\nfatherly spirit, and to call them into the right course instead of\nhunting them down? When a man is wandering about our fields because\nhe has lost his way, it is better to place him on the right path\nthan to drive him away.\n\nXV. The sinner ought, therefore, to be corrected both by warning\nand by force, both by gentle and harsh means, and may be made a\nbetter man both towards himself and others by chastisement, but not\nby anger: for who is angry with the patient whose wounds he is\ntending? \u201cBut they cannot be corrected, and there is nothing in\nthem that is {65} gentle or that admits of good hope.\u201d Then let\nthem be removed from mortal society, if they are likely to deprave\nevery one with whom they come in contact, and let them cease to be\nbad men in the only way in which they can: yet let this be done\nwithout hatred: for what reason have I for hating the man to whom\nI am doing the greatest good, since I am rescuing him from himself?\nDoes a man hate his own limbs when he cuts them off? That is not\nan act of anger, but a lamentable method of healing. We knock mad\ndogs on the head, we slaughter fierce and savage bulls, and we doom\nscabby sheep to the knife, lest they should infect our flocks: we\ndestroy monstrous births, and we also drown our children if they\nare born weakly or unnaturally formed; to separate what is useless\nfrom what is sound is an act, not of anger, but of reason. Nothing\nbecomes one who inflicts punishment less than anger, because the\npunishment has all the more power to work reformation if the sentence\nbe pronounced with deliberate judgment. This is why Socrates said\nto the slave, \u201cI would strike you, were I not angry.\u201d He put off\nthe correction of the slave to a calmer season; at the moment, he\ncorrected himself. Who can boast that he has his passions, under\ncontrol, when Socrates did not dare to trust himself to his anger?\n\nXVI. We do not, therefore, need an angry chastiser to punish the\nerring and wicked: for since anger is a crime of the mind, it is\nnot right that sins should be punished by sin. \u201cWhat! am I not to\nbe angry with a robber, or a poisoner?\u201d No: for I am not angry with\nmyself when I bleed myself. I apply all kinds of punishment as\nremedies. You are as yet only in the first stage of error, and do\nnot go wrong seriously, although you do so often: then I will try\nto amend you by a reprimand given first in private and then in\npublic.[4] You, again, have gone {66} too far to be restored to\nvirtue by words alone; you must be kept in order by disgrace. For\nthe next, some stronger measure is required, something that he can\nfeel must be branded upon him; you, sir, shall be sent into exile\nand to a desert place. The next man\u2019s thorough villany needs harsher\nremedies: chains and public imprisonment must be applied to him.\nYou, lastly, have an incurably vicious mind, and add crime to crime:\nyou have come to such a pass, that you are not influenced by the\narguments which are never wanting to recommend evil, but sin itself\nis to you a sufficient reason for sinning: you have so steeped your\nwhole heart in wickedness, that wickedness cannot be taken from you\nwithout bringing your heart with it. Wretched man! you have long\nsought to die; we will do you good service, we will take away that\nmadness from which you suffer, and to you who have so long lived a\nmisery to yourself and to others, we will give the only good thing\nwhich remains, that is, death. Why should I be angry with a man\njust when I am doing him good: sometimes the truest form of compassion\nis to put a man to death. If I were a skilled and learned physician,\nand were to enter a hospital, or a rich[5] man\u2019s house, I should\nnot have prescribed the same treatment for all the patients who\nwere suffering from various diseases. I see different kinds of vice\nin the vast number of different minds, and am called in to heal the\nwhole body of citizens: let us seek for the remedies proper for\neach disease. This man may be cured by his own sense of honour,\nthat one by travel, that one by pain, that one by want, that one\nby the sword. If, therefore, it becomes my duty as a magistrate to\nput on black[6] robes, and summon an assembly by the sound of a\n{67} trumpet,[7] I shall walk to the seat of judgment not in a rage\nor in a hostile spirit, but with the countenance of a judge; I shall\npronounce the formal sentence in a grave and gentle rather than a\nfurious voice, and shall bid them proceed {68} sternly, yet not\nangrily. Even when I command a criminal to be beheaded, when I sew\na parricide up in a sack, when I send a man to be punished by\nmilitary law, when I fling a traitor or public enemy down the\nTarpeian Rock, I shall be free from anger, and shall look and feel\njust as though I were crushing snakes and other venomous creatures.\n\u201cAnger is necessary to enable us to punish.\u201d What? do you think\nthat the law is angry with men whom it does not know, whom it has\nnever seen, who it hopes will never exist? We ought, therefore, to\nadopt the law\u2019s frame of mind, which does not become angry, but\nmerely defines offences: for, if it is right for a good man to be\nangry at wicked crimes, it will also be right for him to be moved\nwith envy at the prosperity of wicked men: what, indeed, is more\nscandalous than that in some cases the very men, for whose deserts\nno fortune could be found bad enough, should flourish and actually\nbe the spoiled children of success? Yet he will see their affluence\nwithout envy, just as he sees their crimes without anger: a good\njudge condemns wrongful acts, but does not hate them. \u201cWhat then?\nwhen the wise man is dealing with something of this kind, will his\nmind not be affected by it and become excited beyond its usual\nwont?\u201d I admit that it will: he will experience a slight and trifling\nemotion; for, as Zeno says, \u201cEven in the mind of the wise man, a\nscar remains after the wound is quite healed.\u201d He will, therefore,\nfeel certain hints and semblances of passions; but he will be free\nfrom the passions themselves.\n\nXVII. Aristotle says that \u201ccertain passions, if one makes a proper\nuse of them, act as arms\u201d: which would be true if, like weapons of\nwar, they could be taken up or laid aside at the pleasure of their\nwielder. These arms, which Aristotle assigns to virtue, fight of\ntheir own accord, do not wait to be seized by the hand, and possess\na man instead of being possessed by him. We have no need of {69}\nexternal weapons, nature has equipped us sufficiently by giving us\nreason. She has bestowed this weapon upon us, which is strong,\nimperishable, and obedient to our will, not uncertain or capable\nof being turned against its master. Reason suffices by itself not\nmerely to take thought for the future, but to manage our affairs:[8]\nwhat, then, can be more foolish than for reason to beg anger for\nprotection, that is, for what is certain to beg of what is uncertain?\nwhat is trustworthy of what is faithless? what is whole of what is\nsick? What, indeed? since reason is far more powerful by itself\neven in performing those operations in which the help of anger seems\nespecially needful: for when reason has decided that a particular\nthing should be done, she perseveres in doing it; not being able\nto find anything better than herself to exchange with. She, therefore,\nabides by her purpose when it has once been formed; whereas anger\nis often overcome by pity: for it possesses no firm strength, but\nmerely swells like an empty bladder, and makes a violent beginning,\njust like the winds which rise from the earth and are caused by\nrivers and marshes, which blow furiously without any continuance:\nanger begins with a mighty rush, and then falls away, becoming\nfatigued too soon: that which but lately thought of nothing but\ncruelty and novel forms of torture, is become quite softened and\ngentle when the time comes for punishment to be inflicted. Passion\nsoon cools, whereas reason is always consistent: yet even in cases\nwhere anger has continued to burn, it often happens that although\nthere may be many who deserve to die, yet after the death of two\nor three it ceases to slay. Its first onset is fierce, just as the\nteeth of snakes when first roused from their lair are venomous, but\nbecome harmless after repeated bites have exhausted their poison.\nConsequently those who are {70} equally guilty are not equally\npunished, and often he who has done less is punished more, because\nhe fell in the way of anger when it was fresher. It is altogether\nirregular; at one time it runs into undue excess, at another it\nfalls short of its duty: for it indulges its own feelings and gives\nsentence according to its caprices, will not listen to evidence,\nallows the defence no opportunity of being heard, clings to what\nit has wrongly assumed, and will not suffer its opinion to be wrested\nfrom it, even when it is a mistaken one.\n\nXVIII. Reason gives each side time to plead; moreover, she herself\ndemands adjournment, that she may have sufficient scope for the\ndiscovery of the truth; whereas anger is in a hurry: reason wishes\nto give a just decision; anger wishes its decision to be thought\njust: reason looks no further than the matter in hand; anger is\nexcited by empty matters hovering on the outskirts of the case: it\nis irritated by anything approaching to a confident demeanour, a\nloud voice, an unrestrained speech, dainty apparel, high-flown\npleading, or popularity with the public. It often condemns a man\nbecause it dislikes his patron; it loves and maintains error even\nwhen truth is staring it in the face. It hates to be proved wrong,\nand thinks it more honourable to persevere in a mistaken line of\nconduct than to retract it. I remember Gnaeus Piso, a man who was\nfree from many vices, yet of a perverse disposition, and one who\nmistook harshness for consistency. In his anger he ordered a soldier\nto be led off to execution because he had returned from furlough\nwithout his comrade, as though he must have murdered him if he could\nnot show him. When the man asked for time for search, he would not\ngrant it: the condemned man was brought outside the rampart, and\nwas just offering his neck to the axe, when suddenly there appeared\nhis comrade who was thought to be slain. Hereupon the centurion in\ncharge of the execution bade the guardsman sheathe his sword, and\nled the condemned {71} man back to Piso, to restore to him the\ninnocence which Fortune had restored to the soldier. They were led\ninto his presence by their fellow soldiers amid the great joy of\nthe whole camp, embracing one another and accompanied by a vast\ncrowd. Piso mounted the tribunal in a fury and ordered them both\nto be executed, both him who had not murdered and him who had not\nbeen slain. What could be more unworthy than this? Because one was\nproved to be innocent, two perished. Piso even added a third: for\nhe actually ordered the centurion, who had brought back the condemned\nman, to be put to death. Three men were set up to die in the same\nplace because one was innocent. O, how clever is anger at inventing\nreasons for its frenzy! \u201cYou,\u201d it says, \u201cI order to be executed,\nbecause you have been condemned to death: you, because you have\nbeen the cause of your comrade\u2019s condemnation, and you, because\nwhen ordered to put him to death you disobeyed your general.\u201d He\ndiscovered the means of charging them with three crimes, because\nhe could find no crime in them.\n\nXIX. Irascibility, I say, has this fault\u2014it is loth to be ruled:\nit is angry with the truth itself, if it comes to light against its\nwill: it assails those whom it has marked for its victims with\nshouting and riotous noise and gesticulation of the entire body,\ntogether with reproaches and curses. Not thus does reason act: but\nif it must be so, she silently and quietly wipes out whole households,\ndestroys entire families of the enemies of the state, together with\ntheir wives and children, throws down their very dwellings, levels\nthem with the ground, and roots out the names of those who are the\nfoes of liberty. This she does without grinding her teeth or shaking\nher head, or doing anything unbecoming to a judge, whose countenance\nought to be especially calm and composed at the time when he is\npronouncing an important sentence. \u201cWhat need is there,\u201d asks\nHieronymus, \u201cfor you to bite your own lips when you want to strike\nsome one?\u201d What {72} would he have said, had he seen a proconsul\nleap down from the tribunal, snatch the fasces from the lictor, and\ntear his own clothes because those of others were not torn as fast\nas he wished. Why need you upset the table, throw down the drinking\ncups, knock yourself against the columns, tear your hair, smite\nyour thigh and your breast? How vehement do you suppose anger to\nbe, if it thus turns back upon itself, because it cannot find vent\non another as fast as it wishes? Such men, therefore, are held back\nby the bystanders and are begged to become reconciled with themselves.\nBut he who while free from anger assigns to each man the penalty\nwhich he deserves, does none of these things. He often lets a man\ngo after detecting his crime, if his penitence for what he has done\ngives good hope for the future, if he perceives that the man\u2019s\nwickedness is not deeply rooted in his mind, but is only, as the\nsaying is, skin-deep. He will grant impunity in cases where it will\nhurt neither the receiver nor the giver. In some cases he will\npunish great crimes more leniently than lesser ones, if the former\nwere the result of momentary impulse, not of cruelty, while the\nlatter were instinct with secret, underhand, long-practised craftiness.\nThe same fault, committed by two separate men, will not be visited\nby him with the same penalty, if the one was guilty of it through\ncarelessness, the other with a premeditated intention of doing\nmischief. In all dealing with crime he will remember that the one\nform of punishment is meant to make bad men better, and the other\nto put them out of the way. In either case he will look to the\nfuture, not to the past: for, as Plato says, \u201cno wise man punishes\nany one because he has sinned, but that he may sin no more: for\nwhat is past cannot be recalled, but what is to come may be checked.\u201d\nThose, too, whom he wishes to make examples of the ill success of\nwickedness, he executes publicly, not merely in order that they\nthemselves may die, but that by dying they {73} may deter others\nfrom doing likewise. You see how free from any mental disturbance\na man ought to be who has to weigh and consider all this, when he\ndeals with a matter which ought to be handled with the utmost care,\nI mean, the power of life and death. The sword of justice is\nill-placed in the hands of an angry man.\n\nXX. Neither ought it to be believed that anger contributes anything\nto magnanimity: what it gives is not magnanimity but vain glory.\nThe increase which disease produces in bodies swollen with morbid\nhumours is not healthy growth, but bloated corpulence. All those\nwhose madness raises them above human considerations, believe\nthemselves to be inspired with high and sublime ideas; but there\nis no solid ground beneath, and what is built without foundation\nis liable to collapse in ruin. Anger has no ground to stand upon,\nand does not rise from a firm and enduring foundation, but is a\nwindy, empty quality, as far removed from true magnanimity as\nfool-hardiness from courage, boastfulness from confidence, gloom\nfrom austerity, cruelty from strictness. There is, I say, a great\ndifference between a lofty and a proud mind: anger brings about\nnothing grand or beautiful. On the other hand, to be constantly\nirritated seems to me to be the part of a languid and unhappy mind,\nconscious of its own feebleness, like folk with diseased bodies\ncovered with sores, who cry out at the lightest touch. Anger,\ntherefore, is a vice which for the most part affects women and\nchildren. \u201cYet it affects men also.\u201d Because many men, too, have\nwomanish or childish intellects. \u201cBut what are we to say? do not\nsome words fall from angry men which appear to flow from a great\nmind?\u201d Yes, to those who know not what true greatness is: as, for\nexample, that foul and hateful saying, \u201cLet them hate me, provided\nthey fear me,\u201d which you may be sure was written in Sulla\u2019s time.\nI know not which was the worse of the two things he wished {74}\nfor, that he might be hated or that he might be feared. It occurs\nto his mind that some day people will curse him, plot against him,\ncrush him: what prayer does he add to this? May all the gods curse\nhim\u2014for discovering a cure for hate so worthy of it. \u201cLet them\nhate.\u201d How? \u201cProvided they obey me?\u201d No! \u201cProvided they approve of\nme?\u201d No! How then? \u201cProvided they fear me!\u201d I would not even be\nloved upon such terms. Do you imagine that this was a very spirited\nsaying? You are wrong: this is not greatness, but monstrosity. You\nshould not believe the words of angry men, whose speech is very\nloud and menacing, while their mind within them is as timid as\npossible: nor need you suppose that the most eloquent of men, Titus\nLivius, was right in describing somebody as being \u201cof a great rather\nthan a good disposition.\u201d The things cannot be separated: he must\neither be good or else he cannot be great, because I take greatness\nof mind to mean that it is unshaken, sound throughout, firm and\nuniform to its very foundation; such as cannot exist in evil\ndispositions. Such dispositions may be terrible, frantic, and\ndestructive, but cannot possess greatness; because greatness rests\nupon goodness, and owes its strength to it. \u201cYet by speech, action,\nand all outward show they will make one think them great.\u201d True,\nthey will say something which you may think shows a great spirit,\nlike Gaius Caesar, who when angry with heaven because it interfered\nwith his ballet-dancers, whom he imitated more carefully than he\nattended to them when they acted, and because it frightened his\nrevels by its thunders, surely ill-directed,[9] challenged Jove to\nfight, and that to the death, shouting the Homeric verse:\u2014\n\n \u201cCarry me off, or I will carry thee!\u201d\n\n{75} How great was his madness! He must have believed either that\nhe could not be hurt even by Jupiter himself, or that he could hurt\neven Jupiter itself. I imagine that this saying of his had no small\nweight in nerving the minds of the conspirators for their task: for\nit seemed to be the height of endurance to bear one who could not\nbear Jupiter.\n\nXXI. There is therefore nothing great or noble in anger, even when\nit seems to be powerful and to contemn both gods and men alike. Any\none who thinks that anger produces greatness of mind, would think\nthat luxury produces it: such a man wishes to rest on ivory, to be\nclothed with purple, and roofed with gold; to remove lands, embank\nseas, hasten the course of rivers, suspend woods in the air. He\nwould think that avarice shows greatness of mind: for the avaricious\nman broods over heaps of gold and silver, treats whole provinces\nas merely fields on his estate, and has larger tracts of country\nunder the charge of single bailiffs than those which consuls once\ndrew lots to administer. He would think that lust shows greatness\nof mind: for the lustful man swims across straits, castrates troops\nof boys, and puts himself within reach of the swords of injured\nhusbands with complete scorn of death. Ambition, too, he would think\nshows greatness of mind: for the ambitious man is not content with\noffice once a year, but, if possible, would fill the calendar of\ndignities with his name alone, and cover the whole world with his\ntitles. It matters nothing to what heights or lengths these passions\nmay proceed: they are narrow, pitiable, grovelling. Virtue alone\nis lofty and sublime, nor is anything great which is not at the\nsame time tranquil.\n\n\n[1] Here a leaf or more has been lost, including the fragment cited\nin Lactantius, _De ira dei_, 17 \u201cIra est eupiditas,\u201d &c. The entire\npassage is:\u2014\u201cBut the Stoics did not perceive that there is a\ndifference between right and wrong; that there is just and unjust\nanger: and as they could find no remedy for it, they wished to\nextirpate it. The Peripatetics, on the other hand, declared that\nit ought not to be destroyed, but restrained. These I have sufficiently\nanswered in the sixth book of my \u2018Institutiones.\u2019 It is clear that\nthe philosophers did not comprehend the reason of anger, from the\ndefinitions of it which Seneca has enumerated in the books \u2018On\nAnger\u2019 which he has written. \u2018Anger,\u2019 he says, \u2018is the desire of\navenging an injury.\u2019 Others, as Posidonius says, call it \u2018a desire\nto punish one by whom you think that you have been unjustly injured,\u2019\nSome have defined it thus, \u2018Anger is an impulse of the mind to\ninjure him who either has injured you or has sought to injure you.\u2019\nAristotle\u2019s definition differs but little from our own. He says,\n\u2018that anger is a desire to repay suffering,\u2019\u201d etc.\n\n[2] Ovid, \u201cMet.\u201d vii. 545-6.\n\n[3] \u03c4\u1f78 \u1f21\u03b3\u03b5\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03b9\u03ba\u1f78\u03bd of the Stoics.\n\n[4] The gospel rule. Matt, xviii. 15.\n\n[5] _Divitis_ (where there might be an army of slaves).\n\n[6] \u201cLorsque le Pr\u00e9teur devoit prononcer la sentence d\u2019un coupable,\nil se depouilloit de la robe pretexte, et se rev\u00eatoit alors d\u2019une\nsimple tunique, ou d\u2019une autre robe, presque us\u00e9e, et d\u2019un blanc\nsale (_sordida_) ou d\u2019un gris tr\u00e8s fonc\u00e9 tirant sur le noir (_toga\npulla_), telle qu\u2019en portoient \u00e0 Rome le peuple et les pauvres\n(_pullaque paupertas_). Dans les jours solemnelles et marqu\u00e9s par\nun deuil public, les Senateurs quittoient le laticlave, et les\nMagistrats la pretexte. La pourpre, la hache, les faisceaux, aucun\nde ces signes ext\u00e9rieurs de leur dignit\u00e9 ne les distinguoient alors\ndes autres citoyens: _sine insignibus Magistratus_. Mais ce n\u2019\u00e9toit\npas seulement pendant le temps ou la ville \u00e9toit plong\u00e9e dans le\ndeuil et dans I\u2019affliction, que les magistrats s\u2019habilloient comme\nle peuple (_sordidam vestem induebant_); ils en usoient de m\u00eame\nlorsqu\u2019ils devoient condamner \u00e0 mort un citoyen. C\u2019est dans ces\ntristes circonstances qu\u2019ils quittoient la pr\u00e9texte et prenoient\nla robe de deuil _perversam vestem_. (No doubt \u201cinside out.\u201d\u2014J. E.\nB. M.) \u201dOn pourroit supposer avec assez de vraisemblance que par\ncette expression, S\u00e9neque a voulu faire allusion \u00e0 ce changement .\n. . . . Peut-\u00eatre les Magistrats qui devoient juger \u00e0 mort un\ncitoyen, portoient ils aussi leur robe renvers\u00e9e, ou la jettoient\nils de travers ou confus\u00e9ment sur leurs \u00e9paules, pour mieux peindre\npar ce desordre le trouble de leur esprit. Si cette conjecture est\nvraie, comme je serais assez port\u00e9 \u00e0 croire, l\u2019expression _perversa\nvestis_ dont S\u00e9neque s\u2019est servi ici, indiqueroit plus d\u2019un simple\nchangement d\u2019habit,\u201d &c, (La Grange\u2019s translation of Seneca, edited\nby J, A. Naigeon. Paris, 1778.)\n\n[7] \u201cCeci fait allusion \u00e0 une coutume que Caius Gracchus pr\u00e9tend\navoir \u00e9t\u00e9 pratiqu\u00e9e de tout tems \u00e0 Rome, \u2018Lorsqu\u2019un citoyen,\u201d dit\nil, \u201cavoit un proc\u00e8s criminel qui alloit \u00e0 la mort, s\u2019il refusoit\nd\u2019ob\u00e9ir aux sommations qui lui \u00e9toient faites; le jour qu\u2019on devoit\nle juger, en envoyoit des le matin \u00e0 la porte de sa maison un\nOfficier I\u2019appeller au son de la trompette, et jamais avant que\ncette c\u00e9r\u00e9monie e\u00fbt \u00e9t\u00e9 observ\u00e9e, les Juges ne donneroient leur\nvoix contre lui: tant ces hommes sages,\u2019 ajoute ce hardi Tribun,\n\u2018avoient de retenue et de precaution dans leurs jugements, quand\nil s\u2019agissoit de la vie d\u2019un citoyen.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cC\u2019\u00e9toit de m\u00eame au son de la trompette que l\u2019on convoquoit le\npeuple, lorsqu\u2019on devoit faire mourir un citoyen, afin qu\u2019il f\u00fbt\nt\u00e9moin de ce triste spectacle, et que la supplice du coupable p\u00fbt\nlui servir d\u2019exemple. Tacite dit qu\u2019un Astrologue, nomm\u00e9 P. Marcius,\nf\u00fbt ex\u00e9cut\u00e9, selon l\u2019ancien usage, hors de la porte Esquiline, en\npresence du peuple Romain que les Consuls firent convoquer au son\nde la trompette.\u201d (Tac. Ann. II. 32.) L. Grom.\n\n[8] _I.e._ not only for counsel but for action.\n\n[9] _Prorsus parum certis_ (_i.e._, the thunderbolts missed their\naim in not striking him dead).\n\n\n\n\n{76}\n\nTHE FOURTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED\nTO NOVATUS.\n\nOF ANGER.\n\nBook II.\n\n\nMy first book, Novatus, had a more abundant subject: for carriages\nroll easily down hill:[1] now we must proceed to drier matters. The\nquestion before us is whether anger arises from deliberate choice\nor from impulse, that is, whether it acts of its own accord or like\nthe greater part of those passions which spring up within us without\nour knowledge. It is necessary for our debate to stoop to the\nconsideration of these matters, in order that it may afterwards be\nable to rise to loftier themes; for likewise in our bodies the parts\nwhich are first set in order are the bones, sinews, and joints,\nwhich are by no means fair to see, albeit they are the foundation\nof our frame and essential to its life: next to them come the parts\nof which all beauty of face and appearance consists; and after\nthese, colour, which above all else charms the eye, is applied last\nof all, when the rest of the body is complete. There is no doubt\nthat anger is roused by the appearance of an injury {77} being done:\nbut the question before us is, whether anger straightway follows\nthe appearance, and springs up without assistance from the mind,\nor whether it is roused with the sympathy of the mind. Our (the\nStoics\u2019) opinion is, that anger can venture upon nothing by itself,\nwithout the approval of mind: for to conceive the idea of a wrong\nhaving been done, to long to avenge it, and to join the two\npropositions, that we ought not to have been injured and that it\nis our duty to avenge our injuries, cannot belong to a mere impulse\nwhich is excited without our consent. That impulse is a simple act;\nthis is a complex one, and composed of several parts. The man\nunderstands something to have happened: he becomes indignant thereat:\nhe condemns the deed; and he avenges it. All these things cannot\nbe done without his mind agreeing to those matters which touched\nhim.\n\nII. Whither, say you, does this inquiry tend? That we may know what\nanger is: for if it springs up against our will, it never will yield\nto reason: because all the motions which take place without our\nvolition are beyond our control and unavoidable, such as shivering\nwhen cold water is poured over us, or shrinking when we are touched\nin certain places. Men\u2019s hair rises up at bad news, their faces\nblush at indecent words, and they are seized with dizziness when\nlooking down a precipice; and as it is not in our power to prevent\nany of these things, no reasoning can prevent their taking place.\nBut anger can be put to flight by wise maxims; for it is a voluntary\ndefect of the mind, and not one of those things which are evolved\nby the conditions of human life, and which, therefore, may happen\neven to the wisest of us. Among these and in the first place must\nbe ranked that thrill of the mind which seizes us at the thought\nof wrongdoing. We feel this even when witnessing the mimic scenes\nof the stage, or when reading about things that happened long ago.\nWe often {78} feel angry with Clodius for banishing Cicero, and\nwith Antonius for murdering him. Who is not indignant with the wars\nof Marius, the proscriptions of Sulla? who is not enraged against\nTheodotus and Achillas and the boy king who dared to commit a more\nthan boyish crime?[2] Sometimes songs excite us, and quickened\nrhythm and the martial noise of trumpets; so, too, shocking pictures\nand the dreadful sight of tortures, however well deserved, affect\nour minds. Hence it is that we smile when others are smiling, that\na crowd of mourners makes us sad, and that we take a glowing interest\nin another\u2019s battles; all of which feelings are not anger, any more\nthan that which clouds our brow at the sight of a stage shipwreck\nis sadness, or what we feel, when we read how Hannibal after Cannae\nbeset the walls of Rome, can be called fear. All these are emotions\nof minds which are loth to be moved, and are not passions, but\nrudiments which may grow into passions. So, too, a soldier starts\nat the sound of a trumpet, although he may be dressed as a civilian\nand in the midst of a profound peace, and camp horses prick up their\nears at the clash of arms. It is said that Alexander, when Xenophantus\nwas singing, laid his hand upon his weapons.\n\nIII. None of these things which casually influence the mind deserve\nto be called passions: the mind, if I may so express it, rather\nsuffers passions to act upon itself than forms them. A passion,\ntherefore, consists not in being affected by the sights which are\npresented to us, but in giving way to our feelings and following\nup these chance promptings: for whoever imagines that paleness,\nbursting into tears, lustful feelings, deep sighs, sudden flashes\nof the eyes, and so forth, are signs of passion and betray the {79}\nstate of the mind, is mistaken, and does not understand that these\nare merely impulses of the body. Consequently, the bravest of men\noften turns pale while he is putting on his armour; when the signal\nfor battle is given, the knees of the boldest soldier shake for a\nmoment; the heart even of a great general leaps into his mouth just\nbefore the lines clash together, and the hands and feet even of the\nmost eloquent orator grow stiff and cold while he is preparing to\nbegin his speech. Anger must not merely move, but break out of\nbounds, being an impulse: now, no impulse can take place without\nthe consent of the mind: for it cannot be that we should deal with\nrevenge and punishment without the mind being cognisant of them. A\nman may think himself injured, may wish to avenge his wrongs, and\nthen may be persuaded by some reason or other to give up his intention\nand calm down: I do not call that anger, it is an emotion of the\nmind which is under the control of reason. Anger is that which goes\nbeyond reason and carries her away with it: wherefore the first\nconfusion of a man\u2019s mind when struck by what seems an injury is\nno more anger than the apparent injury itself: it is the subsequent\nmad rush, which not only receives the impression of the apparent\ninjury, but acts upon it as true, that is anger, being an exciting\nof the mind to revenge, which proceeds from choice and deliberate\nresolve. There never has been any doubt that fear produces flight,\nand anger a rush forward; consider, therefore, whether you suppose\nthat anything can be either sought or avoided without the participation\nof the mind.\n\nIV. Furthermore, that you may know in what manner passions begin\nand swell and gain spirit, learn that the first emotion is involuntary,\nand is, as it were, a preparation for a passion, and a threatening\nof one. The next is combined with a wish, though not an obstinate\none, as, for example, \u201cIt is my duty to avenge myself, because I\nhave been injured,\u201d {80} or \u201cIt is right that this man should be\npunished, because he has committed a crime.\u201d The third emotion is\nalready beyond our control, because it overrides reason, and wishes\nto avenge itself, not if it be its duty, but whether or no. We are\nnot able by means of reason to escape from that first impression\non the mind, any more than we can escape from those things which\nwe have mentioned as occurring to the body: we cannot prevent other\npeople\u2019s yawns temping us to yawn:[3] we cannot help winking when\nfingers are suddenly darted at our eyes. Reason is unable to overcome\nthese habits, which perhaps might be weakened by practice and\nconstant watchfulness: they differ from an emotion which is brought\ninto existence and brought to an end by a deliberate mental act.\n\nV. We must also enquire whether those whose cruelty knows no bounds,\nand who delight in shedding human blood, are angry when they kill\npeople from whom they have received no injury, and who they themselves\ndo not think have done them any injury; such as were Apollodorus\nor Phalaris. This is not anger, it is ferocity: for it does not do\nhurt because it has received injury: but is even willing to receive\ninjury, provided it may do hurt. It does not long to inflict stripes\nand mangle bodies to avenge its wrongs, but for its own pleasure.\nWhat then are we to say? This evil takes its rise from anger; for\nanger, after it has by long use and indulgence made a man forget\nmercy, and driven all feelings of human fellowship from his mind,\npasses finally into cruelty. Such men therefore laugh, rejoice,\nenjoy themselves greatly, and are as unlike as possible in countenance\nto angry men, since cruelty is their relaxation. It is said that\nwhen Hannibal saw a trench full of human blood, he exclaimed, \u201cO,\nwhat {81} a beauteous sight!\u201d How much more beautiful would he have\nthought it, if it had filled a river or a lake? Why should we wonder\nthat you should be charmed with this sight above all others, you\nwho were born in bloodshed and brought up amid slaughter from a\nchild? Fortune will follow you and favour your cruelty for twenty\nyears, and will display to you everywhere the sight that you love.\nYou will behold it both at Trasumene and at Cannae, and lastly at\nyour own city of Carthage. Volesus, who not long ago, under the\nEmperor Augustus, was proconsul of Asia Minor, after he had one day\nbeheaded three hundred persons, strutted out among the corpses with\na haughty air, as though he had performed some grand and notable\nexploit, and exclaimed in Greek, \u201cWhat a kingly action!\u201d What would\nthis man have done, had he been really a king? This was not anger,\nbut a greater and an incurable disease.\n\nVI. \u201cVirtue,\u201d argues our adversary, \u201cought to be angry with what\nis base, just as she approves of what is honourable.\u201d What should\nwe think if he said that virtue ought to be both mean and great;\nyet this is what he means, when he wants her to be raised and\nlowered, because joy at a good action is grand and glorious, while\nanger at another\u2019s sin is base and befits a narrow mind: and virtue\nwill never be guilty of imitating vice while she is repressing it;\nshe considers anger to deserve punishment for itself, since it often\nis even more criminal than the faults which which it is angry. To\nrejoice and be glad is the proper and natural function of virtue:\nit is as much beneath her dignity to be angry, as to mourn: now,\nsorrow is the companion of anger, and all anger ends in sorrow,\neither from remorse or from failure. Secondly, if it be the part\nof the wise man to be angry with sins, he will be more angry the\ngreater they are, and will often be angry: from which it follows\nthat the wise man will not only be angry but irascible. {82} Yet\nif we do not believe that great and frequent anger can find any\nplace in the wise man\u2019s mind, why should we not set him altogether\nfree from this passion? for there can be no limit, if he ought to\nbe angry in proportion to what every man does: because he will\neither be unjust if he is equally angry at unequal crimes, or he\nwill be the most irascible of men, if he blazes into wrath as often\nas crimes deserve his anger.\n\nVII. What, too, can be more unworthy of the wise man, than that his\npassions should depend upon the wickedness of others? If so, the\ngreat Socrates will no longer be able to return home with the same\nexpression of countenance with which he set out. Moreover, if it\nbe the duty of the wise man to be angry at base deeds, and to be\nexcited and saddened at crimes, then is there nothing more unhappy\nthan the wise man, for all his life will be spent in anger and\ngrief. What moment will there be at which he will not see something\ndeserving of blame? whenever he leaves his house, he will be obliged\nto walk among men who are criminals, misers, spendthrifts, profligates,\nand who are happy in being so: he can turn his eyes in no direction\nwithout their finding something to shock them. He will faint, if\nhe demands anger from himself as often as reason calls for it. All\nthese thousands who are hurrying to the law courts at break of day,\nhow base are their causes, and how much baser their advocates? One\nimpugns his father\u2019s will, when he would have done better to deserve\nit; another appears as the accuser of his mother; a third comes to\ninform against a man for committing the very crime of which he\nhimself is yet more notoriously guilty. The judge, too, is chosen\nto condemn men for doing what he himself has done, and the audience\ntakes the wrong side, led astray by the fine voice of the pleader.\n\nVIII. Why need I dwell upon individual cases? Be assured, when you\nsee the Forum crowded with a multitude, {83} the Saepta[4] swarming\nwith people, or the great Circus, in which the greater part of the\npeople find room to show themselves at once, that among them there\nare as many vices as there are men. Among those whom you see in the\ngarb of peace there is no peace: for a small profit any one of them\nwill attempt the ruin of another: no one can gain anything save by\nanother\u2019s loss. They hate the fortunate and despise the unfortunate:\nthey grudgingly endure the great, and oppress the small: they are\nfired by divers lusts: they would wreck everything for the sake of\na little pleasure or plunder: they live as though they were in a\nschool of gladiators, fighting with the same people with whom they\nlive: it is like a society of wild beasts, save that beasts are\ntame with one another, and refrain from biting their own species,\nwhereas men tear one another, and gorge themselves upon one another.\nThey differ from dumb animals in this alone, that the latter are\ntame with those who feed them, whereas the rage of the former preys\non those very persons by whom they were brought up.\n\nIX. The wise man will never cease to be angry, if he once begins,\nso full is every place of vices and crimes. More evil is done than\ncan be healed by punishment: men seem engaged in a vast race of\nwickedness. Every day there is greater eagerness to sin, less\nmodesty. Throwing aside all reverence for what is better and more\njust, lust rushes whithersoever it thinks fit, and crimes are no\nlonger committed by stealth, they take place before our eyes, and\nwickedness has become so general and gained such a footing in\neveryone\u2019s breast that innocence is no longer rare, but no longer\nexists. Do men break the law singly, or a few at a time? Nay, they\nrise in all quarters at once, as though obeying some universal\nsignal, to wipe out the boundaries of right and wrong.\n\n{84}\n\n \u201cHost is not safe from guest, Father-in-law from son; but seldom\n love Exists \u2019twixt brothers; wives long to destroy Their husbands,\n husbands long to slay their wives, Stepmothers deadly aconite\n prepare And child-heirs wonder when their sires will die.\u201d\n\nAnd how small a part of men\u2019s crimes are these! The poet[5] has not\ndescribed one people divided into two hostile camps, parents and\nchildren enrolled on opposite sides, Rome set on fire by the hand\nof a Roman, troops of fierce horsemen scouring the country to track\nout the hiding-places of the proscribed, wells defiled with poison,\nplagues created by human hands, trenches dug by children round their\nbeleaguered parents, crowded prisons, conflagrations that consume\nwhole cities, gloomy tyrannies, secret plots to establish despotisms\nand ruin peoples, and men glorying in those deeds which, as long\nas it was possible to repress them, were counted as crimes\u2014I mean\nrape, debauchery, and lust . . . . . Add to these, public acts of\nnational bad faith, broken treaties, everything that cannot defend\nitself carried off as plunder by the stronger, knaveries, thefts,\nfrauds, and disownings of debt such as three of our present law-courts\nwould not suffice to deal with. If you want the wise man to be as\nangry as the atrocity of men\u2019s crimes requires, he must not merely\nbe angry, but must go mad with rage.\n\nX. You will rather think that we should not be angry with people\u2019s\nfaults; for what shall we say of one who is angry with those who\nstumble in the dark, or with deaf people who cannot hear his orders,\nor with children, because they forget their duty and interest\nthemselves in the games and silly jokes of their companions? What\nshall we say if you choose to be angry {85} with weaklings for being\nsick, for growing old, or becoming fatigued? Among the other\nmisfortunes of humanity is this, that men\u2019s intellects are confused,\nand they not only cannot help going wrong, but love to go wrong.\nTo avoid being angry with individuals, you must pardon the whole\nmass, you must grant forgiveness to the entire human race. If you\nare angry with young and old men because they do wrong, you will\nbe angry with infants also, for they soon will do wrong. Does any\none become angry with children, who are too young to comprehend\ndistinctions? Yet, to be a human being is a greater and a better\nexcuse than to be a child. Thus are we born, as creatures liable\nto as many disorders of the mind as of the body; not dull and\nslow-witted, but making a bad use of our keenness of wit, and leading\none another into vice by our example. He who follows others who\nhave started before him on the wrong road is surely excusable for\nhaving wandered on[6] the highway. A general\u2019s severity may be shown\nin the case of individual deserters; but where a whole army deserts,\nit must needs be pardoned. What is it that puts a stop to the wise\nman\u2019s anger? It is the number of sinners. He perceives how unjust\nand how dangerous it is to be angry with vices which all men share.\nHeraclitcus, whenever he came out of doors and beheld around him\nsuch a number of men who were living wretchedly, nay, rather perishing\nwretchedly, used to weep: he pitied all those who met him joyous\nand happy. He was of a gentle but too weak disposition: and he\nhimself was one of those for whom he ought to have wept. Democritus,\non the other hand, is said never to have appeared in public without\nlaughing; so little did men\u2019s serious occupations appear serious\nto him. What room is there for anger? Everything ought either to\nmove us to tears or to laughter. The wise man will not be angry\nwith {86} sinners. Why not? Because he knows that no one is born\nwise, but becomes so: he knows that very few wise men are produced\nin any age, because he thoroughly understands the circumstances of\nhuman life. Now, no sane man is angry with nature: for what should\nwe say if a man chose to be surprised that fruit did not hang on\nthe thickets of a forest, or to wonder at bushes and thorns not\nbeing covered with some useful berry? No one is angry when nature\nexcuses a defect. The wise man, therefore, being tranquil, and\ndealing candidly with mistakes, not an enemy to but an improver of\nsinners, will go abroad every day in the following frame of mind:\u2014\u201dMany\nmen will meet me who are drunkards, lustful, ungrateful, greedy,\nand excited by the frenzy of ambition.\u201d He will view all these as\nbenignly as a physician does his patients. When a man\u2019s ship leaks\nfreely through its opened seams, does he become angry with the\nsailors or the ship itself? No; instead of that, he tries to remedy\nit: he shuts out some water, bales out some other, closes all the\nholes that he can see, and by ceaseless labour counteracts those\nwhich are out of sight and which let water into the hold; nor does\nhe relax his efforts because as much water as he pumps out runs in\nagain. We need a long-breathed struggle against permanent and\nprolific evils; not, indeed, to quell them, but merely to prevent\ntheir overpowering us.\n\nXI. \u201cAnger,\u201d says our opponent, \u201cis useful, because it avoids\ncontempt, and because it frightens bad men.\u201d Now, in the first\nplace, if anger is strong in proportion to its threats, it is hateful\nfor the same reason that it is terrible: and it is more dangerous\nto be hated than to be despised. If, again, it is without strength,\nit is much more exposed to contempt, and cannot avoid ridicule; for\nwhat is more flat than anger when it breaks out into meaningless\nravings? Moreover, because some things are somewhat terrible, they\nare not on that account desirable: nor does wisdom wish it {87} to\nbe said of the wise man, as it is of a wild beast, that the fear\nwhich he inspires is as a weapon to him. Why, do we not fear fever,\ngout, consuming ulcers? and is there, for that reason, any good in\nthem? nay; on the other hand, they are all despised and thought to\nbe foul and base, and are for this very reason feared. So, too,\nanger is in itself hideous and by no means to be feared; yet it is\nfeared by many, just as a hideous mask is feared by children. How\ncan we answer the fact that terror always works back to him who\ninspired it, and that no one is feared who is himself at peace? At\nthis point it is well that you should remember that verse of Laberius,\nwhich, when pronounced in the theatre during the height of the civil\nwar, caught the fancy of the whole people as though it expressed\nthe national feeling:\u2014\n\n \u201cHe must fear many, whom so many fear.\u201d\n\nThus has nature ordained, that whatever becomes great by causing\nfear to others is not free from fear itself. How disturbed lions\nare at the faintest noises! How excited those fiercest of beasts\nbecome at strange shadows, voices, or smells! Whatever is a terror\nto others, fears for itself. There can be no reason, therefore, for\nany wise man to wish to be feared, and no one need think that anger\nis anything great because it strikes terror, since even the most\ndespicable things are feared, as, for example, noxious vermin whose\nbite is venomous: and since a string set with feathers stops the\nlargest herds of wild beasts and guides them into traps, it is no\nwonder that from its effect it should be named a \u201cScarer.\u201d[7] Foolish\ncreatures are frightened by foolish things: the movement of chariots\nand the sight of their wheels turning round drives lions back into\ntheir cage: elephants are frightened at the cries of pigs: and so\nalso we fear anger just as children fear the dark, or wild {88}\nbeasts fear red feathers: it has in itself nothing solid or valiant,\nbut it affects feeble minds.\n\nXII. \u201cWickedness,\u201d says our adversary, \u201cmust be removed from the\nsystem of nature, if you wish to remove anger: neither of which\nthings can be done.\u201d In the first place, it is possible for a man\nnot to be cold, although according to the system of nature it may\nbe winter-time, nor yet to suffer from heat, although it be summer\naccording to the almanac. He may be protected against the inclement\ntime of the year by dwelling in a favoured spot, or he may have so\ntrained his body to endurance that it feels neither heat nor cold.\nNext, reverse this saying:\u2014You must remove anger from your mind\nbefore you can take virtue into the same, because vices and virtues\ncannot combine, and none can at the same time be both an angry man\nand a good man, any more than he can be both sick and well. \u201cIt is\nnot possible,\u201d says he, \u201cto remove anger altogether from the mind,\nnor does human nature admit of it.\u201d Yet there is nothing so hard\nand difficult that the mind of man cannot overcome it, and with\nwhich unremitting study will not render him familiar, nor are there\nany passions so fierce and independent that they cannot be tamed\nby discipline. The mind can carry out whatever orders it gives\nitself: some have succeeded in never smiling: some have forbidden\nthemselves wine, sexual intercourse, or even drink of all kinds.\nSome, who are satisfied with short hours of rest, have learned to\nwatch for long periods without weariness. Men have learned to run\nupon the thinnest ropes even when slanting, to carry huge burdens,\nscarcely within the compass of human strength, or to dive to enormous\ndepths and suffer themselves to remain under the sea without any\nchance of drawing breath. There are a thousand other instances in\nwhich application has conquered all obstacles, and proved that\nnothing which the mind has set itself to endure is difficult. The\nmen whom I {89} have just mentioned gain either no reward or one\nthat is unworthy of their unwearied application; for what great\nthing does a man gain by applying his intellect to walking upon a\ntight rope? or to placing great burdens upon his shoulders? or to\nkeeping sleep from his eyes? or to reaching the bottom of the sea?\nand yet their patient labour brings all these things to pass for a\ntrifling reward. Shall not we then call in the aid of patience, we\nwhom such a prize awaits, the unbroken calm of a happy life? How\ngreat a blessing is it to escape from anger, that chief of all\nevils, and therewith from frenzy, ferocity, cruelty, and madness,\nits attendants?\n\nXIII. There is no reason why we should seek to defend such a passion\nas this or excuse its excesses by declaring it to be either useful\nor unavoidable. What vice, indeed, is without its defenders? yet\nthis is no reason why you should declare anger to be ineradicable.\nThe evils from which we suffer are curable, and since we were born\nwith a natural bias towards good, nature herself will help us if\nwe try to amend our lives. Nor is the path to virtue steep and\nrough, as some think it to be: it may be reached on level ground.\nThis is no untrue tale which I come to tell you: the road to happiness\nis easy; do you only enter upon it with good luck and the good help\nof the gods themselves. It is much harder to do what you are doing.\nWhat is more restful than a mind at peace, and what more toilsome\nthan anger? What is more at leisure than clemency, what fuller of\nbusiness than cruelty? Modesty keeps holiday while vice is overwhelmed\nwith work. In fine, the culture of any of the virtues is easy, while\nvices require a great expense. Anger ought to be removed from our\nminds: even those who say that it ought to be kept low admit this\nto some extent: let it be got rid of altogether; there is nothing\nto be gained by it. Without it we can more easily and more justly\nput an end {90} to crime, punish bad men, and amend their lives.\nThe wise man will do his duty in all things without the help of any\nevil passion, and will use no auxiliaries which require watching\nnarrowly lest they get beyond his control.\n\nXIV. Anger, then, must never become a habit with us, but we may\nsometimes affect to be angry when we wish to rouse up the dull minds\nof those whom we address, just as we rouse up horses who are slow\nat starting with goads and firebrands. We must sometimes apply fear\nto persons upon whom reason makes no impression: yet to be angry\nis of no more use than to grieve or to be afraid. \u201cWhat? do not\ncircumstances arise which provoke us to anger?\u201d Yes: but at those\ntimes above all others we ought to choke down our wrath. Nor is it\ndifficult to conquer our spirit, seeing that athletes, who devote\ntheir whole attention to the basest parts of themselves, nevertheless\nare able to endure blows and pain, in order to exhaust the strength\nof the striker, and do not strike when anger bids them, but when\nopportunity invites them. It is said that Pyrrhus, the most celebrated\ntrainer for gymnastic contests, used habitually to impress upon his\npupils not to lose their tempers: for anger spoils their science,\nand thinks only how it can hurt: so that often reason counsels\npatience while anger counsels revenge, and we, who might have\nsurvived our first misfortunes, are exposed to worse ones. Some\nhave been driven into exile by their impatience of a single\ncontemptuous word, have been plunged into the deepest miseries\nbecause they would not endure the most trifling wrong in silence,\nand have brought upon themselves the yoke of slavery because they\nwere too proud to give up the least part of their entire liberty.\n\nXV. \u201cThat you may be sure,\u201d says our opponent, \u201cthat anger has in\nit something noble, pray look at the free nations, such as the\nGermans and Scythians, who are especially prone to anger.\u201d The\nreason of this is that stout {91} and daring intellects are liable\nto anger before they are tamed by discipline; for some passions\nengraft themselves upon the better class of dispositions only, just\nas good land, even when waste, grows strong brushwood, and the trees\nare tall which stand upon a fertile soil. In like manner, dispositions\nwhich are naturally bold produce irritability, and, being hot and\nfiery, have no mean or trivial qualities, but their energy is\nmisdirected, as happens with all those who without training come\nto the front by their natural advantages alone, whose minds, unless\nthey be brought under control, degenerate from a courageous temper\ninto habits of rashness and reckless daring. \u201cWhat? are not milder\nspirits linked with gentler vices, such as tenderness of heart,\nlove, and bashfulness?\u201d Yes, and therefore I can often point out\nto you a good disposition by its own faults: yet their being the\nproofs of a superior nature does not prevent their being vices.\nMoreover, all those nations which are free because they are wild,\nlike lions or wolves, cannot command any more than they can obey:\nfor the strength of their intellect is not civilized, but fierce\nand unmanageable: now, no one is able to rule unless he is also\nable to be ruled. Consequently, the empire of the world has almost\nalways remained in the hands of those nations who enjoy a milder\nclimate. Those who dwell near the frozen north have uncivilized\ntempers\u2014\n\n \u201cJust on the model of their native skies,\u201d\n\nas the poet has it.\n\nXVI. Those animals, urges our opponent, are held to be the most\ngenerous who have large capacity for anger. He is mistaken when he\nholds up creatures who act from impulse instead of reason as patterns\nfor men to follow, because in man reason takes the place of impulse.\nYet even with animals, all do not alike profit by the same thing.\nAnger is of use to lions, timidity to stags, boldness {92} to hawks,\nflight to doves. What if I declare that it is not even true that\nthe best animals are the most prone to anger? I may suppose that\nwild beasts, who gain their food by rapine, are better the angrier\nthey are; but I should praise oxen and horses who obey the rein for\ntheir patience. What reason, however, have you for referring mankind\nto such wretched models, when you have the universe and God, whom\nhe alone of animals imitates because he alone comprehends Him? \u201cThe\nmost irritable men,\u201d says he, \u201care thought to be the most straightforward\nof all.\u201d Yes, because they are compared with swindlers and sharpers,\nand appear to be simple because they are outspoken. I should not\ncall such men simple, but heedless. We give this title of \u201csimple\u201d\nto all fools, gluttons, spendthrifts, and men whose vices lie on\nthe surface.\n\nXVII. \u201cAn orator,\u201d says our opponent, \u201csometimes speaks better,\nwhen he is angry.\u201d Not so, but when he pretends to be angry: for\nso also actors bring down the house by their playing, not when they\nare really angry, but when they act the angry man well: and in like\nmanner, in addressing a jury or a popular assembly, or in any other\nposition in which the minds of others have to be influenced at our\npleasure, we must ourselves pretend to feel anger, fear, or pity\nbefore we can make others feel them, and often the pretence of\npassion will do what the passion itself could not have done. \u201cThe\nmind which does not feel anger,\u201d says he, \u201cis feeble.\u201d True, if it\nhas nothing stronger than anger to support it. A man ought to be\nneither robber nor victim, neither tender-hearted nor cruel. The\nformer belongs to an over-weak mind, the latter to an over-hard\none. Let the wise man be moderate, and when things have to be done\nsomewhat briskly, let him call force, not anger, to his aid.\n\nXVIII. Now that we have discussed the questions propounded concerning\nanger, let us pass on to the consideration {93} of its remedies.\nThese, I imagine, are two-fold: the one class preventing our becoming\nangry, the other preventing our doing wrong when we are angry. As\nwith the body we adopt a certain regimen to keep ourselves in health,\nand use different rules to bring back health when lost, so likewise\nwe must repel anger in one fashion and quench it in another. That\nwe may avoid it, certain general rules of conduct which apply to\nall men\u2019s lives must be impressed upon us. We may divide these into\nsuch as are of use during the education of the young and in after-life.\n\nEducation ought to be carried on with the greatest and most salutary\nassiduity: for it is easy to mould minds while they are still tender,\nbut it is difficult to uproot vices which have grown up with\nourselves.\n\nXIX. A hot mind is naturally the most prone to anger: for as there\nare four elements,[8] consisting of fire, air, earth, and water,\nso there are powers corresponding and equivalent to each of these,\nnamely, hot, cold, dry, and moist. Now the mixture of the elements\nis the cause of the diversities of lands and of animals, of bodies\nand of character, and our dispositions incline to one or the other\nof these according as the strength of each element prevails in us.\nHence it is that we call some regions wet or dry, warm or cold. The\nsame distinctions apply likewise to animals and mankind; it makes\na great difference how much moisture or heat a man contains; his\ncharacter will partake of whichever element has the largest share\nin him. A warm temper of mind will make men prone to anger; for\nfire is full of movement and vigour; a mixture of {94} coldness\nmakes men cowards, for cold is sluggish and contracted. Because of\nthis, some of our Stoics think that anger is excited in our breasts\nby the boiling of the blood round the heart: indeed, that place is\nassigned to anger for no other reason than because the breast is\nthe warmest part of the whole body. Those who have more moisture\nin them become angry by slow degrees, because they have no heat\nready at hand, but it has to be obtained by movement; wherefore the\nanger of women and children is sharp rather than strong, and arises\non lighter provocation. At dry times of life anger is violent and\npowerful, yet without increase, and adding little to itself, because\nas heat dies away cold takes its place. Old men are testy and full\nof complaints, as also are sick people and convalescents, and all\nwhose store of heat has been consumed by weariness or loss of blood.\nThose who are wasted by thirst or hunger are in the same condition,\nas also are those whose frame is naturally bloodless and faints\nfrom want of generous diet. Wine kindles anger, because it increases\nheat; according to each man\u2019s disposition, some fly into a passion\nwhen they are heavily drunk, some when they are slightly drunk: nor\nis there any other reason than this why yellow-haired, ruddy-complexioned\npeople should be excessively passionate, seeing that they are\nnaturally of the colour which others put on during anger; for their\nblood is hot and easily set in motion.\n\nXX. But just as nature makes some men prone to anger, so there are\nmany other causes which have the same power as nature. Some are\nbrought into this condition by disease or bodily injury, others by\nhard work, long watching, nights of anxiety, ardent longings, and\nlove: and everything else which is hurtful to the body or the spirit\ninclines the distempered mind to find fault. All these, however,\nare but the beginning and causes of anger. Habit of mind has very\ngreat power, and, if it be harsh, increases the {95} disorder. As\nfor nature, it is difficult to alter it, nor may we change the\nmixture of the elements which was formed once for all at our birth:\nyet knowledge will be so far of service, that we should keep wine\nout of the reach of hot-tempered men, which Plato thinks ought also\nto be forbidden to boys, so that fire be not made fiercer. Neither\nshould such men be over-fed: for if so, their bodies will swell,\nand their minds will swell with them. Such men ought to take exercise,\nstopping short, however, of fatigue, in order that their natural\nheat may be abated, but not exhausted, and their excess of fiery\nspirit may be worked off. Games also will be useful: for moderate\npleasure relieves the mind and brings it to a proper balance. With\nthose temperaments which incline to moisture, or dryness and\nstiffness, there is no danger of anger, but there is fear of greater\nvices, such as cowardice, moroseness, despair, and suspiciousness:\nsuch dispositions therefore ought to be softened, comforted, and\nrestored to cheerfulness: and since we must make use of different\nremedies for anger and for sullenness, and these two vices require\nnot only unlike, but absolutely opposite modes of treatment, let\nus always attack that one of them which is gaining the mastery.\n\nXXI. It is, I assure you, of the greatest service to boys that they\nshould be soundly brought up, yet to regulate their education is\ndifficult, because it is our duty to be careful neither to cherish\na habit of anger in them, nor to blunt the edge of their spirit.\nThis needs careful watching, for both qualities, both those which\nare to be encouraged, and those which are to be checked, are fed\nby the same things; and even a careful watcher may be deceived by\ntheir likeness. A boy\u2019s spirit is increased by freedom and depressed\nby slavery: it rises when praised, and is led to conceive great\nexpectations of itself: yet this same treatment produces arrogance\nand quickness of temper: we must {96} therefore guide him between\nthese two extremes, using the curb at one time and the spur at\nanother. He must undergo no servile or degrading treatment; he never\nmust beg abjectly for anything, nor must he gain anything by begging;\nlet him rather receive it for his own sake, for his past good\nbehaviour, or for his promises of future good conduct. In contests\nwith his comrades we ought not to allow him to become sulky or fly\ninto a passion: let us see that he be on friendly terms with those\nwhom he contends with, so that in the struggle itself he may learn\nto wish not to hurt his antagonist but to conquer him: whenever he\nhas gained the day or done something praiseworthy, we should allow\nhim to enjoy his victory, but not to rush into transports of delight:\nfor joy leads to exultation, and exultation leads to swaggering and\nexcessive self-esteem, We ought to allow him some relaxation, yet\nnot yield him up to laziness and sloth, and we ought to keep him\nfar beyond the reach of luxury, for nothing makes children more\nprone to anger than a soft and fond bringing-up, so that the more\nonly children are indulged, and the more liberty is given to orphans,\nthe more they are corrupted. He to whom nothing is ever denied,\nwill not be able to endure a rebuff, whose anxious mother always\nwipes away his tears, whose _paedagogus_[9] is made to pay for his\nshortcomings. Do you not observe how a man\u2019s anger becomes more\nviolent as he rises in station? This shows itself especially in\nthose who are rich and noble, or in great place, when the favouring\ngale has roused all the most empty and trivial passions of their\nminds. Prosperity fosters anger, when a man\u2019s proud ears are\nsurrounded by a mob of flatterers, saying, \u201cThat man answer you!\nyou do not act according to your dignity, you lower yourself.\u201d And\nso forth, with all the language which can hardly be resisted even\nby healthy and originally well-principled {97} minds. Flattery,\nthen, must be kept well out of the way of children. Let a child\nhear the truth, and sometimes fear it: let him always reverence it.\nLet him rise in the presence of his elders. Let him obtain nothing\nby flying into a passion: let him be given when he is quiet what\nwas refused him when he cried for it: let him behold, but not make\nuse of his father\u2019s wealth: let him be reproved for what he does\nwrong. It will be advantageous to furnish boys with even-tempered\nteachers and _paedagogi_: what is soft and unformed clings to what\nis near, and takes its shape: the habits of young men reproduce\nthose of their nurses and _paedagogi_. Once, a boy who was brought\nup in Plato\u2019s house went home to his parents, and, on seeing his\nfather shouting with passion, said, \u201cI never saw any one at Plato\u2019s\nhouse act like that.\u201d I doubt not that he learned to imitate his\nfather sooner than he learned to imitate Plato. Above all, let his\nfood be scanty, his dress not costly, and of the same fashion as\nthat of his comrades: if you begin by putting him on a level with\nmany others, he will not be angry when some one is compared with\nhim.\n\nXXII. These precepts, however, apply to our children: in ourselves\nthe accident of birth and our education no longer admits of either\nmistakes or advice; we must deal with what follows. Now we ought\nto fight against the first causes of evil: the cause of anger is\nthe belief that we are injured; this belief, therefore, should not\nbe lightly entertained. We ought not to fly into a rage even when\nthe injury appears to be open and distinct: for some false things\nbear the semblance of truth. We should always allow some time to\nelapse, for time discloses the truth. Let not our ears be easily\nlent to calumnious talk: let us know and be on our guard against\nthis fault of human nature, that we are willing to believe what we\nare unwilling to listen to, and that we become angry before we have\nformed our opinion. What shall I say? we are influenced {98} not\nmerely by calumnies but by suspicions, and at the very look and\nsmile of others we may fly into a rage with innocent persons because\nwe put the worst construction upon it. We ought, therefore, to plead\nthe cause of the absent against ourselves, and to keep our anger\nin abeyance: for a punishment which has been postponed may yet be\ninflicted, but when once inflicted cannot be recalled.\n\nXXIII. Every one knows the story of the tyrannicide who, being\ncaught before he had accomplished his task, and being tortured by\nHippias to make him betray his accomplices, named the friends of\nthe tyrant who stood around, and every one to whom he knew the\ntyrant\u2019s safety was especially dear. As the tyrant ordered each man\nto be slain as he was named, at last the man, being asked if any\none else remained, said, \u201cYou remain alone, for I have left no one\nelse alive to whom you are dear.\u201d Anger had made the tyrant lend\nhis assistance to the tyrant-slayer, and cut down his guards with\nhis own sword. How far more spirited was Alexander, who after reading\nhis mother\u2019s letter warning him to beware of poison from his physician\nPhilip, nevertheless drank undismayed the medicine which Philip\ngave him! He felt more confidence in his friend: he deserved that\nhis friend should be innocent, and deserved that his conduct should\nmake him innocent. I praise Alexander\u2019s doing this all the more\nbecause he was above all men prone to anger; but the rarer moderation\nis among kings, the more it deserves to be praised. The great Gaius\nCaesar, who proved such a merciful conqueror in the civil war, did\nthe same thing; he burned a packet of letters addressed to Gnaeus\nPompeius by persons who had been thought to be either neutrals or\non the other side. Though he was never violent in his anger, yet\nhe preferred to put it out of his power to be angry: he thought\nthat the kindest way to pardon each of them was not to know what\nhis offence had been.\n\n{99}\n\nXXIV. Readiness to believe what we hear causes very great mischief;\nwe ought often not even to listen, because in some cases it is\nbetter to be deceived than to suspect deceit. We ought to free our\nminds of suspicion and mistrust, those most untrustworthy causes\nof anger. \u201cThis man\u2019s greeting was far from civil; that one would\nnot receive my kiss; one cut short a story I had begun to tell;\nanother did not ask me to dinner; another seemed to view me with\naversion.\u201d Suspicion will never lack grounds: what we want is\nstraightforwardness, and a kindly interpretation of things. Let us\nbelieve nothing unless it forces itself upon our sight and is\nunmistakable, and let us reprove ourselves for being too ready to\nbelieve, as often as our suspicions prove to be groundless: for\nthis discipline will render us habitually slow to believe what we\nhear.\n\nXXV. Another consequence of this will be, that we shall not be\nexasperated by the slightest and most contemptible trifles. It is\nmere madness to be put out of temper because a slave is not quick,\nbecause the water we are going to drink is lukewarm, or because our\ncouch is disarranged or our table carelessly laid. A man must be\nin a miserably bad state of health if he shrinks from a gentle\nbreath of wind; his eyes must be diseased if they are distressed\nby the sight of white clothing; he must be broken down with debauchery\nif he feels pain at seeing another man work. It is said that there\nwas one Mindyrides, a citizen of Sybaris, who one day seeing a man\ndigging and vigorously brandishing a mattock, complained that the\nsight made him weary, and forbade the man to work where he could\nsee him. The same man complained that he had suffered from the\nrose-leaves upon which he lay being folded double. When pleasures\nhave corrupted both the body and the mind, nothing seems endurable,\nnot indeed because it is hard, but because he who has to bear it\n{100} is soft: for why should we be driven to frenzy by any one\u2019s\ncoughing and sneezing, or by a fly not being driven away with\nsufficient care, or by a dog\u2019s hanging about us, or a key dropping\nfrom a careless servant\u2019s hand? Will one whose ears are agonised\nby the noise of a bench being dragged along the floor be able to\nendure with unruffled mind the rude language of party strife, and\nthe abuse which speakers in the forum or the senate house heap upon\ntheir opponents? Will he who is angry with his slave for icing his\ndrink badly, be able to endure hunger, or the thirst of a long march\nin summer? Nothing, therefore, nourishes anger more than excessive\nand dissatisfied luxury: the mind ought to be hardened by rough\ntreatment, so as not to feel any blow that is not severe.\n\nXXVI. We are angry, either with those who can, or with those who\ncannot do us an injury. To the latter class belong some inanimate\nthings, such as a book, which we often throw away when it is written\nin letters too small for us to read, or tear up when it is full of\nmistakes, or clothes which we destroy because we do not like them.\nHow foolish to be angry with such things as these, which neither\ndeserve nor feel our anger! \u201cBut of course it is their makers who\nreally affront us.\u201d I answer that, in the first place, we often\nbecome angry before making this distinction clear in our minds, and\nsecondly, perhaps even the makers might put forward some reasonable\nexcuses: one of them, it may be, could not make them any better\nthan he did, and it is not through any disrespect to you that he\nwas unskilled in his trade: another may have done his work so without\nany intention of insulting you: and, finally, what can be more crazy\nthan to discharge upon things the ill-feeling which one has accumulated\nagainst persons? Yet as it is the act of a madman to be angry with\ninanimate objects, so also is it to be angry with dumb animals,\nwhich can do us no wrong because they are not able to form a {101}\npurpose; and we cannot call anything a wrong unless it be done\nintentionally. They are, therefore, able to hurt us, just as a sword\nor a stone may do so, but they are not able to do us a wrong. Yet\nsome men think themselves insulted when the same horses which are\ndocile with one rider are restive with another, as though it were\nthrough their deliberate choice, and not through habit and cleverness\nof handling that some horses are more easily managed by some men\nthan by others. And as it is foolish to be angry with them, so it\nis to be angry with children, and with men who have little more\nsense than children: for all these sins, before a just judge,\nignorance would be as effective an excuse as innocence.\n\nXXVII. There are some things which are unable to hurt us, and whose\npower is exclusively beneficial and salutary, as, for example, the\nimmortal gods, who neither wish nor are able to do harm: for their\ntemperament is naturally gentle and tranquil, and no more likely\nto wrong others than to wrong themselves. Foolish people who know\nnot the truth hold them answerable for storms at sea, excessive\nrain, and long winters, whereas all the while these phenomena by\nwhich we suffer or profit take place without any reference whatever\nto us: it is not for our sake that the universe causes summer and\nwinter to succeed one another; these have a law of their own,\naccording to which their divine functions are performed. We think\ntoo much of ourselves, when we imagine that we are worthy to have\nsuch prodigious revolutions effected for our sake: so, then, none\nof these things take place in order to do us an injury, nay, on the\ncontrary, they all tend to our benefit. I have said that there are\nsome things which cannot hurt us, and some which would not. To the\nlatter class belong good men in authority, good parents, teachers,\nand judges whose punishments ought to be submitted to by us in the\nsame spirit in which we {102} undergo the surgeon\u2019s knife, abstinence\nfrom food, and such like things which hurt us for our benefit.\nSuppose that we are being punished; let us think not only of what\nwe suffer, but of what we have done: let us sit in judgement on our\npast life. Provided we are willing to tell ourselves the truth, we\nshall certainly decide that our crimes deserve a harder measure\nthan they have received.\n\nXXVIII. If we desire to be impartial judges of all that takes place,\nwe must first convince ourselves of this, that no one of us is\nfaultless: for it is from this that most of our indignation proceeds.\n\u201cI have not sinned, I have done no wrong.\u201d Say, rather, you do not\nadmit that you have done any wrong. We are infuriated at being\nreproved, either by reprimand or actual chastisement, although we\nare sinning at that very time, by adding insolence and obstinacy\nto our wrong-doings. Who is there that can declare himself to have\nbroken no laws? Even if there be such a man, what a stinted innocence\nit is, merely to be innocent by the letter of the law. How much\nfurther do the rules of duty extend than those of the law! how many\nthings which are not to be found in the statute book, are demanded\nby filial feeling, kindness, generosity, equity, and honour? Yet\nwe are not able to warrant ourselves even to come under that first\nnarrowest definition of innocence: we have done what was wrong,\nthought what was wrong, wished for what was wrong, and encouraged\nwhat was wrong: in some cases we have only remained innocent because\nwe did not succeed. When we think of this, let us deal more justly\nwith sinners, and believe that those who scold us are right: in any\ncase let us not be angry with ourselves (for with whom shall we not\nbe angry, if we are angry even with our own selves?), and least of\nall with the gods: for whatever we suffer befalls us not by any\nordinance of theirs but of the common law of all flesh. \u201cBut diseases\nand pains attack us.\u201d Well, people who live in a crazy {103} dwelling\nmust have some way of escape from it. Some one will be said to have\nspoken ill of you: think whether you did not first speak ill of\nhim: think of how many persons you have yourself spoken ill. Let\nus not, I say, suppose that others are doing us a wrong, but are\nrepaying one which we have done them, that some are acting with\ngood intentions, some under compulsion, some in ignorance, and let\nus believe that even he who does so intentionally and knowingly did\nnot wrong us merely for the sake of wronging us, but was led into\ndoing so by the attraction of saying something witty, or did whatever\nhe did, not out of any spite against us, but because he himself\ncould not succeed unless he pushed us back. We are often offended\nby flattery even while it is being lavished upon us: yet whoever\nrecalls to his mind how often he himself has been the victim of\nundeserved suspicion, how often fortune has given his true service\nan appearance of wrong-doing, how many persons he has begun by\nhating and ended by loving, will be able to keep himself from\nbecoming angry straightway, especially if he silently says to himself\nwhen each offence is committed: \u201cI have done this very thing myself.\u201d\nWhere, however, will you find so impartial a judge? The same man\nwho lusts after everyone\u2019s wife, and thinks that a woman\u2019s belonging\nto someone else is a sufficient reason for adoring her, will not\nallow any one else to look at his own wife. No man expects such\nexact fidelity as a traitor: the perjurer himself takes vengeance\nof him who breaks his word: the pettifogging lawyer is most indignant\nat an action being brought against him: the man who is reckless of\nhis own chastity cannot endure any attempt upon that of his slaves.\nWe have other men\u2019s vices before our eyes, and our own behind our\nbacks: hence it is that a father, who is worse than his son, blames\nthe latter for giving extravagant feasts,[10] and disapproves of\n{104} the least sign of luxury in another, although he was wont to\nset no bounds to it in his own case; hence it is that despots are\nangry with homicides, and thefts are punished by those who despoil\ntemples. A great part of mankind is not angry with sins, but with\nsinners. Regard to our own selves[11] will make us more moderate,\nif we inquire of ourselves:\u2014have we ever committed any crime of\nthis sort? have we ever fallen into this kind of error? is it for\nour interest that we should condemn this conduct?\n\nXXIX. The greatest remedy for anger is delay: beg anger to grant\nyou this at the first, not in order that it may pardon the offence,\nbut that it may form a right judgment about it: if it delays, it\nwill come to an end. Do not attempt to quell it all at once, for\nits first impulses are fierce; by plucking away its parts we shall\nremove the whole. We are made angry by some things which we learn\nat second-hand, and by some which we ourselves hear or see. Now,\nwe ought to be slow to believe what is told us. Many tell lies in\norder to deceive us, and many because they are themselves deceived.\nSome seek to win our favour by false accusations, and invent wrongs\nin order that they may appear angry at our having suffered them.\nOne man lies out of spite, that he may set trusting friends at\nvariance; some because they are suspicious,[12] and wish to see\nsport, and watch from a safe distance those whom they have set by\nthe ears. If you were about to give sentence in court about ever\nso small a sum of money, you would take nothing as proved without\na witness, and a witness would count for nothing except on his oath.\nYou would allow both sides to be heard: you would allow them time:\nyou would not despatch the matter at one sitting, because the oftener\nit is handled the more distinctly the truth appears. And do you\ncondemn your friend off-hand? {105} Are you angry with him before\nyou hear his story, before you have cross-examined him, before he\ncan know either who is his accuser or with what he is charged. Why\nthen, just now, in the case which you just tried, did you hear what\nwas said on both sides? This very man who has informed against your\nfriend, will say no more if he be obliged to prove what he says.\n\u201cYou need not,\u201d says he, \u201cbring me forward as a witness; if I am\nbrought forward I shall deny what I have said; unless you excuse\nme from appearing I shall never tell you anything.\u201d At the same\ntime he spurs you on and withdraws himself from the strife and\nbattle. The man who will tell you nothing save in secret hardly\ntells you anything at all. What can be more unjust than to believe\nin secret, and to be angry openly?\n\nXXX. Some offences we ourselves witness: in these cases let us\nexamine the disposition and purpose of the offender. Perhaps he is\na child; let us pardon his youth, he knows not whether he is doing\nwrong: or he is a father; he has either rendered such great services,\nas to have won the right even to wrong us\u2014or perhaps this very act\nwhich offends us is his chief merit: or a woman; well, she made a\nmistake. The man did it because he was ordered to do it. Who but\nan unjust person can be angry with what is done under compulsion?\nYou had hurt him: well, there is no wrong in suffering the pain\nwhich you have been the first to inflict. Suppose that your opponent\nis a judge; then you ought to take his opinion rather than your\nown: or that he is a king; then, if he punishes the guilty, yield\nto him because he is just, and if he punishes the innocent, yield\nto him because he is powerful. Suppose that it is a dumb animal or\nas stupid as a dumb animal: then, if you are angry with it, you\nwill make yourself like it. Suppose that it is a disease or a\nmisfortune; it will take less effect upon you if you bear it quietly:\nor that it is a god; then you waste your time by being angry with\nhim as much {106} as if you prayed him to be angry with some one\nelse. Is it a good man who has wronged you? do not believe it: is\nit a bad one? do not be surprised at this; he will pay to some one\nelse the penalty which he owes to you\u2014indeed, by his sin he has\nalready punished himself.\n\nXXXI. There are, as I have stated, two cases which produce anger:\nfirst, when we appear to have received an injury, about which enough\nhas been said, and, secondly, when we appear to have been treated\nunjustly: this must now be discussed. Men think some things unjust\nbecause they ought not to suffer them, and some because they did\nnot expect to suffer them: we think what is unexpected is beneath\nour deserts. Consequently, we are especially excited at what befalls\nus contrary to our hope and expectation: and this is why we are\nirritated at the smallest trifles in our own domestic affairs, and\nwhy we call our friends\u2019 carelessness deliberate injury. How is it,\nthen, asks our opponent, that we are angered by the injuries inflicted\nby our enemies? It is because we did not expect those particular\ninjuries, or, at any rate, not on so extensive a scale. This is\ncaused by our excessive self-love: we think that we ought to remain\nuninjured even by our enemies: every man bears within his breast\nthe mind of a despot, and is willing to commit excesses, but unwilling\nto submit to them. Thus it is either ignorance or arrogance that\nmakes us angry: ignorance of common facts; for what is there to\nwonder at in bad men committing evil deeds? what novelty is there\nin your enemy hurting you, your friend quarrelling with you, your\nson going wrong, or your servant doing amiss? Fabius was wont to\nsay that the most shameful excuse a general could make was \u201cI did\nnot think.\u201d I think it the most shameful excuse that a man can make.\nThink of everything, expect everything: even with men of good\ncharacter something queer will crop up; human nature produces minds\nthat are treacherous, ungrateful, greedy, and impious: when you are\nconsidering what any {107} man\u2019s morals may be, think what those\nof mankind are. When you are especially enjoying yourself, be\nespecially on your guard: when everything seems to you to be peaceful,\nbe sure that mischief is not absent, but only asleep. Always believe\nthat something will occur to offend you. A pilot never spreads all\nhis canvas abroad so confidently as not to keep his tackle for\nshortening sail ready for use. Think, above all, how base and hateful\nis the power of doing mischief, and how unnatural in man, by whose\nkindness even fierce animals are rendered tame. See how bulls yield\ntheir necks to the yoke, how elephants[13] allow boys and women to\ndance on their backs unhurt, how snakes glide harmlessly over our\nbosoms and among our drinking-cups, how within their dens bears and\nlions submit to be handled with complacent mouths, and wild beasts\nfawn upon their master: let us blush to have exchanged habits with\nwild beasts. It is a crime to injure one\u2019s country: so it is,\ntherefore, to injure any of our countrymen, for he is a part of our\ncountry; if the whole be sacred, the parts must be sacred too.\nTherefore it is also a crime to injure any man: for he is your\nfellow-citizen in a larger state. What, if the hands were to wish\nto hurt the feet? or the eyes to hurt the hands? As all the limbs\nact in unison, because it is the interest of the whole body to keep\neach one of them safe, so men should spare one another, because\nthey are born for society. The bond of society, however, cannot\nexist unless it guards and loves all its members. We should not\neven destroy vipers and water-snakes and other creatures whose teeth\nand claws are dangerous, if we were able to tame them as we do other\nanimals, or to prevent their being a peril to us: neither ought we,\ntherefore, to hurt a man because he has done wrong, but lest he\nshould do wrong, and our punishment should always look to the future,\nand never to the past, because it is inflicted in a spirit of\nprecaution, not of anger: for if everyone {108} who has a crooked\nand vicious disposition were to be punished, no one would escape\npunishment.\n\nXXXII. \u201cBut anger possesses a certain pleasure of its own, and it\nis sweet to pay back the pain you have suffered.\u201d Not at all; it\nis not honourable to requite injuries by injuries, in the same way\nas it is to repay benefits by benefits. In the latter case it is a\nshame to be conquered; in the former it is a shame to conquer.\nRevenge and retaliation are words which men use and even think to\nbe righteous, yet they do not greatly differ from wrong-doing,\nexcept in the order in which they are done: he who renders pain for\npain has more excuse for his sin; that is all. Some one who did not\nknow Marcus Cato struck him in the public bath in his ignorance,\nfor who would knowingly have done him an injury? Afterwards when\nhe was apologizing, Cato replied, \u201cI do not remember being struck.\u201d\nHe thought it better to ignore the insult than to revenge it. You\nask, \u201cDid no harm befall that man for his insolence?\u201d No, but rather\nmuch good; he made the acquaintance of Cato. It is the part of a\ngreat mind to despise wrongs done to it; the most contemptuous form\nof revenge is not to deem one\u2019s adversary worth taking vengeance\nupon. Many have taken small injuries much more seriously to heart\nthan they need, by revenging them: that man is great and noble who\nlike a large wild animal hears unmoved the tiny curs that bark at\nhim.\n\nXXXIII. \u201cWe are treated,\u201d says our opponent, \u201cwith more respect if\nwe revenge our injuries.\u201d If we make use of revenge merely as a\nremedy, let us use it without anger, and not regard revenge as\npleasant, but as useful: yet often it is better to pretend not to\nhave received an injury than to avenge it. The wrongs of the powerful\nmust not only be borne, but borne with a cheerful countenance: they\nwill repeat the wrong if they think they have inflicted it. This\nis the worst trait of minds rendered arrogant by {109} prosperity,\nthey hate those whom they have injured. Every one knows the saying\nof the old courtier, who, when some one asked him how he had achieved\nthe rare distinction of living at court till he reached old age,\nreplied, \u201cBy receiving wrongs and returning thanks for them.\u201d It\nis often so far from expedient to avenge our wrongs, that it will\nnot do even to admit them. Gaius Caesar, offended at the smart\nclothes and well-dressed hair of the son of Pastor, a distinguished\nRoman knight, sent him to prison. When the father begged that his\nson might suffer no harm, Caius, as if reminded by this to put him\nto death, ordered him to be executed, yet, in order to mitigate his\nbrutality to the father, invited him that very day to dinner. Pastor\ncame with a countenance which betrayed no illwill. Caesar pledged\nhim in a glass of wine, and set a man to watch him. The wretched\ncreature went through his part, feeling as though he were drinking\nhis son\u2019s blood: the emperor sent him some perfume and a garland,\nand gave orders to watch whether he used them: he did so. On the\nvery day on which he had buried, nay, on which he had not even\nburied his son, he sat down as one of a hundred guests, and, old\nand gouty as he was, drank to an extent which would have been hardly\ndecent on a child\u2019s birthday; he shed no tear the while; he did not\npermit his grief to betray itself by the slightest sign; he dined\njust as though his entreaties had gained his son\u2019s life. You ask\nme why he did so? he had another son. What did Priam do in the\nIliad? Did he not conceal his wrath and embrace the knees of Achilles?\ndid he not raise to his lips that death-dealing hand, stained with\nthe blood of his son, and sup with his slayer? True! but there were\nno perfumes and garlands, and his fierce enemy encouraged him with\nmany soothing words to eat, not to drain huge goblets with a guard\nstanding over him to see that he did it. Had he only feared for\nhimself, the father would have treated the {110} tyrant with scorn:\nbut love for his son quenched his anger: he deserved the emperor\u2019s\npermission to leave the banquet and gather up the bones of his son:\nbut, meanwhile, that kindly and polite youth the emperor would not\neven permit him to do this, but tormented the old man with frequent\ninvitations to drink, advising him thereby to lighten his sorrows.\nHe, on the other hand, appeared to be in good spirits, and to have\nforgotten what had been done that day: he would have lost his second\nson had he proved an unacceptable guest to the murderer of his\neldest.\n\nXXXIV. We must, therefore, refrain from anger, whether he who\nprovokes us be on a level with ourselves, or above us, or below us.\nA contest with one\u2019s equal is of uncertain issue, with one\u2019s superior\nis folly, and with one\u2019s inferior is contemptible. It is the part\nof a mean and wretched man to turn and bite one\u2019s biter: even mice\nand ants show their teeth if you put your hand to them, and all\nfeeble creatures think that they are hurt if they are touched. It\nwill make us milder tempered to call to mind any services which he\nwith whom we are angry may have done us, and to let his deserts\nbalance his offence. Let us also reflect, how much credit the tale\nof our forgiveness will confer upon us, how many men may be made\ninto valuable friends by forgiveness. One of the lessons which\nSulla\u2019s cruelty teaches us is not to be angry with the children of\nour enemies, whether they be public or private; for he drove the\nsons of the proscribed into exile. Nothing is more unjust than that\nany one should inherit the quarrels of his father. Whenever we are\nloth to pardon any one, let us think whether it would be to our\nadvantage that all men should be inexorable. He who refuses to\npardon, how often has he begged it for himself? how often has he\ngrovelled at the feet of those whom he spurns from his own? How can\nwe gain more glory than by turning anger {111} into friendship?\nwhat more faithful allies has the Roman people than those who have\nbeen its most unyielding enemies? where would the empire be to-day,\nhad not a wise foresight united the conquered and the conquerors?\nIf any one is angry with you, meet his anger by returning benefits\nfor it: a quarrel which is only taken up on one side falls to the\nground: it takes two men to fight. But[14] suppose that there is\nan angry struggle on both sides, even then, he is the better man\nwho first gives way; the winner is the real loser. He struck you;\nwell then, do you fall back: if you strike him in turn you will\ngive him both an opportunity and an excuse for striking you again:\nyou will not be able to withdraw yourself from the struggle when\nyou please.\n\nXXXV. Does any one wish to strike his enemy so hard, as to leave\nhis own hand in the wound, and not to be able to recover his balance\nafter the blow? yet such a weapon is anger: it is scarcely possible\nto draw it back. We are careful to choose for ourselves light\nweapons, handy and manageable swords: shall we not avoid these\nclumsy, unwieldy,[15] and never-to-be-recalled impulses of the mind?\nThe only swiftness of which men approve is that which, when bidden,\nchecks itself and proceeds no further, and which can be guided, and\nreduced from a run to a walk: we know that the sinews are diseased\nwhen they move against our will. A man must be either aged or weakly\nwho runs when he wants to walk: let us think that those are the\nmost powerful and the soundest operations of our minds, which act\nunder our own control, not at their own caprice. Nothing, however,\nwill be of so much service as to consider, first, the hideousness,\nand, secondly, the danger of anger. No passion bears a more troubled\naspect: it befouls the fairest face, makes fierce the expression\nwhich before was peaceful. From the angry \u201call grace has fled;\u201d\n{112} though their clothing may be fashionable, they will trail it\non the ground and take no heed of their appearance; though their\nhair be smoothed down in a comely manner by nature or art, yet it\nwill bristle up in sympathy with their mind. The veins become\nswollen, the breast will be shaken by quick breathing, the man\u2019s\nneck will be swelled as he roars forth his frantic talk: then, too,\nhis limbs will tremble, his hands will be restless, his whole body\nwill sway hither and thither. What, think you, must be the state\nof his mind within him, when its appearance without is so shocking?\nhow far more dreadful a countenance he bears within his own breast,\nhow far keener pride, how much more violent rage, which will burst\nhim unless it finds some vent? Let us paint anger looking like those\nwho are dripping with the blood of foemen or savage beasts, or those\nwho are just about to slaughter them\u2014like those monsters of the\nnether world fabled by the poet to be girt with serpents and breathing\nflame, when they sally forth from hell, most frightful to behold,\nin order that they may kindle wars, stir up strife between nations,\nand overthrow peace; let us paint her eyes glowing with fire, her\nvoice hissing, roaring, grating, and making worse sounds if worse\nthere be, while she brandishes weapons in both hands, for she cares\nnot to protect herself, gloomy, stained with blood, covered with\nscars and livid with her own blows, reeling like a maniac, wrapped\nin a thick cloud, dashing hither and thither, spreading desolation\nand panic, loathed by every one and by herself above all, willing,\nif otherwise she cannot hurt her foe, to overthrow alike earth,\nsea, and heaven, harmful and hateful at the same time. Or, if we\nare to see her, let her be such as our poets have described her\u2014\n\n \u201cThere with her blood-stained scourge Bellona fights. And\n Discord in her riven robe delights,\u201d[16]\n\n{113} or, if possible, let some even more dreadful aspect be invented\nfor this dreadful passion.\n\nXXXVI. Some angry people, as Sextius remarks, have been benefited\nby looking at the glass: they have been struck by so great an\nalteration in their own appearance: they have been, as it were,\nbrought into their own presence and have not recognized themselves:\nyet how small a part of the real hideousness of anger did that\nreflected image in the mirror reproduce? Could the mind be displayed\nor made to appear through any substance, we should be confounded\nwhen we beheld how black and stained, how agitated, distorted, and\nswollen it looked: even at present it is very ugly when seen through\nall the screens of blood, bones, and so forth: what would it be,\nwere it displayed uncovered? You say, that you do not believe that\nany one was ever scared out of anger by a mirror: and why not?\nBecause when he came to the mirror to change his mind, he had changed\nit already: to angry men no face looks fairer than one that is\nfierce and savage and such as they wish to look like. We ought\nrather to consider, how many men anger itself has injured. Some in\ntheir excessive heat have burst their veins; some by straining their\nvoices beyond their strength have vomited blood, or have injured\ntheir sight by too violently injecting humours into their eyes, and\nhave fallen sick when the fit passed off. No way leads more swiftly\nto madness: many have, consequently, remained always in the frenzy\nof anger, and, having once lost their reason, have never recovered\nit. Ajax was driven mad by anger, and driven to suicide by madness.\nMen, frantic with rage, call upon heaven to slay their children,\nto reduce themselves to poverty, and to ruin their houses, and yet\ndeclare that they are not either angry or insane. Enemies to their\nbest friends, dangerous to their nearest and dearest, regardless\nof the laws save where they injure, swayed by the smallest trifles,\nunwilling to lend their ears {114} to the advice or the services\nof their friends, they do everything by main force, and are ready\neither to fight with their swords or to throw themselves upon them,\nfor the greatest of all evils, and one which surpasses all vices,\nhas gained possession of them. Other passions gain a footing in the\nmind by slow degrees: anger\u2019s conquest is sudden and complete, and,\nmoreover, it makes all other passions subservient to itself. It\nconquers the warmest love: men have thrust swords through the bodies\nof those whom they loved, and have slain those in whose arms they\nhave lain. Avarice, that sternest and most rigid of passions, is\ntrampled underfoot by anger, which forces it to squander its carefully\ncollected wealth and set fire to its house and all its property in\none heap. Why, has not even the ambitious man been known to fling\naway the most highly valued ensigns of rank, and to refuse high\noffice when it was offered to him? There is no passion over which\nanger does not bear absolute rule.\n\n\n[1] \u201c_Vehiculorum ridicule Koch_,\u201d says Gertz, justly, \u201c_vitiorum_\nmakes excellent sense.\u201d\u2014J. E. B. M.\n\n[2] The murder of Pompeius, B.C. 48. Achillas and Theodotus acted\nunder the nominal orders of Ptolemy XII., Cleopatra\u2019s brother, then\nabout seventeen years of age.\n\n[3] See \u201cDe Clem.\u201d ii. 6, 4, I emended many years ago \u03ad\u03bd\u1f78\u03c2 \u03c7\u03b1\u03bd\u03cc\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2\n\u03bc\u03b5 \u03a4\u0395\u03a3\u03a7\u0397\u039a\u03b5\u03bd into \u1f10. \u03c7., \u03bc\u03b5 \u03a4\u0391\u039a\u0395\u03a7\u0397\u039d\u03b5\u03bd \u1f04\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2: \u201cwhen one has yawned,\nthe other yawns.\u201d\u2014J. E. B. M.\n\n[4] The voting-place in the Campus Martius.\n\n[5] Ovid, Metamorphoses, i., 144, sqq. The same lines are quoted\nin the essay on Benefits, v. 15.\n\n[6] _I.e._, he can plead that he kept the beaten track.\n\n[7] De Clem. i. 12, 5.\n\n[8] Compare Shakespeare, \u201cJulius Caesar,\u201d Act v. Sc. 5:\u2014\n\n \u201cHis life was gentle, and the elements So mixed in him, that\n nature might stand up And say to all the world, _this was a\n man!_\u201d\n\nSee Mr. Aldis Wright\u2019s note upon the passage.\n\n[9] _Paedagogus_ was a slave who accompanied a boy to school, &c.,\nto keep him out of mischief; he did not teach him anything.\n\n[10] _Tempestiva_, beginning before the usual hour.\n\n[11] Fear of self-condemnation.\n\n[12] Lipsius conjectures _supprocax_, mischievous.\n\n[13] I have adopted the transposition of Haase and Koch.\n\n[14] I adopt Vahlen\u2019s reading. See his Preface, p. viii., ed, Jenae,\n1879.\n\n[15] I read _onerosos_ with Vahlen, See his Preface, p, viii., ed,\nJenae, 1879.\n\n[16] The lines are from Virgil, Aen. viii. 702, but are inaccurately\nquoted.\n\n\n\n\n{115}\n\nTHE FIFTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO\nNOVATUS.\n\nOF ANGER.\n\nBook III.\n\n\nI. We will now, my Novatus, attempt to do that which you so especially\nlong to do, that is, to drive out anger from our minds, or at all\nevents to curb it and restrain its impulses. This may sometimes be\ndone openly and without concealment, when we are only suffering\nfrom a slight attack of this mischief, and at other times it must\nbe done secretly, when our anger is excessively hot, and when every\nobstacle thrown in its way increases it and makes it blaze higher.\nIt is important to know how great and how fresh its strength may\nbe, and whether it can be driven forcibly back and suppressed, or\nwhether we must give way to it until its first storm blow over,\nlest it sweep away with it our remedies themselves. We must deal\nwith each case according to each man\u2019s character: some yield to\nentreaties, others are rendered arrogant and masterful by submission:\nwe may frighten some men out of their anger, while some may be\nturned from their purpose by reproaches, some by acknowledging\noneself to be in the wrong, some by shame, and some by delay, a\ntardy remedy for a hasty disorder, which we ought only to use when\nall others have failed: {116} for other passions admit of having\ntheir case put off, and may be healed at a later time; but the eager\nand self-destructive violence of anger does not grow up by slow\ndegrees, but reaches its full height as soon as it begins. Nor does\nit, like other vices, merely disturb men\u2019s minds, but it takes them\naway, and torments them till they are incapable of restraining\nthemselves and eager for the common ruin of all men, nor does it\nrage merely against its object, but against every obstacle which\nit encounters on its way. The other vices move our minds; anger\nhurls them headlong. If we are not able to withstand our passions,\nyet at any rate our passions ought to stand firm: but anger grows\nmore and more powerful, like lightning flashes or hurricanes, or\nany other things which cannot stop themselves because they do not\nproceed along, but fall from above. Other vices affect our judgment,\nanger affects our sanity: others come in mild attacks and grow\nunnoticed, but men\u2019s minds plunge abruptly into anger. There is no\npassion that is more frantic, more destructive to its own self; it\nis arrogant if successful, and frantic if it fails. Even when\ndefeated it does not grow weary, but if chance places its foe beyond\nits reach, it turns its teeth against itself. Its intensity is in\nno way regulated by its origin: for it rises to the greatest heights\nfrom the most trivial beginnings.\n\nII. It passes over no time of life; no race of men is exempt from\nit: some nations have been saved from the knowledge of luxury by\nthe blessing of poverty; some through their active and wandering\nhabits have escaped from sloth; those whose manners are unpolished\nand whose life is rustic know not chicanery and fraud and all the\nevils to which the courts of law give birth: but there is no race\nwhich is not excited by anger, which is equally powerful with Greeks\nand barbarians, and is just as ruinous among law-abiding folk as\namong those whose only law is that of the {117} stronger. Finally,\nthe other passions seize upon individuals; anger is the only one\nwhich sometimes possesses a whole state. No entire people ever fell\nmadly in love with a woman, nor did any nation ever set its affections\naltogether upon gain and profit. Ambition attacks single individuals;\nungovernable rage is the only passion that affects nations. People\noften fly into a passion by troops; men and women, old men and boys,\nprinces and populace all act alike, and the whole multitude, after\nbeing excited by a very few words, outdoes even its exciter: men\nbetake themselves straightway to fire and sword, and proclaim a war\nagainst their neighbours or wage one against their countrymen. Whole\nhouses are burned with the entire families which they contain, and\nhe who but lately was honoured for his popular eloquence now finds\nthat his speech moves people to rage. Legions aim their darts at\ntheir commander; the whole populace quarrels with the nobles; the\nsenate, without waiting for troops to be levied or appointing a\ngeneral, hastily chooses leaders, for its anger chases well-born\nmen through the houses of Rome, and puts them to death with its own\nhand. Ambassadors are outraged, the law of nations violated, and\nan unnatural madness seizes the state. Without allowing time for\nthe general excitement to subside, fleets are straightway launched\nand laden with a hastily enrolled soldiery. Without organization,\nwithout taking any auspices, the populace rushes into the field\nguided only by its own anger, snatches up whatever comes first to\nhand by way of arms, and then atones by a great defeat for the\nreckless audacity of its anger. This is usually the fate of savage\nnations when they plunge into war: as soon as their easily excited\nminds are roused by the appearance of wrong having been done them,\nthey straightway hasten forth, and, guided only by their wounded\nfeelings, fall like an avalanche upon our legions, without either\ndiscipline, fear, or precaution, and wilfully seeking for danger.\nThey {118} delight in being struck, in pressing forward to meet the\nblow, writhing their bodies along the weapon, and perishing by a\nwound which they themselves make.\n\nIII. \u201cNo doubt,\u201d you say, \u201canger is very powerful and ruinous: point\nout, therefore, how it may be cured.\u201d Yet, as I stated in my former\nbooks, Aristotle stands forth in defence of anger, and forbids it\nto be uprooted, saying that it is the spur of virtue, and that when\nit is taken away, our minds become weaponless, and slow to attempt\ngreat exploits. It is therefore essential to prove its unseemliness\nand ferocity, and to place distinctly before our eyes how monstrous\na thing it is that one man should rage against another, with what\nfrantic violence he rushes to destroy alike himself and his foe,\nand overthrows those very things whose fall he himself must share.\nWhat, then? can any one call this man sane, who, as though caught\nup by a hurricane, does not go but is driven, and is the slave of\na senseless disorder? He does not commit to another the duty of\nrevenging him, but himself exacts it, raging alike in thought and\ndeed, butchering those who are dearest to him, and for whose loss\nhe himself will ere long weep. Will any one give this passion as\nan assistant and companion to virtue, although it disturbs calm\nreason, without which virtue can do nothing? The strength which a\nsick man owes to a paroxysm of disease is neither lasting nor\nwholesome, and is strong only to its own destruction. You need not,\ntherefore, imagine that I am wasting time over a useless task in\ndefaming anger, as though men had not made up their minds about it,\nwhen there is some one, and he, too, an illustrious philosopher,\nwho assigns it services to perform, and speaks of it as useful and\nsupplying energy for battles, for the management of business, and\nindeed for everything which requires to be conducted with spirit.\nLest it should delude any one into thinking that on certain occasions\nand in certain positions it may be useful, we must show its {119}\nunbridled and frenzied madness, we must restore to it its attributes,\nthe rack, the cord, the dungeon, and the cross, the fires lighted\nround men\u2019s buried bodies, the hook[1] that drags both living men\nand corpses, the different kinds of fetters, and of punishments,\nthe mutilations of limbs, the branding of the forehead, the dens\nof savage beasts. Anger should be represented as standing among\nthese her instruments, growling in an ominous and terrible fashion,\nherself more shocking than any of the means by which she gives vent\nto her fury.\n\nIV. There may be some doubt about the others, but at any rate no\npassion has a worse look. We have described the angry man\u2019s appearance\nin our former books, how sharp and keen he looks, at one time pale\nas his blood is driven inwards and backwards, at another with all\nthe heat and fire of his body directed to his face, making it\nreddish-coloured as if stained with blood, his eyes now restless\nand starting out of his head, now set motionless in one fixed gaze.\nAdd to this his teeth, which gnash against one another, as though\nhe wished to eat somebody, with exactly the sound of a wild boar\nsharpening his tusks: add also the cracking of his joints, the\ninvoluntary wringing of his hands, the frequent slaps he deals\nhimself on the chest, his hurried breathing and deep-drawn sighs,\nhis reeling body, his abrupt broken speech, and his trembling lips,\nwhich sometimes he draws tight as he hisses some curse through them.\nBy Hercules, no wild beast, neither when tortured by hunger, or\nwith a weapon struck through its vitals, not even when it gathers\nits last breath to bite its slayer, looks so shocking as a man\nraging with anger. Listen, if you have leisure, to his words {120}\nand threats: how dreadful is the language of his agonized mind!\nWould not every man wish to lay aside anger when he sees that it\nbegins by injuring himself? When men employ anger as the most\npowerful of agents, consider it to be a proof of power, and reckon\na speedy revenge among the greatest blessings of great prosperity,\nwould you not wish me to warn them that he who is the slave of his\nown anger is not powerful, nor even free? Would you not wish me to\nwarn all the more industrious and circumspect of men, that while\nother evil passions assail the base, anger gradually obtains dominion\nover the minds even of learned and in other respects sensible men?\nSo true is that, that some declare anger to be a proof of\nstraight-forwardness, and it is commonly believed that the best-natured\npeople are prone to it.\n\nV. You ask me, whither does all this tend? To prove, I answer, that\nno one should imagine himself to be safe from anger, seeing that\nit rouses up even those who are naturally gentle and quiet to commit\nsavage and violent acts. As strength of body and assiduous care of\nthe health avail nothing against a pestilence, which attacks the\nstrong and weak alike, so also steady and good-humoured people are\njust as liable to attacks of anger as those of unsettled character,\nand in the case of the former it is both more to be ashamed of and\nmore to be feared, because it makes a greater alteration in their\nhabits. Now as the first thing is not to be angry, the second to\nlay aside our anger, and the third to be able to heal the anger of\nothers as well as our own, I will set forth first how we may avoid\nfalling into anger; next, how we may set ourselves free from it,\nand, lastly, how we may restrain an angry man, appease his wrath,\nand bring him back to his right mind. We shall succeed in avoiding\nanger, if from time to time we lay before our minds all the vices\nconnected with anger, and estimate it at its real value: it must\nbe prosecuted {121} before us and convicted: its evils must be\nthoroughly investigated and exposed. That we may see what it is,\nlet it be compared with the worst vices. Avarice scrapes together\nand amasses riches for some better man to use: anger spends money;\nfew can indulge in it for nothing. How many slaves an angry master\ndrives to run away or to commit suicide! how much more he loses by\nhis anger than the value of what he originally became angry about!\nAnger brings grief to a father, divorce to a husband, hatred to a\nmagistrate, failure to a candidate for office. It is worse than\nluxury, because luxury enjoys its own pleasure, while anger enjoys\nanother\u2019s pain. It is worse than either spitefulness or envy; for\nthey wish that some one may become unhappy, while anger wishes to\nmake him so: they are pleased when evil befalls one by accident,\nbut anger cannot wait upon Fortune; it desires to injure its victim\npersonally, and is not satisfied merely with his being injured.\nNothing is more dangerous than jealousy: it is produced by anger.\nNothing is more ruinous than war: it is the outcome of powerful\nmen\u2019s anger; and even the anger of humble private persons, though\nwithout arms or armies, is nevertheless war. Moreover, even if we\npass over its immediate consequences, such as heavy losses, treacherous\nplots, and the constant anxiety produced by strife, anger pays a\npenalty at the same moment that it exacts one: it forswears human\nfeelings. The latter urge us to love, anger urges us to hatred: the\nlatter bid us do men good, anger bids us do them harm. Add to this\nthat, although its rage arises from an excessive self-respect and\nappears to show high spirit, it really is contemptible and mean:\nfor a man must be inferior to one by whom he thinks himself despised,\nwhereas the truly great mind, which takes a true estimate of its\nown value, does not revenge an insult because it does not feel it.\nAs weapons rebound from a hard surface, and solid substances hurt\n{122} those who strike them, so also no insult can make a really\ngreat mind sensible of its presence, being weaker than that against\nwhich it is aimed. How far more glorious is it to throw back all\nwrongs and insults from oneself, like one wearing armour of proof\nagainst all weapons, for revenge is an admission that we have been\nhurt. That cannot be a great mind which is disturbed by injury. He\nwho has hurt you must be either stronger or weaker than yourself.\nIf he be weaker, spare him: if he be stronger, spare yourself.\n\nVI. There is no greater proof of magnanimity than that nothing which\nbefalls you should be able to move you to anger. The higher region\nof the universe, being more excellently ordered and near to the\nstars, is never gathered into clouds, driven about by storms, or\nwhirled round by cyclones: it is free from all disturbance: the\nlightnings flash in the region below it. In like manner a lofty\nmind, always placid and dwelling in a serene atmosphere, restraining\nwithin itself all the impulses from which anger springs, is modest,\ncommands respect, and remains calm and collected: none of which\nqualities will you find in an angry man: for who, when under the\ninfluence of grief and rage, does not first get rid of bashfulness?\nwho, when excited and confused and about to attack some one, does\nnot fling away any habits of shamefacedness he may have possessed?\nwhat angry man attends to the number or routine of his duties? who\nuses moderate language? who keeps any part of his body quiet? who\ncan guide himself when in full career? We shall find much profit\nin that sound maxim of Democritus which defines peace of mind to\nconsist in not labouring much, or too much for our strength, either\nin public or private matters. A man\u2019s day, if he is engaged in many\nvarious occupations, never passes so happily that no man or no thing\nshould give rise to some offence which makes the mind ripe for\nanger. Just as when one hurries through the crowded parts of the\ncity {123} one cannot help jostling many people, and one cannot\nhelp slipping at one place, being hindered at another, and splashed\nat another, so when one\u2019s life is spent in disconnected pursuits\nand wanderings, one must meet with many troubles and many accusations.\nOne man deceives our hopes, another delays their fulfilment, another\ndestroys them: our projects do not proceed according to our intention.\nNo one is so favoured by Fortune as to find her always on his side\nif he tempts her often: and from this it follows that he who sees\nseveral enterprises turn out contrary to his wishes becomes\ndissatisfied with both men and things, and on the slightest provocation\nflies into a rage with people, with undertakings, with places, with\nfortune, or with himself. In order, therefore, that the mind may\nbe at peace, it ought not to be hurried hither and thither, nor,\nas I said before, wearied by labour at great matters, or matters\nwhose attainment is beyond its strength. It is easy to fit one\u2019s\nshoulder to a light burden, and to shift it from one side to the\nother without dropping it: but we have difficulty in bearing the\nburdens which others\u2019 hands lay upon us, and when overweighted by\nthem we fling them off upon our neighbours. Even when we do stand\nupright under our load, we nevertheless reel beneath a weight which\nis beyond our strength.\n\nVII. Be assured that the same rule applies both to public and private\nlife: simple and manageable undertakings proceed according to the\npleasure of the person in charge of them, but enormous ones, beyond\nhis capacity to manage, are not easily undertaken. When he has got\nthem to administer, they hinder him, and press hard upon him, and\njust as he thinks that success is within his grasp, they collapse,\nand carry him with them: thus it comes about that a man\u2019s wishes\nare often disappointed if he does not apply himself to easy tasks,\nyet wishes that the tasks which he undertakes may be easy. Whenever\nyou would attempt anything, first {124} form an estimate both of\nyour own powers, of the extent of the matter which you are undertaking,\nand of the means by which you are to accomplish it: for if you have\nto abandon your work when it is half done, the disappointment will\nsour your temper. In such cases, it makes a difference whether one\nis of an ardent or of a cold and unenterprising temperament: for\nfailure will rouse a generous spirit to anger, and will move a\nsluggish and dull one to sorrow. Let our undertakings, therefore,\nbe neither petty nor yet presumptuous and reckless: let our hopes\nnot range far from home: let us attempt nothing which if we succeed\nwill make us astonished at our success.\n\nVIII. Since we know not how to endure an injury, let us take care\nnot to receive one: we should live with the quietest and easiest-tempered\npersons, not with anxious or with sullen ones: for our own habits\nare copied from those with whom we associate, and just as some\nbodily diseases are communicated by touch, so also the mind transfers\nits vices to its neighbours. A drunkard leads even those who reproach\nhim to grow fond of wine: profligate society will, if permitted,\nimpair the morals even of robust-minded men: avarice infects those\nnearest it with its poison. Virtues do the same thing in the opposite\ndirection, and improve all those with whom they are brought in\ncontact: it is as good for one of unsettled principles to associate\nwith better men than himself as for an invalid to live in a warm\ncountry with a healthy climate. You will understand how much may\nbe effected this way, if you observe how even wild beasts grow tame\nby dwelling among us, and how no animal, however ferocious, continues\nto be wild, if it has long been accustomed to human companionship:\nall its savageness becomes softened, and amid peaceful scenes is\ngradually forgotten. We must add to this, that the man who lives\nwith quiet people is not only improved by their example, but also\nby the fact that he finds no reason for anger and does not practise\nhis {125} vice: it will, therefore, be his duty to avoid all those\nwho he knows will excite his anger. You ask, who these are: many\nwill bring about the same thing by various means; a proud man will\noffend you by his disdain, a talkative man by his abuse, an impudent\nman by his insults, a spiteful man by his malice, a quarrelsome man\nby his wrangling, a braggart and liar by his vain-gloriousness: you\nwill not endure to be feared by a suspicious man, conquered by an\nobstinate one, or scorned by an ultra-refined one: Choose\nstraightforward, good-natured, steady people, who will not provoke\nyour wrath, and will bear with it. Those whose dispositions are\nyielding, polite and suave, will be of even greater service, provided\nthey do not flatter, for excessive obsequiousness irritates\nbad-tempered men. One of my own friends was a good man indeed, but\ntoo prone to anger, and it was as dangerous to flatter him as to\ncurse him. Caelius the orator, it is well known, was the worst-tempered\nman possible. It is said that once he was dining in his own chamber\nwith an especially long-suffering client, but had great difficulty\nwhen thrown thus into a man\u2019s society to avoid quarrelling with\nhim. The other thought it best to agree to whatever he said, and\nto play second fiddle, but Caelius could not bear his obsequious\nagreement, and exclaimed, \u201cDo contradict me in something, that there\nmay be two of us!\u201d Yet even he, who was angry at not being angry,\nsoon recovered his temper, because he had no one to fight with. If,\nthen, we are conscious of an irascible disposition, let us especially\nchoose for our friends those who will look and speak as we do: they\nwill pamper us and lead us into a bad habit of listening to nothing\nthat does not please us, but it will be good to give our anger\nrespite and repose. Even those who are naturally crabbed and wild\nwill yield to caresses: no creature continues either angry or\nfrightened if you pat him. Whenever a controversy seems likely to\nbe longer or more keenly disputed than usual, let us check its first\nbeginnings, before it gathers strength. {126} A dispute nourishes\nitself as it proceeds, and takes hold of those who plunge too deeply\ninto it: it is easier to stand aloof than to extricate oneself from\na struggle.\n\nIX. Irascible men ought not to meddle with the more serious class\nof occupations, or, at any rate, ought to stop short of weariness\nin the pursuit of them; their mind ought not to be engaged upon\nhard subjects, but handed over to pleasing arts: let it be softened\nby reading poetry, and interested by legendary history: let it be\ntreated with luxury and refinement. Pythagoras used to calm his\ntroubled spirit by playing upon the lyre: and who does not know\nthat trumpets and clarions are irritants, just as some airs are\nlullabies and soothe the mind? Green is good for wearied eyes, and\nsome colours are grateful to weak sight, while the brightness of\nothers is painful to it. In the same way cheerful pursuits soothe\nunhealthy minds. We must avoid law courts, pleadings, verdicts, and\neverything else that aggravates our fault, and we ought no less to\navoid bodily weariness; for it exhausts all that is quiet and gentle\nin us, and rouses bitterness. For this reason those who cannot trust\ntheir digestion, when they are about to transact business of\nimportance always allay their bile with food, for it is peculiarly\nirritated by fatigue, either because it draws the vital heat into\nthe middle of the body, and injures the blood and stops its circulation\nby the clogging of the veins, or else because the worn-out and\nweakened body reacts upon the mind: this is certainly the reason\nwhy those who are broken by ill-health or age are more irascible\nthan other men. Hunger also and thirst should be avoided for the\nsame reason; they exasperate and irritate men\u2019s minds: it is an old\nsaying that \u201ca weary man is quarrelsome \u201c: and so also is a hungry\nor a thirsty man, or one who is suffering from any cause whatever:\nfor just as sores pain one at the slightest touch, and afterwards\neven at the fear of being touched, so an unsound mind takes offence\nat the slightest things, so that even a {127} greeting, a letter,\na speech, or a question, provokes some men to anger.\n\nX. That which is diseased can never bear to be handled without\ncomplaining: it is best, therefore, to apply remedies to oneself\nas soon as we feel that anything is wrong, to allow oneself as\nlittle licence as possible in speech, and to restrain one\u2019s\nimpetuosity: now it is easy to detect the first growth of our\npassions: the symptoms precede the disorder. Just as the signs of\nstorms and rain come before the storms themselves, so there are\ncertain forerunners of anger, love, and all the storms which torment\nour minds. Those who suffer from epilepsy know that the fit is\ncoming on if their extremities become cold, their sight fails, their\nsinews tremble, their memory deserts them, and their head swims:\nthey accordingly check the growing disorder by applying the usual\nremedies: they try to prevent the loss of their senses by smelling\nor tasting some drug; they battle against cold and stiffness of\nlimbs by hot fomentations; or, if all remedies fail, they retire\napart, and faint where no one sees them fall. It is useful for a\nman to understand his disease, and to break its strength before it\nbecomes developed. Let us see what it is that especially irritates\nus. Some men take offence at insulting words, others at deeds: one\nwishes his pedigree, another his person, to be treated with respect.\nThis man wishes to be considered especially fashionable, that man\nto be thought especially learned: one cannot bear pride, another\ncannot bear obstinacy. One thinks it beneath him to be angry with\nhis slaves, another is cruel at home, but gentle abroad. One imagines\nthat he is proposed for office because he is unpopular, another\nthinks himself insulted because he is not proposed. People do not\nall take offence in the same way; you ought then to know what your\nown weak point is, that you may guard it with especial care.\n\nXI. It is better not to see or to hear everything: many causes of\noffence may pass by us, most of which are disregarded {128} by the\nman who ignores them. Would you not be irascible? then be not\ninquisitive. He who seeks to know what is said about him, who digs\nup spiteful tales even if they were told in secret, is himself the\ndestroyer of his own peace of mind. Some stories may be so construed\nas to appear to be insults: wherefore it is best to put some aside,\nto laugh at others, and to pardon others. There are many ways in\nwhich anger may be checked; most things may be turned into jest.\nIt is said that Socrates when he was given a box on the ear, merely\nsaid that it was a pity a man could not tell when he ought to wear\nhis helmet out walking. It does not so much matter how an injury\nis done, as how it is borne; and I do not see how moderation can\nbe hard to practise, when I know that even despots, though success\nand impunity combine to swell their pride, have sometimes restrained\ntheir natural ferocity. At any rate, tradition informs us that once,\nwhen a guest in his cups bitterly reproached Pisistratus, the despot\nof Athens, for his cruelty, many of those present offered to lay\nhands on the traitor, and one said one thing and one another to\nkindle his wrath, he bore it coolly, and replied to those who were\negging him on, that he was no more angry with the man than he should\nbe with one who ran against him blindfold.\n\nXII. A large part of mankind manufacture their own grievances either\nby entertaining unfounded suspicions or by exaggerating trifles.\nAnger often comes to us, but we often go to it. It ought never to\nbe sent for: even when it falls in our way it ought to be flung\naside. No one says to himself, \u201cI myself have done or might have\ndone this very thing which I am angry with another for doing.\u201d No\none considers the intention of the doer, but merely the thing done:\nyet we ought to think about him, and whether he did it intentionally\nor accidentally, under compulsion or under a mistake, whether he\ndid it out of hatred for us, or to gain something for himself,\nwhether he did it to please himself {129} or to serve a friend. In\nsome cases the age, in others the worldly fortunes of the culprit\nmay render it humane or advantageous to bear with him and put up\nwith what he has done. Let us put ourselves in the place of him\nwith whom we are angry: at present an overweening conceit of our\nown importance makes us prone to anger, and we are quite willing\nto do to others what we cannot endure should be done to ourselves.\nNo one will postpone his anger: yet delay is the best remedy for\nit, because it allows its first glow to subside, and gives time for\nthe cloud which darkens the mind either to disperse or at any rate\nto become less dense. Of these wrongs which drive you frantic, some\nwill grow lighter after an interval, not of a day, but even of an\nhour: some will vanish altogether. Even if you gain nothing by your\nadjournment, still what you do after it will appear to be the result\nof mature deliberation, not of anger. If you want to find out the\ntruth about anything, commit the task to time: nothing can be\naccurately discerned at a time of disturbance. Plato, when angry\nwith his slave, could not prevail upon himself to wait, but straightway\nordered him to take off his shirt and present his shoulders to the\nblows which he meant to give him with his own hand: then, when he\nperceived that he was angry, he stopped the hand which he had raised\nin the air, and stood like one in act to strike. Being asked by a\nfriend who happened to come in, what he was doing, he answered: \u201cI\nam making an angry man expiate his crime.\u201d He retained the posture\nof one about to give way to passion, as if struck with astonishment\nat its being so degrading to a philosopher, forgetting the slave,\nbecause he had found another still more deserving of punishment.\nHe therefore denied himself the exercise of authority over his own\nhousehold, and once, being rather angry at some fault, said,\n\u201cSpeusippus, will you please to correct that slave with stripes;\nfor I am in a rage.\u201d He would not strike him, for the very reason\nfor which another man would have struck him. \u201cI am in a rage,\u201d said\n{130} he; \u201cI should beat him more than I ought: I should take more\npleasure than I ought in doing so: let not that slave fall into the\npower of one who is not in his own power.\u201d Can any one wish to grant\nthe power of revenge to an angry man, when Plato himself gave up\nhis own right to exercise it? While you are angry, you ought not\nto be allowed to do anything. \u201cWhy?\u201d do you ask? Because when you\nare angry there is nothing that you do not wish to be allowed to\ndo.\n\nXIII. Fight hard with yourself and if you cannot conquer anger, do\nnot let it conquer you: you have begun to get the better of it if\nit does not show itself, if it is not given vent. Let us conceal\nits symptoms, and as far as possible keep it secret and hidden. It\nwill give us great trouble to do this, for it is eager to burst\nforth, to kindle our eyes and to transform our face; but if we allow\nit to show itself in our outward appearance, it is our master. Let\nit rather be locked in the innermost recesses of our breast, and\nbe borne by us, not bear us: nay, let us replace all its symptoms\nby their opposites; let us make our countenance more composed than\nusual, our voice milder, our step slower. Our inward thoughts\ngradually become influenced by our outward demeanour. With Socrates\nit was a sign of anger when he lowered his voice, and became sparing\nof speech; it was evident at such times that he was exercising\nrestraint over himself. His friends, consequently, used to detect\nhim acting thus, and convict him of being angry; nor was he displeased\nat being charged with concealment of anger; indeed, how could he\nhelp being glad that many men should perceive his anger, yet that\nnone should feel it? they would however, have felt it had not he\ngranted to his friends the same right of criticizing his own conduct\nwhich he himself assumed over theirs. How much more needful is it\nfor us to do this? let us beg all our best friends to give us their\nopinion with the greatest freedom at the very time when we can bear\nit least, and never to be compliant with us {131} when we are angry.\nWhile we are in our right senses, while we are under our own control,\nlet us call for help against so powerful an evil, and one which we\nregard with such unjust favour. Those who cannot carry their wine\ndiscreetly, and fear to be betrayed into some rash and insolent\nact, give their slaves orders to take them away from the banquet\nwhen they are drunk; those who know by experience how unreasonable\nthey are when sick give orders that no one is to obey them when\nthey are in ill health. It is best to prepare obstacles beforehand\nfor vices which are known, and above all things so to tranquilize\nour mind that it may bear the most sudden and violent shocks either\nwithout feeling anger, or, if anger be provoked by the extent of\nsome unexpected wrong, that it may bury it deep, and not betray its\nwound. That it is possible to do this will be seen, if I quote a\nfew of an abundance of examples, from which we may learn both how\nmuch evil there is in anger, when it exercises entire dominion over\nmen in supreme power, and how completely it can control itself when\noverawed by fear.\n\nXIV. King Cambyses[2] was excessively addicted to wine. Praexaspes\nwas the only one of his closest friends who advised him to drink\nmore sparingly, pointing out how shameful a thing drunkenness was\nin a king, upon whom all eyes and ears were fixed. Cambyses answered,\n\u201cThat you may know that I never lose command of myself, I will\npresently prove to you that both my eyes and my hands are fit for\nservice after I have been drinking.\u201d Hereupon he drank more freely\nthan usual, using larger cups, and when heavy and besotted with\nwine ordered his reprover\u2019s son to go beyond the threshold and stand\nthere with his left hand raised above his head; then he bent his\nbow and pierced the youth\u2019s heart, at which he had said that he\naimed. He {132} then had his breast cut open, showed the arrow\nsticking exactly into the heart, and, looking at the boy\u2019s father,\nasked whether his hand was not steady enough. He replied, that\nApollo himself could not have taken better aim. God confound such\na man, a slave in mind, if not in station! He actually praised an\nact which he ought not to have endured to witness. He thought that\nthe breast of his son being torn assunder, and his heart quivering\nwith its wound, gave him an opportunity of making a complimentary\nspeech. He ought to have raised a dispute with him about his success,\nand have called for another shot, that the king might be pleased\nto prove upon the person of the father that his hand was even\nsteadier than when he shot the son. What a savage king! what a\nworthy mark for all his follower\u2019s arrows! Yet though we curse him\nfor making his banquet end in cruelty and death, still it was worse\nto praise that arrow-shot than to shoot it. We shall see hereafter\nhow a father ought to bear himself when standing over the corpse\nof his son, whose murder he had both caused and witnessed: the\nmatter which we are now discussing, has been proved, I mean, that\nanger can be suppressed. He did not curse the king, he did not so\nmuch as let fall a single inauspicious word, though he felt his own\nheart as deeply wounded as that of his son. He may be said to have\ndone well in choking down his words; for though he might have spoken\nas an angry man, yet he could not have expressed what he felt as a\nfather. He may, I repeat, be thought to have behaved with greater\nwisdom on that occasion than when he tried to regulate the drink\nof one who was better employed in drinking wine than in drinking\nblood, and who granted men peace while his hands were busy with the\nwinecup. He, therefore, added one more to the number of those who\nhave shown to their bitter cost how little kings care for their\nfriends\u2019 good advice.\n\n{133}\n\nXV. I have no doubt that Harpagus must have given some such advice\nto the king of the Persians and of himself, in anger at which the\nking placed Harpagus\u2019s own children before him on the dinner-table\nfor him to eat, and asked him from time to time, whether he liked\nthe seasoning. Then, when he saw that he was satiated with his own\nmisery, he ordered their heads to be brought to him, and asked him\nhow he liked his entertainment. The wretched man did not lose his\nreadiness of speech; his face did not change. \u201cEvery kind of dinner,\u201d\nsaid he, \u201cis pleasant at the king\u2019s table.\u201d What did he gain by\nthis obsequiousness? He avoided being invited a second time to\ndinner, to eat what was left of them. I do not forbid a father to\nblame the act of his king, or to seek for some revenge worthy of\nso bloodthirsty a monster, but in the meanwhile I gather from the\ntale this fact, that even the anger which arises from unheard of\noutrages can be concealed, and forced into using language which is\nthe very reverse of its meaning. This way of curbing anger is\nnecessary, at least for those who have chosen this sort of life and\nwho are admitted to dine at a king\u2019s table; this is how they must\neat and drink, this is how they must answer, and how they must laugh\nat their own deaths. Whether life is worth having at such a price,\nwe shall see hereafter; that is another question. Let us not console\nso sorry a crew, or encourage them to submit to the orders of their\nbutchers; let us point out that however slavish a man\u2019s condition\nmay be, there is always a path to liberty open to him, unless his\nmind be diseased. It is a man\u2019s own fault if he suffers, when by\nputting an end to himself he can put an end to his misery. To him\nwhose king aimed arrows at the breasts of his friends, and to him\nwhose master gorged fathers with the hearts of their children, I\nwould say \u201cMadman, why do you groan? for what are you waiting? for\nsome enemy to avenge you by the destruction of your {134} entire\nnation, or for some powerful king to arrive from a distant land?\nWherever you turn your eyes you may see an end to your woes. Do you\nsee that precipice? down that lies the road to liberty; do you see\nthat sea? that river? that well? Liberty sits at the bottom of them.\nDo you see that tree? stunted, blighted, dried up though it be, yet\nliberty hangs from its branches. Do you see your own throat, your\nown neck, your own heart? they are so many ways of escape from\nslavery. Are these modes which I point out too laborious, and needing\nmuch strength and courage? do you ask what path leads to liberty?\nI answer, any vein[3] in your body.\n\nXVI. As long, however, as we find nothing in our life so unbearable\nas to drive us to suicide, let us, in whatever position we may be,\nset anger far from us: it is destructive to those who are its slaves.\nAll its rage turns to its own misery, and authority becomes all the\nmore irksome the more obstinately it is resisted. It is like a wild\nanimal whose struggles only pull the noose by which it is caught\ntighter; or like birds who, while flurriedly trying to shake\nthemselves free, smear birdlime on to all their feathers. No yoke\nis so grievous as not to hurt him who struggles against it more\nthan him who yields to it: the only way to alleviate great evils\nis to endure them and to submit to do what they compel. This control\nof our passions, and especially of this mad and unbridled passion\nof anger, is useful to subjects, but still more useful to kings.\nAll is lost when a man\u2019s position enables him to carry out whatever\nanger prompts him to do; nor can power long endure if it be exercised\nto the injury of many, for it becomes endangered as soon as common\nfear draws together those who bewail themselves separately. Many\nkings, therefore, have fallen victims, some to single individuals,\nothers to entire peoples, {135} who have been forced by general\nindignation to make one man the minister of their wrath. Yet many\nkings have indulged their anger as though it were a privilege of\nroyalty, like Darius, who, after the dethronement of the Magian,\nwas the first ruler of the Persians and of the greater part of the\nEast: for when he declared war[4] against the Scythians who bordered\non the empire of the East, Oeobazus, an aged noble, begged that one\nof his three sons might be left at home to comfort his father, and\nthat the king might be satisfied with the services of two of them.\nDarius promised him more than he asked for, saying that he would\nallow all three to remain at home, and flung their dead bodies\nbefore their father\u2019s eyes. He would have been harsh, had he taken\nthem all to the war with him. How much more good-natured was\nXerxes,[5] who, when Pythias, the father of five sons, begged for\none to be excused from service, permitted him to choose which he\nwished for. He then tore the son whom the father had chosen into\ntwo halves, placed one on each side of the road, and, as it were,\npurified his army by means of this propitiatory victim. He therefore\nhad the end which he deserved, being defeated, and his army scattered\nfar and wide in utter rout, while he in the midst of it walked among\nthe corpses of his soldiers, seeing on all sides the signs of his\nown overthrow.\n\nXVII. So ferocious in their anger were those kings who had no\nlearning, no tincture of polite literature: now I will show you\nKing Alexander (the Great), fresh from the lap of Aristotle, who\nwith his own hand while at table stabbed Clitus, his dearest friend,\nwho had been brought up with him, because he did not flatter him\nenough, and was too slow in transforming himself from a free man\nand a Macedonian into a Persian slave. Indeed he shut up {136}\nLysimachus,[6] who was no less his friend than Clitus, in a cage\nwith a lion; yet did this make Lysimachus, who escaped by some happy\nchance from the lion\u2019s teeth, any gentler when he became a king?\nWhy, he mutilated his own friend, Telesphorus the Rhodian, cutting\noff his nose and ears, and kept him for a long while in a den, like\nsome new and strange animal, after the hideousness of his hacked\nand disfigured face had made him no longer appear to be human,\nassisted by starvation and the squalid filth of a body left to\nwallow in its own dung! Besides this, his hands and knees, which\nthe narrowness of his abode forced him to use instead of his feet,\nbecame hard and callous, while his sides were covered with sores\nby rubbing against the walls, so that his appearance was no less\nshocking than frightful, and his punishment turned him into so\nmonstrous a creature that he was not even pitied. Yet, however\nunlike a man he was who suffered this, even more unlike was he who\ninflicted it.\n\nXVIII. Would to heaven that such savagery had contented itself with\nforeign examples, and that barbarity in anger and punishment had\nnot been imported with other outlandish vices into our Roman manners!\nMarcus Marius, to whom the people erected a statue in every street,\nto whom they made offerings of incense and wine, had, by the command\nof Lucius Sulla, his legs broken, his eyes pulled out, his hands\ncut off, and his whole body gradually torn to pieces limb by limb,\nas if Sulla killed him as many times as he wounded him. Who was it\nwho carried out Sulla\u2019s orders? who but Catiline, already practising\nhis hands in every sort of wickedness? He tore him to pieces before\nthe tomb of Quintus Catulus, an unwelcome burden to the ashes of\nthat gentlest of men, above which one who was no doubt a criminal,\nyet nevertheless {137} the idol of the people, and who was not\nundeserving of love, although men loved him beyond all reason, was\nforced to shed his blood drop by drop. Though Marius deserved such\ntortures, yet it was worthy of Sulla to order them, and of Catiline\nto execute them; but it was unworthy of the State to be stabbed by\nthe swords of her enemy and her avenger alike. Why do I pry into\nancient history? quite lately Gaius Caesar flogged and tortured\nSextus Papinius, whose father was a consular, Betilienus Bassus,\nhis own quaestor, and several others, both senators and knights,\non the same day, not to carry out any judicial inquiry, but merely\nto amuse himself. Indeed, so impatient was he of any delay in\nreceiving the pleasure which his monstrous cruelty never delayed\nin asking, that when walking with some ladies and senators in his\nmother\u2019s gardens, along the walk between the colonnade and the\nriver, he struck off some of their heads by lamplight. What did he\nfear? what public or private danger could one night threaten him\nwith? how very small a favour it would have been to wait until\nmorning, and not to kill the Roman people\u2019s senators in his slippers?\n\nXIX. It is to the purpose that we should know how haughtily his\ncruelty was exercised, although some one might suppose that we are\nwandering from the subject and embarking on a digression; but this\ndigression is itself connected with unusual outbursts of anger. He\nbeat senators with rods; he did it so often that he made men able\nto say, \u201cIt is the custom.\u201d He tortured them with all the most\ndismal engines in the world, with the cord, the boots, the rack,\nthe fire, and the sight of his own face. Even to this we may answer,\n\u201cTo tear three senators to pieces with stripes and fire like criminal\nslaves was no such great crime for one who had thoughts of butchering\nthe entire Senate, who was wont to wish that the Roman people had\nbut one neck, that he might concentrate {138} into one day and one\nblow all the wickedness which he divided among so many places and\ntimes. Was there ever anything so unheard-of as an execution in the\nnight-time? Highway robbery seeks for the shelter of darkness, but\nthe more public an execution is, the more power it has as an example\nand lesson. Here I shall be met by: \u201cThis, which you are so surprised\nat, was the daily habit of that monster; this was what he lived\nfor, watched for, sat up at night for.\u201d Certainly one could find\nno one else who would have ordered all those whom he condemned to\ndeath to have their mouths closed by a sponge being fastened in\nthem, that they might not have the power even of uttering a sound.\nWhat dying man was ever forbidden to groan? He feared that the last\nagony might find too free a voice, that he might hear what would\ndisplease him. He knew, moreover, that there were countless crimes,\nwith which none but a dying man would dare to reproach him. When\nsponges were not forthcoming, he ordered the wretched men\u2019s clothes\nto be torn up, and the rags stuffed into their mouths. What savagery\nwas this? Let a man draw his last breath: give room for his soul\nto escape through: let it not be forced to leave the body through\na wound. It becomes tedious to add to this that in the same night\nhe sent centurions to the houses of the executed men and made an\nend of their fathers also, that is to say, being a compassionate-minded\nman, he set them free from sorrow: for it is not my intention to\ndescribe the ferocity of Gaius, but the ferocity of anger, which\ndoes not merely vent its rage upon individuals, but rends in pieces\nwhole nations, and even lashes cities, rivers, and things which\nhave no sense of pain.\n\nXX. Thus, the king of the Persians cut off the noses of a whole\nnation in Syria, wherefore the place is called Rhinocolura. Do you\nthink that he was merciful, because he did not cut their heads off\naltogether? no, he was delighted at {139} having invented a new\nkind of punishment. Something of the same kind would have befallen\nthe Aethiopians,[7] who on account of their prodigiously long lives\nare called Macrobiotae; for, because they did not receive slavery\nwith hands uplifted to heaven in thankfulness, and sent an embassy\nwhich used independent, or what kings call insulting language,\nCambyses became wild with rage, and, without any store of provisions,\nor any knowledge of the roads, started with all his fighting men\nthrough an arid and trackless waste, where during the first day\u2019s\nmarch the necessaries of life failed, and the country itself furnished\nnothing, being barren and uncultivated, and untrodden by the foot\nof man. At first the tenderest parts of leaves and shoots of trees\nrelieved their hunger, then hides softened by fire, and anything\nelse that their extremity drove them to use as food. When as they\nproceeded neither roots nor herbs were to be found in the sand, and\nthey found a wilderness destitute even of animal life, they chose\neach tenth man by lot and made of him a meal which was more cruel\nthan hunger. Rage still drove the king madly forwards, until after\nhe had lost one part of his army and eaten another he began to fear\nthat he also might be called upon to draw the lot for his life;\nthen at last he gave the order for retreat. Yet all the while his\nwell-bred hawks were not sacrificed, and the means of feasting were\ncarried for him on camels, while his soldiers were drawing lots for\nwho should miserably perish, and who should yet more miserably live.\n\nXXI. This man was angry with an unknown and inoffensive nation,\nwhich nevertheless was able to feel his wrath; but Cyrus[8] was\nangry with a river. When hurrying to besiege Babylon, since in\nmaking war it is above all things important to seize one\u2019s opportunity,\nhe tried to ford the wide-spread river Gyndes, which it is hardly\nsafe to {140} attempt even when the river has been dried up by the\nsummer heat and is at its lowest. Here one of the white horses which\ndrew the royal chariot was washed away, and his loss moved the king\nto such violent rage, that he swore to reduce the river which had\ncarried off his royal retinue to so low an ebb that even women\nshould walk across it and trample upon it. He thereupon devoted all\nthe resources of his army to this object, and remained working until\nby cutting one hundred and eighty channels across the bed of the\nriver he divided it into three hundred and sixty brooks, and left\nthe bed dry, the waters flowing through other channels. Thus he\nlost time, which is very important in great operations, and lost,\nalso, the soldiers\u2019 courage, which was broken by useless labour,\nand the opportunity of falling upon his enemy unprepared, while he\nwas waging against the river the war which he had declared against\nhis foes. This frenzy, for what else can you call it, has befallen\nRomans also, for G. Caesar destroyed a most beautiful villa at\nHerculaneum because his mother was once imprisoned in it, and has\nthus made the place notorious by its misfortune; for while it stood,\nwe used to sail past it without noticing it, but now people inquire\nwhy it is in ruins.\n\nXXII. These should be regarded as examples to be avoided, and what\nI am about to relate, on the contrary, to be followed, being examples\nof gentle and lenient conduct in men who both had reasons for anger\nand power to avenge themselves. What could have been easier than\nfor Antigonus to order those two common soldiers to be executed who\nleaned against their king\u2019s tent while doing what all men especially\nlove to do, and run the greatest danger by doing, I mean while they\nspoke evil of their king. Antigonus heard all they said, as was\nlikely, since there was only a piece of cloth between the speakers\nand the listener, who gently raised it, and said \u201cGo a little {141}\nfurther off, for fear the king should hear you.\u201d He also on one\nnight, hearing some of his soldiers invoking everything that was\nevil upon their king for having brought them along that road and\ninto that impassable mud, went to those who were in the greatest\ndifficulties, and having extricated them without their knowing who\nwas their helper, said, \u201cNow curse Antigonus, by whose fault you\nhave fallen into this trouble, but bless the man who has brought\nyou out of this slough.\u201d This same Antigonus bore the abuse of his\nenemies as good-naturedly as that of his countrymen; thus when he\nwas besieging some Greeks in a little fort, and they, despising\ntheir enemy through their confidence in the strength of their\nposition, cut many jokes upon the ugliness of Antigonus, at one\ntime mocking him for his shortness of stature, at another for his\nbroken nose, he answered, \u201cI rejoice, and expect some good fortune\nbecause I have a Silenus in my camp.\u201d After he had conquered these\nwitty folk by hunger, his treatment of them was to form regiments\nof those who were fit for service, and sell the rest by public\nauction; nor would he, said he, have done this had it not been\nbetter that men who had such evil tongues should be under the control\nof a master.\n\nXXIII. This man\u2019s grandson[9] was Alexander, who used to hurl his\nlance at his guests, who, of the two friends which I have mentioned\nabove, exposed one to the rage of a wild beast, and the other to\nhis own; yet of these two men, he who was exposed to the lion\nsurvived. He did not derive this vice from his grandfather, nor\neven from his father; for it was an especial virtue of Philip\u2019s to\nendure insults patiently, and was a great safeguard of his kingdom.\nDemochares, who was surnamed Parrhesiastes on account of his unbridled\nand impudent tongue, came on an embassy to him with other ambassadors\nfrom Athens. After graciously {142} listening to what they had to\nsay, Philip said to them, \u201cTell me, what can I do that will please\nthe Athenians? \u201cDemochares took him up, and answered, \u201cHang yourself.\u201d\nAll the bystanders expressed their indignation at so brutal an\nanswer, but Philip bade them be silent, and let this Thersites\ndepart safe and sound. \u201cBut do you,\u201d said he, \u201cyou other ambassadors,\ntell the Athenians that those who say such things are much more\narrogant than those who hear them without revenging themselves.\u201d\n\nThe late Emperor Augustus also did and said many memorable things,\nwhich prove that he was not under the dominion of anger. Timagenes,\nthe historical writer, made some remarks upon him, his wife, and\nhis whole family: nor did his jests fall to the ground, for nothing\nspreads more widely or is more in people\u2019s mouths than reckless\nwit. Caesar often warned him to be less audacious in his talk, and\nas he continued to offend, forbade him his house. Timagenes after\nthis passed the later years of his life as the guest of Asinius\nPollio, and was the favourite of the whole city: the closing of\nCaesar\u2019s door did not close any other door against him. He read\naloud the history which he wrote after this, but burned the books\nwhich contained the doings of Augustus Caesar. He was at enmity\nwith Caesar, but yet no one feared to be his friend, no one shrank\nfrom him as though he were blasted by lightning: although he fell\nfrom so high a place, yet some one was found to catch him in his\nlap. Caesar, I say, bore this with patience, and was not even\nirritated by the historian\u2019s having laid violent hands upon his own\nglories and acts: he never complained of the man who afforded his\nenemy shelter, but merely said to Asinius Pollio \u201cYou are keeping\na wild beast:\u201d then, when the other would have excused his conduct,\nhe stopped him, and said \u201cEnjoy, my Pollio, enjoy his friendship.\u201d\nWhen Pollio said, \u201cIf you order me, Caesar, I will straightway\nforbid him my house,\u201d he {143} answered, \u201cDo you think that I am\nlikely to do this, after having made you friends again?\u201d for formerly\nPollio had been angry with Timagenes, and ceased to be angry with\nhim for no other reason than that Caesar began to be so.\n\nXXIV. Let every one, then, say to himself, whenever he is provoked,\n\u201cAm I more powerful than Philip? yet he allowed a man to curse him\nwith impunity. Have I more authority in my own house than the Emperor\nAugustus possessed throughout the world? yet he was satisfied with\nleaving the society of his maligner. Why should I make my slave\natone by stripes and manacles for having answered me too loudly or\nhaving put on a stubborn look, or muttered something which I did\nnot catch? Who am I, that it should be a crime to shock my ears?\nMany men have forgiven their enemies: shall I not forgive men for\nbeing lazy, careless, and gossipping?\u201d We ought to plead age as an\nexcuse for children, sex for women, freedom for a stranger, familiarity\nfor a house-servant. Is this his first offence? think how long he\nhas been acceptable. Has he often done wrong, and in many other\ncases? then let us continue to bear what we have borne so long. Is\nhe a friend? then he did not intend to do it. Is he an enemy? then\nin doing it he did his duty. If he be a sensible man, let us believe\nhis excuses; if a fool, let us grant him pardon; whatever he may\nbe, let us say to ourselves on his behalf, that even the wisest of\nmen are often in fault, that no one is so alert that his carefulness\nnever betrays itself, that no one is of so ripe a judgment that his\nserious mind cannot be goaded by circumstances into some hotheaded\naction, that, in fine, no one, however much he may fear to give\noffence, can help doing so even while he tries to avoid it.\n\nXXV. As it is a consolation to a humble man in trouble that the\ngreatest are subject to reverses of fortune, and a man weeps more\ncalmly over his dead son in the corner of {144} his hovel if he\nsees a piteous[10] funeral proceed out of the palace as well; so\none bears injury or insult more calmly if one remembers that no\npower is so great as to be above the reach of harm. Indeed, if even\nthe wisest do wrong, who cannot plead a good excuse for his faults?\nLet us look back upon our own youth, and think how often we then\nwere too slothful in our duty, too impudent in our speech, too\nintemperate in our cups. Is anyone angry? then let us give him\nenough time to reflect upon what he has done, and he will correct\nhis own self. But suppose he ought to pay the penalty of his deeds:\nwell, that is no reason why we should act as he does. It canot be\ndoubted that he who regards his tormentor with contempt raises\nhimself above the common herd and looks down upon them from a loftier\nposition: it is the property of true magnanimity not to feel the\nblows which it may receive. So does a huge wild beast turn slowly\nand gaze at yelping curs: so does the wave dash in vain against a\ngreat cliff. The man who is not angry remains unshaken by injury:\nhe who is angry has been moved by it. He, however, whom I have\ndescribed as being placed too high for any mischief to reach him,\nholds as it were the highest good in his arms: he can reply, not\nonly to any man, but to fortune herself: \u201cDo what you will, you are\ntoo feeble to disturb my serenity: this is forbidden by reason, to\nwhom I have entrusted the guidance of my life: to become angry would\ndo me more harm than your violence can do me. \u2018More harm?\u2019 say you.\nYes, certainly: I know how much injury you have done me, but I\ncannot tell to what excesses anger might not carry me.\u201d\n\nXXVI. You say, \u201cI cannot endure it: injuries are hard to bear.\u201d You\nlie; for how can any one not be able to bear injury, if he can bear\nto be angry? Besides, what you {145} intend to do is to endure both\ninjury and anger. Why do you bear with the delirium of a sick man,\nor the ravings of a madman, or the impudent blows of a child?\nBecause, of course, they evidently do not know what they are doing:\nif a man be not responsible for his actions, what does it matter\nby what malady he became so: the plea of ignorance holds equally\ngood in every case. \u201cWhat then?\u201d say you, \u201cshall he not be punished?\u201d\nHe will be, even supposing that you do not wish it: for the greatest\npunishment for having done harm is the sense of having done it, and\nno one is more severely punished than he who is given over to the\npunishment of remorse. In the next place, we ought to consider the\nwhole state of mankind, in order to pass a just judgment on all the\noccurrences of life: for it is unjust to blame individuals for a\nvice which is common to all. The colour of an Aethiop is not\nremarkable amongst his own people, nor is any man in Germany ashamed\nof red hair rolled into a knot. You cannot call anything peculiar\nor disgraceful in a particular man if it is the general characteristic\nof his nation. Now, the cases which I have quoted are defended only\nby the usage of one out-of-the-way quarter of the world: see now,\nhow far more deserving of pardon those crimes are which are spread\nabroad among all mankind. We all are hasty and careless, we all are\nuntrustworthy, dissatisfied, and ambitious: nay, why do I try to\nhide our common wickedness by a too partial description? we all are\nbad. Every one of us therefore will find in his own breast the vice\nwhich he blames in another. Why do you remark how pale this man,\nor how lean that man is? there is a general pestilence. Let us\ntherefore be more gentle one to another: we are bad men, living\namong bad men: there is only one thing which can afford us peace,\nand that is to agree to forgive one another. \u201cThis man has already\ninjured me,\u201d say you, \u201cand I have not yet injured him.\u201d No, but you\nhave probably injured some one else, and you will injure {146} him\nsome day. Do not form your judgment by one hour, or one day: consider\nthe whole tendency of your mind: even though you have done no evil,\nyet you are capable of doing it.\n\nXXVII. How far better is it to heal an injury than to avenge it?\nRevenge takes up much time, and throws itself in the way of many\ninjuries while it is smarting under one. We all retain our anger\nlonger than we feel our hurt: how far better it were to take the\nopposite course and not meet one mischief by another. Would any one\nthink himself to be in his perfect mind if he were to return kicks\nto a mule or bites to a dog?\u201d These creatures,\u201d you say, \u201cknow not\nthat they are doing wrong.\u201d Then, in the first place, what an unjust\njudge you must be if a man has less chance of gaining your forgiveness\nthan a beast! Secondly, if animals are protected from your anger\nby their want of reason, you ought to treat all foolish men in the\nlike manner: for if a man has that mental darkness which excuses\nall the wrong-doings of dumb animals, what difference does it make\nif in other respects he be unlike a dumb animal? He has sinned.\nWell, is this the first time, or will this be the last time? Why,\nyou should not believe him even if he said, \u201cNever will I do so\nagain.\u201d He will sin, and another will sin against him, and all his\nlife he will wallow in wickedness. Savagery must be met by kindness:\nwe ought to use, to a man in anger, the argument which is so effective\nwith one in grief, that is, \u201cShall you leave off this at some time,\nor never? If you will do so at some time, how better is it that you\nshould abandon anger than that anger should abandon you? Or, will\nthis excitement never leave you? Do you see to what an unquiet life\nyou condemn yourself? for what will be the life of one who is always\nswelling with rage?\u201d Add to this, that after you have worked yourself\nup into a rage, and have from time to time renewed the causes of\nyour {147} excitement, yet your anger will depart from you of its\nown accord, and time will sap its strength: how much better then\nis it that it should be overcome by you than by itself?\n\nXXVIII. If you are angry, you will quarrel first with this man, and\nthen with that: first with slaves, then with freedmen: first with\nparents, then with children: first with acquaintances, then with\nstrangers: for there are grounds for anger in every case, unless\nyour mind steps in and intercedes with you: your frenzy will drag\nyou from one place to another, and from thence to elsewhere, your\nmadness will constantly meet with newly-occurring irritants, and\nwill never depart from you. Tell me, miserable man, what time you\nwill have for loving? O, what good time you are wasting on an evil\nthing! How much better it would be to win friends, and disarm\nenemies: to serve the state, or to busy oneself with one\u2019s private\naffairs, rather than to cast about for what harm you can do to\nsomebody, what wound you can inflict either upon his social position,\nhis fortune, or his person, although you cannot succeed in doing\nso without a struggle and risk to yourself, even if your antagonist\nbe inferior to you. Even supposing that he were handed over to you\nin chains, and that you were at liberty to torture him as much as\nyou please, yet even then excessive violence in striking a blow\noften causes us to dislocate a joint, or entangles a sinew in the\nteeth which it has broken. Anger makes many men cripples, or invalids,\neven when it meets with an unresisting victim: and besides this,\nno creature is so weak that it can be destroyed without any danger\nto its destroyer: sometimes grief, sometimes chance, puts the weakest\non a level with the strongest. What shall we say of the fact that\nthe greater part of the things which enrage us are insults, not\ninjuries? It makes a great difference whether a man thwarts my\nwishes or merely fails to carry them out, whether he robs me or\ndoes not give me anything: yet we count it all the same whether a\n{148} man takes anything from us or refuses to give anything to us,\nwhether he extinguishes our hope or defers it, whether his object\nbe to hinder us or to help himself, whether he acts out of love for\nsome one or out of hatred for us. Some men are bound to oppose us\nnot only on the ground of justice, but of honour: one is defending\nhis father, another his brother, another his country, another his\nfriend: yet we do not forgive men for doing what we should blame\nthem for not doing; nay, though one can hardly believe it, we often\nthink well of an act, and ill of the man who did it. But, by Hercules,\na great and just man looks with respect at the bravest of his\nenemies, and the most obstinate defender of his freedom and his\ncountry, and wishes that he had such a man for his own countryman\nand soldier.\n\nXXIX. It is shameful to hate him whom you praise: but how much more\nshameful is it to hate a man for something for which he deserves\nto be pitied? If a prisoner of war, who has suddenly been reduced\nto the condition of a slave, still retains some remnants of liberty,\nand does not run nimbly to perform foul and toilsome tasks, if,\nhaving grown slothful by long rest, he cannot run fast enough to\nkeep pace with his master\u2019s horse or carriage, if sleep overpowers\nhim when weary with many days and nights of watching, if he refuses\nto undertake farm work, or does not do it heartily when brought\naway from the idleness of city service and put to hard labour, we\nought to make a distinction between whether a man cannot or will\nnot do it: we should pardon many slaves, if we began to judge them\nbefore we began to be angry with them: as it is, however, we obey\nour first impulse, and then, although we may prove to have been\nexcited about mere trifles, yet we continue to be angry, lest we\nshould seem to have begun to be angry without cause; and, most\nunjust of all, the injustice of our anger makes us persist in it\nall the more; for we {149} nurse it and inflame it, as though to\nbe violently angry proved our anger to be just.\n\nXXX. How much better is it to observe how trifling, how inoffensive\nare the first beginnings of anger? You will see that men are subject\nto the same influences as dumb animals: we are put out by trumpery,\nfutile matters. Bulls are excited by red colour, the asp raises its\nhead at a shadow, bears or lions are irritated at the shaking of a\nrag, and all creatures who are naturally fierce and wild are alarmed\nat trifles. The same thing befalls men both of restless and of\nsluggish disposition; they are seized by suspicions, sometimes to\nsuch an extent that they call slight benefits injuries: and these\nform the most common and certainly the most bitter subject for\nanger: for we become angry with our dearest friends for having\nbestowed less upon us than we expected, and less than others have\nreceived from them: yet there is a remedy at hand for both these\ngrievances. Has he favoured our rival more than ourselves? then let\nus enjoy what we have without making any comparisons. A man will\nnever be well off to whom it is a torture to see any one better off\nthan himself. Have I less than I hoped for? well, perhaps I hoped\nfor more than I ought. This it is against which we ought to be\nespecially on our guard: from hence arises the most destructive\nanger, sparing nothing, not even the holiest. The Emperor Julius\nwas not stabbed by so many enemies as by friends whose insatiable\nhopes he had not satisfied. He was willing enough to do so, for no\none ever made a more generous use of victory, of whose fruits he\nkept nothing for himself save the power of distributing them; but\nhow could he glut such unconscionable appetites, when each man\ncoveted as much as any one man could possess? This was why he saw\nhis fellow-soldiers standing round his chair with drawn swords,\nTillius Cimber, though he had a short time before been the keenest\ndefender of his party, {150} and others who only became Pompeians\nafter Pompeius was dead. This it is which has turned the arms of\nkings against them, and made their trustiest followers meditate the\ndeath of him for whom and before whom[11] they once would have been\nglad to die.\n\nXXXI. No man is satisfied with his own lot if he fixes his attention\non that of another: and this leads to our being angry even with the\ngods, because somebody precedes us, though we forget of how many\nwe take precedence, and that when a man envies few people, he must\nbe followed in the background by a huge crowd of people who envy\nhim. Yet so churlish is human nature, that, however much men may\nhave received, they think themselves wronged if they are able to\nreceive still more. \u201cHe gave me the praetorship. Yes, but I had\nhoped for the consulship. He bestowed the twelve axes upon me: true,\nbut he did not make me a regular[12] consul. He allowed me to give\nmy name to the year, but he did not help me to the priesthood. I\nhave been elected a member of the college: but why only of one? He\nhas bestowed upon me every honour that the state affords: yes, but\nhe has added nothing to my private fortune. What he gave me he was\nobliged to give to somebody: he brought out nothing from his own\npocket.\u201d Rather than speak thus, thank him for what you have received:\nwait for the rest, and be thankful that you are not yet too full\nto contain more: there is a pleasure in having something left to\nhope for. Are you preferred to every one? then rejoice at holding\nthe first place in the thoughts of your friend. Or are many others\npreferred before you? then think how many more are below you than\nthere are {151} above you. Do you ask, what is your greatest fault?\nIt is, that you keep your accounts wrongly: you set a high value\nupon what you give, and a low one upon what you receive.\n\nXXXII. Let different qualities in different people keep us from\nquarrelling with them: let us fear to be angry with some, feel\nashamed of being angry with others, and disdain to be angry with\nothers. We do a fine thing, indeed, when we send a wretched slave\nto the workhouse! Why are we in such a hurry to flog him at once,\nto break his legs straightway? we shall not lose our boasted power\nif we defer its exercise. Let us wait for the time when we ourselves\ncan give orders: at present we speak under constraint from anger.\nWhen it has passed away we shall see what amount of damage has been\ndone; for this is what we are especially liable to make mistakes\nabout: we use the sword, and capital punishment, and we appoint\nchains, imprisonment, and starvation to punish a crime which deserves\nonly flogging with a light scourge. \u201cIn what way,\u201d say you, \u201cdo you\nbid us look at those things by which we think ourselves injured,\nthat we may see how paltry, pitiful, and childish they are?\u201d Of all\nthings I would charge you to take to yourself a magnanimous spirit,\nand behold how low and sordid all these matters are about which we\nsquabble and run to and fro till we are out of breath; to any one\nwho entertains any lofty and magnificent ideas, they are not worthy\nof a thought.\n\nXXXIII. The greatest hullabaloo is about money: this it is which\nwearies out the law-courts, sows strife between father and son,\nconcocts poisons, and gives swords to murderers just as to soldiers:\nit is stained with our blood: on account of it husbands and wives\nwrangle all night long, crowds press round the bench of magistrates,\nkings rage and plunder, and overthrow communities which it has taken\nthe labour of centuries to build, that they may seek for gold and\n{152} silver in the ashes of their cities. Do you like to look at\nyour money-bags lying in the corner? it is for these that men shout\ntill their eyes start from their heads, that the law-courts ring\nwith the din of trials, and that jurymen brought from great distances\nsit to decide which man\u2019s covetousness is the more equitable. What\nshall we say if it be not even for a bag of money, but for a handful\nof coppers or a shilling scored up by a slave that some old man,\nsoon to die without an heir, bursts with rage? what if it be an\ninvalid money-lender whose feet are distorted by the gout, and who\ncan no longer use his hands to count with, who calls for his interest\nof one thousandth a month,[13] and by his sureties demands his pence\neven during the paroxysms of his disease? If you were to bring to\nme all the money from all our mines, which we are at this moment\nsinking, if you were to bring to-night all that is concealed in\nhoards, where avarice returns money to the earth from whence it\ncame, and pity that it ever was dug out\u2014all that mass I should not\nthink worthy to cause a wrinkle on the brow of a good man. What\nridicule those things deserve which bring tears into our eyes!\n\nXXXIV. Come now, let us enumerate the other causes of anger: they\nare food, drink, and the showy apparatus connected with them, words,\ninsults, disrespectful movements of the body, suspicions, obstinate\ncattle, lazy slaves, and spiteful construction put upon other men\u2019s\nwords, so that even the gift of language to mankind becomes reckoned\namong the wrongs of nature. Believe me, the things which cause us\nsuch great heat are trifles, the sort of things that children fight\nand squabble over: there is nothing serious, nothing important in\nall that we do with such gloomy faces. It is, I repeat, the setting\na great value on trifles that is the cause of your anger and madness.\nThis {153} man wanted to rob me of my inheritance, that one has\nbrought a charge against me before persons[14] whom I had long\ncourted with great expectations, that one has coveted my mistress.\nA wish for the same things, which ought to have been a bond of\nfriendship, becomes a source of quarrels and hatred. A narrow path\ncauses quarrels among those who pass up and down it; a wide and\nbroadly spread road may be used by whole tribes without jostling.\nThose objects of desire of yours cause strife and disputes among\nthose who covet the same things, because they are petty, and cannot\nbe given to one man without being taken away from another.\n\nXXXV. You are indignant at being answered back by your slave, your\nfreedman, your wife, or your client: and then you complain of the\nstate having lost the freedom which you have destroyed in your own\nhouse: then again if he is silent when you question him, you call\nit sullen obstinacy. Let him both speak and be silent, and laugh\ntoo. \u201cIn the presence of his master?\u201d you ask. Nay, say rather \u201cin\nthe presence of the house-father.\u201d Why do you shout? why do you\nstorm? why do you in the middle of dinner call for a whip, because\nthe slaves are talking, because a crowd as large as a public meeting\nis not as silent as the wilderness? You have ears, not merely that\nyou may listen to musical sounds, softly and sweetly drawn out and\nharmonized: you ought to hear laughter and weeping, coaxing and\nquarrelling, joy and sorrow, the human voice and the roaring and\nbarking of animals. Miserable one! why do you shudder at the noise\nof a slave, at the rattling of brass or the banging of a door? you\ncannot help hearing the thunder, however refined you may be. You\nmay apply these remarks about your ears with equal truth to your\neyes, which are just as dainty, if they have been badly schooled:\nthey are shocked at stains and {154} dirt, at silver plate which\nis not sufficiently bright, or at a pool whose water is not clear\ndown to the bottom. Those same eyes which can only endure to see\nthe most variegated marble, and that which has just been scoured\nbright, which will look at no table whose wood is not marked with\na network of veining, and which at home are loth to tread upon\nanything that is not more precious than gold, will, when out of\ndoors, gaze most calmly upon rough and miry paths, will see unmoved\nthat the greater number of persons that meet them are shabbily\ndressed, and that the walls of the houses are rotten, full of cracks,\nand uneven. What, then, can be the reason that they are not distressed\nout of doors by sights which would shock them in their own home,\nunless it be that their temper is placid and long-suffering in one\ncase, sulky and fault-finding in the other?\n\nXXXVI. All our senses should be educated into strength: they are\nnaturally able to endure much, provided that the spirit forbears\nto spoil them. The spirit ought to be brought up for examination\ndaily. It was the custom of Sextius when the day was over, and he\nhad betaken himself to rest, to inquire of his spirit: \u201cWhat bad\nhabit of yours have you cured to-day? what vice have you checked?\nin what respect are you better?\u201d Anger will cease, and become more\ngentle, if it knows that every day it will have to appear before\nthe judgment seat. What can be more admirable than this fashion of\ndiscussing the whole of the day\u2019s events? how sweet is the sleep\nwhich follows this self-examination? how calm, how sound, and\ncareless is it when our spirit has either received praise or\nreprimand, and when our secret inquisitor and censor has made his\nreport about our morals? I make use of this privilege, and daily\nplead my cause before myself: when the lamp is taken out of my\nsight, and my wife, who knows my habit, has ceased to talk, I pass\nthe whole day in review before myself, and repeat all that I have\nsaid and done: I conceal nothing {155} from myself, and omit nothing:\nfor why should I be afraid of any of my shortcomings, when it is\nin my power to say, \u201cI pardon you this time: see that you never do\nthat any more? In that dispute you spoke too contentiously: do not\nfor the future argue with ignorant people: those who have never\nbeen taught are unwilling to learn. You reprimanded that man with\nmore freedom than you ought, and consequently you have offended him\ninstead of amending his ways: in dealing with other cases of the\nkind, you should look carefully, not only to the truth of what you\nsay, but also whether the person to whom you speak can bear to be\ntold the truth.\u201d A good man delights in receiving advice: all the\nworst men are the most impatient of guidance.\n\nXXXVII. At the dinner-table some jokes and sayings intended to give\nyou pain have been directed against you: avoid feasting with low\npeople. Those who are not modest even when sober become much more\nrecklessly impudent after drinking. You have seen your friend in a\nrage with the porter of some lawyer or rich man, because he has\nsent him back when about to enter, and you yourself on behalf of\nyour friend have been in a rage with the meanest of slaves. Would\nyou then be angry with a chained housedog? Why, even he, after a\nlong bout of barking, becomes gentle if you offer him food. So draw\nback and smile; for the moment your porter fancies himself to be\nsomebody, because he guards a door which is beset by a crowd of\nlitigants; for the moment he who sits within is prosperous and\nhappy, and thinks that a street-door through which it is hard to\ngain entrance is the mark of a rich and powerful man; he knows not\nthat the hardest door of all to open is that of the prison. Be\nprepared to submit to much. Is any one surprised at being cold in\nwinter? at being sick at sea? or at being jostled in the street?\nThe mind is strong enough to bear those evils for which it is\nprepared. When {156} you are not given a sufficiently distinguished\nplace at table you have begun to be angry with your fellow-guests,\nwith your host, and with him who is preferred above you. Idiot!\nWhat difference can it make what part of the couch you rest upon?\nCan a cushion give you honour or take it away? You have looked\naskance at somebody because he has spoken slightingly of your\ntalents; will you apply this rule to yourself? If so, Ennius, whose\npoetry you do not care for, would have hated you. Hortensius, if\nyou had found fault with his speeches, would have quarrelled with\nyou, and Cicero, if you had laughed at his poetry, would have been\nyour enemy. A candidate for office, will you resent men\u2019s votes?\n\nXXXVIII. Some one has offered you an insult? Not a greater one,\nprobably, than was offered to the Stoic philosopher Diogenes, in\nwhose face an insolent young man spat just when he was lecturing\nupon anger. He bore it mildly and wisely. \u201cI am not angry,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cbut I am not sure that I ought not to be angry.\u201d Yet how much\nbetter did our Cato behave? When he was pleading, one Lentulus,\nwhom our fathers remember as a demagogue and passionate man, spat\nall the phlegm he could muster upon his forehead. Cato wiped his\nface, and said, \u201cLentulus, I shall declare to all the world that\nmen are mistaken when they say that you are wanting in cheek.\u201d\n\nXXXIX. We have now succeeded, my Novatus, in properly regulating\nour own minds: they either do not feel anger or are above it: let\nus next see how we may soothe the wrath of others, for we do not\nonly wish to be whole, but to heal.\n\nYou should not attempt to allay the first burst of anger by words:\nit is deaf and frantic: we must give it scope; our remedies will\nonly be effective when it slackens. We do not meddle with men\u2019s\neyes when they are swollen, because we should only irritate their\nhard stiffness by {157} touching them, nor do we try to cure other\ndiseases when at their height: the best treatment in the first stage\nof illness is rest. \u201cOf how very little value,\u201d say you, \u201cis your\nremedy, if it appeases anger which is subsiding of its own accord?\u201d\nIn the first place, I answer, it makes it end quicker: in the next,\nit prevents a relapse. It can render harmless even the violent\nimpulse which it dares not soothe: it will put out of the way all\nweapons which might be used for revenge: it will pretend to be\nangry, in order that its advice may have more weight as coming from\nan assistant and comrade in grief. It will invent delays, and\npostpone immediate punishment while a greater one is being sought\nfor: it will use every artifice to give the man a respite from his\nfrenzy. If his anger be unusually strong, it will inspire him with\nsome irresistible feeling of shame or of fear: if weak, it will\nmake use of conversation on amusing or novel subjects, and by playing\nupon his curiosity lead him to forget his passion. We are told that\na physician, who was forced to cure the king\u2019s daughter, and could\nnot without using the knife, conveyed a lancet to her swollen breast\nconcealed under the sponge with which he was fomenting it. The same\ngirl, who would have shrunk from the remedy if he had applied it\nopenly, bore the pain because she did not expect it. Some diseases\ncan only be cured by deceit.\n\nXL. To one class of men you will say, \u201cBeware, lest your anger give\npleasure to your foes:\u201d to the other, \u201cBeware lest your greatness\nof mind and the reputation it bears among most people for strength\nbecome impaired. I myself, by Hercules, am scandalized at your\ntreatment and am grieved beyond measure, but we must wait for a\nproper opportunity. He shall pay for what he has done; be well\nassured of that: when you are able you shall return it to him with\ninterest.\u201d To reprove a man when he is angry is to add to his anger\nby being angry oneself. You {158} should approach him in different\nways and in a compliant fashion, unless perchance you be so great\na personage that you can quash his anger, as the Emperor Augustus\ndid when he was dining with Vedius Pollio.[15] One of the slaves\nhad broken a crystal goblet of his: Vedius ordered him to be led\naway to die, and that too in no common fashion: he ordered him to\nbe thrown to feed the muraenae, some of which fish, of great size,\nhe kept in a tank. Who would not think that he did this out of\nluxury? but it was out of cruelty. The boy slipped through the hands\nof those who tried to seize him, and flung himself at Caesar\u2019s feet\nin order to beg for nothing more than that he might die in some\ndifferent way, and not be eaten. Caesar was shocked at this novel\nform of cruelty, and ordered him to be let go, and, in his place,\nall the crystal ware which he saw before him to be broken, and the\ntank to be filled up. This was the proper way for Caesar to reprove\nhis friend: he made a good use of his power. What are you, that\nwhen at dinner you order men to be put to death, and mangled by an\nunheard-of form of torture? Are a man\u2019s bowels to be torn asunder\nbecause your cup is broken? You must think a great deal of yourself,\nif even when the emperor is present you order men to be executed.\n\nXLI. If any one\u2019s power is so great that he can treat anger with\nthe tone of a superior let him crush it out of existence, but only\nif it be of the kind of which I have just spoken, fierce, inhuman,\nbloodthirsty, and incurable save by fear of something more powerful\nthan itself . . . . . . . . let us give the mind that peace which\nis given by constant meditation upon wholesome maxims, by good\nactions, and by a mind directed to the pursuit of honour alone. Let\nus set our own conscience fully at rest, but make no efforts to\ngain credit for ourselves: so long as we {159} deserve well, let\nus be satisfied, even if we should be ill spoken of. \u201cBut the common\nherd admires spirited actions, and bold men are held in honour,\nwhile quiet ones are thought to be indolent.\u201d True, at first sight\nthey may appear to be so: but as soon as the even tenor of their\nlife proves that this quietude arises not from dullness but from\npeace of mind, then that same populace respects and reverences them.\nThere is, then, nothing useful in that hideous and destructive\npassion of anger, but on the contrary, every kind of evil, fire and\nsword. Anger tramples self-restraint underfoot, steeps its hands\nin slaughter, scatters abroad the limbs of its children: it leaves\nno place unsoiled by crime, it has no thoughts of glory, no fears\nof disgrace, and when once anger has hardened into hatred, no\namendment is possible.\n\nXLII. Let us be free from this evil, let us clear our minds of it,\nand extirpate root and branch a passion which grows again wherever\nthe smallest particle of it finds a resting-place. Let us not\nmoderate anger, but get rid of it altogether: what can moderation\nhave to do with an evil habit? We shall succeed in doing this, if\nonly we exert ourselves. Nothing will be of greater service than\nto bear in mind that we are mortal: let each man say to himself and\nto his neighbour, \u201cWhy should we, as though we were born to live\nfor ever, waste our tiny span of life in declaring anger against\nany one? why should days, which we might spend in honourable\nenjoyment, be misapplied in grieving and torturing others? Life is\na matter which does not admit of waste, and we have no spare time\nto throw away. Why do we rush into the fray? why do we go out of\nour way to seek disputes? why do we, forgetful of the weakness of\nour nature, undertake mighty feuds, and, frail though we be, summon\nup all our strength to cut down other men? Ere long, fever or some\nother bodily ailment will make us unable to carry on this warfare\nof {160} hatred which we so implacably wage: death will soon part\nthe most vigorous pair of combatants. Why do we make disturbances\nand spend our lives in rioting? fate hangs over our heads, scores\nup to our account the days as they pass, and is ever drawing nearer\nand nearer. The time which you have marked for the death of another\nperhaps includes your own.\u201d\n\nXLIII. Instead of acting thus, why do you not rather draw together\nwhat there is of your short life, and keep it peaceful for others\nand for yourself? why do you not rather make yourself beloved by\nevery one while you live, and regretted by every one when you die?\nWhy do you wish to tame that man\u2019s pride, because he takes too lofty\na tone with you? why do you try with all your might to crush that\nother who snaps and snarls at you, a low and contemptible wretch,\nbut spiteful and offensive to his betters? Master, why are you angry\nwith your slave? Slave, why are you angry with your master? Client,\nwhy are you angry with your patron? Patron, why are you angry with\nyour client? Wait but a little while. See, here comes death, who\nwill make you all equals. We often see at a morning performance in\nthe arena a battle between a bull and a bear, fastened together,\nin which the victor, after he has torn the other to pieces, is\nhimself slain. We do just the same thing: we worry some one who is\nconnected with us, although the end of both victor and vanquished\nis at hand, and that soon. Let us rather pass the little remnant\nof our lives in peace and quiet: may no one loathe us when we lie\ndead. A quarrel is often brought to an end by a cry of \u201cFire!\u201d in\nthe neighbourhood, and the appearance of a wild beast parts the\nhighwayman from the traveller: men have no leisure to battle with\nminor evils when menaced by some overpowering terror. What have we\nto do with fighting and ambuscades? do you want anything more than\ndeath to befall {161} him with whom you are angry? well, even though\nyou sit quiet, he will be sure to die. You waste your pains: you\nwant to do what is certain to be done. You say, \u201cI do not wish\nnecessarily to kill him, but to punish him by exile, or public\ndisgrace, or loss of property.\u201d I can more easily pardon one who\nwishes to give his enemy a wound than one who wishes to give him a\nblister: for the latter is not only bad, but petty-minded. Whether\nyou are thinking of extreme or slighter punishments, how very short\nis the time during which either your victim is tortured or you enjoy\nan evil pleasure in another\u2019s pain? This breath that we hold so\ndear will soon leave us: in the meantime, while we draw it, while\nwe live among human beings, let us practise humanity: let us not\nbe a terror or a danger to any one. Let us keep our tempers in spite\nof losses, wrongs, abuse or sarcasm, and let us endure with magnanimity\nour shortlived troubles: while we are considering what is due to\nourselves, as the saying is, and worrying ourselves, death will be\nupon us.\n\n\n[1] The hook alluded to was fastened to the neck of condemned\ncriminals, and by it they were dragged to the Tiber. Also the bodies\nof dead gladiators were thus dragged out of the arena. The hook by\nwhich the dead bull is drawn away at a modern Spanish bull-fight\nis probably a survival of this custom.\n\n[2] Hdt. iii, 34, 35,\n\n[3] Seneca\u2019s own death, by opening his veins, gives a melancholy\ninterest to this passage.\n\n[4] Hdt. iv. 84.\n\n[5] Hdt. vii. 38, 39.\n\n[6] Plut. Dem. 27.\n\n[7] Hdt. iii. 17, _sqq._\n\n[8] Hdt. i. 189, 190.\n\n[9] A mistake: Antigonus (Monophthalmus) was one of Alexander\u2019s\ngenerals.\n\n[10] _Acerbum_ = \u1f04\u03c9\u03c1\u03c5\u03bd; the funeral of one who has been cut off in\nthe flower of his youth.\n\n[11] In point of time.\n\n[12] _Consul ordinarius_, a regular consul, one who administered\nin office from the first of January, in opposition to _consul\nsuffectus_, one chosen in the course of the year in the place of\none who had died. The consul ordinarius gave his name to the year.\n\n[13] It seems inconceivable that so small an interest, 1 1/5 per\ncent, per an., can be meant.\n\n[14] _Captatis_, Madvig. Adv. II. 394.\n\n[15] See \u201cOn Clemency,\u201d i. 18, 2.\n\n\n\n\n{162}\n\nTHE SIXTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO\nMARCIA.\n\nOF CONSOLATION.\n\n\nI. Did I not know, Marcia, that you have as little of a woman\u2019s\nweakness of mind as of her other vices, and that your life was\nregarded as a pattern of antique virtue, I should not have dared\nto combat your grief, which is one that many men fondly nurse and\nembrace, nor should I have conceived the hope of persuading you to\nhold fortune blameless, having to plead for her at such an unfavorable\ntime, before so partial a judge, and against such an odious charge.\nI derive confidence, however, from the proved strength of your mind,\nand your virtue, which has been proved by a severe test. All men\nknow how well you behaved towards your father, whom you loved as\ndearly as your children in all respects, save that you did not wish\nhim to survive you: indeed, for all that I know you may have wished\nthat also: for great affection ventures to break some of the golden\nrules of life. You did all that lay in your power to avert the death\nof your father, Aulus Cremutius Cordus;[1] but when it became clear\nthat, surrounded as he was by the myrmidons of Sejanus, there was\nno other way of escape from slavery, you did not {163} indeed approve\nof his resolution, but gave up all attempts to oppose it; you shed\ntears openly, and choked down your sobs, yet did not screen them\nbehind a smiling face; and you did all this in the present century,\nwhen not to be unnatural towards one\u2019s parents is considered the\nheight of filial affection. When the changes of our times gave you\nan opportunity, you restored to the use of man that genius of your\nfather for which he had suffered, and made him in real truth immortal\nby publishing as an eternal memorial of him those books which that\nbravest of men had written with his own blood. You have done a great\nservice to Roman literature: a large part of Cordus\u2019s books had\nbeen burned; a great service to posterity, who will receive a true\naccount of events, which cost its author so dear; and a great service\nto himself, whose memory flourishes and ever will flourish, as long\nas men set any value upon the facts of Roman history, as long as\nany one lives who wishes to review the deeds of our fathers, to\nknow what a true Roman was like\u2014one who still remained unconquered\nwhen all other necks were broken in to receive the yoke of Sejanus,\none who was free in every thought, feeling, and act. By Hercules,\nthe state would have sustained a great loss if you had not brought\nhim forth from the oblivion to which his two splendid qualities,\neloquence and independence, had consigned him: he is now read, is\npopular, is received into men\u2019s hands and bosoms, and fears no old\nage: but as for those who butchered him, before long men will cease\nto speak even of their crimes, the only things by which they are\nremembered. This greatness of mind in you has forbidden me to take\ninto consideration your sex or your face, still clouded by the\nsorrow by which so many years ago it was suddenly overcast. See; I\nshall do nothing underhand, nor try to steal away your sorrows: I\nhave reminded you of old hurts, and to prove that your present wound\nmay be healed, I have {164} shown you the scar of one which was\nequally severe. Let others use soft measures and caresses; I have\ndetermined to do battle with your grief, and I will dry those weary\nand exhausted eyes, which already, to tell you the truth, are weeping\nmore from habit than from sorrow. I will effect this cure, if\npossible, with your goodwill: if you disapprove of my efforts, or\ndislike them, then you must continue to hug and fondle the grief\nwhich you have adopted as the survivor of your son. What, I pray\nyou, is to be the end of it? All means have been tried in vain: the\nconsolations of your friends, who are weary of offering them, and\nthe influence of great men who are related to you: literature, a\ntaste which your father enjoyed and which you have inherited from\nhim, now finds your ears closed, and affords you but a futile\nconsolation, which scarcely engages your thoughts for a moment.\nEven time itself, nature\u2019s greatest remedy, which quiets the most\nbitter grief, loses its power with you alone. Three years have\nalready passed, and still your grief has lost none of its first\npoignancy, but renews and strengthens itself day by day, and has\nnow dwelt so long with you that it has acquired a domicile in your\nmind, and actually thinks that it would be base to leave it. All\nvices sink into our whole being, if we do not crush them before\nthey gain a footing; and in like manner these sad, pitiable, and\ndiscordant feelings end by feeding upon their own bitterness, until\nthe unhappy mind takes a sort of morbid delight in grief. I should\nhave liked, therefore, to have attempted to effect this cure in the\nearliest stages of the disorder, before its force was fully developed;\nit might have been checked by milder remedies, but now that it has\nbeen confirmed by time it cannot be beaten without a hard struggle.\nIn like manner, wounds heal easily when the blood is fresh upon\nthem: they can then be cleared out and brought to the surface, and\nadmit of being probed by the finger: when disease {165} has turned\nthem into malignant ulcers, their cure is more difficult. I cannot\nnow influence so strong a grief by polite and mild measures: it\nmust be broken down by force.\n\nII. I am aware that all who wish to give any one advice begin with\nprecepts, and end with examples: but it is sometimes useful to alter\nthis fashion, for we must deal differently with different people.\nSome are guided by reason, others must be confronted with authority\nand the names of celebrated persons, whose brilliancy dazzles their\nmind and destroys their power of free judgment. I will place before\nyour eyes two of the greatest examples belonging to your sex and\nyour century: one, that of a woman who allowed herself to be entirely\ncarried away by grief; the other, one who, though afflicted by a\nlike misfortune, and an even greater loss, yet did not allow her\nsorrows to reign over her for a very long time, but quickly restored\nher mind to its accustomed frame. Octavia and Livia, the former\nAugustus\u2019s sister, the latter his wife, both lost their sons when\nthey were young men, and when they were certain of succeeding to\nthe throne. Octavia lost Marcellus, whom both his father-in-law and\nhis uncle had begun to depend upon, and to place upon his shoulders\nthe weight of the empire\u2014a young man of keen intelligence and firm\ncharacter, frugal and moderate in his desires to an extent which\ndeserved especial admiration in one so young and so wealthy, strong\nto endure labour, averse to indulgence, and able to bear whatever\nburden his uncle might choose to lay, or I may say to pile upon his\nshoulders. Augustus had well chosen him as a foundation, for he\nwould not have given way under any weight, however excessive. His\nmother never ceased to weep and sob during her whole life, never\nendured to listen to wholesome advice, never even allowed her\nthoughts to be diverted from her sorrow. She remained during her\nwhole life just as she was during the funeral, with all the {166}\nstrength of her mind intently fixed upon one subject. I do not say\nthat she lacked the courage to shake off her grief, but she refused\nto be comforted, thought that it would be a second bereavement to\nlose her tears, and would not have any portrait of her darling son,\nnor allow any allusion to be made to him. She hated all mothers,\nand raged against Livia with especial fury, because it seemed as\nthough the brilliant prospect once in store for her own child was\nnow transferred to Livia\u2019s son. Passing all her days in darkened\nrooms and alone, not conversing even with her brother, she refused\nto accept the poems which were composed in memory of Marcellus, and\nall the other honours paid him by literature, and closed her ears\nagainst all consolation. She lived buried and hidden from view,\nneglecting her accustomed duties, and actually angry with the\nexcessive splendour of her brother\u2019s prosperity, in which she shared.\nThough surrounded by her children and grandchildren, she would not\nlay aside her mourning garb, though by retaining it she seemed to\nput a slight upon all her relations, in thinking herself bereaved\nin spite of their being alive.\n\nIII. Livia lost her son Drusus, who would have been a great emperor,\nand was already a great general: he had marched far into Germany,\nand had planted the Roman standards in places where the very existence\nof the Romans was hardly known. He died on the march, his very foes\ntreating him with respect, observing a reciprocal truce, and not\nhaving the heart to wish for what would do them most service. In\naddition to his dying thus in his country\u2019s service, great sorrow\nfor him was expressed by the citizens, the provinces, and the whole\nof Italy, through which his corpse was attended by the people of\nthe free towns and colonies, who poured out to perform the last sad\noffices to him, till it reached Rome in a procession which resembled\na triumph. His mother was not permitted to {167} receive his last\nkiss and gather the last fond words from his dying lips: she followed\nthe relics of her Drusus on their long journey, though every one\nof the funeral pyres with which all Italy was glowing seemed to\nrenew her grief, as though she had lost him so many times. When,\nhowever, she at last laid him in the tomb, she left her sorrow there\nwith him, and grieved no more than was becoming to a Caesar or due\nto a son. She did not cease to make frequent mention of the name\nof her Drusus, to set up his portrait in all places, both public\nand private, and to speak of him and listen while others spoke of\nhim with the greatest pleasure: she lived with his memory; which\nnone can embrace and consort with who has made it painful to\nhimself.[2] Choose, therefore, which of these two examples you think\nthe more commendable: if you prefer to follow the former, you will\nremove yourself from the number of the living; you will shun the\nsight both of other people\u2019s children and of your own, and even of\nhim whose loss you deplore; you will be looked upon by mothers as\nan omen of evil; you will refuse to take part in honourable,\npermissible pleasures, thinking them unbecoming for one so afflicted;\nyou will be loth to linger above ground, and will be especially\nangry with your age, because it will not straightway bring your\nlife abruptly to an end. I here put the best construction on what\nis really most contemptible and foreign to your character. I mean\nthat you will show yourself unwilling to live, and unable to die.\nIf, on the other hand, showing a milder and better regulated spirit,\nyou try to follow the example of the latter most exalted lady, you\nwill not be in misery, nor will you wear your life out with suffering.\nPlague on it! what madness this is, to punish one\u2019s self because\none is unfortunate, and not to lessen, but to increase one\u2019s ills!\nYou ought to display, in this {168} matter also, that decent behaviour\nand modesty which has characterised all your life: for there is\nsuch a thing as self-restraint in grief also. You will show more\nrespect for the youth himself, who well deserves that it should\nmake you glad to speak and think of him, if you make him able to\nmeet his mother with a cheerful countenance, even as he was wont\nto do when alive.\n\nIV. I will not invite you to practise the sterner kind of maxims,\nnor bid you bear the lot of humanity with more than human philosophy;\nneither will I attempt to dry a mother\u2019s eyes on the very day of\nher son\u2019s burial. I will appear with you before an arbitrator: the\nmatter upon which we shall join issue is, whether grief ought to\nbe deep or unceasing. I doubt not that you will prefer the example\nof Julia Augusta, who was your intimate friend: she invites you to\nfollow her method: she, in her first paroxysm, when grief is\nespecially keen and hard to bear, betook herself for consolation\nto Areus, her husband\u2019s teacher in philosophy, and declared that\nthis did her much good; more good than the thought of the Roman\npeople, whom she was unwilling to sadden by her mourning; more than\nAugustus, who, staggering under the loss of one of his two chief\nsupporters, ought not to be yet more bowed down by the sorrow of\nhis relatives; more even than her son Tiberius, whose affection\nduring that untimely burial of one for whom whole nations wept made\nher feel that she had only lost one member of her family. This was,\nI imagine, his introduction to and grounding in philosophy of a\nwoman peculiarly tenacious of her own opinion:\u2014\u201cEven to the present\nday, Julia, as far as I can tell\u2014and I was your husband\u2019s constant\ncompanion, and knew not only what all men were allowed to know, but\nall the most secret thoughts of your hearts\u2014 you have been careful\nthat no one should find anything to blame in your conduct; not only\nin matters of importance, {169} but even in trifles you have taken\npains to do nothing which you could wish common fame, that most\nfrank judge of the acts of princes, to overlook. Nothing, I think,\nis more admirable than that those who are in high places should\npardon many shortcomings in others, and have to ask it for none of\ntheir own. So also in this matter of mourning you ought to act up\nto your maxim of doing nothing which you could wish undone, or done\notherwise.\n\nV. \u201cIn the next place, I pray and beseech you not to be self-willed\nand beyond the management of your friends. You must be aware that\nnone of them know how to behave, whether to mention Drusus in your\npresence or not, as they neither wish to wrong a noble youth by\nforgetting him, nor to hurt you by speaking of him. When we leave\nyou and assemble together by ourselves, we talk freely about his\nsayings and doings, treating them with the respect which they\ndeserve: in your presence deep silence is observed about him, and\nthus you lose that greatest of pleasures, the hearing the praises\nof your son, which I doubt not you would be willing to hand down\nto all future ages, had you the means of so doing, even at the cost\nof your own life. Wherefore endure to listen to, nay, encourage\nconversation of which he is the subject, and let your ears be open\nto the name and memory of your son. You ought not to consider this\npainful, like those who in such a case think that part of their\nmisfortune consists in listening to consolation. As it is, you have\naltogether run into the other extreme, and, forgetting the better\naspects of your lot, look only upon its worse side: you pay no\nattention to the pleasure you have had in your son\u2019s society and\nyour joyful meetings with him, the sweet caresses of his babyhood,\nthe progress of his education: you fix all your attention upon that\nlast scene of all: and to this, as though it were not shocking\nenough, you add every horror you can. Do not, I implore you, take\na perverse pride in appearing {170} the most unhappy of women: and\nreflect also that there is no great credit in behaving bravely in\ntimes of prosperity, when life glides easily with a favouring\ncurrent: neither does a calm sea and fair wind display the art of\nthe pilot: some foul weather is wanted to prove his courage. Like\nhim, then, do not give way, but rather plant yourself firmly, and\nendure whatever burden may fall upon you from above, scared though\nyou may have been at the first roar of the tempest. There is nothing\nthat fastens such a reproach[3] on Fortune as resignation.\u201d After\nthis he points out to her the son who is yet alive: he points out\ngrandchildren from the lost one.\n\nVI. It is your trouble, Marcia, which has been dealt with here: it\nis beside your couch of mourning that Areus has been sitting: change\nthe characters, and it is you whom he has been consoling. But, on\nthe other hand, Marcia, suppose that you have sustained a greater\nloss than ever mother did before you: see, I am not soothing you\nor making light of your misfortune: if fate can be overcome by\ntears, let us bring tears to bear upon it: let every day be passed\nin mourning, every night be spent in sorrow instead of sleep: let\nyour breast be torn by your own hands, your very face attacked by\nthem, and every kind of cruelty be practised by your grief, if it\nwill profit you. But if the dead cannot be brought back to life,\nhowever much we may beat our breasts, if destiny remains fixed and\nimmoveable for ever, not to be changed by any sorrow, however great,\nand death does not loose his hold of anything that he once has taken\naway, then let our futile grief be brought to an end. Let us, then,\nsteer our own course, and no longer allow ourselves to be driven\nto leeward by the force of our misfortune. He is a sorry pilot who\nlets the waves wring his rudder from his grasp, who leaves the sails\nto fly loose, and abandons the ship to the storm: but he who {171}\nboldly grasps the helm and clings to it until the sea closes over\nhim, deserves praise even though he be shipwrecked.\n\nVII. \u201cBut,\u201d say you, \u201csorrow for the loss of one\u2019s own children is\nnatural.\u201d Who denies it? provided it be reasonable? for we cannot\nhelp feeling a pang, and the stoutest-hearted of us are cast down\nnot only at the death of those dearest to us, but even when they\nleave us on a journey. Nevertheless, the mourning which public\nopinion enjoins is more than nature insists upon. Observe how intense\nand yet how brief are the sorrows of dumb animals: we hear a cow\nlowing for one or two days, nor do mares pursue their wild and\nsenseless gallops for longer: wild beasts after they have tracked\ntheir lost cubs throughout the forest, and often visited their\nplundered dens, quench their rage within a short space of time.\nBirds circle round their empty nests with loud and piteous cries,\nyet almost immediately resume their ordinary flight in silence; nor\ndoes any creature spend long periods in sorrowing for the loss of\nits offspring, except man, who encourages his own grief, the measure\nof which depends not upon his sufferings, but upon his will. You\nmay know that to be utterly broken down by grief is not natural,\nby observing that the same bereavement inflicts a deeper wound upon\nwomen than upon men, upon savages than upon civilised and cultivated\npersons, upon the unlearned than upon the learned: yet those passions\nwhich derive their force from nature are equally powerful in all\nmen: therefore it is clear that a passion of varying strength cannot\nbe a natural one. Fire will burn all people equally, male and female,\nof every rank and every age: steel will exhibit its cutting power\non all bodies alike: and why? Because these things derive their\nstrength from nature, which makes no distinction of persons. Poverty,\ngrief, and ambition,[4] are {172} felt differently by different\npeople, according as they are influenced by habit: a rooted prejudice\nabout the terrors of these things, though they are not really to\nbe feared, makes a man weak and unable to endure them.\n\nVIII. Moreover, that which depends upon nature is not weakened by\ndelay, but grief is gradually effaced by time. However obstinate\nit may be, though it be daily renewed and be exasperated by all\nattempts to soothe it, yet even this becomes weakened by time, which\nis the most efficient means of taming its fierceness. You, Marcia,\nhave still a mighty sorrow abiding with you, nevertheless it already\nappears to have become blunted: it is obstinate and enduring, but\nnot so acute as it was at first: and this also will be taken from\nyou piecemeal by succeeding years. Whenever you are engaged in other\npursuits your mind will be relieved from its burden: at present you\nkeep watch over yourself to prevent this. Yet there is a great\ndifference between allowing and forcing yourself to grieve. How\nmuch more in accordance with your cultivated taste it would be to\nput an end to your mourning instead of looking for the end to come,\nand not to wait for the day when your sorrow shall cease against\nyour will: dismiss it of your own accord.\n\nIX. \u201cWhy then,\u201d you ask, \u201cdo we show such persistence in mourning\nfor our friends, if it be not nature that bids us do so?\u201d It is\nbecause we never expect that any evil will befall ourselves before\nit comes, we will not be taught by seeing the misfortunes of others\nthat they are the common inheritance of all men, but imagine that\nthe path which we have begun to tread is free from them and less\nbeset by dangers than that of other people. How many funerals pass\nour houses? yet we do not think of death. How many untimely deaths?\nwe think only of our son\u2019s coming of age, of his service in the\narmy, or of his succession to his father\u2019s estate. How many rich\nmen suddenly {173} sink into poverty before our very eyes, without\nits ever occurring to our minds that our own wealth is exposed to\nexactly the same risks? When, therefore, misfortune befalls us, we\ncannot help collapsing all the more completely, because we are\nstruck as it were unawares: a blow which has long been foreseen\nfalls much less heavily upon us. Do you wish to know how completely\nexposed you are to every stroke of fate, and that the same shafts\nwhich have transfixed others are whirling around yourself? then\nimagine that you are mounting without sufficient armour to assault\nsome city wall or some strong and lofty position manned by a great\nhost, expect a wound, and suppose that all those stones, arrows,\nand darts which fill the upper air are aimed at your body: whenever\nany one falls at your side or behind your back, exclaim, \u201cFortune,\nyou will not outwit me, or catch me confident and heedless: I know\nwhat you are preparing to do: you have struck down another, but you\naimed at me.\u201d Who ever looks upon his own affairs as though he were\nat the point of death? which of us ever dares to think about\nbanishment, want, or mourning? who, if advised to meditate upon\nthese subjects, would not reject the idea like an evil omen, and\nbid it depart from him and alight on the heads of his enemies, or\neven on that of his untimely adviser? \u201cI never thought it would\nhappen!\u201d How can you think that anything will not happen, when you\nknow that it may happen to many men, and has happened to many? That\nis a noble verse, and worthy of a nobler source than the stage:\u2014\n\n \u201cWhat one hath suffered may befall us all.\u201d\n\nThat man has lost his children: you may lose yours. That man has\nbeen convicted: your innocence is in peril. We are deceived and\nweakened by this delusion, when we suffer what we never foresaw\nthat we possibly could suffer: but by looking forward to the coming\nof our sorrows we take the sting out of them when they come.\n\n{174}\n\nX. My Marcia, all these adventitious circumstances which glitter\naround us, such as children, office in the state, wealth, large\nhalls, vestibules crowded with clients seeking vainly for admittance,\na noble name, a well-born or beautiful wife, and every other thing\nwhich depends entirely upon uncertain and changeful fortune, are\nbut furniture which is not our own, but entrusted to us on loan:\nnone of these things are given to us outright: the stage of our\nlives is adorned with properties gathered from various sources, and\nsoon to be returned to their several owners: some of them will be\ntaken away on the first day, some on the second, and but few will\nremain till the end. We have, therefore, no grounds for regarding\nourselves with complacency, as though the things which surround us\nwere our own: they are only borrowed: we have the use and enjoyment\nof them for a time regulated by the lender, who controls his own\ngift: it is our duty always to be able to lay our hands upon what\nhas been lent us with no fixed date for its return, and to restore\nit when called upon without a murmur: the most detestable kind of\ndebtor is he who rails at his creditor. Hence all our relatives,\nboth those who by the order of their birth we hope will outlive\nourselves, and those who themselves most properly wish to die before\nus, ought to be loved by us as persons whom we cannot be sure of\nhaving with us for ever, nor even for long. We ought frequently to\nremind ourselves that we must love the things of this life as we\nwould what is shortly to leave us, or indeed in the very act of\nleaving us. Whatever gift Fortune bestows upon a man, let him think\nwhile he enjoys it, that it will prove as fickle as the goddess\nfrom whom it came. Snatch what pleasure you can from your children,\nallow your children in their turn to take pleasure in your society,\nand drain every pleasure to the dregs without any delay. We cannot\nreckon on to-night, nay, I have allowed too long a delay, {175} we\ncannot reckon on this hour: we must make haste: the enemy presses\non behind us: soon that society of yours will be broken up, that\npleasant company will be taken by assault and dispersed. Pillage\nis the universal law: unhappy creatures, know you not that life is\nbut a flight? If you grieve for the death of your son, the fault\nlies with the time when he was born, for at his birth he was told\nthat death was his doom: it is the law under which he was born, the\nfate which has pursued him ever since he left his mother\u2019s womb.\nWe have come under the dominion of Fortune, and a harsh and\nunconquerable dominion it is: at her caprice we must suffer all\nthings whether we deserve them or not. She maltreats our bodies\nwith anger, insult, and cruelty: some she burns, the fire being\nsometimes applied as a punishment and sometimes as a remedy: some\nshe imprisons, allowing it to be done at one time by our enemies,\nat another by our countrymen: she tosses others naked on the changeful\nseas, and after their struggle with the waves will not even cast\nthem out upon the sand or the shore, but will entomb them in the\nbelly of some huge sea-monster: she wears away others to a skeleton\nby divers kinds of disease, and keeps them long in suspense between\nlife and death: she is as capricious in her rewards and punishments\nas a fickle, whimsical, and careless mistress is with those of her\nslaves.\n\nXI. Why need we weep over parts of our life? the whole of it calls\nfor tears: new miseries assail us before we have freed ourselves\nfrom the old ones. You, therefore, who allow them to trouble you\nto an unreasonable extent ought especially to restrain yourselves,\nand to muster all the powers of the human breast to combat your\nfears and your pains. Moreover, what forgetfulness of your own\nposition and that of mankind is this? You were born a mortal, and\nyou have given birth to mortals: yourself a weak and fragile body,\nliable to all diseases, can you have hoped to {176} produce anything\nstrong and lasting from such unstable materials? Your son has died:\nin other words he has reached that goal towards which those whom\nyou regard as more fortunate than your offspring are still hastening:\nthis is the point towards which move at different rates all the\ncrowds which are squabbling in the law courts, sitting in the\ntheatres, praying in the temples. Those whom you love and those\nwhom you despise will both be made equal in the same ashes. This\nis the meaning of that command, KNOW THYSELF, which is written on\nthe shrine of the Pythian oracle. What is man? a potter\u2019s vessel,\nto be broken by the slightest shake or toss: it requires no great\nstorm to rend you asunder: you fall to pieces wherever you strike.\nWhat is man? a weakly and frail body, naked, without any natural\nprotection, dependent on the help of others, exposed to all the\nscorn of Fortune; even when his muscles are well trained he is the\nprey and the food of the first wild beast he meets, formed of weak\nand unstable substances, fair in outward feature, but unable to\nendure cold, heat, or labour, and yet falling to ruin if kept in\nsloth and idleness, fearing his very victuals, for he is starved\nif he has them not, and bursts if he has too much. He cannot be\nkept safe without anxious care, his breath only stays in the body\non sufferance, and has no real hold upon it; he starts at every\nsudden danger, every loud and unexpected noise that reaches his\nears. Ever a cause of anxiety to ourselves, diseased and useless\nas we are, can we be surprised at the death of a creature which can\nbe killed by a single hiccup? Is it a great undertaking to put an\nend to us? why, smells, tastes, fatigue and want of sleep, food and\ndrink, and the very necessaries of life, are mortal. Whithersoever\nhe moves he straightway becomes conscious of his weakness, not being\nable to bear all climates, falling sick after drinking strange\nwater, breathing an air to which he is not accustomed, or {177}\nfrom other causes and reasons of the most trifling kind, frail,\nsickly, entering upon his life with weeping: yet nevertheless what\na disturbance this despicable creature makes! what ideas it conceives,\nforgetting its lowly condition! It exercises its mind upon matters\nwhich are immortal and eternal, and arranges the affairs of its\ngrandchildren and great-grandchildren, while death surprises it in\nthe midst of its far-reaching schemes, and what we call old age is\nbut the round of a very few years.\n\nXII. Supposing that your sorrow has any method at all, is it your\nown sufferings or those of him who is gone that it has in view? Why\ndo you grieve over your lost son? is it because you have received\nno pleasure from him, or because you would have received more had\nhe lived longer? If you answer that you have received no pleasure\nfrom him you make your loss more endurable: for men miss less when\nlost what has given them no enjoyment or gladness. If, again, you\nadmit that you have received much pleasure, it is your duty not to\ncomplain of that part which you have lost, but to return thanks for\nthat which you have enjoyed. His rearing alone ought to have brought\nyou a sufficient return for your labours, for it can hardly be that\nthose who take the greatest pains to rear puppies, birds, and such\nlike paltry objects of amusement derive a certain pleasure from the\nsight and touch and fawning caresses of these dumb creatures, and\nyet that those who rear children should not find their reward in\ndoing so. Thus, even though his industry may have gained nothing\nfor you, his carefulness may have saved nothing for you, his foresight\nmay have given you no advice, yet you found sufficient reward in\nhaving owned him and loved him. \u201cBut,\u201d say you, \u201cit might have\nlasted longer.\u201d True, but you have been better dealt with than if\nyou had never had a son, for, supposing you were given your choice,\nwhich is the better lot, to be happy for a short time or not at\nall? {178} It is better to enjoy pleasures which soon leave us than\nto enjoy none at all. Which, again, would you choose? to have had\none who was a disgrace to you, and who merely filled the position\nand owned the name of your son, or one of such noble character as\nyour son\u2019s was? a youth who soon grew discreet and dutiful, soon\nbecame a husband and a father, soon became eager for public honours,\nand soon obtained the priesthood, winning his way to all these\nadmirable things with equally admirable speed. It falls to scarcely\nany one\u2019s lot to enjoy great prosperity, and also to enjoy it for\na long time: only a dull kind of happiness can last for long and\naccompany us to the end of our lives. The immortal gods, who did\nnot intend to give you a son for long, gave you one who was straightway\nwhat another would have required long training to become. You cannot\neven say that you have been specially marked by the gods for\nmisfortune because you have had no pleasure in your son. Look at\nany company of people, whether they be known to you or not: everywhere\nyou will see some who have endured greater misfortunes than your\nown. Great generals and princes have undergone like bereavements:\nmythology tells us that the gods themselves are not exempt from\nthem, its aim, I suppose, being to lighten our sorrow at death by\nthe thought that even deities are subject to it. Look around, I\nrepeat, at every one: you cannot mention any house so miserable as\nnot to find comfort in the fact of another being yet more miserable.\nI do not, by Hercules, think so ill of your principles as to suppose\nthat you would bear your sorrow more lightly were I to show you an\nenormous company of mourners: that is a spiteful sort of consolation\nwhich we derive from the number of our fellow-sufferers: nevertheless\nI will quote some instances, not indeed in order to teach you that\nthis often befalls men, for it is absurd to multiply examples of\nman\u2019s mortality, but to let you know that there have {179} been\nmany who have lightened their misfortunes by patient endurance of\nthem. I will begin with the luckiest man of all. Lucius Sulla lost\nhis son, yet this did not impair either the spitefulness or the\nbrilliant valour which he displayed at the expense of his enemies\nand his countrymen alike, nor did it make him appear to have assumed\nhis well-known title untruly that he did so after his son\u2019s death,\nfearing neither the hatred of men, by whose sufferings that excessive\nprosperity of his was purchased, nor the ill-will of the gods, to\nwhom it was a reproach that Sulla should be so truly The Fortunate.\nWhat, however, Sulla\u2019s real character was may pass among questions\nstill undecided: even his enemies will admit that he took up arms\nwith honour, and laid them aside with honour: his example proves\nthe point at issue, that an evil which befalls even the most\nprosperous cannot be one of the first magnitude.\n\nXIII. That Greece cannot boast unduly of that father who, being in\nthe act of offering sacrifice when he heard the news of his son\u2019s\ndeath, merely ordered the flute-player to be silent, and removed\nthe garland from his head, but accomplished all the rest of the\nceremony in due form, is due to a Roman, Pulvillus the high priest.\nWhen he was in the act of holding the doorpost[5] and dedicating\nthe Capitol the news of his son\u2019s death was brought to him. He\npretended not to hear it, and pronounced the form of words proper\nfor the high priest on such an occasion, without his prayer being\ninterrupted by a single groan, begging that Jupiter would show\nhimself gracious, at the very instant that he heard his son\u2019s name\nmentioned as dead. Do you imagine that this man\u2019s mourning knew no\nend, if the first day and the first shook could not drive him,\nthough a father, away {180} from the public altar of the state, or\ncause him to mar the ceremony of dedication by words of ill omen?\nWorthy, indeed, of the most exalted priesthood was he who ceased\nnot to revere the gods even when they were angry. Yet he, after he\nhad gone home, filled his eyes with tears, said a few words of\nlamentation, and performed the rites with which it was then customary\nto honour the dead, resumed the expression of countenance which he\nhad worn in the Capitol.\n\nPaulus,[6] about the time of his magnificent triumph, in which he\ndrove Perses in chains before his car, gave two of his sons to be\nadopted into other families, and buried those whom he had kept for\nhimself. What, think you, must those whom he kept have been, when\nScipio was one of those whom he gave away? It was not without emotion\nthat the Roman people looked upon Paulus\u2019s empty chariot:[7]\nnevertheless he made a speech to them, and returned thanks to the\ngods for having granted his prayer: for he had prayed that, if any\noffering to Nemesis were due in consequence of the stupendous victory\nwhich he had won, it might be paid at his own expense rather than\nat that of his country. Do you see how magnanimously he bore his\nloss? he even congratulated himself on being left childless, though\nwho had more to suffer by such a change? he lost at once his\ncomforters and his helpers. Yet Perses did not have the pleasure\nof seeing Paulus look sorrowful.\n\nXIV. Why should I lead you on through the endless {181} series of\ngreat men and pick out the unhappy ones, as though it were not more\ndifficult to find happy ones? for how few households have remained\npossessed of all their members until the end? what one is there\nthat has not suffered some loss? Take any one year you please and\nname the consuls for it: if you like, that of[8] Lucius Bibulus and\nGaius Caesar; you will see that, though these colleagues were each\nother\u2019s bitterest enemies, yet their fortunes agreed. Lucius Bibulus,\na man more remarkable for goodness than for strength of character,\nhad both his sons murdered at the same time, and even insulted by\nthe Egyptian soldiery, so that the agent of his bereavement was as\nmuch a subject for tears as the bereavement itself. Nevertheless\nBibulus, who during the whole of his year of office had remained\nhidden in his house, to cast reproach upon his colleague Caesar on\nthe day following that upon which he heard of both his sons\u2019 deaths,\ncame forth and went through the routine business of his magistracy.\nWho could devote less than one day to mourning for two sons? Thus\nsoon did he end his mourning for his children, although he had\nmourned a whole year for his consulship. Gaius Caesar, after having\ntraversed Britain, and not allowed even the ocean to set bounds to\nhis successes, heard of the death of his daughter, which hurried\non the crisis of affairs. Already Gnaeus Pompeius stood before his\neyes, a man who would ill endure that any one besides himself should\nbecome a great power in the state, and one who was likely to place\na check upon his advancement, which he had regarded as onerous even\nwhen each gained by the other\u2019s rise: yet within three days\u2019 time\nhe resumed his duties as general, and conquered his grief as quickly\nas he was wont to conquer everything else.\n\nXV. Why need I remind you of the deaths of the other {182} Caesars,\nwhom fortune appears to me sometimes to have outraged in order that\neven by their deaths they might be useful to mankind, by proving\nthat not even they, although they were styled \u201csons of gods,\u201d and\n\u201cfathers of gods to come,\u201d could exercise the same power over their\nown fortunes which they did over those of others? The Emperor\nAugustus lost his children and his grandchildren, and after all the\nfamily of Caesar had perished was obliged to prop his empty house\nby adopting a son: yet he bore his losses as bravely as though he\nwere already personally concerned in the honour of the gods, and\nas though it were especially to his interest that no one should\ncomplain of the injustice of Heaven. Tiberius Caesar lost both the\nson whom he begot and the son whom he adopted, yet he himself\npronounced a panegyric upon his son from the Rostra, and stood in\nfull view of the corpse, which merely had a curtain on one side to\nprevent the eyes of the high priest resting upon the dead body, and\ndid not change his countenance, though all the Romans wept: he gave\nSejanus, who stood by his side, a proof of how patiently he could\nendure the loss of his relatives. See you not what numbers of most\neminent men there have been, none of whom have been spared by this\nblight which prostrates us all: men, too, adorned with every grace\nof character, and every distinction that public or private life can\nconfer. It appears as though this plague moved in a regular orbit,\nand spread ruin and desolation among us all without distinction of\npersons, all being alike its prey. Bid any number of individuals\ntell you the story of their lives: you will find that all have paid\nsome penalty for being born.\n\nXVI. I know what you will say, \u201cYou quote men as examples: you\nforget that it is a woman that you are trying to console.\u201d Yet who\nwould say that nature has dealt grudgingly with the minds of women,\nand stunted their virtues? Believe me, they have the same intellectual\npower as men, {183} and the same capacity for honourable and generous\naction. If trained to do so, they are just as able to endure sorrow\nor labour. Ye good gods, do I say this in that very city in which\nLucretia and Brutus removed the yoke of kings from the necks of the\nRomans? We owe liberty to Brutus, but we owe Brutus to Lucretia\u2014in\nwhich Cloelia, for the sublime courage with which she scorned both\nthe enemy and the river, has been almost reckoned as a man. The\nstatue of Cloelia, mounted on horseback, in that busiest of\nthoroughfares, the Sacred Way, continually reproaches the youth of\nthe present day, who never mount anything but a cushioned seat in\na carriage, with journeying in such a fashion through that very\ncity in which we have enrolled even women among our knights. If you\nwish me to point out to you examples of women who have bravely\nendured the loss of their children, I shall not go far afield to\nsearch for them: in one family I can quote two Cornelias, one the\ndaughter of Scipio, and the mother of the Gracchi, who made\nacknowledgment of the birth of her twelve children by burying them\nall: nor was it so hard to do this in the case of the others, whose\nbirth and death were alike unknown to the public, but she beheld\nthe murdered and unburied corpses of both Tiberius Gracchus and\nGaius Gracchus, whom even those who will not call them good must\nadmit were great men. Yet to those who tried to console her and\ncalled her unfortunate, she answered, \u201cI shall never cease to call\nmyself happy, because I am the mother of the Gracchi.\u201d Cornelia,\nthe wife of Livius Drusus, lost by the hands of an unknown assassin\na young son of great distinction, who was treading in the footsteps\nof the Gracchi, and was murdered in his own house just when he had\nso many bills half way through the process of becoming law:\nnevertheless she bore the untimely and unavenged death of her son\nwith as lofty a spirit as he had shown in carrying his laws. Will\nyou not, Marcia, forgive fortune because she has not refrained {184}\nfrom striking you with the darts with which she launched at the\nScipios, and the mothers and daughters of the Scipios, and with\nwhich she has attacked the Caesars themselves? Life is full of\nmisfortunes; our path is beset with them: no one can make a long\npeace, nay, scarcely an armistice with fortune. You, Marcia, have\nborne four children: now they say that no dart which is hurled into\na close column of soldiers can fail to hit one,\u2014ought you then to\nwonder at not having been able to lead along such a company without\nexciting the ill-will of Fortune, or suffering loss at her hands?\n\u201cBut,\u201d say you, \u201cFortune has treated me unfairly, for she not only\nhas bereaved me of my son, but chose my best beloved to deprive me\nof.\u201d Yet you never can say that you have been wronged, if you divide\nthe stakes equally with an antagonist who is stronger than yourself:\nFortune has left you two daughters, and their children: she has not\neven taken away altogether him who you now mourn for, forgetful of\nhis elder brother: you have two daughters by him, who if you support\nthem ill will prove great burdens, but if well, great comforts to\nyou. You ought to prevail upon yourself, when you see them, to let\nthem remind you of your son, and not of your grief. When a husbandman\u2019s\ntrees have either been torn up, roots and all, by the wind, or\nbroken off short by the force of a hurricane, he takes care of what\nis left of their stock, straightway plants seeds or cuttings in the\nplace of those which he has lost, and in a moment\u2014for time is as\nswift in repairing losses as in causing them\u2014more flourishing trees\nare growing than were there before. Take, then, in the place of\nyour Metilius these his two daughters, and by their twofold consolation\nlighten your single sorrow. True, human nature is so constituted\nas to love nothing so much as what it has lost, and our yearning\nafter those who have been taken from us makes us judge unfairly of\nthose who are left to us: nevertheless, if you choose to reckon up\nhow merciful {185} Fortune has been to you even in her anger, you\nwill feel that you have more than enough to console you. Look at\nall your grandchildren, and your two daughters: and say also,\nMarcia:\u2014\u201cI should indeed be cast down, if everyone\u2019s fortune followed\nhis deserts, and if no evil ever befel good men: but as it is I\nperceive that no distinction is made, and that the bad and the good\nare both harassed alike.\u201d\n\nXVII. \u201cStill, it is a sad thing to lose a young man whom you have\nbrought up, just as he was becoming a defence and a pride both to\nhis mother and to his country.\u201d No one denies that it is sad: but\nit is the common lot of mortals. You were born to lose others, to\nbe lost, to hope, to fear, to destroy your own peace and that of\nothers, to fear and yet to long for death, and, worst of all, never\nto know what your real position is. If you were about to journey\nto Syracuse, and some one were to say:\u2014\u201cLearn beforehand all the\ndiscomforts, and all the pleasures of your coming voyage, and then\nset sail. The sights which you will enjoy will be as follows: first,\nyou will see the island itself, now separated from Italy by a narrow\nstrait, but which, we know, once formed part of the mainland. The\nsea suddenly broke through, and\n\n \u2018Sever\u2019d Sicilia from the western shore.\u2019[9]\n\nNext, as you will be able to sail close to Charybdis, of which the\npoets have sung, you will see that greediest of whirlpools, quite\nsmooth if no south wind be blowing, but whenever there is a gale\nfrom that quarter, sucking down ships into a huge and deep abyss.\nYou will see the fountain of Arethusa, so famed in song, with its\nwaters bright and pellucid to the very bottom, and pouring forth\nan icy stream which it either finds on the spot or else plunges it\nunder ground, conveys it thither as a separate river beneath so\nmany seas, free from any mixture of less pure water, and {186} there\nbrings it again to the surface. You will see a harbour which is\nmore sheltered than all the others in the world, whether they be\nnatural or improved by human art for the protection of shipping;\nso safe, that even the most violent storms are powerless to disturb\nit. You will see the place where the power of Athens was broken,\nwhere that natural prison, hewn deep among precipices of rock,\nreceived so many thousands of captives: you will see the great city\nitself, occupying a wider site than many capitals, an extremely\nwarm resort in winter, where not a single day passes without sunshine:\nbut when you have observed all this, you must remember that the\nadvantages of its winter climate are counterbalanced by a hot and\npestilential summer: that here will be the tyrant Dionysius, the\ndestroyer of freedom, of justice, and of law, who is greedy of power\neven after conversing with Plato, and of life even after he has\nbeen exiled; that he will burn some, flog others, and behead others\nfor slight offences; that he will exercise his lust upon both sexes\n. . . . . You have now heard all that can attract you thither, all\nthat can deter you from going: now, then, either set sail or remain\nat home!\u201d If, after this declaration, anybody were to say that he\nwished to go to Syracuse, he could blame no one but himself for\nwhat befel him there, because he would not stumble upon it unknowingly,\nbut would have gone thither fully aware of what was before him. To\neveryone Nature says: \u201cI do not deceive any person. If you choose\nto have children, they may be handsome, or they may be deformed;\nperhaps they will be born dumb. One of them may perhaps prove the\nsaviour of his country, or perhaps its betrayer. You need not despair\nof their being raised to such honour that for their sake no one\nwill dare to speak evil of you: yet remember that they may reach\nsuch a pitch of infamy as themselves to become curses to you. There\nis nothing to prevent their performing the {187} last offices for\nyou, and your panegyric being spoken by your children: but hold\nyourself prepared nevertheless to place a son as boy, man, or\ngreybeard, upon the funeral pyre: for years have nothing to do with\nthe matter, since every sort of funeral in which a parent buries\nhis child must alike be untimely.[10] If you still choose to rear\nchildren, after I have explained these conditions to you, you render\nyourself incapable of blaming the gods, for they never guaranteed\nanything to you.\u201d\n\nXVIII. You may make this simile apply to your whole entrance into\nlife. I have explained to you what attractions and what drawbacks\nthere would be if you were thinking of going to Syracuse: now suppose\nthat I were to come and give you advice when you were going to be\nborn. \u201cYou are about,\u201d I should say, \u201cto enter a city of which both\ngods and men are citizens, a city which contains the whole universe,\nwhich is bound by irrevocable and eternal laws, and wherein the\nheavenly bodies run their unwearied courses: you will see therein\ninnumerable twinkling stars, and the sun, whose single light pervades\nevery place, who by his daily course marks the times of day and\nnight, and by his yearly course makes a more equal division between\nsummer and winter. You will see his place taken by night by the\nmoon, who borrows at her meetings with her brother a gentle and\nsofter light, and who at one time is invisible, at another hangs\nfull-faced above the earth, ever waxing and waning, each phase\nunlike the last. You will see five stars, moving in the opposite\ndirection to the others, stemming the whirl of the skies towards\nthe West: on the slightest motions of these depend the fortunes of\nnations, and according as the aspect of the planets is auspicious\nor malignant, the greatest empires rise and fall: you will see with\nwonder the gathering clouds, the falling showers, the {188} zigzag\nlightning, the crashing together of the heavens. When, sated with\nthe wonders above, you turn your eyes towards the earth, they will\nbe met by objects of a different yet equally admirable aspect: on\none side a boundless expanse of open plains, on another the towering\npeaks of lofty and snow-clad mountains: the downward course of\nrivers, some streams running eastward, some westward from the same\nsource: the woods which wave even on the mountain tops, the vast\nforests with all the creatures that dwell therein, and the confused\nharmony of the birds: the variously-placed cities, the nations which\nnatural obstacles keep secluded from the world, some of whom withdraw\nthemselves to lofty mountains, while others dwell in fear and\ntrembling on the sloping banks of rivers: the crops which are\nassisted by cultivation, and the trees which bear fruit even without\nit: the rivers that flow gently through the meadows, the lovely\nbays and shores that curve inwards to form harbours: the countless\nislands scattered over the main, which break and spangle the seas.\nWhat of the brilliancy of stones and gems, the gold that rolls amid\nthe sands of rushing streams, the heaven-born fires that burst forth\nfrom the midst of the earth and even front the midst of the sea;\nthe ocean itself, that binds land to land, dividing the nations by\nits threefold indentations, and boiling up with mighty rage? Swimming\nupon its waves, making them disturbed and swelling without wind,\nyou will see animals exceeding the size of any that belong to the\nland, some clumsy and requiring others to guide their movements,\nsome swift and moving faster than the utmost efforts of rowers,\nsome of them that drink in the waters and blow them out again to\nthe great perils of those who sail near them: you will see here\nships seeking for unknown lands: you will see that man\u2019s audacity\nleaves nothing unattempted, and you will yourself be both a witness\nand a sharer in great {189} attempts. You will both learn and teach\nthe arts by which men\u2019s lives are supplied with necessaries, are\nadorned, and are ruled: but in this same place there will be a\nthousand pestilences fatal to both body and mind, there will be\nwars and highway robberies, poisonings and shipwrecks, extremes of\nclimate and excesses of body, untimely griefs for our dearest ones,\nand death for ourselves, of which we cannot tell whether it will\nbe easy or by torture at the hands of the executioner. Now consider\nand weigh carefully in your own mind which you would choose. If you\nwish to enjoy these blessings you must pass through these pains.\nDo you answer that you choose to live? \u2018Of course.\u2019 Nay, I thought\nyou would not enter upon that of which the least diminution causes\npain. Live, then, as has been agreed on. You say, \u201cNo one has asked\nmy opinion.\u201d Our parents\u2019 opinion was taken about us, when, knowing\nwhat the conditions of life are, they brought us into it.\n\nXIX. But, to come to topics of consolation, in the first place\nconsider if you please to what our remedies must be applied, and\nnext, in what way. It is regret for the absence of his loved one\nwhich causes a mourner to grieve: yet it is clear that this in\nitself is bearable enough; for we do not weep at their being absent\nor intending to be absent during their lifetime, although when they\nleave our sight we have no more pleasure in them. What tortures us,\ntherefore, is an idea. Now every evil is just as great as we consider\nit to be: we have, therefore, the remedy in our own hands. Let us\nsuppose that they are on a journey, and let us deceive ourselves:\nwe have sent them away, or, rather, we have sent them on in advance\nto a place whither we shall soon follow them.[11] Besides this,\nmourners are wont to suffer from the thought, \u201cI shall {190} have\nno one to protect me, no one to avenge me when I am scorned.\u201d To\nuse a very disreputable but very true mode of consolation, I may\nsay that in our country the loss of children bestows more influence\nthan it takes away, and loneliness, which used to bring the aged\nto ruin, now makes them so powerful that some old men have pretended\nto pick quarrels with their sons, have disowned their own children,\nand have made themselves childless by their own act. I know what\nyou will say: \u201cMy own losses do not grieve me:\u201d and indeed a man\ndoes not deserve to be consoled if he is sorry for his son\u2019s death\nas he would be for that of a slave, who is capable of seeing anything\nin his son beyond his son\u2019s self. What then, Marcia, is it that\ngrieves you? is it that your son has died, or that he did not live\nlong? If it be his having died, then you ought always to have\ngrieved, for you always knew that he would die. Reflect that the\ndead suffer no evils, that all those stories which make us dread\nthe nether world are mere fables, that he who dies need fear no\ndarkness, no prison, no blazing streams of fire, no river of Lethe,\nno judgment seat before which he must appear, and that Death is\nsuch utter freedom that, he need fear no more despots. All that is\na phantasy of the poets, who have terrified us without a cause.\nDeath is a release from and an end of all pains: beyond it our\nsufferings cannot extend: it restores us to the peaceful rest in\nwhich we lay before we were born. If any one pities the dead, he\nought also to pity those who have not been born. Death is neither\na good nor a bad thing, for that alone which is something can be a\ngood or a bad thing: but that which is nothing, and reduces all\nthings to nothing, does not hand us over to either fortune, because\ngood and bad require some material to work upon. Fortune cannot\ntake hold of that which Nature has let go, nor can a man be unhappy\nif he is nothing. Your son has passed beyond the border of the {191}\ncountry where men are forced to labour; he has reached deep and\neverlasting peace. He feels no fear of want, no anxiety about his\nriches, no stings of lust that tears the heart in guise of pleasure:\nhe knows no envy of another\u2019s prosperity, he is not crushed by the\nweight of his own; even his chaste ears are not wounded by any\nribaldry: he is menaced by no disaster, either to his country or\nto himself. He does not hang, full of anxiety, upon the issue of\nevents, to reap even greater uncertainty as his reward: he has at\nlast taken up a position from which nothing can dislodge him, where\nnothing can make him afraid.\n\nXX. O how little do men understand their own misery, that they do\nnot praise and look forward to death as the best discovery of Nature,\nwhether because it hedges in happiness, or because it drives away\nmisery: because it puts an end to the sated weariness of old age,\ncuts down youth in its bloom while still full of hope of better\nthings, or calls home childhood before the harsher stages of life\nare reached: it is the end of all men, a relief to many, a desire\nto some, and it treats none so well as those to whom it comes before\nthey call for it. Death frees the slave though his master wills it\nnot, it lightens the captive\u2019s chains: it leads out of prison those\nwhom headstrong power has forbidden to quit it: it points out to\nexiles, whose minds and eyes are ever turned towards their own\ncountry, that it makes no difference under what people\u2019s soil one\nlies. When Fortune has unjustly divided the common stock, and has\ngiven over one man to another, though they were born with equal\nrights. Death makes them all equal. After Death no one acts any\nmore at another\u2019s bidding: in death no man suffers any more from\nthe sense of his low position. It is open to all: it was what your\nfather, Marcia, longed for: it is this, I say, that renders it no\nmisery to be born, which enables me to face the threatenings of\nmisfortune without quailing, and to keep {192} my mind unharmed and\nable to command itself. I have a last appeal. I see before me crosses\nnot all alike, but differently made by different peoples: some hang\na man head downwards, some force a stick upwards through his groin,\nsome stretch out his arms on a forked gibbet. I see cords, scourges,\nand instruments of torture for each limb and each joint: but I see\nDeath also. There are bloodthirsty enemies, there are overbearing\nfellow-countrymen, but where they are there I see Death also. Slavery\nis not grievous if a man can gain his freedom by one step as soon\nas he becomes tired of thraldom. Life, it is thanks to Death that\nI hold thee so dear. Think how great a blessing is a timely death,\nhow many have been injured by living longer than they ought. If\nsickness had carried off that glory and support of the empire,\nGnaeus Pompeius, at Naples, he would have died the undoubted head\nof the Roman people, but as it was, a short extension of time cast\nhim down from his pinnacle of fame: he beheld his legions slaughtered\nbefore his eyes: and what a sad relic of that battle, in which the\nSenate formed the first line, was the survival of the general. He\nsaw his Egyptian butcher, and offered his body, hallowed by so many\nvictories, to a guardsman\u2019s sword, although even had he been unhurt,\nhe would have regretted his safety: for what could have been more\ninfamous than that a Pompeius should owe his life to the clemency\nof a king? If Marcus Cicero had fallen at the time when he avoided\nthose daggers which Catiline aimed equally at him and at his country,\nhe might have died as the saviour of the commonwealth which he had\nset free: if his death had even followed upon that of his daughter,\nhe might have died happy. He would not then have seen swords drawn\nfor the slaughter of Roman citizens, the goods of the murdered\ndivided among the murderers that men might pay from their own purse\nthe price of their {193} own blood, the public auction of the\nconsul\u2019s spoil in the civil war, the public letting out of murder\nto be done, brigandage, war, pillage, hosts of Catilines. Would it\nnot have been a good thing for Marcus Cato if the sea had swallowed\nhim up when he was returning from Cyprus after sequestrating the\nking\u2019s hereditary possessions, even if that very money which he was\nbringing to pay the soldiers in the civil war had been lost with\nhim? He certainly would have been able to boast that no one would\ndare to do wrong in the presence of Cato: as it was, the extension\nof his life for a very few more years forced one who was born for\npersonal and political freedom to flee from Caesar and to become\nPompeius\u2019s follower. Premature death therefore did him no evil:\nindeed, it put an end to the power of any evil to hurt him.\n\nXXI. \u201cYet,\u201d say you, \u201che perished too soon and untimely.\u201d In the\nfirst place, suppose that he had lived to extreme old age: let him\ncontinue alive to the extreme limits of human existence: how much\nis it after all? Born for a very brief space of time, we regard\nthis life as an inn which we are soon to quit that it may be made\nready for the coming guest. Do I speak of our lives, which we know\nroll away incredibly fast? Reckon up the centuries of cities: you\nwill find that even those which boast of their antiquity have not\nexisted for long. All human works are brief and fleeting; they take\nup no part whatever of infinite time. Tried by the standard of the\nuniverse, we regard this earth of ours, with all its cities, nations,\nrivers, and sea-board as a mere point: our life occupies less than\na point when compared with all time, the measure of which exceeds\nthat of the world, for indeed the world is contained many times in\nit. Of what importance, then, can it be to lengthen that which,\nhowever much you add to it, will never be much more than nothing?\nWe can only make our lives long by one expedient, that is, by being\n{194} satisfied with their length: you may tell me of long-lived\nmen, whose length of days has been celebrated by tradition, you may\nassign a hundred and ten years apiece to them: yet when you allow\nyour mind to conceive the idea of eternity, there will be no\ndifference between the shortest and the longest life, if you compare\nthe time during which any one has been alive with that during which\nhe has not been alive. In the next place, when he died his life was\ncomplete: he had lived as long as he needed to live: there was\nnothing left for him to accomplish. All men do not grow old at the\nsame age, nor indeed do all animals: some are wearied out by life\nat fourteen years of age, and what is only the first stage of life\nwith man is their extreme limit of longevity. To each man a varying\nlength of days has been assigned: no one dies before his time,\nbecause he was not destined to live any longer than he did. Everyone\u2019s\nend is fixed, and will always remain where it has been placed:\nneither industry nor favour will move it on any further. Believe,\nthen, that you lost him by advice: he took all that was his own,\n\n \u201cAnd reached the goal allotted to his life,\u201d\n\nso you need not burden yourself with the thought, \u201cHe might have\nlived longer.\u201d His life has not been cut short, nor does chance\never cut short our years: every man receives as much as was promised\nto him: the Fates go their own way, and neither add anything nor\ntake away anything from what they have once promised. Prayers and\nendeavours are all in vain: each man will have as much life as his\nfirst day placed to his credit: from the time when he first saw the\nlight he has entered on the path that leads to death, and is drawing\nnearer to his doom: those same years which were added to his youth\nwere subtracted from his life. We all fall into this mistake of\nsupposing that it is only old men, already in the decline of life,\nwho are drawing {195} near to death, whereas our first infancy, our\nyouth, indeed every time of life leads thither. The Fates ply their\nown work: they take from us the consciousness of our death, and,\nthe better to conceal its approaches, death lurks under the very\nnames we give to life: infancy changes into boyhood, maturity\nswallows up the boy, old age the man; these stages themselves, if\nyou reckon them properly, are so many losses.\n\nXXII. Do you complain, Marcia, that your son did not live as long\nas he might have done? How do you know that it was to his advantage\nto live longer? whether his interest was not served by this death?\nWhom can you find at the present time whose fortunes are grounded\non such sure foundations that they have nothing to fear in the\nfuture? All human affairs are evanescent and perishable, nor is any\npart of our life so frail and liable to accident as that which we\nespecially enjoy. We ought, therefore, to pray for death when our\nfortune is at its best, because so great is the uncertainty and\nturmoil in which we live, that we can be sure of nothing but what\nis past. Think of your son\u2019s handsome person, which you had guarded\nin perfect purity among all the temptations of a voluptuous capital.\nWho could have undertaken to keep that clear of all diseases, so\nthat it might preserve its beauty of form unimpaired even to old\nage? Think of the many taints of the mind: for fine dispositions\ndo not always continue to their life\u2019s end to make good the promise\nof their youth, but have often broken down: either extravagance,\nall the more shameful for being indulged in late in life, takes\npossession of men and makes their well-begun lives end in disgrace,\nor they devote their entire thoughts to the eating-house and the\nbelly, and they become interested in nothing save what they shall\neat and what they shall drink. Add to this conflagrations, falling\nhouses, shipwrecks, the agonizing operations of surgeons, who cut\n{196} pieces of bone out of men\u2019s living bodies, plunge their whole\nhands into their entrails, and inflict more than one kind of pain\nto effect the cure of shameful diseases. After these comes exile;\nyour son was not more innocent than Rutilius: imprisonment; he was\nnot wiser than Socrates: the piercing of one\u2019s breast by a\nself-inflicted wound; he was not of holier life than Cato. When you\nlook at these examples, you will perceive that nature deals very\nkindly with those whom she puts speedily in a place of safety because\nthere awaited them the payment of some such price as this for their\nlives. Nothing is so deceptive, nothing is so treacherous as human\nlife; by Hercules, were it not given to men before they could form\nan opinion, no one would take it. Not to be born, therefore, is the\nhappiest lot of all, and the nearest thing to this, I imagine, is\nthat we should soon finish our strife here and be restored again\nto our former rest. Recall to your mind that time, so painful to\nyou, during which Sejanus handed over your father as a present to\nhis client Satrius Secundus: he was angry with him about something\nor other which he had said with too great freedom, because he was\nnot able to keep silence and see Sejanus climbing up to take his\nseat upon our necks, which would have been bad enough had he been\nplaced there by his master. He was decreed the honour of a statue,\nto be set up in the theatre of Pompeius, which had been burned down\nand was being restored by Caesar. Cordus exclaimed that \u201cNow the\ntheatre was really destroyed.\u201d What then? should he not burst with\nspite at a Sejanus being set up over the ashes of Gnaeus Pompeius,\nat a faithless soldier being commemorated within the memorial of a\nconsummate commander? The inscription was put up:[12] and those\nkeen-scented {197} hounds whom Sejanus used to feed on human blood,\nto make them tame towards himself and fierce to all the world beside,\nbegan to bay around their victim and even to make premature snaps\nat him. What was he to do? If he chose to live, he must gain the\nconsent of Sejanus; if to die, he must gain that of his daughter;\nand neither of them could have been persuaded to grant it: he\ntherefore determined to deceive his daughter, and having taken a\nbath in order to weaken himself still further, he retired to his\nbed-chamber on the pretence of taking a meal there. After dismissing\nhis slaves he threw some of the food out of the window, that he\nmight appear to have eaten it: then he took no supper, making the\nexcuse that he had already had enough food in his chamber. This he\ncontinued to do on the second and the third day: the fourth betrayed\nhis condition by his bodily weakness; so, embracing you, \u201cMy dearest\ndaughter,\u201d said he, \u201cfrom whom I have never throughout your whole\nlife concealed aught but this, I have begun my journey towards\ndeath, and have already travelled half-way thither. You cannot and\nyou ought not to call me back.\u201d So saying he ordered all light to\nbe excluded from the room and shut himself up in the darkness. When\nhis determination became known there was a general feeling of\npleasure at the prey being snatched out of the jaws of those ravening\nwolves. His prosecutors, at the instance of Sejanus, went to the\njudgment-seat of the consuls, complained that Cordus was dying, and\nbegged the consuls to interpose to prevent his doing what they\nthemselves had driven him to do; so true was it that Cordus appeared\nto them to be escaping: an important matter was at stake, namely,\nwhether the accused should lose the right to die. While this point\nwas being debated, and the prosecutors were going to attend the\ncourt a second time, he had set himself free from them. Do you see,\nMarcia, how suddenly evil days come upon a man? {198} and do you\nweep because one of your family could not avoid dying? one of your\nfamily was within a very little of not being allowed to die.\n\nXXIII. Besides the fact that everything that is future is uncertain,\nand the only certainty is that it is more likely to turn out ill\nthan well, our spirits find the path to the Gods above easiest when\nit is soon allowed to leave the society of mankind, because it has\nthen contracted fewest impurities to weigh it down: if set free\nbefore they become hardened worldlings, before earthly things have\nsunk too deep into them, they fly all the more lightly back to the\nplace from whence they came, and all the more easily wash away the\nstains and defilements which they may have contracted. Great minds\nnever love to linger long in the body: they are eager to burst its\nbonds and escape from it, they chafe at the narrowness of their\nprison, having been wont to wander through space, and from aloft\nin the upper air to look down with contempt upon human affairs.\nHence it is that Plato declares that the wise man\u2019s mind is entirely\ngiven up to death, longs for it, contemplates it, and through his\neagerness for it is always striving after things which lie beyond\nthis life. Why, Marcia, when you saw him while yet young displaying\nthe wisdom of age, with a mind that could rise superior to all\nsensual enjoyments, faultless and without a blemish, able to win\nriches without greediness, public office without ambition, pleasure\nwithout extravagance, did you suppose it would long be your lot to\nkeep him safe by your side? Whatever has arrived at perfection, is\nripe for dissolution. Consummate virtue flees away and betakes\nitself out of our sight, and those things which come to maturity\nin the first stage of their being do not wait for the last. The\nbrighter a fire glows, the sooner it goes out: it lasts longer when\nit is made up with bad and slowly burning fuel, and shows a dull\nlight through a cloud of smoke: its being poorly fed {199} makes\nit linger all the longer. So also the more brilliant men\u2019s minds,\nthe shorter lived they are: for when there is no room for further\ngrowth, the end is near. Fabianus tells us, what our parents\nthemselves have seen, that there was at Rome a boy of gigantic\nstature, exceeding that of a man: but he soon died, and every\nsensible person always said that he would soon die, for he could\nnot live to reach the age which he had assumed before it was due.\nSo it is: too complete maturity is a proof that destruction is near,\nand the end approaches when growth is over.\n\nXXIV. Begin to reckon his age, not by years, but by virtues: he\nlived long enough. He was left as a ward in the care of guardians\nup to his fourteenth year, and never passed out of that of his\nmother: when he had a household of his own he was loth to leave\nyours, and continued to dwell under his mother\u2019s roof, though few\nsons can endure to live under their father\u2019s. Though a youth whose\nheight, beauty, and vigour of body destined him for the army, yet\nhe refused to serve, that he might not be separated from you.\nConsider, Marcia, how seldom mothers who live in separate houses\nsee their children: consider how they lose and pass in anxiety all\nthose years during which they have sons in the army, and you will\nsee that this time, none of which you lost, was of considerable\nextent: he never went out of your sight: it was under your eyes\nthat he applied himself to the cultivation of an admirable intellect\nand one which would have rivalled that of his grandfather, had it\nnot been hindered by shyness, which has concealed many men\u2019s\naccomplishments: though a youth of unusual beauty, and living among\nsuch throngs of women who made it their business to seduce men, he\ngratified the wishes of none of them, and when the effrontery of\nsome led them so far as actually to tempt him, he blushed as deeply\nat having found favour in their eyes as though he had been guilty.\nBy this holiness of life he caused himself, while yet quite a {200}\nboy, to be thought worthy of the priesthood, which no doubt he owed\nto his mother\u2019s influence; but even his mother\u2019s influence would\nhave had no weight if the candidate for whom it was exerted had\nbeen unfit for the post. Dwell upon these virtues, and nurse your\nson as it were in your lap: now he is more at leisure to respond\nto your caresses, he has nothing to call him away from you, he will\nnever be an anxiety or a sorrow to you. You have grieved at the\nonly grief so good a son could cause you: all else is beyond the\npower of fortune to harm, and is full of pleasure, if only you know\nhow to make use of your son, if you do but know what his most\nprecious quality was. It is merely the outward semblance of your\nson that has perished, his likeness, and that not a very good one;\nhe himself is immortal, and is now in a far better state, set free\nfrom the burden of all that was not his own, and left simply by\nhimself: all this apparatus which you see about us of bones and\nsinews, this covering of skin, this face, these our servants the\nhands, and all the rest of our environment, are but chains and\ndarkness to the soul: they overwhelm it, choke it, corrupt it, fill\nit with false ideas, and keep it at a distance from its own true\nsphere: it has to struggle continually against this burden of the\nflesh, lest it be dragged down and sunk by it. It ever strives to\nrise up again to the place from whence it was sent down on earth:\nthere eternal rest awaits it, there it will behold what is pure and\nclear, in place of what is foul and turbid.\n\nXXV. You need not, therefore, hasten to the burial-place of your\nson: that which lies there is but the worst part of him and that\nwhich gave him most trouble, only bones and ashes, which are no\nmore parts of him than clothes or other coverings of his body. He\nis complete, and without leaving any part of himself behind on earth\nhas taken wing and gone away altogether: he has tarried a brief\nspace above us while his soul was being cleansed {201} and purified\nfrom the vices and rust which all mortal lives must contract, and\nfrom thence he will rise to the high heavens and join the souls of\nthe blessed: a saintly company will welcome him thither,\u2014Scipios\nand Catos; and among the rest of those who have held life cheap and\nset themselves free, thanks to death, albeit all there are alike\nakin, your father, Marcia, will embrace his grandson as he rejoices\nin the unwonted light, will teach him the motion of the stars which\nare so near to them, and introduce him with joy into all the secrets\nof nature, not by guesswork but by real knowledge. Even as a stranger\nis grateful to one who shows him the way about an unknown city, so\nis a searcher after the causes of what he sees in the heavens to\none of his own family who can explain them to him. He will delight\nin gazing deep down upon the earth, for it is a delight to look\nfrom aloft at what one has left below. Bear yourself, therefore,\nMarcia, as though you were placed before the eyes of your father\nand your son, yet not such as you knew them, but far loftier beings,\nplaced in a higher sphere. Blush, then, to do any mean or common\naction, or to weep for those your relatives who have been changed\nfor the better. Free to roam through the open, boundless realms of\nthe everliving universe, they are not hindered in their course by\nintervening seas, lofty mountains, impassable valleys, or the\ntreacherous fiats of the Syrtes: they find a level path everywhere,\nare swift and ready of motion, and are permeated in their turn by\nthe stars and dwell together with them.\n\nXXVI. Imagine then, Marcia, that your father, whose influence over\nyou was as great as yours over your son, no longer in that frame\nof mind in which he deplored the civil wars, or in which he for\never proscribed those who would have proscribed him, but in a mood\nas much more joyful as his abode now is higher than of old, is\nsaying, as {202} he looks down from the height of heaven, \u201cMy\ndaughter, why does this sorrow possess you for so long? why do you\nlive in such ignorance of the truth, as to think that your son has\nbeen unfairly dealt with because he has returned to his ancestors\nin his prime, without decay of body or mind, leaving his family\nflourishing? Do you not know with what storms Fortune unsettles\neverything? how she proves kind and compliant to none save to those\nwho have the fewest possible dealings with her? Need I remind you\nof kings who would have been the happiest of mortals had death\nsooner withdrawn them from the ruin which was approaching them? or\nof Roman generals, whose greatness, had but a few years been taken\nfrom their lives, would have wanted nothing to render it complete?\nor of men of the highest distinction and noblest birth who have\ncalmly offered their necks to the stroke of a soldier\u2019s sword? Look\nat your father and your grandfather: the former fell into the hands\nof a foreign murderer: I allowed no man to take any liberties with\nme, and by abstinence from food showed that my spirit was as great\nas my writings had represented it. Why, then, should that member\nof our household who died most happily of all be mourned in it the\nlongest? We have all assembled together, and, not being plunged in\nutter darkness, we see that with you on earth there is nothing to\nbe wished for, nothing grand or magnificent, but all is mean, sad,\nanxious, and hardly receives a fractional part of the clear light\nin which we dwell. I need not say that here are no frantic charges\nof rival armies, no fleets shattering one another, no parricides,\nactual or meditated, no courts where men babble over lawsuits for\ndays together, here is nothing underhand, all hearts and minds are\nopen and unveiled, our life is public and known to all, and that\nwe command a view of all time and of things to come. I used to take\npleasure in compiling the history of what took place in one century\namong {203} a few people in the most out-of-the-way corner of the\nworld: here I enjoy the spectacle of all the centuries, the whole\nchain of events from age to age as long as years have been. I may\nview kingdoms when they rise and when they fall, and behold the\nruin of cities and the new channels made by the sea. If it will be\nany consolation to you in your bereavement to know that it is the\ncommon lot of all, be assured that nothing will continue to stand\nin the place in which it now stands, but that time will lay everything\nlow and bear it away with itself: it will sport, not only with\nmen\u2014for how small a part are they of the dominion of Fortune? \u2014but\nwith districts, provinces, quarters of the world: it will efface\nentire mountains, and in other places will pile new rocks on high:\nit will dry up seas, change the course of rivers, destroy the\nintercourse of nation with nation, and break up the communion and\nfellowship of the human race: in other regions it will swallow up\ncities by opening vast chasms in the earth, will shake them with\nearthquakes, will breathe forth pestilence from the nether world,\ncover all habitable ground with inundations and destroy every\ncreature in the flooded world, or burn up all mortals by a huge\nconflagration. When the time shall arrive for the world to be brought\nto an end, that it may begin its life anew, all the forces of nature\nwill perish in conflict with one another, the stars will be dashed\ntogether, and all the lights which now gleam in regular order in\nvarious parts of the sky will then blaze in one fire with all their\nfuel burning at once. Then we also, the souls of the blest and the\nheirs of eternal life, whenever God thinks fit to reconstruct the\nuniverse, when all things are settling down again, we also, being\na small accessory to the universal wreck,[13] shall be changed into\nour old elements. Happy is your son, Marcia, in that he already\nknows this.\u201d\n\n\n[1] See Merivale\u2019s \u201cHistory of the Romans under the Empire,\u201d ch.\nxlv.\n\n[2] If it is a pain to dwell upon the thought of lost friends, of\ncourse you do not continually refresh the memory of them by speaking\nof them.\n\n[3] See my note on _invidiam facere alicui_ in Juv. 15.\u2014J. E. B.\nMayor.\n\n[4] Koch declares that this cannot be the true reading, and suggests\n_deminutio_, \u2018degradation.\u2019\n\n[5] This seems to have been part of the ceremony of dedication.\nPulvillus was dedicating the Temple of Jupiter in the Capitol. See\nLivy, ii. 8; Cic. Pro Domo, paragraph cxxi.\n\n[6] Lucius Aemilius Paullus conquered Perses, the last King of\nMacedonia, B.C. 168.\n\n[7] \u201cFor he had four sons, two, as has been already related, adopted\ninto other families, Scipio and Fabius; and two others, who were\nstill children, by his second wife, who lived in his own house. Of\nthese, one died five days before Aemilius\u2019s triumph, at the age of\nfourteen, and the other, twelve years old, died three days after\nit: so that there was no Roman that did not grieve for him,\u201d\n&c.\u2014Plutarch, \u201cLife of Aemilius,\u201d ch. xxxv.\n\n[8] A. U. C. 695, B.C 59.\n\n[9] Virg. Ae. III. 418.\n\n[10] See Mayor\u2019s note on Juv. i., and above, c. 16, \u00a74.\n\n[11] Lipsius points out that this idea is borrowed from the comic\npoet Antiphanes. See Meineke\u2019s \u201cComic Fragments,\u201d p. 3.\n\n[12] This I believe to be the meaning of the text, but Koch reasonably\nconjectures that the true reading is \u201ceditur subscriptio,\u201d \u201can\nindictment was made out against him.\u201d See \u201cOn Benefits,\u201d iii. 26.\n\n[13] _Ruinae_; Koch\u2019s _urinae_ is a misprint.\n\n\n\n\n{204}\n\nTHE SEVENTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED\nTO GALLIO.\n\nOF A HAPPY LIFE.\n\n\nI. All men, brother Gallio, wish to live happily, but are dull at\nperceiving exactly what it is that makes life happy: and so far is\nit from being easy to attain to happiness that the more eagerly a\nman struggles to reach it the further he departs from it, if he\ntakes the wrong road; for, since this leads in the opposite direction,\nhis very swiftness carries him all the further away. We must therefore\nfirst define clearly what it is at which we aim: next we must\nconsider by what path we may most speedily reach it, for on our\njourney itself, provided it be made in the right direction, we shall\nlearn how much progress we have made each day, and how much nearer\nwe are to the goal towards which our natural desires urge us. But\nas long as we wander at random, not following any guide except the\nshouts and discordant clamours of those who invite us to proceed\nin different directions, our short life will be wasted in useless\nroamings, even if we labour both day and night to get a good\nunderstanding. Let us not therefore decide whither we must tend,\nand by what path, without the advice of some experienced person who\nhas explored the region which we are about to enter, because this\n{205} journey is not subject to the same conditions as others; for\nin them some distinctly understood track and inquiries made of the\nnatives make it impossible for us to go wrong, but here the most\nbeaten and frequented tracks are those which lead us most astray.\nNothing, therefore, is more important than that we should not, like\nsheep, follow the flock that has gone before us, and thus proceed\nnot whither we ought, but whither the rest are going. Now nothing\ngets us into greater troubles than our subservience to common rumour,\nand our habit of thinking that those things are best which are most\ngenerally received as such, of taking many counterfeits for truly\ngood things, and of living not by reason but by imitation of others.\nThis is the cause of those great heaps into which men rush till\nthey are piled one upon another. In a great crush of people, when\nthe crowd presses upon itself, no one can fall without drawing some\none else down upon him, and those who go before cause the destruction\nof those who follow them. You may observe the same thing in human\nlife: no one can merely go wrong by himself, but he must become\nboth the cause and adviser of another\u2019s wrongdoing. It is harmful\nto follow the march of those who go before us, and since every one\nhad rather believe another than form his own opinion, we never pass\na deliberate judgment upon life, but some traditional error always\nentangles us and brings us to ruin, and we perish because we follow\nother men\u2019s examples: we should be cured of this if we were to\ndisengage ourselves from the herd; but as it is, the mob is ready\nto fight against reason in defence of its own mistake. Consequently\nthe same thing happens as at elections, where, when the fickle\nbreeze of popular favour has veered round, those who have been\nchosen consuls and praetors are viewed with admiration by the very\nmen who made them so. That we should all approve and disapprove of\nthe same things is the end of every {206} decision which is given\naccording to the voice of the majority.\n\nII. When we are considering a happy life, you cannot answer me as\nthough after a division of the House, \u201cThis view has most supporters;\u201d\nbecause for that very reason it is the worse of the two: matters\ndo not stand so well with mankind that the majority should prefer\nthe better course: the more people do a thing the worse it is likely\nto be. Let us therefore inquire, not what is most commonly done,\nbut what is best for us to do, and what will establish us in the\npossession of undying happiness, not what is approved of by the\nvulgar, the worst possible exponents of truth. By \u201cthe vulgar\u201d I\nmean both those who wear woollen cloaks and those who wear crowns;[1]\nfor I do not regard the colour of the clothes with which they are\ncovered: I do not trust my eyes to tell me what a man is: I have a\nbetter and more trustworthy light by which I can distinguish what\nis true from what is false: let the mind find out what is good for\nthe mind. If a man ever allows his mind some breathing space and\nhas leisure for communing with himself, what truths he will confess\nto himself, after having been put to the torture by his own self!\nHe will say, \u201cWhatever I have hitherto done I wish were undone:\nwhen I think over what I have said, I envy dumb people: whatever I\nhave longed for seems to have been what my enemies would pray might\nbefall me: good heaven, how far more endurable what I have feared\nseems to be than what I have lusted after. I have been at enmity\nwith many men, and have changed my dislike of them into friendship,\nif friendship can exist between bad men: yet I have not yet become\nreconciled to myself. I have striven with all my strength to raise\nmyself above the {207} common herd, and to make myself remarkable\nfor some talent: what have I effected save to make myself a mark\nfor the arrows of my enemies, and show those who hate me where to\nwound me? Do you see those who praise your eloquence, who covet\nyour wealth, who court your favour, or who vaunt your power? All\nthese either are, or, which comes to the same thing, may be your\nenemies: the number of those who envy you is as great as that of\nthose who admire you; why do I not rather seek for some good thing\nwhich I can use and feel, not one which I can show? these good\nthings which men gaze at in wonder, which they crowd to see, which\none points out to another with speechless admiration, are outwardly\nbrilliant, but within are miseries to those who possess them.\u201d\n\nIII. Let us seek for some blessing, which does not merely look fine,\nbut is sound and good throughout alike, and most beautiful in the\nparts which are least seen: let us unearth this. It is not far\ndistant from us; it can be discovered: all that is necessary is to\nknow whither to stretch out your hand: but, as it is, we behave as\nthough we were in the dark, and reach out beyond what is nearest\nto us, striking as we do so against the very things that we want.\nHowever, that I may not draw you into digressions, I will pass over\nthe opinions of other philosophers, because it would take a long\ntime to state and confute them all: take ours. When, however, I say\n\u201cours,\u201d I do not bind myself to any one of the chiefs of the Stoic\nschool, for I too have a right to form my own opinion. I shall,\ntherefore, follow the authority of some of them, but shall ask some\nothers to discriminate their meaning:[2] perhaps, when after having\n{208} reported all their opinions, I am asked for my own, I shall\nimpugn none of my predecessors\u2019 decisions, and shall say, \u201cI will\nalso add somewhat to them.\u201d Meanwhile I follow nature, which is a\npoint upon which every one of the Stoic philosophers are agreed:\ntrue wisdom consists in not departing from nature and in moulding\nour conduct according to her laws and model. A happy life, therefore,\nis one which is in accordance with its own nature, and cannot be\nbrought about unless in the first place the mind be sound and remain\nso without interruption, and next, be bold and vigorous, enduring\nall things with most admirable courage, suited to the times in which\nit lives, careful of the body and its appurtenances, yet not\ntroublesomely careful. It must also set due value upon all the\nthings which adorn our lives, without over-estimating any one of\nthem, and must be able to enjoy the bounty of Fortune without\nbecoming her slave. You understand without my mentioning it that\nan unbroken calm and freedom ensue, when we have driven away all\nthose things which either excite us or alarm us: for in the place\nof sensual pleasures and those slight perishable matters which are\nconnected with the basest crimes, we thus gain an immense, unchangeable,\nequable joy, together with peace, calmness and greatness of mind,\nand kindliness: for all savageness is a sign of weakness.\n\nIV. Our highest good may also be defined otherwise, that is to say,\nthe same idea may be expressed in different language. Just as the\nsame army may at one time be extended more widely, at another\ncontracted into a smaller compass, and may either be curved towards\nthe wings by a depression in the line of the centre, or drawn up\nin a straight line, while, in whatever figure it be arrayed, its\n{209} strength and loyalty remain unchanged; so also our definition\nof the highest good may in some cases be expressed diffusely and\nat great length, while in others it is put into a short and concise\nform. Thus, it will come to the same thing, if I say \u201cThe highest\ngood is a mind which despises the accidents of fortune, and takes\npleasure in virtue\u201d: or, \u201cIt is an unconquerable strength of mind,\nknowing the world well, gentle in its dealings, showing great\ncourtesy and consideration for those with whom it is brought into\ncontact.\u201d Or we may choose to define it by calling that man happy\nwho knows good and bad only in the form of good or bad minds: who\nworships honour, and is satisfied with his own virtue, who is neither\npuffed up by good fortune nor cast down by evil fortune, who knows\nno other good than that which he is able to bestow upon himself,\nwhose real pleasure lies in despising pleasures. If you choose to\npursue this digression further, you can put this same idea into\nmany other forms, without impairing or weakening its meaning: for\nwhat prevents our saying that a happy life consists in a mind which\nis free, upright, undaunted, and steadfast, beyond the influence\nof fear or desire, which thinks nothing good except honour, and\nnothing bad except shame, and regards everything else as a mass of\nmean details which can neither add anything to nor take anything\naway from the happiness of life, but which come and go without\neither increasing or diminishing the highest good? A man of these\nprinciples, whether he will or no, must be accompanied by a continual\ncheerfulness, a high happiness, which comes indeed from on high\nbecause he delights in what he has, and desires no greater pleasures\nthan those which his home affords. Is he not right in allowing these\nto turn the scale against petty, ridiculous, and shortlived movements\nof his wretched body? on the day on which he becomes proof against\npleasure he also becomes proof against pain. See, on the other hand,\nhow {210} evil and guilty a slavery the man is forced to serve who\nis dominated in turn by pleasures and pains, those most untrustworthy\nand passionate of masters. We must, therefore, escape from them\ninto freedom. This nothing will bestow upon us save contempt of\nFortune: but if we attain to this, then there will dawn upon us\nthose invaluable blessings, the repose of a mind that is at rest\nin a safe haven, its lofty imaginings, its great and steady delight\nat casting out errors and learning to know the truth, its courtesy,\nand its cheerfulness, in all of which we shall take delight, not\nregarding them as good things, but as proceeding from the proper\ngood of man.\n\nV. Since I have begun to make my definitions without a too strict\nadherence to the letter, a man may be called \u201chappy\u201d who, thanks\nto reason, has ceased either to hope or to fear: but rocks also\nfeel neither fear nor sadness, nor do cattle, yet no one would call\nthose things happy which cannot comprehend what happiness is. With\nthem you may class men whose dull nature and want of self-knowledge\nreduces them to the level of cattle, mere animals: there is no\ndifference between the one and the other, because the latter have\nno reason, while the former have only a corrupted form of it, crooked\nand cunning to their own hurt. For no one can be styled happy who\nis beyond the influence of truth: and consequently a happy life is\nunchangeable, and is founded upon a true and trustworthy discernment;\nfor the mind is uncontaminated and freed from all evils only when\nit is able to escape not merely from wounds but also from scratches,\nwhen it will always be able to maintain the position which it has\ntaken up, and defend it even against the angry assaults of Fortune:\nfor with regard to sensual pleasures, though they were to surround\none on every side, and use every means of assault, trying to win\nover the mind by caresses and making trial of every conceivable\nstratagem to attract either our entire selves or {211} our separate\nparts, yet what mortal that retains any traces of human origin would\nwish to be tickled day and night, and, neglecting his mind, to\ndevote himself to bodily enjoyments?\n\nVI. \u201cBut,\u201d says our adversary, \u201cthe mind also will have pleasures\nof its own.\u201d Let it have them, then, and let it sit in judgment\nover luxury and pleasures; let it indulge itself to the full in all\nthose matters which give sensual delights: then let it look back\nupon what it enjoyed before, and with all those faded sensualities\nfresh in its memory let it rejoice and look eagerly forward to those\nother pleasures which it experienced long ago, and intends to\nexperience again, and while the body lies in helpless repletion in\nthe present, let it send its thoughts onward towards the future,\nand take stock of its hopes: all this will make it appear, in my\nopinion, yet more wretched, because it is insanity to choose evil\ninstead of good: now no insane person can be happy, and no one can\nbe sane if he regards what is injurious as the highest good and\nstrives to obtain it. The happy man, therefore, is he who can make\na right judgment in all things: he is happy who in his present\ncircumstances, whatever they may be, is satisfied and on friendly\nterms with the conditions of his life. That man is happy, whose\nreason recommends to him the whole posture of his affairs.\n\nVII. Even those very people who declare the highest good to be in\nthe belly, see what a dishonourable position they have assigned to\nit: and therefore they say that pleasure cannot be parted from\nvirtue, and that no one can either live honourably without living\ncheerfully, nor yet live cheerfully without living honourably. I\ndo not see how these very different matters can have any connexion\nwith one another. What is there, I pray you, to prevent virtue\nexisting apart from pleasure? of course the reason is that all good\nthings derive their origin from virtue, and therefore even those\nthings which you cherish and seek for {212} come originally from\nits roots. Yet, if they were entirely inseparable, we should not\nsee some things to be pleasant, but not honourable, and others most\nhonourable indeed, but hard and only to be attained by suffering.\nAdd to this, that pleasure visits the basest lives, but virtue\ncannot co-exist with an evil life; yet some unhappy people are not\nwithout pleasure, nay, it is owing to pleasure itself that they are\nunhappy; and this could not take place if pleasure had any connexion\nwith virtue, whereas virtue is often without pleasure, and never\nstands in need of it. Why do you put together two things which are\nunlike and even incompatible one with another? virtue is a lofty\nquality, sublime, royal, unconquerable, untiring: pleasure is low,\nslavish, weakly, perishable; its haunts and homes are the brothel\nand the tavern. You will meet virtue in the temple, the market-place,\nthe senate house, manning the walls, covered with dust, sunburnt,\nhorny-handed: you will find pleasure skulking out of sight, seeking\nfor shady nooks at the public baths, hot chambers, and places which\ndread the visits of the aedile, soft, effeminate, reeking of wine\nand perfumes, pale or perhaps painted and made up with cosmetics.\nThe highest good is immortal: it knows no ending, and does not admit\nof either satiety or regret: for a right-thinking mind never alters\nor becomes hateful to itself, nor do the best things ever undergo\nany change: but pleasure dies at the very moment when it charms us\nmost: it has no great scope, and therefore it soon cloys and wearies\nus, and fades away as soon as its first impulse is over: indeed,\nwe cannot depend upon anything whose nature is to change. Consequently\nit is not even possible that there should be any solid substance\nin that which comes and goes so swiftly, and which perishes by the\nvery exercise of its own functions, for it arrives at a point at\nwhich it ceases to be, and even while it is beginning always keeps\nits end in view.\n\n{213}\n\nVIII. What answer are we to make to the reflexion that pleasure\nbelongs to good and bad men alike, and that bad men take as much\ndelight in their shame as good men in noble things? This was why\nthe ancients bade us lead the highest, not the most pleasant life,\nin order that pleasure might not be the guide but the companion of\na right-thinking and honourable mind; for it is Nature whom we ought\nto make our guide: let our reason watch her, and be advised by her.\nTo live happily, then, is the same thing as to live according to\nNature: what this may be, I will explain. If we guard the endowments\nof the body and the advantages of nature with care and fearlessness,\nas things soon to depart and given to us only for a day; if we do\nnot fall under their dominion, nor allow ourselves to become the\nslaves of what is no part of our own being; if we assign to all\nbodily pleasures and external delights the same position which is\nheld by auxiliaries and light-armed troops in a camp; if we make\nthem our servants, not our masters\u2014then and then only are they of\nvalue to our minds. A man should be unbiassed and not to be conquered\nby external things: he ought to admire himself alone, to feel\nconfidence in his own spirit, and so to order his life as to be\nready alike for good or for bad fortune. Let not his confidence be\nwithout knowledge, nor his knowledge without steadfastness: let him\nalways abide by what he has once determined, and let there be no\nerasure in his doctrines. It will be understood, even though I\nappend it not, that such a man will be tranquil and composed in his\ndemeanour, high-minded and courteous in his actions. Let reason be\nencouraged by the senses to seek for the truth, and draw its first\nprinciples from thence: indeed it has no other base of operations\nor place from which to start in pursuit of truth: it must fall back\nupon itself. Even the all-embracing universe and God who is its\nguide extends himself forth into outward things, and yet altogether\nreturns from all sides back to {214} himself. Let our mind do the\nsame thing: when, following its bodily senses it has by means of\nthem sent itself forth into the things of the outward world, let\nit remain still their master and its own. By this means we shall\nobtain a strength and an ability which are united and allied together,\nand shall derive from it that reason which never halts between two\nopinions, nor is dull in forming its perceptions, beliefs, or\nconvictions. Such a mind, when it has ranged itself in order, made\nits various parts agree together, and, if I may so express myself,\nharmonized them, has attained to the highest good: for it has nothing\nevil or hazardous remaining, nothing to shake it or make it stumble:\nit will do everything under the guidance of its own will, and nothing\nunexpected will befal it, but whatever may be done by it will turn\nout well, and that, too, readily and easily, without the doer having\nrecourse to any underhand devices: for slow and hesitating action\nare the signs of discord and want of settled purpose. You may, then,\nboldly declare that the highest good is singleness of mind: for\nwhere agreement and unity are, there must the virtues be: it is the\nvices that are at war one with another.\n\nIX. \u201cBut,\u201d says our adversary, \u201cyou yourself only practise virtue\nbecause you hope to obtain some pleasure from it.\u201d In the first\nplace, even though virtue may afford us pleasure, still we do not\nseek after her on that account: for she does not bestow this, but\nbestows this to boot, nor is this the end for which she labours,\nbut her labour wins this also, although it be directed to another\nend. As in a tilled-field, when ploughed for corn, some flowers are\nfound amongst it, and yet, though these posies may charm the eye,\nall this labour was not spent in order to produce them\u2014the man who\nsowed the field had another object in view, he gained this over and\nabove it\u2014so pleasure is not the reward or the cause of virtue, but\ncomes in addition to it; nor do we choose virtue because she gives\nus pleasure, but {215} she gives us pleasure also if we choose her.\nThe highest good lies in the act of choosing her, and in the attitude\nof the noblest minds, which when once it has fulfilled its function\nand established itself within its own limits has attained to the\nhighest good, and needs nothing more: for there is nothing outside\nof the whole, any more than there is anything beyond the end. You\nare mistaken, therefore, when you ask me what it is on account of\nwhich I seek after virtue: for you are seeking for something above\nthe highest. Do you ask what I seek from virtue? I answer. Herself:\nfor she has nothing better; she is her own reward. Does this not\nappear great enough, when I tell you that the highest good is an\nunyielding strength of mind, wisdom, magnanimity, sound judgment,\nfreedom, harmony, beauty? Do you still ask me for something greater,\nof which these may be regarded as the attributes? Why do you talk\nof pleasures to me? I am seeking to find what is good for man, not\nfor his belly; why, cattle and whales have larger ones than he.\n\nX. \u201cYou purposely misunderstand what I say,\u201d says he, \u201cfor I too\nsay that no one can live pleasantly unless he lives honorably also,\nand this cannot be the case with dumb animals who measure the extent\nof their happiness by that of their food. I loudly and publicly\nproclaim that what I call a pleasant life cannot exist without the\naddition of virtue.\u201d Yet who does not know that the greatest fools\ndrink the deepest of those pleasures of yours? or that vice is full\nof enjoyments, and that the mind itself suggests to itself many\nperverted, vicious forms of pleasure?\u2014in the first place arrogance,\nexcessive self-esteem, swaggering precedence over other men, a\nshortsighted, nay, a blind devotion to his own interests, dissolute\nluxury, excessive delight springing from the most trifling and\nchildish causes, and also talkativeness, pride that takes a pleasure\nin insulting others, sloth, and the decay of a dull mind which goes\nto sleep over itself. All these are dissipated by virtue, which\nplucks a {216} man by the ear, and measures the value of pleasures\nbefore she permits them to be used; nor does she set much store by\nthose which she allows to pass current, for she merely allows their\nuse, and her cheerfulness is not due to her use of them, but to her\nmoderation in using them. \u201cYet when moderation lessens pleasure,\nit impairs the highest good.\u201d You devote yourself to pleasures, I\ncheck them; you indulge in pleasure, I use it; you think that it\nis the highest good, I do not even think it to be good: for the\nsake of pleasure I do nothing, you do everything.\n\nXI. When I say that I do nothing for the sake of pleasure, I allude\nto that wise man, whom alone you admit to be capable of pleasure:\nnow I do not call a man wise who is overcome by anything, let alone\nby pleasure: yet, if engrossed by pleasure, how will he resist toil,\ndanger, want, and all the ills which surround and threaten the life\nof man? How will he bear the sight of death or of pain? How will\nhe endure the tumult of the world, and make head against so many\nmost active foes, if he be conquered by so effeminate an antagonist?\nHe will do whatever pleasure advises him: well, do you not see how\nmany things it will advise him to do? \u201cIt will not,\u201d says our\nadversary, \u201cbe able to give him any bad advice, because it is\ncombined with virtue?\u201d Again, do you not see what a poor kind of\nhighest good that must be which requires a guardian to ensure its\nbeing good at all? and how is virtue to rule pleasure if she follows\nit, seeing that to follow is the duty of a subordinate, to rule\nthat of a commander? do you put that which commands in the background?\nAccording to your school, virtue has the dignified office of\npreliminary taster of pleasures. We shall, however, see whether\nvirtue still remains virtue among those who treat her with such\ncontempt, for if she leaves her proper station she can no longer\nkeep her proper name: in the meanwhile, to keep to the point, I\nwill show you many men beset by pleasures, {217} men upon whom\nFortune has showered all her gifts, whom you must needs admit to\nbe bad men. Look at Nomentanus and Apicius, who digest all the good\nthings, as they call them, of the sea and land, and review upon\ntheir tables the whole animal kingdom. Look at them as they lie on\nbeds of roses gloating over their banquet, delighting their ears\nwith music, their eyes with exhibitions, their palates with flavours:\ntheir whole bodies are titillated with soft and soothing applications,\nand lest even their nostrils should be idle, the very place in\nwhich, they solemnize[3] the rites of luxury is scented with various\nperfumes. You will say that these men live in the midst of pleasures.\nYet they are ill at ease, because they take pleasure in what is not\ngood.\n\nXII. \u201cThey are ill at ease,\u201d replies he, \u201cbecause many things arise\nwhich distract their thoughts, and their minds are disquieted by\nconflicting opinions.\u201d I admit that this is true: still these very\nmen, foolish, inconsistent, and certain to feel remorse as they\nare, do nevertheless receive great pleasure, and we must allow that\nin so doing they are as far from feeling any trouble as they are\nfrom forming a right judgment, and that, as is the case with many\npeople, they are possessed by a merry madness, and laugh while they\nrave. The pleasures of wise men, on the other hand, are mild,\ndecorous, verging on dulness, kept under restraint and scarcely\nnoticeable, and are neither invited to come nor received with honour\nwhen they come of their own accord, nor are they welcomed with any\ndelight by those whom they visit, who mix them up with their lives\nand fill up empty spaces with them, like an amusing farce in the\nintervals of serious business. Let them no longer, then, join\nincongruous matters together, or connect pleasure with {218} virtue,\na mistake whereby they court the worst of men. The reckless profligate,\nalways in liquor and belching out the fumes of wine, believes that\nhe lives with virtue, because he knows that he lives with pleasure,\nfor he hears it said that pleasure cannot exist apart from virtue;\nconsequently he dubs his vices with the title of wisdom and parades\nall that he ought to conceal. So, men are not encouraged by Epicurus\nto run riot, but the vicious hide their excesses in the lap of\nphilosophy, and flock to the schools in which they hear the praises\nof pleasure. They do not consider how sober and temperate\u2014for so,\nby Hercules, I believe it to be\u2014that \u201cpleasure\u201d of Epicurus is, but\nthey rush at his mere name, seeking to obtain some protection and\ncloak for their vices. They lose, therefore, the one virtue which\ntheir evil life possessed, that of being ashamed of doing wrong:\nfor they praise what they used to blush at, and boast of their\nvices. Thus modesty can never reassert itself, when shameful idleness\nis dignified with an honourable name. The reason why that praise\nwhich your school lavishes upon pleasure is so hurtful, is because\nthe honourable part of its teaching passes unnoticed, but the\ndegrading part is seen by all.\n\nXIII. I myself believe, though my Stoic comrades would be unwilling\nto hear me say so, that the teaching of Epicurus was upright and\nholy, and even, if you examine it narrowly, stern: for this much\ntalked of pleasure is reduced to a very narrow compass, and he bids\npleasure submit to the same law which we bid virtue do\u2014I mean, to\nobey nature. Luxury, however, is not satisfied with what is enough\nfor nature. What is the consequence? Whoever thinks that happiness\nconsists in lazy sloth, and alternations of gluttony and profligacy,\nrequires a good patron for a bad action, and when he has become an\nEpicurean, having been led to do so by the attractive name of that\nschool, he follows, not the pleasure which he there hears {219}\nspoken of, but that which he brought thither with him, and, haying\nlearned to think that his vices coincide with the maxims of that\nphilosophy, he indulges in them no longer timidly and in dark\ncorners, but boldly in the face of day. I will not, therefore, like\nmost of our school, say that the sect of Epicurus is the teacher\nof crime, but what I say is: it is ill spoken of, it has a bad\nreputation, and yet it does not deserve it. \u201cWho can know this\nwithout having been admitted to its inner mysteries?\u201d Its very\noutside gives opportunity for scandal, and encourages men\u2019s baser\ndesires: it is like a brave man dressed in a woman\u2019s gown: your\nchastity is assured, your manhood is safe, your body is submitted\nto nothing disgraceful, but your hand holds a drum (like a priest\nof Cybele). Choose, then, some honourable superscription for your\nschool, some writing which shall in itself arouse the mind: that\nwhich at present stands over your door has been invented by the\nvices. He who ranges himself on the side of virtue gives thereby a\nproof of a noble disposition: he who follows pleasure appears to\nbe weakly, worn out, degrading his manhood, likely to fall into\ninfamous vices unless someone discriminates his pleasures for him,\nso that he may know which remain within the bounds of natural desire,\nwhich are frantic and boundless, and become all the more insatiable\nthe more they are satisfied. But come! let virtue lead the way:\nthen every step will be safe. Too much pleasure is hurtful: but\nwith virtue we need fear no excess of any kind, because moderation\nis contained in virtue herself. That which is injured by its own\nextent cannot be a good thing: besides, what better guide can there\nbe than reason for beings endowed with a reasoning nature? so if\nthis combination pleases you, if you are willing to proceed to a\nhappy life thus accompanied, let virtue lead the way, let pleasure\nfollow and hang about the body like a shadow: it is the part of a\nmind incapable of great things to hand {220} over virtue, the highest\nof all qualities, as a handmaid to pleasure.\n\nXIV. Let virtue lead the way and bear the standard: we shall have\npleasure for all that, but we shall be her masters and controllers;\nshe may win some concessions from us, but will not force us to do\nanything. On the contrary, those who have permitted pleasure to\nlead the van, have neither one nor the other: for they lose virtue\naltogether, and yet they do not possess pleasure, but are possessed\nby it, and are either tortured by its absence or choked by its\nexcess, being wretched if deserted by it, and yet more wretched if\noverwhelmed by it, like those who are caught in the shoals of the\nSyrtes and at one time are left on dry ground and at another tossed\non the flowing waves. This arises from an exaggerated want of\nself-control, and a hidden love of evil: for it is dangerous for\none who seeks after evil instead of good to attain his object. As\nwe hunt wild beasts with toil and peril, and even when they are\ncaught find them an anxious possession, for they often tear their\nkeepers to pieces, even so are great pleasures: they turn out to\nbe great evils and take their owners prisoner. The more numerous\nand the greater they are, the more inferior and the slave of more\nmasters does that man become whom the vulgar call a happy man. I\nmay even press this analogy further: as the man who tracks wild\nanimals to their lairs, and who sets great store on\u2014\n\n \u201cSeeking with snares the wandering brutes to noose,\u201d\n\nand\n\n \u201cMaking their hounds the spacious glade surround,\u201d\n\nthat he may follow their tracks, neglects far more desirable things,\nand leaves many duties unfulfilled, so he who pursues pleasure\npostpones everything to it, disregards that first essential, liberty,\nand sacrifices it to his belly; nor does he buy pleasure for himself,\nbut sells himself to pleasure.\n\n{221}\n\nXV. \u201cBut what,\u201d asks our adversary, \u201cis there to hinder virtue and\npleasure being combined together, and a highest good being thus\nformed, so that honour and pleasure may be the same thing?\u201d Because\nnothing except what is honourable can form a part of honour, and\nthe highest good would lose its purity if it were to see within\nitself anything unlike its own better part. Even the joy which\narises from virtue, although it be a good thing, yet is not a part\nof absolute good, any more than cheerfulness or peace of mind, which\nare indeed good things, but which merely follow the highest good,\nand do not contribute to its perfection, although they are generated\nby the noblest causes. Whoever on the other hand forms an alliance,\nand that, too, a one-sided one, between virtue and pleasure, clogs\nwhatever strength the one may possess by the weakness of the other,\nand sends liberty under the yoke, for liberty can only remain\nunconquered as long as she knows nothing more valuable than herself:\nfor he begins to need the help of Fortune, which is the most utter\nslavery: his life becomes anxious, full of suspicion, timorous,\nfearful of accidents, waiting in agony for critical moments of time.\nYou do not afford virtue a solid immoveable base if you bid it stand\non what is unsteady: and what can be so unsteady as dependence on\nmere chance, and the vicissitudes of the body and of those things\nwhich act on the body? How can such a man obey God and receive\neverything which comes to pass in a cheerful spirit, never complaining\nof fate, and putting a good construction upon everything that befalls\nhim, if he be agitated by the petty pin-pricks of pleasures and\npains? A man cannot be a good protector of his country, a good\navenger of her wrongs, or a good defender of his friends, if he be\ninclined to pleasures. Let the highest good, then, rise to that\nheight from whence no force can dislodge it, whither neither pain\ncan ascend, nor hope, nor fear, nor anything else that can {222}\nimpair the authority of the \u201chighest good.\u201d Thither virtue alone\ncan make her way: by her aid that hill must be climbed: she will\nbravely stand her ground and endure whatever may befal her not only\nresignedly, but even willingly: she will know that all hard times\ncome in obedience to natural laws, and like a good soldier she will\nbear wounds, count scars, and when transfixed and dying will yet\nadore the general for whom she falls: she will bear in mind the old\nmaxim \u201cFollow God.\u201d On the other hand, he who grumbles and complains\nand bemoans himself is nevertheless forcibly obliged to obey orders,\nand is dragged away, however much against his will, to carry them\nout: yet what madness is it to be dragged rather than to follow?\nas great, by Hercules, as it is folly and ignorance of one\u2019s true\nposition to grieve because one has not got something or because\nsomething has caused us rough treatment, or to be surprised or\nindignant at those ills which befall good men as well as bad ones,\nI mean diseases, deaths, illnesses, and the other cross accidents\nof human life. Let us bear with magnanimity whatever the system of\nthe universe makes it needful for us to bear: we are all bound by\nthis oath: \u201cTo bear the ills of mortal life, and to submit with a\ngood grace to what we cannot avoid.\u201d We have been born into a\nmonarchy: our liberty is to obey God.\n\nXVI. True happiness, therefore, consists in virtue: and what will\nthis virtue bid you do? Not to think anything bad or good which is\nconnected neither with virtue nor with wickedness: and in the next\nplace, both to endure unmoved the assaults of evil, and, as far as\nis right, to form a god out of what is good. What reward does she\npromise you for this campaign? an enormous one, and one that raises\nyou to the level of the gods: you shall be subject to no restraint\nand to no want; you shall be free, safe, unhurt; you shall fail in\nnothing that you attempt; you shall be debarred from nothing;\neverything shall turn out according {223} to your wish; no misfortune\nshall befal you; nothing shall happen to you except what you expect\nand hope for. \u201cWhat! does virtue alone suffice to make you happy?\u201d\nwhy, of course, consummate and god-like virtue such as this not\nonly suffices, but more than suffices: for when a man is placed\nbeyond the reach of any desire, what can he possibly lack? if all\nthat he needs is concentred in himself, how can he require anything\nfrom without? He, however, who is only on the road to virtue,\nalthough he may have made great progress along it, nevertheless\nneeds some favour from fortune while he is still struggling among\nmere human interests, while he is untying that knot, and all the\nbonds which bind him to mortality. What, then, is the difference\nbetween them? it is that some are tied more or less tightly by these\nbonds, and some have even tied themselves with them as well; whereas\nhe who has made progress towards the upper regions and raised himself\nupwards drags a looser chain, and though not yet free, is yet as\ngood as free.\n\nXVII. If, therefore, any one of those dogs who yelp at philosophy\nwere to say, as they are wont to do, \u201cWhy, then, do you talk so\nmuch more bravely than you live? why do you check your words in the\npresence of your superiors, and consider money to be a necessary\nimplement? why are you disturbed when you sustain losses, and weep\non hearing of the death of your wife or your friend? why do you pay\nregard to common rumour, and feel annoyed by calumnious gossip? why\nis your estate more elaborately kept than its natural use requires?\nwhy do you not dine according to your own maxims? why is your\nfurniture smarter than it need be? why do you drink wine that is\nolder than yourself? why are your grounds laid out? why do you plant\ntrees which afford nothing except shade? why does your wife wear\nin her ears the price of a rich man\u2019s house? why are your children\nat school dressed in costly {224} clothes? why is it a science to\nwait upon you at table? why is your silver plate not set down anyhow\nor at random, but skilfully disposed in regular order, with a\nsuperintendent to preside over the carving of the viands?\u201d Add to\nthis, if you like, the questions \u201cWhy do you own property beyond\nthe seas? why do you own more than you know of? it is a shame to\nyou not to know your slaves by sight: for you must be very neglectful\nof them if you only own a few, or very extravagant if you have too\nmany for your memory to retain.\u201d I will add some reproaches afterwards,\nand will bring more accusations against myself than you think of:\nfor the present I will make you the following answer. \u201cI am not a\nwise man, and I will not be one in order to feed your spite: so do\nnot require me to be on a level with the best of men, but merely\nto be better than the worst: I am satisfied, if every day I take\naway something from my vices and correct my faults. I have not\narrived at perfect soundness of mind, indeed, I never shall arrive\nat it: I compound palliatives rather than remedies for my gout, and\nam satisfied if it comes at rarer intervals and does not shoot so\npainfully. Compared with your feet, which are lame, I am a racer.\u201d\nI make this speech, not on my own behalf, for I am steeped in vices\nof every kind, but on behalf of one who has made some progress in\nvirtue.\n\nXVIII. \u201cYou talk one way,\u201d objects our adversary, \u201cand live another.\u201d\nYou most spiteful of creatures, you who always show the bitterest\nhatred to the best of men, this reproach was flung at Plato, at\nEpicurus, at Zeno: for all these declared how they ought to live,\nnot how they did live. I speak of virtue, not of myself, and when\nI blame vices, I blame my own first of all: when I have the power,\nI shall live as I ought to do: spite, however deeply steeped in\nvenom, shall not keep me back from what is best: that poison itself\nwith which you bespatter others, with which you choke yourselves,\nshall not hinder me from continuing {225} to praise that life which\nI do not, indeed, lead, but which I know I ought to lead, from\nloving virtue and from following after her, albeit a long way behind\nher and with halting gait. Am I to expect that evil speaking will\nrespect anything, seeing that it respected neither Rutilius nor\nCato? Will any one care about being thought too rich by men for\nwhom Diogenes the Cynic was not poor enough? That most energetic\nphilosopher fought against all the desires of the body, and was\npoorer even than the other Cynics, in that besides haying given up\npossessing anything he had also given up asking for anything: yet\nthey reproached him for not being sufficiently in want: as though\nforsooth it were poverty, not virtue, of which he professed knowledge.\n\nXIX. They say that Diodorus, the Epicurean philosopher, who within\nthese last few days put an end to his life with his own hand, did\nnot act according to the precepts of Epicurus, in cutting his throat:\nsome choose to regard this act as the result of madness, others of\nrecklessness; he, meanwhile, happy and filled with the consciousness\nof his own goodness, has borne testimony to himself by his manner\nof departing from life, has commended the repose of a life spent\nat anchor in a safe harbour, and has said what you do not like to\nhear, because you too ought to do it:\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve lived, I\u2019ve run the race which Fortune set me.\u201d\n\nYou argue about the life and death of another, and yelp at the name\nof men whom some peculiarly noble quality has rendered great, just\nas tiny curs do at the approach of strangers: for it is to your\ninterest that no one should appear to be good, as if virtue in\nanother were a reproach to all your crimes. You enviously compare\nthe glories of others with your own dirty actions, and do not\nunderstand how greatly to your disadvantage it is to venture to do\nso: for if they who follow after virtue be greedy, lustful, {226}\nand fond of power, what must you be, who hate the very name of\nvirtue? You say that no one acts up to his professions, or lives\naccording to the standard which he sets up in his discourses: what\nwonder, seeing that the words which they speak are brave, gigantic,\nand able to weather all the storms which wreck mankind, whereas\nthey themselves are struggling to tear themselves away from crosses\ninto which each one of you is driving his own nail. Yet men who are\ncrucified hang from one single pole, but these who punish themselves\nare divided between as many crosses as they have lusts, but yet are\ngiven to evil speaking, and are so magnificent in their contempt\nof the vices of others that I should suppose that they had none of\ntheir own, were it not that some criminals when on the gibbet spit\nupon the spectators.\n\nXX. \u201cPhilosophers do not carry into effect all that they teach.\u201d\nNo; but they effect much good by their teaching, by the noble\nthoughts which they conceive in their minds: would, indeed, that\nthey could act up to their talk: what could be happier than they\nwould be? but in the meanwhile you have no right to despise good\nsayings and hearts full of good thoughts. Men deserve praise for\nengaging in profitable studies, even though they stop short of\nproducing any results. Why need we wonder if those who begin to\nclimb a steep path do not succeed in ascending it very high? yet,\nif you be a man, look with respect on those who attempt great things,\neven though they fall. It is the act of a generous spirit to\nproportion its efforts not to its own strength but to that of human\nnature, to entertain lofty aims, and to conceive plans which are\ntoo vast to be carried into execution even by those who are endowed\nwith gigantic intellects, who appoint for themselves the following\nrules: I will look upon death or upon a comedy with the same\nexpression of countenance: I will submit to labours, however great\nthey may be, supporting {227} the strength of my body by that of\nmy mind: I will despise riches when I have them as much as when I\nhave them not; if they be elsewhere I will not be more gloomy, if\nthey sparkle around me I will not be more lively than I should\notherwise be: whether Fortune comes or goes I will take no notice\nof her: I will view all lands as though they belong to me, and my\nown as though they belonged to all mankind: I will so live as to\nremember that I was born for others, and will thank Nature on this\naccount: for in what fashion could she have done better for me? she\nhas given me alone to all, and all to me alone. Whatever I may\npossess, I will neither hoard it greedily nor squander it recklessly.\nI will think that I have no possessions so real as those which I\nhave given away to deserving people: I will not reckon benefits by\ntheir magnitude or number, or by anything except the value set upon\nthem by the receiver: I never will consider a gift to be a large\none if it be bestowed upon a worthy object. I will do nothing because\nof public opinion, but everything because of conscience: whenever\nI do anything alone by myself I will believe that the eyes of the\nRoman people are upon me while I do it. In eating and drinking my\nobject shall be to quench the desires of Nature, not to fill and\nempty my belly. I will be agreeable with my friends, gentle and\nmild to my foes: I will grant pardon before I am asked for it, and\nwill meet the wishes of honourable men half way: I will bear in\nmind that the world is my native city, that its governors are the\ngods, and that they stand above and around me, criticizing whatever\nI do or say. Whenever either Nature demands my breath again, or\nreason bids me dismiss it, I will quit this life, calling all to\nwitness that I have loved a good conscience, and good pursuits;\nthat no one\u2019s freedom, my own least of all, has been impaired through\nme.\u201d He who sets up these as the rules of his life will soar aloft\nand strive to make his way to the gods: of a truth, even though he\nfails, yet he {228}\n\n \u201cFails in a high emprise.\u201d[4]\n\nBut you, who hate both virtue and those who practise it, do nothing\nat which we need be surprised, for sickly lights cannot bear the\nsun, nocturnal creatures avoid the brightness of day, and at its\nfirst dawning become bewildered and all betake themselves to their\ndens together: creatures that fear the light hide themselves in\ncrevices. So croak away, and exercise your miserable tongues in\nreproaching good men: open wide your jaws, bite hard: you will break\nmany teeth before you make any impression.\n\nXXI. \u201cBut how is it that this man studies philosophy and nevertheless\nlives the life of a rich man? Why does he say that wealth ought to\nbe despised and yet possess it? that life should be despised, and\nyet live? that health should be despised, and yet guard it with the\nutmost care, and wish it to be as good as possible? Does he consider\nbanishment to be an empty name, and say, \u201cWhat evil is there in\nchanging one country for another?\u201d and yet, if permitted, does he\nnot grow old in his native land? does he declare that there is no\ndifference between a longer and a shorter time, and yet, if he be\nnot prevented, lengthen out his life and flourish in a green old\nage?\u201d His answer is, that these things ought to be despised, not\nthat he should not possess them, but that he should not possess\nthem with fear and trembling: he does not drive them away from him,\nbut when they leave him he follows after them unconcernedly. Where,\nindeed, can fortune invest riches more securely than in a place\nfrom whence they can always be recovered without any squabble with\ntheir trustee? Marcus Cato, when he was praising Curius and Coruncanius\nand that century in which the possession of a few small silver coins\nwere an offence which was punished by the Censor, himself owned\nfour million sesterces; a less fortune no {229} doubt, than that\nof Crassus, but larger than of Cato the Censor. If the amounts be\ncompared, he had outstripped his great-grandfather further than he\nhimself was outdone by Crassus, and if still greater riches had\nfallen to his lot, he would not have spurned them: for the wise man\ndoes not think himself unworthy of any chance presents: he does not\nlove riches, but he prefers to have them; he does not receive them\ninto his spirit, but only into his house: nor does he cast away\nfrom him what he already possesses, but keeps them, and is willing\nthat his virtue should receive a larger subject-matter for its\nexercise.\n\nXXII. Who can doubt, however, that the wise man, if he is rich, has\na wider field for the development of his powers than if he is poor,\nseeing that in the latter case the only virtue which he can display\nis that of neither being perverted nor crushed by his poverty,\nwhereas if he has riches, he will have a wide field for the exhibition\nof temperance, generosity, laboriousness, methodical arrangement,\nand grandeur. The wise man will not despise himself, however short\nof stature he may be, but nevertheless he will wish to be tall:\neven though he be feeble and one-eyed he may be in good health, yet\nhe would prefer to have bodily strength, and that too, while he\nknows all the while that he has something which is even more powerful:\nhe will endure illness, and will hope for good health: for some\nthings, though they may be trifles compared with the sum total, and\nthough they may be taken away without destroying the chief good,\nyet add somewhat to that constant cheerfulness which arises from\nvirtue. Riches encourage and brighten up such a man just as a sailor\nis delighted at a favourable wind that bears him on his way, or as\npeople feel pleasure at a fine day or at a sunny spot in the cold\nweather. What wise man, I mean of our school, whose only good is\nvirtue, can deny that even these matters which we call neither good\nnor bad have in themselves a {230} certain value, and that some of\nthem are preferable to others? to some of them we show a certain\namount of respect, and to some a great deal. Do not, then, make any\nmistake: riches belong to the class of desirable things. \u201cWhy then,\u201d\nsay you, \u201cdo you laugh at me, since you place them in the same\nposition that I do?\u201d Do you wish to know how different the position\nis in which we place them? If my riches leave me, they will carry\naway with them nothing except themselves: you will be bewildered\nand will seem to be left without yourself if they should pass away\nfrom you: with me riches occupy a certain place, but with you they\noccupy the highest place of all. In fine, my riches belong to me,\nyou belong to your riches.\n\nXXIII. Cease, then, forbidding philosophers to possess money: no\none has condemned wisdom to poverty. The philosopher may own ample\nwealth, but will not own wealth that which has been torn from\nanother, or which is stained with another\u2019s blood: his must be\nobtained without wronging any man, and without its being won by\nbase means; it must be alike honourably come by and honourably\nspent, and must be such as spite alone could shake its head at.\nRaise it to whatever figure you please, it will still be an honourable\npossession, if, while it includes much which every man would like\nto call his own, there be nothing which any one can say is his own.\nSuch a man will not forfeit his right to the favour of Fortune, and\nwill neither boast of his inheritance nor blush for it if it was\nhonourably acquired: yet he will have something to boast of, if he\nthrow his house open, let all his countrymen come among his property,\nand say, \u201cIf any one recognizes here anything belonging to him, let\nhim take it.\u201d What a great man, how excellently rich will he be,\nif after this speech he possesses as much as he had before! I say,\nthen, that if he can safely and confidently submit his accounts to\nthe scrutiny of the people, and no one can find {231} in them any\nitem upon which he can lay hands, such a man may boldly and\nunconcealedly enjoy his riches. The wise man will not allow a single\nill-won penny to cross his threshold: yet he will not refuse or\nclose his door against great riches, if they are the gift of fortune\nand the product of virtue: what reason has he for grudging them\ngood quarters: let them come and be his guests: he will neither\nbrag of them nor hide them away: the one is the part of a silly,\nthe other of a cowardly and paltry spirit, which, as it were, muffles\nup a good thing in its lap. Neither will he, as I said before, turn\nthem out of his house: for what will he say? will he say, \u201cYou are\nuseless,\u201d or \u201cI do not know how to use riches?\u201d As he is capable\nof performing a journey upon his own feet, but yet would prefer to\nmount a carriage, just so he will be capable of being poor, yet\nwill wish to be rich; he will own wealth, but will view it as an\nuncertain possession which will some day fly away from him. He will\nnot allow it to be a burden either to himself or to any one else:\nhe will give it\u2014why do you prick up your ears? why do you open your\npockets?\u2014he will give it either to good men or to those whom it may\nmake into good men. He will give it after having taken the utmost\npains to choose those who are fittest to receive it, as becomes one\nwho bears in mind that he ought to give an account of what he spends\nas well as of what he receives. He will give for good and commendable\nreasons, for a gift ill bestowed counts as a shameful loss: he will\nhave an easily opened pocket, but not one with a hole in it, so\nthat much may be taken out of it, yet nothing may fall out of it.\n\nXXIV. He who believes giving to be an easy matter, is mistaken: it\noffers very great difficulties, if we bestow our bounty rationally,\nand do not scatter it impulsively and at random. I do this man a\nservice, I requite a good turn done me by that one: I help this\nother, because I pity him: this man, again, I teach to be no fit\nobject for poverty to {232} hold down or degrade. I shall not give\nsome men anything, although they are in want, because, even if I\ndo give to them they will still be in want: I shall proffer my\nbounty to some, and shall forcibly thrust it upon others: I cannot\nbe neglecting my own interests while I am doing this: at no time\ndo I make more people in my debt than when I am giving things away.\n\u201cWhat?\u201d say you, \u201cdo you give that you may receive again?\u201d At any\nrate I do not give that I may throw my bounty away: what I give\nshould be so placed that although I cannot ask for its return, yet\nit may be given back to me. A benefit should be invested in the\nsame manner as a treasure buried deep in the earth, which you would\nnot dig up unless actually obliged. Why, what opportunities of\nconferring benefits the mere house of a rich man affords? for who\nconsiders generous behaviour due only to those who wear the toga?\nNature bids me do good to mankind\u2014what difference does it make\nwhether they be slaves or freemen, free-born or emancipated, whether\ntheir freedom be legally acquired or betowed by arrangement among\nfriends? Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity\nfor a benefit: consequently, money may be distributed even within\none\u2019s own threshold, and a field may be found there for the practice\nof freehandedness, which is not so called because it is our duty\ntowards free men, but because it takes its rise in a free-born mind.\nIn the case of the wise man, this never falls upon base and unworthy\nrecipients, and never becomes so exhausted as not, whenever it finds\na worthy object, to flow as if its store was undiminished. You have,\ntherefore, no grounds for misunderstanding the honourable, brave,\nand spirited language which you hear from those who are studying\nwisdom: and first of all observe this, that a student of wisdom is\nnot the same thing as a man who has made himself perfect in wisdom.\nThe former will say to you, \u201cIn my talk I express the most admirable\nsentiments, {233} yet I am still weltering amid countless ills.\nYou must not force me to act up to my rules: at the present time I\nam forming myself, moulding my character, and striving to rise\nmyself to the height of a great example. If I should ever succeed\nin carrying out all that I have set myself to accomplish, you may\nthen demand that my words and deeds should correspond,\u201d But he who\nhas reached the summit of human perfection will deal otherwise with\nyou, and will say, \u201cIn the first place, you have no business to\nallow yourself to sit in judgment upon your betters:\u201d I have already\nobtained one proof of my righteousness in having become an object\nof dislike to bad men: however, to make you a rational answer, which\nI grudge to no man, listen to what I declare, and at what price I\nvalue all things. Riches, I say, are not a good thing; for if they\nwere, they would make men good: now since that which is found even\namong bad men cannot be termed good, I do not allow them to be\ncalled so: nevertheless I admit that they are desirable and useful\nand contribute great comforts to our lives.\n\nXXV. Learn, then, since we both agree that they are desirable, what\nmy reason is amongst counting them among good things, and in what\nrespects I should behave differently to you if I possessed them.\nPlace me as master in the house of a very rich man: place me where\ngold and silver plate is used for the commonest purposes; I shall\nnot think more of myself because of things which even though they\nare in my house are yet no part of me. Take me away to the wooden\nbridge[5] and put me down there among the beggars: I shall not\ndespise myself because I am sitting among those who hold out their\nhands for alms: for what can the lack of a piece of bread matter\nto one {234} who does not lack the power of dying? Well, then? I\nprefer the magnificent house to the beggar\u2019s bridge. Place me among\nmagnificent furniture and all the appliances of luxury: I shall not\nthink myself any happier because my cloak is soft, because my guests\nrest upon purple. Change the scene: I shall be no more miserable\nif my weary head rests upon a bundle of hay, if I lie upon a cushion\nfrom the circus, with all the stuffing on the point of coming out\nthrough its patches of threadbare cloth. Well, then? I prefer, as\nfar as my feelings go, to show myself in public dressed in woollen\nand in robes of office, rather than with naked or half-covered\nshoulders: I should like every day\u2019s business to turn out just as\nI wish it to do, and new congratulations to be constantly following\nupon the former ones: yet I will not pride myself upon this: change\nall this good fortune for its opposite, let my spirit be distracted\nby losses, grief, various kinds of attacks: let no hour pass without\nsome dispute: I shall not on this account, though beset by the\ngreatest miseries, call myself the most miserable of beings, nor\nshall I curse any particular day, for I have taken care to have no\nunlucky days. What, then, is the upshot of all this? it is that I\nprefer to have to regulate joys than to stifle sorrows. The great\nSocrates would say the same thing to you. \u201cMake me,\u201d he would say,\n\u201cthe conqueror of all nations: let the voluptuous car of Bacchus\nbear me in triumph to Thebes from the rising of the sun: let the\nkings of the Persians receive laws from me: yet I shall feel myself\nto be a man at the very moment when all around salute me as a God.\nStraightway connect this lofty height with a headlong fall into\nmisfortune: let me be placed upon a foreign chariot that I may grace\nthe triumph of a proud and savage conqueror: I will follow another\u2019s\ncar with no more humility than I showed when I stood in my own.\nWhat then? In spite of all this, I had rather be a conqueror than\na captive. I despise the whole {235} dominion of Fortune, but still,\nif I were given my choice, I would choose its better parts. I shall\nmake whatever befals me become a good thing, but I prefer that what\nbefals me should be comfortable and pleasant and unlikely to cause\nme annoyance: for you need not suppose that any virtue exists without\nlabour, but some virtues need spurs, while others need the curb.\nAs we have to check our body on a downward path, and to urge it to\nclimb a steep one; so also the path of some virtues leads down hill,\nthat of others uphill. Can we doubt that patience, courage, constancy,\nand all the other virtues which have to meet strong opposition, and\nto trample Fortune under their feet, are climbing, struggling,\nwinning their way up a steep ascent? Why! is it not equally evident\nthat generosity, moderation, and gentleness glide easily downhill?\nWith the latter we must hold in our spirit, lest it run away with\nus: with the former we must urge and spur it on. We ought, therefore,\nto apply these energetic, combative virtues to poverty, and to\nriches those other more thrifty ones which trip lightly along, and\nmerely support their own weight. This being the distinction between\nthem, I would rather have to deal with those which I could practise\nin comparative quiet, than those of which one can only make trial\nthrough blood and sweat. \u201cWherefore,\u201d says the sage, \u201cI do not talk\none way and live another: but you do not rightly understand what I\nsay: the sound of my words alone reaches your ears, you do not try\nto find out their meaning.\u201d\n\nXXVI. \u201cWhat difference, then, is there between me, who am a fool,\nand you, who are a wise man?\u201d \u201cAll the difference in the world: for\nriches are slaves in the house of a wise man, but masters in that\nof a fool. You accustom yourself to them and cling to them as if\nsomebody had promised that they should be yours for ever, but a\nwise man never thinks so much about poverty as when he is surrounded\nby riches. No general ever trusts so implicitly in {236} the\nmaintenance of peace as not to make himself ready for a war, which,\nthough it may not actually be waged, has nevertheless been declared;\nyou are rendered over-proud by a fine house, as though it could\nnever be burned or fall down, and your heads are turned by riches\nas though they were beyond the reach of all dangers and were so\ngreat that Fortune has not sufficient strength to swallow them up.\nYou sit idly playing with your wealth and do not foresee the perils\nin store for it, as savages generally do when besieged, for, not\nunderstanding the use of siege artillery, they look on idly at the\nlabours of the besiegers and do not understand the object of the\nmachines which they are putting together at a distance: and this\nis exactly what happens to you: you go to sleep over your property,\nand never reflect how many misfortunes loom menacingly around you\non all sides, and soon will plunder you of costly spoils, but if\none takes away riches from the wise man, one leaves him still in\npossession of all that is his: for he lives happy in the present,\nand without fear for the future. The great Socrates, or any one\nelse who had the same superiority to and power to withstand the\nthings of this life, would say, \u2018I have no more fixed principle\nthan that of not altering the course of my life to suit your\nprejudices: you may pour your accustomed talk upon me from all\nsides: I shall not think that you are abusing me, but that you are\nmerely wailing like poor little babies.\u2019\u201d This is what the man will\nsay who possesses wisdom, whose mind, being free from vices, bids\nhim reproach others, not because he hates them, but in order to\nimprove them: and to this he will add, \u201cYour opinion of me affects\nme with pain, not for my own sake but for yours, because to hate\nperfection and to assail virtue is in itself a resignation of all\nhope of doing well. You do me no harm; neither do men harm the gods\nwhen they overthrow their altars: but it is clear that your intention\nis an evil one and that you will wish to do harm even {237} where\nyou are not able. I bear with your prating in the same spirit in\nwhich Jupiter, best and greatest, bears with the idle tales of the\npoets, one of whom represents him with wings, another with horns,\nanother as an adulterer staying out all night, another is dealing\nharshly with the gods, another as unjust to men, another as the\nseducer of noble youths whom he carries off by force, and those,\ntoo, his own relatives, another as a parricide and the conqueror\nof another\u2019s kingdom, and that his father\u2019s. The only result of\nsuch tales is that men feel less shame at committing sin if they\nbelieve the gods to be guilty of such actions. But although this\nconduct of yours does not hurt me, yet, for your own sakes, I advise\nyou, respect virtue: believe those who having long followed her cry\naloud that what they follow is a thing of might, and daily appears\nmightier. Reverence her as you would the gods, and reverence her\nfollowers as you would the priests of the gods: and whenever any\nmention of sacred writings is made, _favete linguis_, favour us\nwith silence: this word is not derived, as most people imagine,\nfrom _favour_, but commands silence, that divine service may be\nperformed without being interrupted by any words of evil omen. It\nis much more necessary that you should be ordered to do this, in\norder that whenever utterance is made by that oracle, you may listen\nto it with attention and in silence. Whenever any one beats a\nsistrum,[6] pretending to do so by divine command, any proficient\nin grazing his own skin covers his arms and shoulders with blood\nfrom light cuts, any one crawls on his knees howling along the\nstreet, or any old man clad in linen comes forth in daylight with\na lamp and laurel branch and cries out that one of the gods is\nangry, you crowd round him and listen to his words, and each increases\nthe {238} other\u2019s wonderment by declaring him to be divinely inspired.\n\nXXVII. Behold! from that prison of his, which by entering he cleansed\nfrom shame and rendered more honourable than any senate house,\nSocrates addresses you, saying: \u201cWhat is this madness of yours?\nwhat is this disposition, at war alike with gods and men, which\nleads you to calumniate virtue and to outrage holiness with malicious\naccusations? Praise good men, if you are able: if not, pass them\nby in silence: if indeed you take pleasure in this offensive\nabusiveness, fall foul of one another: for when you rave against\nHeaven, I do not say that you commit sacrilege, but you waste your\ntime. I once afforded Aristophanes with the subject of a jest: since\nthen all the crew of comic poets have made me a mark for their\nenvenomed wit: my virtue has been made to shine more brightly by\nthe very blows which have been aimed at it, for it is to its advantage\nto be brought before the public and exposed to temptation, nor do\nany people understand its greatness more than those who by their\nassaults have made trial of its strength. The hardness of flint is\nknown to none so well as to those who strike it. I offer myself to\nall attacks, like some lonely rock in a shallow sea, which the waves\nnever cease to beat upon from whatever quarter they may come, but\nwhich they cannot thereby move from its place nor yet wear away,\nfor however many years they may unceasingly dash against it. Bound\nupon me, rush upon me, I will overcome you by enduring your onset:\nwhatever strikes against that which is firm and unconquerable merely\ninjures itself by its own violence. Wherefore, seek some soft and\nyielding object to pierce with your darts. But have you leisure to\npeer into other men\u2019s evil deeds and to sit in judgment upon anybody?\nto ask how it is that this philosopher has so roomy a house, or\nthat one so good a dinner? Do you look at other people\u2019s pimples\nwhile you {239} yourselves are covered with countless ulcers? This\nis as though one who was eaten up by the mange were to point with\nscorn at the moles and warts on the bodies of the handsomest men.\nReproach Plato with having sought for money, reproach Aristotle\nwith having obtained it, Democritus with having disregarded it,\nEpicurus with having spent it: cast Phaedrus and Alcibiades in my\nown teeth, you who reach the height of enjoyment whenever you get\nan opportunity of imitating our vices! Why do you not rather cast\nyour eyes around yourselves at the ills which tear you to pieces\non every side, some attacking you from without, some burning in\nyour own bosoms? However little you know your own place, mankind\nhas not yet come to such a pass that you can have leisure to wag\nyour tongues to the reproach of your betters.\n\nXXVIII. This you do not understand, and you bear a countenance which\ndoes not befit your condition, like many men who sit in the circus\nor the theatre without having learned that their home is already\nin mourning: but I, looking forward from a lofty standpoint, can\nsee what storms are either threatening you, and will burst in\ntorrents upon you somewhat later, or are close upon you and on the\npoint of sweeping away all that you possess. Why, though you are\nhardly aware of it, is there not a whirling hurricane at this moment\nspinning round and confusing your minds, making them seek and avoid\nthe very same things, now raising them aloft and now dashing them\nbelow? . . . . . .\u201d\n\n\n[1] Lipsius\u2019s conjecture, \u201cthose who are dressed in white as well\nas those who are dressed in coloured clothes,\u2019 alluding to the white\nrobes of candidates for office, seems reasonable.\n\n[2] The Latin words are literally \u201cto divide\u201d their vote, that is,\n\u201cto separate things of different kinds comprised in a single vote\nso that they might be voted for separately.\u201d\u2014Andrews.\n\nS\u00e9neque fait allusion ici \u00e0 une coutume pratiqu\u00e9e dans les assembl\u00e9es\ndu S\u00e9nat; et il nous I\u2019explique lui-m\u00eame ailleurs d\u2019un mani\u00e8re tr\u00e8s\nclaire: \u201cSi quelqu\u2019un dans le S\u00e9nat,\u201d dit il, \u201couvre un avis, dont\nune partie me convienne, je le somme de la detacher du reste, et\nj\u2019y adh\u00e8re.\u201d\u2014_Ep_. 21, La Grange.\n\n[3] _Parentatur_ seems to mean where an offering is made to luxury\u2014\nwhere they sacrifice to luxury. Perfumes were used at funerals.\nLipsius suggests that these feasts were like funerals because the\nguests were carried away from them dead drunk.\n\n[4] The quotation is from the epitaph on Phaeton.\u2014See _Ovid_, Met.\nII, 327.\n\n[5] The \u201cPons Sublicius,\u201d or \u201cpile bridge,\u201d was built over the Tiber\nby Ancus Martius, one of the early kings of Rome, and was always\nkept in repair out of a superstitious feeling.\n\n[6] _Sistrum_. A metallic rattle used by the Egyptians in celebrating\nthe rites of Isis, &c.\u2014Andrews.\n\n\n\n\n{240}\n\nTHE EIGHTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED\nTO SERENUS.\n\nOF LEISURE.\n\n\nI. . . . . why do they with great unanimity recommend vices to us?\neven though we attempt nothing else that would do us good, yet\nretirement in itself will be beneficial to us: we shall be better\nmen when taken singly\u2014and if so, what an advantage it will be to\nretire into the society of the best of men, and to choose some\nexample by which we may guide our lives! This cannot be done without\nleisure: with leisure we can carry out that which we have once for\nall decided to be best, when there is no one to interfere with us\nand with the help of the mob pervert our as yet feeble judgment:\nwith leisure only can life, which we distract by aiming at the most\nincompatible objects, flow on in a single gentle stream. Indeed,\nthe worst of our various ills is that we change our very vices, and\nso we have not even the advantage of dealing with a well-known form\nof evil: we take pleasure first in one and then in another, and\nare, besides, troubled by the fact that our opinions are not only\nwrong, but lightly formed; we toss as it were on waves, and clutch\nat one thing after another: we let go what we just now sought for,\nand {241} strive to recover what we have let go. We oscillate between\ndesire and remorse, for we depend entirely upon the opinions of\nothers, and it is that which many people praise and seek after, not\nthat which deserves to be praised and sought after, which we consider\nto be best. Nor do we take any heed of whether our road be good or\nbad in itself, but we value it by the number of footprints upon it,\namong which there are none of any who have returned. You will say\nto me, \u201cSeneca, what are you doing? do you desert your party? I am\nsure that our Stoic philosophers say we must be in motion up to the\nvery end of our life, we will never cease to labour for the general\ngood; to help individual people, and when stricken in years to\nafford assistance even to our enemies. We are the sect that gives\nno discharge for any number of years\u2019 service, and in the words of\nthe most eloquent of poets:\u2014\n\n \u2018We wear the helmet when our locks are grey.\u2019[1]\n\nWe are they who are so far from indulging in any leisure until we\ndie, that if circumstances permit it, we do not allow ourselves to\nbe at leisure even when we are dying. Why do you preach the maxims\nof Epicurus in the very headquarters of Zeno? nay, if you are ashamed\nof your party, why do you not go openly altogether over to the enemy\nrather than betray your own side?\u201d I will answer this question\nstraightway: What more can you wish than that I should imitate my\nleaders? What then follows? I shall go whither they lead me, not\nwhither they send me.\n\nII. Now I will prove to you that I am not deserting the {242} tenets\nof the Stoics: for they themselves have not deserted them: and yet\nI should be able to plead a very good excuse even if I did follow,\nnot their precepts, but their examples. I shall divide what I am\nabout to say into two parts: first, that a man may from the very\nbeginning of his life give himself up entirely to the contemplation\nof truth; secondly, that a man when he has already completed his\nterm of service, has the best of rights, that of his shattered\nhealth, to do this, and that he may then apply his mind to other\nstudies after the manner of the Vestal virgins, who allot different\nduties to different years, first learn how to perform the sacred\nrites, and when they have learned them teach others.\n\nIII. I will show that this is approved of by the Stoics also, not\nthat I have laid any commandment upon myself to do nothing contrary\nto the teaching of Zeno and Chrysippus, but because the matter\nitself allows me to follow the precepts of those men; for if one\nalways follows the precepts of one man, one ceases to be a debater\nand becomes a partizan. Would that all things were already known,\nthat truth were unveiled and recognized, and that none of our\ndoctrines required modification! but as it is we have to seek for\ntruth in the company of the very men who teach it. The two sects\nof Epicureans and Stoics differ widely in most respects, and on\nthis point among the rest, nevertheless, each of them consigns us\nto leisure, although by a different road. Epicurus says, \u201cThe wise\nman will not take part in politics, except upon some special\noccasion;\u201d Zeno says, \u201cThe wise man will take part in politics,\nunless prevented by some special circumstance.\u201d The one makes it\nhis aim in life to seek for leisure, the other seeks it only when\nhe has reasons for so doing: but this word \u201creasons\u201d has a wide\nsignification. If the state is so rotten as to be past helping, if\nevil has entire dominion over it, the wise man will not labour in\nvain or waste his strength in unprofitable {243} efforts. Should\nhe be deficient in influence or bodily strength, if the state refuse\nto submit to his guidance, if his health stand in the way, then he\nwill not attempt a journey for which he is unfit, just as he would\nnot put to sea in a worn-out ship, or enlist in the army if he were\nan invalid. Consequently, one who has not yet suffered either in\nhealth or fortune has the right, before encountering any storms,\nto establish himself in safety, and thenceforth to devote himself\nto honourable industry and inviolate leisure, and the service of\nthose virtues which can be practised even by those who pass the\nquietest of lives. The duty of a man is to be useful to his fellow-men;\nif possible, to be useful to many of them; failing this, to be\nuseful to a few; failing this, to be useful to his neighbours, and,\nfailing them, to himself: for when he helps others, he advances the\ngeneral interests of mankind. Just as he who makes himself a worse\nman does harm not only to himself but to all those to whom he might\nhave done good if he had made himself a better one, so he who\ndeserves well of himself does good to others by the very fact that\nhe is preparing what will be of service to them.\n\nIV. Let us grasp the fact that there are two republics, one vast\nand truly \u201cpublic,\u201d which contains alike gods and men, in which we\ndo not take account of this or that nook of land, but make the\nboundaries of our state reach as far as the rays of the sun: and\nanother to which we have been assigned by the accident of birth.\nThis may be that of the Athenians or Carthaginians, or of any other\ncity which does not belong to all men but to some especial ones.\nSome men serve both of these states, the greater and the lesser,\nat the same time; some serve only the lesser, some only the greater.\nWe can serve the greater commonwealth even when we are at leisure;\nindeed I am not sure that we cannot serve it better when we are at\nleisure to inquire into what virtue is, and whether it be one or\nmany: {244} whether it be nature or art that makes men good: whether\nthat which contains the earth and sea and all that in them is be\none, or whether God has placed therein many bodies of the same\nspecies: whether that out of which all things are made be continuous\nand solid, or containing interstices and alternate empty and full\nspaces: whether God idly looks on at His handiwork, or directs its\ncourse: whether He is without and around the world, or whether He\npervades its entire surface: whether the world be immortal, or\ndoomed to decay and belonging to the class of things which are born\nonly for a time? What service does he who meditates upon these\nquestions render to God? He prevents these His great works having\nno one to witness them.\n\nV. We have a habit of saying that the highest good is to live\naccording to nature: now nature has produced us for both purposes,\nfor contemplation and for action. Let us now prove what we said\nbefore: nay, who will not think this proved if he bethinks himself\nhow great a passion he has for discovering the unknown? how vehemently\nhis curiosity is roused by every kind of romantic tale. Some men\nmake long voyages and undergo the toils of journeying to distant\nlands for no reward except that of discovering something hidden and\nremote. This is what draws people to public shows, and causes them\nto pry into everything that is closed, to puzzle out everything\nthat is secret, to clear up points of antiquity, and to listen to\ntales of the customs of savage nations. Nature has bestowed upon\nus an inquiring disposition, and being well aware of her own skill\nand beauty, has produced us to be spectators of her vast works,\nbecause she would lose all the fruits of her labour if she were to\nexhibit such vast and noble works of such complex construction, so\nbright and beautiful in so many ways, to solitude alone. That you\nmay be sure that she wishes to be gazed upon, not merely looked at,\nsee what a place she has assigned to us: she has placed us in {245}\nthe middle of herself and given us a prospect all around. She has\nnot only set man erect upon his feet, but also with a view to making\nit easy for him to watch the heavens, she has raised his head on\nhigh and connected it with a pliant neck, in order that he might\nfollow the course of the stars from their rising to their setting,\nand move his face round with the whole heaven. Moreover, by carrying\nsix constellations across the sky by day, and six by night, she\ndisplays every part of herself in such a manner that by what she\nbrings before man\u2019s eyes she renders him eager to see the rest also.\nFor we have not beheld all things, nor yet the true extent of them,\nbut our eyesight does but open to itself the right path for research,\nand lay the foundation, from which our speculations may pass from\nwhat is obvious to what is less known, and find out something more\nancient than the world itself, from whence those stars came forth:\ninquire what was the condition of the universe before each of its\nelements were separated from the general mass: on what principle\nits confused and blended parts were divided: who assigned their\nplaces to things, whether it was by their own nature that what was\nheavy sunk downwards, and what was light flew upwards, or whether\nbesides the stress and weight of bodies some higher power gave laws\nto each of them: whether that greatest proof that the spirit of man\nis divine be true, the theory, namely, that some parts and as it\nwere sparks of the stars have fallen down upon earth and stuck there\nin a foreign substance. Our thought bursts through the battlements\nof heaven, and is not satisfied with knowing only what is shown to\nus: \u201cI investigate,\u201d it says, \u201cthat which lies without the world,\nwhether it be a bottomless abyss, or whether it also is confined\nwithin boundaries of its own: what the appearance of the things\noutside may be, whether they be shapeless and vague, extending\nequally in every direction, or whether they also are arranged {246}\nin a certain kind of order: whether they are connected with this\nworld of ours, or are widely separated from it and welter about in\nempty space: whether they consist of distinct atoms, of which\neverything that is and that is to be, is made, or whether their\nsubstance is uninterrupted and all of it capable of change: whether\nthe elements are naturally opposed to one another, or whether they\nare not at variance, but work towards the same end by different\nmeans.\u201d Since man was born for such speculations as these, consider\nhow short a time he has been given for them, even supposing that\nhe makes good his claims to the whole of it, allows no part of it\nto be wrested from him through good nature, or to slip away from\nhim through carelessness; though he watches over all his hours with\nmost miserly care, though he live to the extreme confines of human\nexistence, and though misfortune take nothing away from what Nature\nbestowed upon him, even then man is too mortal for the comprehension\nof immortality. I live according to Nature, therefore, if I give\nmyself entirely up to her, and if I admire and reverence her. Nature,\nhowever, intended me to do both, to practise both contemplation and\naction: and I do both, because even contemplation is not devoid of\naction.\n\nVI. \u201cBut,\u201d say you, \u201cit makes a difference whether you adopt the\ncontemplative life for the sake of your own pleasure, demanding\nnothing from it save unbroken contemplation without any result: for\nsuch a life is a sweet one and has attractions of its own.\u201d To this\nI answer you: It makes just as much difference in what spirit you\nlead the life of a public man, whether you are never at rest, and\nnever set apart any time during which you may turn your eyes away\nfrom the things of earth to those of Heaven. It is by no means\ndesirable that one should merely strive to accumulate property\nwithout any love of virtue, or do nothing but hard work without any\ncultivation of the {247} intellect, for these things ought to be\ncombined and blended together; and, similarly, virtue placed in\nleisure without action is but an incomplete and feeble good thing,\nbecause she never displays what she has learned. Who can deny that\nshe ought to test her progress in actual work, and not merely think\nwhat ought to be done, but also sometimes use her hands as well as\nher head, and bring her conceptions into actual being? But if the\nwise man be quite willing to act thus, if it be the things to be\ndone, not the man to do them that are wanting, will you not then\nallow him to live to himself? What is the wise man\u2019s purpose in\ndevoting himself to leisure? He knows that in leisure as well as\nin action he will accomplish something by which he will be of service\nto posterity. Our school at any rate declares that Zeno and Chrysippus\nhave done greater things than they would have done had they been\nin command of armies, or filled high offices, or passed laws: which\nlatter indeed they did pass, though not for one single state, but\nfor the whole human race. How then can it be unbecoming to a good\nman to enjoy a leisure such as this, by whose means he gives laws\nto ages to come, and addresses himself not to a few persons but to\nall men of all nations, both now and hereafter? To sum up the matter,\nI ask you whether Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and Zeno lived in accordance\nwith their doctrine? I am sure that you will answer that they lived\nin the manner in which they taught that men ought to live: yet no\none of them governed a state. \u201cThey had not,\u201d you reply, \u201cthe amount\nof property or social position which as a rule enables people to\ntake part in public affairs.\u201d Yet for all that they did not live\nan idle life: they found the means of making their retirement more\nuseful to mankind than the perspirings and runnings to and fro of\nother men: wherefore these persons are thought to have done great\nthings, in spite of their having done nothing of a public character.\n\n{248}\n\nVII. Morever, there are three kinds of life, and it is a stock\nquestion which of the three is the best: the first is devoted to\npleasure, the second to contemplation, the third to action. First,\nlet us lay aside all disputatiousness and bitterness of feeling,\nwhich, as we have stated, causes those whose paths in life are\ndifferent to hate one another beyond all hope of reconciliation,\nand let us see whether all these three do not come to the same\nthing, although under different names: for neither he who decides\nfor pleasure is without contemplation, nor is he who gives himself\nup to contemplation without pleasure: nor yet is he, whose life is\ndevoted to action, without contemplation. \u201cIt makes,\u201d you say, \u201call\nthe difference in the world, whether a thing is one\u2019s main object\nin life, or whether it be merely an appendage to some other object.\u201d\nI admit that the difference is considerable, nevertheless the one\ndoes not exist apart from the other: the one man cannot live in\ncontemplation without action, nor can the other act without\ncontemplation: and even the third, of whom we all agree in having\na bad opinion, does not approve of passive pleasure, but of that\nwhich he establishes for himself by means of reason: even this\npleasure-seeking sect itself, therefore, practises action also. Of\ncourse it does, since Epicurus himself says that at times he would\nabandon pleasure and actually seek for pain, if he became likely\nto be surfeited with pleasure, or if he thought that by enduring a\nslight pain he might avoid a greater one. With what purpose do I\nstate this? To prove that all men are fond of contemplation. Some\nmake it the object of their lives: to us it is an anchorage, but\nnot a harbour.\n\nVIII. Add to this that, according to the doctrine of Chrysippus, a\nman may live at leisure: I do not say that he ought to endure\nleisure, but that he ought to choose it. Our Stoics say that the\nwise man would not take part in the government of any state. What\ndifference does it {249} make by what path the wise man arrives at\nleisure, whether it be because the state is wanting to him, or he\nis wanting to the state? If the state is to be wanting to all wise\nmen (and it always will be found wanting by refined thinkers), I\nask you, to what state should the wise man betake himself; to that\nof the Athenians, in which Socrates is condemned to death, and from\nwhich Aristotle goes into exile lest he should be condemned to\ndeath? where virtues are borne down by jealousy? You will tell me\nthat no wise man would join such a state. Shall then the wise man\ngo to the commonwealth of the Carthaginians, where faction never\nceases to rage, and liberty is the foe of all the best men, where\njustice and goodness are held of no account, where enemies are\ntreated with inhuman cruelty and natives are treated like enemies:\nhe will flee from this state also. If I were to discuss each one\nseparately, I should not be able to find one which the wise man\ncould endure, or which could endure the wise man. Now if such a\nstate as we have dreamed of cannot be found on earth, it follows\nthat leisure is necessary for every one, because the one thing which\nmight be preferred to leisure is nowhere to be found. If any one\nsays that to sail is the best of things, and then says that we ought\nnot to sail in a sea in which shipwrecks were common occurrences,\nand where sudden storms often arise which drive the pilot back from\nhis course, I should imagine that this man, while speaking in praise\nof sailing, was really forbidding me to unmoor my ship . . . .\n\n\n[1] Virg. \u201cAen.\u201d ix. 612. Compare Sir Walter Scott, \u201cLay of the\nLast Minstrel,\u201d canto iv.:\u2014\n\n \u201cAnd still, in age, he spurned at rest, And still his brows the\n helmet pressed. Albeit the blanched locks below Were white as\n Dinlay\u2019s spotless snow,\u201d &c.\n\n\n\n\n{250}\n\nTHE NINTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO\nSERENUS.\n\nOF PEACE OF MIND.\n\n\nI. [_Serenus._]\n\nWhen I examine myself, Seneca, some vices appear on the surface,\nand so that I can lay my hands upon them, while others are less\ndistinct and harder to reach, and some are not always present, but\nrecur at intervals: and these I should call the most troublesome,\nbeing like a roving enemy that assails one when he sees his\nopportunity, and who will neither let one stand on one\u2019s guard as\nin war, nor yet take one\u2019s rest without fear as in peace. The\nposition in which I find myself more especially (for why should I\nnot tell you the truth as I would to a physician), is that of neither\nbeing thoroughly set free from the vices which I fear and hate, nor\nyet quite in bondage to them: my state of mind, though not the worst\npossible, is a particularly discontented and sulky one: I am neither\nill nor well, It is of no use for you to tell me that all virtues\nare weakly at the outset, and that they acquire strength and solidity\nby time, for I am well aware that even those which do but help our\noutward show, such as grandeur, a reputation for eloquence, and\neverything that appeals to others, gain power by time. Both those\nwhich {251} afford us real strength and those which do but trick\nus out in a more attractive form, require long years before they\ngradually are adapted to us by time. But I fear that custom, which\nconfirms most things, implants this vice more and more deeply in\nme. Long acquaintance with both good and bad people leads one to\nesteem them all alike. What this state of weakness really is, when\nthe mind halts between two opinions without any strong inclination\ntowards either good or evil, I shall be better able to show you\npiecemeal than all at once. I will tell you what befalls me, you\nmust find out the name of the disease. I have to confess the greatest\npossible love of thrift: I do not care for a bed with gorgeous\nhangings, nor for clothes brought out of a chest, or pressed under\nweights and made glossy by frequent manglings, but for common and\ncheap ones, that require no care either to keep them or to put them\non. For food I do not want what needs whole troops of servants to\nprepare it and admire it, nor what is ordered many days before and\nserved up by many hands, but something handy and easily come at,\nwith nothing far-fetched or costly about it, to be had in every\npart of the world, burdensome neither to one\u2019s fortune nor one\u2019s\nbody, not likely to go out of the body by the same path by which\nit came in. I like[1] a rough and unpolished homebred servant, I\nlike my servant born in my house: I like my country-bred father\u2019s\nheavy silver plate stamped with no maker\u2019s name: I do not want a\ntable that is beauteous with dappled spots, or known to all the\ntown by the number of fashionable people to whom it has successively\nbelonged, but one which stands merely for use, and which causes no\nguest\u2019s eye to dwell upon it with pleasure or to kindle at it with\nenvy. While I am well satisfied with this, I am reminded of the\nclothes of a certain schoolboy, dressed with no ordinary care and\nsplendour, of slaves bedecked with gold and a whole regiment {252}\nof glittering attendants. I think of houses too, where one treads\non precious stones, and where valuables lie about in every corner,\nwhere the very roof is brilliantly painted, and a whole nation\nattends and accompanies an inheritance on the road to ruin. What\nshall I say of waters, transparent to the very bottom, which flow\nround the guests, and banquets worthy of the theatre in which they\ntake place? Coming as I do from a long course of dull thrift, I\nfind myself surrounded by the most brilliant luxury, which echoes\naround me on every side: my sight becomes a little dazzled by it:\nI can lift up my heart against it more easily than my eyes. When I\nreturn from seeing it I am a sadder, though not a worse man, I\ncannot walk amid my own paltry possessions with so lofty a step as\nbefore, and silently there steals over me a feeling of vexation,\nand a doubt whether that way of life may not be better than mine.\nNone of these things alter my principles, yet all of them disturb\nme. At one time I would obey the maxims of our school and plunge\ninto public life, I would obtain office and become consul, not\nbecause the purple robe and lictor\u2019s axes attract me, but in order\nthat I may be able to be of use to my friends, my relatives, to all\nmy countrymen, and indeed to all mankind. Ready and determined, I\nfollow the advice of Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus, all of whom\nbid one take part in public affairs, though none of them ever did\nso himself: and then, as soon as something disturbs my mind, which\nis not used to receiving shocks, as soon as something occurs which\nis either disgraceful, such as often occurs in all men\u2019s lives, or\nwhich does not proceed quite easily, or when subjects of very little\nimportance require me to devote a great deal of time to them, I go\nback to my life of leisure, and, just as even tired cattle go faster\nwhen they are going home, I wish to retire and pass my life within\nthe walls of my house. \u201cNo one,\u201d I say, \u201cthat will give me no\ncompensation worth such a loss shall ever {253} rob me of a day.\nLet my mind be contained within itself and improve itself: let it\ntake no part with other men\u2019s affairs, and do nothing which depends\non the approval of others: let me enjoy a tranquillity undisturbed\nby either public or private troubles.\u201d But whenever my spirit is\nroused by reading some brave words, or some noble example spurs me\ninto action, I want to rush into the law courts, to place my voice\nat one man\u2019s disposal, my services at another\u2019s, and to try to help\nhim even though I may not succeed, or to quell the pride of some\nlawyer who is puffed up by ill-deserved success: but I think, by\nHercules, that in philosophical speculation it is better to view\nthings as they are, and to speak of them on their own account, and\nas for words, to trust to things for them, and to let one\u2019s speech\nsimply follow whither they lead. \u201cWhy do you want to construct a\nfabric that will endure for ages? Do you not wish to do this in\norder that posterity may talk of you: yet you were born to die, and\na silent death is the least wretched. Write something therefore in\na simple style, merely to pass the time, for your own use, and not\nfor publication. Less labour is needed when one does not look beyond\nthe present.\u201d Then again, when the mind is elevated by the greatness\nof its thoughts, it becomes ostentatious in its use of words, the\nloftier its aspirations, the more loftily it desires to express\nthem, and its speech rises to the dignity of its subject. At such\ntimes I forget my mild and moderate determination and soar higher\nthan is my wont, using a language that is not my own. Not to multiply\nexamples, I am in all things attended by this weakness of a\nwell-meaning mind, to whose level I fear that I shall be gradually\nbrought down, or, what is even more worrying, that I may always\nhang as though about to fall, and that there may be more the matter\nwith me than I myself perceive: for we take a friendly view of our\nown private affairs, and partiality always obscures our judgment.\n{254} I fancy that many men would have arrived at wisdom had they\nnot believed themselves to have arrived there already, had they not\npurposely deceived themselves as to some parts of their character,\nand passed by others with their eyes shut: for you have no grounds\nfor supposing that other people\u2019s flattery is more ruinous to us\nthan our own. Who dares to tell himself the truth? Who is there,\nby however large a troop of caressing courtiers he may be surrounded,\nwho in spite of them is not his own greatest flatterer? I beg you,\ntherefore, if you have any remedy by which you could stop this\nvacillation of mine, to deem me worthy to owe my peace of mind to\nyou. I am well aware that these oscillations of mind are not perilous\nand that they threaten me with no serious disorder: to express what\nI complain of by an exact simile, I am not suffering from a storm,\nbut from sea-sickness. Take from me, then, this evil, whatever it\nmay be, and help one who is in distress within sight of land.\n\nII. [_Seneca._] I have long been silently asking myself, my friend\nSerenus, to what I should liken such a condition of mind, and I\nfind that nothing more closely resembles it than the conduct of\nthose who, after having recovered from a long and serious illness,\noccasionally experience slight touches and twinges, and, although\nthey have passed through the final stages of the disease, yet have\nsuspicions that it has not left them, and though in perfect health\nyet hold out their pulse to be felt by the physician, and whenever\nthey feel warm suspect that the fever is returning. Such men,\nSerenus, are not unhealthy, but they are not accustomed to being\nhealthy; just as even a quiet sea or lake nevertheless displays a\ncertain amount of ripple when its waters are subsiding after a\nstorm. What you need, therefore, is, not any of those harsher\nremedies to which allusion has been made, not that you should in\nsome cases check yourself, in others be angry with yourself, in\n{255} others sternly reproach yourself, but that you should adopt\nthat which comes last in the list, have confidence in yourself, and\nbelieve that you are proceeding on the right path, without being\nled aside by the numerous divergent tracks of wanderers which cross\nit in every direction, some of them circling about the right path\nitself. What you desire, to be undisturbed, is a great thing, nay,\nthe greatest thing of all, and one which raises a man almost to the\nlevel of a god. The Greeks call this calm steadiness of mind\n_euthymia_, and Democritus\u2019s treatise upon it is excellently written:\nI call it peace of mind: for there is no necessity for translating\nso exactly as to copy the words of the Greek idiom: the essential\npoint is to mark the matter under discussion by a name which ought\nto have the same meaning as its Greek name, though perhaps not the\nsame form. What we are seeking, then, is how the mind may always\npursue a steady, unruffled course, may be pleased with itself, and\nlook with pleasure upon its surroundings, and experience no\ninterruption of this joy, but abide in a peaceful condition without\nbeing ever either elated or depressed: this will be \u201cpeace of mind.\u201d\nLet us now consider in a general way how it may be attained: then\nyou may apply as much as you choose of the universal remedy to your\nown case. Meanwhile we must drag to light the entire disease, and\nthen each one will recognize his own part of it: at the same time\nyou will understand how much less you suffer by your self-depreciation\nthan those who are bound by some showy declaration which they have\nmade, and are oppressed by some grand title of honour, so that shame\nrather than their own free will forces them to keep up the pretence.\nThe same thing applies both to those who suffer from fickleness and\ncontinual changes of purpose, who always are fondest of what they\nhave given up, and those who merely yawn and dawdle: add to these\nthose who, like bad sleepers, turn from side to {256} side, and\nsettle themselves first in one manner and then in another, until\nat last they find rest through sheer weariness: in forming the\nhabits of their lives they often end by adopting some to which they\nare not kept by any dislike of change, but in the practice of which\nold age, which is slow to alter, has caught them living: add also\nthose who are by no means fickle, yet who must thank their dulness,\nnot their consistency for being so, and who go on living not in the\nway they wish, but in the way they have begun to live. There are\nother special forms of this disease without number, but it has but\none effect, that of making people dissatisfied with themselves.\nThis arises from a distemperature of mind and from desires which\none is afraid to express or unable to fulfil, when men either dare\nnot attempt as much as they wish to do, or fail in their efforts\nand depend entirely upon hope: such people are always fickle and\nchangeable, which is a necessary consequence of living in a state\nof suspense: they take any way to arrive at their ends, and teach\nand force themselves to use both dishonourable and difficult means\nto do so, so that when their toil has been in vain they are made\nwretched by the disgrace of failure, and do not regret having longed\nfor what was wrong, but having longed for it in vain. They then\nbegin to feel sorry for what they have done, and afraid to begin\nagain, and their mind falls by degrees into a state of endless\nvacillation, because they can neither command nor obey their passions,\nof hesitation, because their life cannot properly develope itself,\nand of decay, as the mind becomes stupefied by disappointments. All\nthese symptoms become aggravated when their dislike of a laborious\nmisery has driven them to idleness and to secret studies, which are\nunendurable to a mind eager to take part in public affairs, desirous\nof action and naturally restless, because, of course, it finds too\nfew resources within itself: when therefore it loses the amusement\nwhich business itself affords to busy {257} men, it cannot endure\nhome, loneliness, or the walls of a room, and regards itself with\ndislike when left to itself. Hence arises that weariness and\ndissatisfaction with oneself, that tossing to and fro of a mind\nwhich can nowhere find rest, that unhappy and unwilling endurance\nof enforced leisure. In all cases where one feels ashamed to confess\nthe real cause of one\u2019s suffering, and where modesty leads one to\ndrive one\u2019s sufferings inward, the desires pent up in a little space\nwithout any vent choke one another. Hence comes melancholy and\ndrooping of spirit, and a thousand waverings of the unsteadfast\nmind, which is held in suspense by unfulfilled hopes, and saddened\nby disappointed ones: hence comes the state of mind of those who\nloathe their idleness, complain that they have nothing to do, and\nview the progress of others with the bitterest jealousy: for an\nunhappy sloth favours the growth of envy, and men who cannot succeed\nthemselves wish every one else to be ruined. This dislike of other\nmen\u2019s progress and despair of one\u2019s own produces a mind angered\nagainst fortune, addicted to complaining of the age in which it\nlives, to retiring into corners and brooding over its misery, until\nit becomes sick and weary of itself: for the human mind is naturally\nnimble and apt at movement: it delights in every opportunity of\nexcitement and forgetfulness of itself, and the worse a man\u2019s\ndisposition the more he delights in this, because he likes to wear\nhimself out with busy action, just as some sores long for the hands\nthat injure them and delight in being touched, and the foul itch\nenjoys anything that scratches it. Similarly I assure you that these\nminds, over which desires have spread like evil ulcers, take pleasure\nin toils and troubles, for there are some things which please our\nbody while at the same time they give it a certain amount of pain,\nsuch as turning oneself over and changing one\u2019s side before it is\nwearied, or cooling oneself in one position after another. It is\nlike Homer\u2019s Achilles, {258} lying first upon its face, then upon\nits back, placing itself in various attitudes, and, as sick people\nare wont, enduring none of them for long, and using changes as\nthough they were remedies. Hence men undertake aimless wanderings,\ntravel along distant shores, and at one time at sea, at another by\nland, try to soothe that fickleness of disposition which always is\ndissatisfied with the present. \u201cNow let us make for Campania: now\nI am sick of rich cultivation: let us see wild regions, let us\nthread the passes of Bruttii and Lucania: yet amid this wilderness\none wants something of beauty to relieve our pampered eyes after\nso long dwelling on savage wastes: let us seek Tarentum with its\nfamous harbour, its mild winter climate, and its district, rich\nenough to support even the great hordes of ancient times. Let us\nnow return to town: our ears have too long missed its shouts and\nnoise: it would be pleasant also to enjoy the sight of human\nbloodshed.\u201d Thus one journey succeeds another, and one sight is\nchanged for another. As Lucretius says:\u2014\n\n \u201cThus every mortal from himself doth flee;\u201d\n\nbut what does he gain by so doing if he does not escape from himself?\nhe follows himself and weighs himself down by his own most burdensome\ncompanionship. We must understand, therefore, that what we suffer\nfrom is not the fault of the places but of ourselves: we are weak\nwhen there is anything to be endured, and cannot support either\nlabour or pleasure, either one\u2019s own business or any one else\u2019s for\nlong. This has driven some men to death, because by frequently\naltering their purpose they were always brought back to the same\npoint, and had left themselves no room for anything new. They had\nbecome sick of life and of the world itself, and as all indulgences\npalled upon them they began to ask themselves the question, \u201cHow\nlong are we to go on doing the same thing?\u201d\n\n{259}\n\nIII. You ask me what I think we had better make use of to help us\nto support this ennui. \u201cThe best thing,\u201d as Athenodorus says, \u201cis\nto occupy oneself with business with the management of affairs of\nstate and the duties of a citizen: for as some pass the day in\nexercising themselves in the sun and in taking care of their bodily\nhealth, and athletes find it most useful to spend the greater part\nof their time in feeding up the muscles and strength to whose\ncultivation they have devoted their lives; so too for you who are\ntraining your mind to take part in the struggles of political life,\nit is far more honourable to be thus at work than to be idle. He\nwhose object is to be of service to his countrymen and to all\nmortals, exercises himself and does good at the same time when he\nis engrossed in business and is working to the best of his ability\nboth in the interests of the public and of private men. But,\u201d\ncontinues he, \u201cbecause innocence is hardly safe among such furious\nambitions and so many men who turn one aside from the right path,\nand it is always sure to meet with more hindrance than help, we\nought to withdraw ourselves from the forum and from public life,\nand a great mind even in a private station can find room wherein\nto expand freely. Confinement in dens restrains the springs of lions\nand wild creatures, but this does not apply to human beings, who\noften effect the most important works in retirement. Let a man,\nhowever, withdraw himself only in such a fashion that wherever he\nspends his leisure his wish may still be to benefit individual men\nand mankind alike, both with his intellect, his voice, and his\nadvice. The man that does good service to the state is not only he\nwho brings forward candidates for public office, defends accused\npersons, and gives his vote on questions of peace and war, but he\nwho encourages young men in well-doing, who supplies the present\ndearth of good teachers by instilling into their minds the principles\nof virtue, who seizes and holds back those who {260} are rushing\nwildly in pursuit of riches and luxury, and, if he does nothing\nelse, at least checks their course\u2014such a man does service to the\npublic though in a private station. Which does the most good, he\nwho decides between foreigners and citizens (as praetor peregrinus),\nor, as praetor urbanus, pronounces sentence to the suitors in his\ncourt at his assistant\u2019s dictation, or he who shows them what is\nmeant by justice, filial feeling, endurance, courage, contempt of\ndeath and knowledge of the gods, and how much a man is helped by a\ngood conscience? If then you transfer to philosophy the time which\nyou take away from the public service, you will not be a deserter\nor have refused to perform your proper task. A soldier is not merely\none who stands in the ranks and defends the right or the left wing\nof the army, but he also who guards the gates\u2014a service which,\nthough less dangerous, is no sinecure\u2014who keeps watch, and takes\ncharge of the arsenal: though all these are bloodless duties, yet\nthey count as military service. As soon as you have devoted yourself\nto philosophy, you will have overcome all disgust at life: you will\nnot wish for darkness because you are weary of the light, nor will\nyou be a trouble to yourself and useless to others: you will acquire\nmany friends, and all the best men will be attracted towards you:\nfor virtue, in however obscure a position, cannot be hidden, but\ngives signs of its presence: any one who is worthy will trace it\nout by its footsteps: but if we give up all society, turn our backs\nupon the whole human race, and live communing with ourselves alone,\nthis solitude without any interesting occupation will lead to a\nwant of something to do: we shall begin to build up and to pull\ndown, to dam out the sea, to cause waters to flow through natural\nobstacles, and generally to make a bad disposal of the time which\nNature has given us to spend: some of us use it grudgingly, others\nwastefully; some of us spend it so that we can show a profit and\nloss account, {261} others so that they have no assets remaining:\nthan which nothing can be more shameful. Often a man who is very\nold in years has nothing beyond his age by which he can prove that\nhe has lived a long time.\u201d\n\nIV. To me, my dearest Serenus, Athenodorus seems to have yielded\ntoo completely to the times, to have fled too soon: I will not deny\nthat sometimes one must retire, but one ought to retire slowly, at\na foot\u2019s pace, without losing one\u2019s ensigns or one\u2019s honour as a\nsoldier: those who make terms with arms in their hands are more\nrespected by their enemies and more safe in their hands. This is\nwhat I think ought to be done by virtue and by one who practises\nvirtue: if Fortune get the upper hand and deprive him of the power\nof action, let him not straightway turn his back to the enemy, throw\naway his arms, and run away seeking for a hiding-place, as if there\nwere any place whither Fortune could not pursue him, but let him\nbe more sparing in his acceptance of public office, and after due\ndeliberation discover some means by which he can be of use to the\nstate. He is not able to serve in the army: then let him become a\ncandidate for civic honours: must he live in a private station?\nthen let him be an advocate: is he condemned to keep silence? then\nlet him help his countrymen with silent counsel. Is it dangerous\nfor him even to enter the forum? then let him prove himself a good\ncomrade, a faithful friend, a sober guest in people\u2019s houses, at\npublic shows, and at wine-parties. Suppose that he has lost the\nstatus of a citizen; then let him exercise that of a man: our reason\nfor magnanimously refusing to confine ourselves within the walls\nof one city, for having gone forth to enjoy intercourse with all\nlands and for professing ourselves to be citizens of the world is\nthat we may thus obtain a wider theatre on which to display our\nvirtue. Is the bench of judges closed to you, are you forbidden to\naddress the people from the hustings, or to be a candidate at\nelections? {262} then turn your eyes away from Rome, and see what\na wide extent of territory, what a number of nations present\nthemselves before you. Thus, it is never possible for so many outlets\nto be closed against your ambition that more will not remain open\nto it: but see whether the whole prohibition does not arise from\nyour own fault. You do not choose to direct the affairs of the state\nexcept as consul or prytanis[2] or meddix[3] or sufes:[4] what\nshould we say if you refused to serve in the army save as general\nor military tribune? Even though others may form the first line,\nand your lot may have placed you among the veterans of the third,\ndo your duty there with your voice, encouragement, example, and\nspirit: even though a man\u2019s hands be cut off, he may find means to\nhelp his side in a battle, if he stands his ground and cheers on\nhis comrades. Do something of that sort yourself: if Fortune removes\nyou from the front rank, stand your ground nevertheless and cheer\non your comrades, and if somebody stops your mouth, stand nevertheless\nand help your side in silence. The services of a good citizen are\nnever thrown away: he does good by being heard and seen, by his\nexpression, his gestures, his silent determination, and his very\nwalk. As some remedies benefit us by their smell as well as by their\ntheir taste and touch, so virtue even when concealed and at a\ndistance sheds usefulness around. Whether she moves at her ease and\nenjoys her just rights, or can only appear abroad on sufferance and\nis forced to shorten sail to the tempest, whether it be unemployed,\nsilent, and pent up in a narrow lodging, or openly displayed, in\nwhatever guise she may appear, she always does good. What? do you\nthink that the example of one who can rest nobly has no value? It\nis by far the best plan, therefore, to mingle {263} leisure with\nbusiness, whenever chance impediments or the state of public affairs\nforbid one\u2019s leading an active life: for one is never so cut off\nfrom all pursuits as to find no room left for honourable action.\n\nV. Could you anywhere find a [more] miserable city than that of\nAthens when it was being torn to pieces by the thirty tyrants? they\nslew thirteen hundred citizens, all the best men, and did not leave\noff because they had done so, but their cruelty became stimulated\nby exercise. In the city which possessed that most reverend tribunal,\nthe Court of the Areopagus, which possessed a Senate, and a popular\nassembly which was like a Senate, there met daily a wretched crew\nof butchers, and the unhappy Senate House was crowded with tyrants.\nA state, in which there were so many tyrants that they would have\nbeen enough to form a bodyguard for one, might surely have rested\nfrom the struggle; it seemed impossible for men\u2019s minds even to\nconceive hopes of recovering their liberty, nor could they see any\nroom for a remedy for such a mass of evil: for whence could the\nunhappy state obtain all the Harmodiuses it would need to slay so\nmany tyrants? Yet Socrates was in the midst of the city, and consoled\nits mourning Fathers, encouraged those who despaired of the republic,\nby his reproaches brought rich men, who feared that their wealth\nwould be their ruin, to a tardy repentance of their avarice, and\nmoved about as a great example to those who wished to imitate him,\nbecause he walked a free man in the midst of thirty masters. However,\nAthens herself put him to death in prison, and Freedom herself could\nnot endure the freedom of one who had treated a whole band of tyrants\nwith scorn: you may know, therefore, that even in an oppressed state\na wise man can find an opportunity for bringing himself to the\nfront, and that in a prosperous and flourishing one wanton insolence,\njealousy, and a thousand other cowardly vices bear sway. We ought,\n{264} therefore, to expand or contract ourselves according as the\nstate presents itself to us, or as Fortune offers us opportunities:\nbut in any case we ought to move and not to become frozen still by\nfear: nay, he is the best man who, though peril menaces him on every\nside and arms and chains beset his path, nevertheless neither impairs\nnor conceals his virtue: for to keep oneself safe does not mean to\nbury oneself. I think that Curius Dentatus spoke truly when he said\nthat he would rather be dead than alive: the worst evil of all is\nto leave the ranks of the living before one dies: yet it is your\nduty, if you happen to live in an age when it is not easy to serve\nthe state, to devote more time to leisure and to literature. Thus,\njust as though you were making a perilous voyage, you may from time\nto time put into harbour, and set yourself free from public business\nwithout waiting for it to do so.\n\nVI. We ought, however, first to examine our own selves, next the\nbusiness which we propose to transact, next those for whose sake\nor in whose company we transact it.\n\nIt is above all things necessary to form a true estimate of oneself,\nbecause as a rule we think that we can do more than we are able:\none man is led too far through confidence in his eloquence, another\ndemands more from his estate than it can produce, another burdens\na weakly body with some toilsome duty. Some men are too shamefaced\nfor the conduct of public affairs, which require an unblushing\nfront: some men\u2019s obstinate pride renders them unfit for courts:\nsome cannot control their anger, and break into unguarded language\non the slightest provocation: some cannot rein in their wit or\nresist making risky jokes: for all these men leisure is better than\nemployment: a bold, haughty and impatient nature ought to avoid\nanything that may lead it to use a freedom of speech which will\nbring it to ruin. Next we must form an estimate of the matter which\nwe mean to deal with, and compare our strength {265} with the deed\nwe are about to attempt: for the bearer ought always to be more\npowerful than his load: indeed, loads which are too heavy for their\nbearer must of necessity crush him: some affairs also are not so\nimportant in themselves as they are prolific and lead to much more\nbusiness, which employments, as they involve us in new and various\nforms of work, ought to be refused. Neither should you engage in\nanything from which you are not free to retreat: apply yourself to\nsomething which you can finish, or at any rate can hope to finish:\nyou had better not meddle with those operations which grow in\nimportance, while they are being transacted, and which will not\nstop where you intended them to stop.\n\nVII. In all cases one should be careful in one\u2019s choice of men, and\nsee whether they be worthy of our bestowing a part of our life upon\nthem, or whether we shall waste our own time and theirs also: for\nsome even consider us to be in their debt because of our services\nto them. Athenodorus said that \u201che would not so much as dine with\na man who would not be grateful to him for doing so\u201d: meaning, I\nimagine, that much less would he go to dinner with those who\nrecompense the services of their friends by their table, and regard\ncourses of dishes as donatives, as if they overate themselves to\ndo honour to others. Take away from these men their witnesses and\nspectators: they will take no pleasure in solitary gluttony. You\nmust decide whether your disposition is better suited for vigorous\naction or for tranquil speculation and contemplation, and you must\nadopt whichever the bent of your genius inclines you for. Isocrates\nlaid hands upon Ephorus and led him away from the forum, thinking\nthat he would be more usefully employed in compiling chronicles;\nfor no good is done by forcing one\u2019s mind to engage in uncongenial\nwork: it is vain to struggle against Nature. Yet nothing delights\nthe mind so much as faithful and pleasant friendship: what a {266}\nblessing it is when there is one whose breast is ready to receive\nall your secrets with safety, whose knowledge of your actions you\nfear less than your own conscience, whose conversation removes your\nanxieties, whose advice assists your plans, whose cheerfulness\ndispels your gloom, whose very sight delights you! We should choose\nfor our friends men who are, as far as possible, free from strong\ndesires: for vices are contagious, and pass from a man to his\nneighbour, and injure those who touch them. As, therefore, in times\nof pestilence we have to be careful not to sit near people who are\ninfected and in whom the disease is raging, because by so doing,\nwe shall run into danger and catch the plague from their very breath;\nso, too, in choosing our friends\u2019 dispositions, we must take care\nto select those who are as far as may be unspotted by the world;\nfor the way to breed disease is to mix what is sound with what is\nrotten. Yet I do not advise you to follow after or draw to yourself\nno one except a wise man: for where will you find him whom for so\nmany centuries we have sought in vain? in the place of the best\npossible man take him who is least bad. You would hardly find any\ntime that would have enabled you to make a happier choice than if\nyou could have sought for a good man from among the Platos and\nXenophons and the rest of the produce of the brood of Socrates, or\nif you had been permitted to choose one from the age of Cato: an\nage which bore many men worthy to be born in Cato\u2019s time (just as\nit also bore many men worse than were ever known before, planners\nof the blackest crimes: for it needed both classes in order to make\nCato understood: it wanted both good men, that he might win their\napprobation, and bad men, against whom he could prove his strength):\nbut at the present day, when there is such a dearth of good men,\nyou must be less squeamish in your choice. Above all, however, avoid\ndismal men who grumble at whatever happens, and find something to\ncomplain {267} of in everything. Though he may continue loyal and\nfriendly towards you, still one\u2019s peace of mind is destroyed by a\ncomrade whose mind is soured and who meets every incident with a\ngroan.\n\nVIII. Let us now pass on to the consideration of property, that\nmost fertile source of human sorrows: for if you compare all the\nother ills from which we suffer\u2014deaths, sicknesses, fears, regrets,\nendurance of pains and labours\u2014 with those miseries which our money\ninflicts upon us, the latter will far outweigh all the others.\nReflect, then, how much less a grief it is never to have had any\nmoney than to have lost it: we shall thus understand that the less\npoverty has to lose, the less torment it has with which to afflict\nus: for you are mistaken if you suppose that the rich bear their\nlosses with greater spirit than the poor: a wound causes the same\namount of pain to the greatest and the smallest body. It was a neat\nsaying of Bion\u2019s, \u201cthat it hurts bald men as much as hairy men to\nhave their hairs pulled out\u201d: you may be assured that the same thing\nis true of rich and poor people, that their suffering is equal: for\ntheir money clings to both classes, and cannot be torn away without\ntheir feeling it: yet it is more endurable, as I have said, and\neasier not to gain property than to lose it, and therefore you will\nfind that those upon whom Fortune has never smiled are more cheerful\nthan those whom she has deserted. Diogenes, a man of infinite spirit,\nperceived this, and made it impossible that anything should be taken\nfrom him. Call this security from loss poverty, want, necessity,\nor any contemptuous name you please: I shall consider such a man\nto be happy, unless you find me another who can lose nothing. If I\nam not mistaken, it is a royal attribute among so many misers,\nsharpers, and robbers, to be the one man who cannot be injured. If\nany one doubts the happiness of Diogenes, he would doubt whether\nthe position of the immortal gods was one of sufficient happiness.\n{268} because they have no farms or gardens, no valuable estates\nlet to strange tenants, and no large loans in the money market. Are\nyou not ashamed of yourself, you who gaze upon riches with astonished\nadmiration? Look upon the universe: you will see the gods quite\nbare of property, and possessing nothing though they give everything.\nDo you think that this man who has stripped himself of all fortuitous\naccessories is a pauper, or one like to the immortal gods? Do you\ncall Demetrius, Pompeius\u2019s freedman, a happier man, he who was not\nashamed to be richer than Pompeius, who was daily furnished with a\nlist of the number of his slaves, as a general is with that of his\narmy, though he had long deserved that all his riches should consist\nof a pair of underlings, and a roomier cell than the other slaves?\nBut Diogenes\u2019s only slave ran away from him, and when he was pointed\nout to Diogenes, he did not think him worth fetching back. \u201cIt is\na shame,\u201d he said, \u201cthat Manes should be able to live without\nDiogenes, and that Diogenes should not be able to live without\nManes.\u201d He seems to me to have said, \u201cFortune, mind your own business:\nDiogenes has nothing left that belongs to you. Did my slave run\naway? nay, he went away from me as a free man.\u201d A household of\nslaves requires food and clothing: the bellies of so many hungry\ncreatures have to be filled: we must buy raiment for them, we must\nwatch their most thievish hands, and we must make use of the services\nof people who weep and execrate us. How far happier is he who is\nindebted to no man for anything except for what he can deprive\nhimself of with the greatest ease! Since we, however, have not such\nstrength of mind as this, we ought at any rate to diminish the\nextent of our property, in order to be less exposed to the assaults\nof fortune: those men whose bodies can be within the shelter of\ntheir armour, are more fitted for war than those whose huge size\neverywhere extends beyond {269} it, and exposes them to wounds: the\nbest amount of property to have is that which is enough to keep us\nfrom poverty, and which yet is not far removed from it.\n\nIX. We shall be pleased with this measure of wealth if we have\npreviously taken pleasure in thrift, without which no riches are\nsufficient, and with which none are insufficient, especially as the\nremedy is always at hand, and poverty itself by calling in the aid\nof thrift can convert itself into riches. Let us accustom ourselves\nto set aside mere outward show, and to measure things by their uses,\nnot by their ornamental trappings: let our hunger be tamed by food,\nour thirst quenched by drinking, our lust confined within needful\nbounds; let us learn to use our limbs, and to arrange our dress and\nway of life according to what was approved of by our ancestors, not\nin imitation of new-fangled models: let us learn to increase our\ncontinence, to repress luxury, to set bounds to our pride, to assuage\nour anger, to look upon poverty without prejudice, to practise\nthrift, albeit many are ashamed to do so, to apply cheap remedies\nto the wants of nature, to keep all undisciplined hopes and aspirations\nas it were under lock and key, and to make it our business to get\nour riches from ourselves and not from Fortune. We never can so\nthoroughly defeat the vast diversity and malignity of misfortune\nwith which we are threatened as not to feel the weight of many gusts\nif we offer a large spread of canvas to the wind: we must draw our\naffairs into a small compass, to make the darts of Fortune of no\navail. For this reason, sometimes slight mishaps have turned into\nremedies, and more serious disorders have been healed by slighter\nones. When the mind pays no attention to good advice, and cannot\nbe brought to its senses by milder measures, why should we not think\nthat its interests are being served by poverty, disgrace, or financial\nruin being applied to it? one evil is balanced by another. Let us\nthen teach ourselves to be able to {270} dine without all Rome to\nlook on, to be the slaves of fewer slaves, to get clothes which\nfulfil their original purpose, and to live in a smaller house. The\ninner curve is the one to take, not only in running races and in\nthe contests of the circus, but also in the race of life; even\nliterary pursuits, the most becoming thing for a gentleman to spend\nmoney upon, are only justifiable as long as they are kept within\nbounds. What is the use of possessing numberless books and libraries,\nwhose titles their owner can hardly read through in a lifetime? A\nstudent is overwhelmed by such a mass, not instructed, and it is\nmuch better to devote yourself to a few writers than to skim through\nmany. Forty thousand books were burned at Alexandria: some would\nhave praised this library as a most noble memorial of royal wealth,\nlike Titus Livius, who says that it was \u201ca splendid result of the\ntaste and attentive care of the kings.\u201d[5] It had nothing to do\nwith taste or care, but was a piece of learned luxury, nay, not\neven learned, since they amassed it, not for the sake of learning,\nbut to make a show, like many men who know less about letters than\na slave is expected to know, and who uses his books not to help him\nin his studies but to ornament his dining-room. Let a man, then,\nobtain as many books as he wants, but none for show. \u201cIt is more\nrespectable,\u201d say you, \u201cto spend one\u2019s money on such books than on\nvases of Corinthian brass and paintings.\u201d Not so: everything that\nis carried to excess is wrong. What excuses can you find for a man\nwho is eager to buy bookcases of ivory and citrus wood, to collect\nthe works of unknown or discredited authors, and who sits yawning\n{271} amid so many thousands of books, whose backs and titles please\nhim more than any other part of them? Thus in the houses of the\nlaziest of men you will see the works of all the orators and\nhistorians stacked upon book-shelves reaching right up to the\nceiling. At the present day a library has become as necessary an\nappendage to a house as a hot and cold bath. I would excuse them\nstraightway if they really were carried away by an excessive zeal\nfor literature; but as it is, these costly works of sacred genius,\nwith all the illustrations that adorn them, are merely bought for\ndisplay and to serve as wall-furniture.\n\nX. Suppose, however, that your life has become full of trouble, and\nthat without knowing what you were doing you have fallen into some\nsnare which either public or private Fortune has set for you, and\nthat you can neither untie it nor break it: then remember that\nfettered men suffer much at first from the burdens and clogs upon\ntheir legs: afterwards, when they have made up their minds not to\nfret themselves about them, but to endure them, necessity teaches\nthem to bear them bravely, and habit to bear them easily. In every\nstation of life you will find amusements, relaxations, and enjoyments;\nthat is, provided you be willing to make light of evils rather than\nto hate them. Knowing to what sorrows we were born, there is nothing\nfor which Nature more deserves our thanks than for having invented\nhabit as an alleviation of misfortune, which soon accustoms us to\nthe severest evils. No one could hold out against misfortune if it\npermanently exercised the same force as at its first onset. We are\nall chained to Fortune: some men\u2019s chain is loose and made of gold,\nthat of others is tight and of meaner metal: but what difference\ndoes this make? we are all included in the same captivity, and even\nthose who have bound us are bound themselves, unless you think that\na chain on the left side is lighter to bear: one man may be bound\nby public {272} office, another by wealth: some have to bear the\nweight of illustrious, some of humble birth: some are subject to\nthe commands of others, some only to their own: some are kept in\none place by being banished thither, others by being elected to the\npriesthood. All life is slavery: let each man therefore reconcile\nhimself to his lot, complain of it as little as possible, and lay\nhold of whatever good lies within his reach. No condition can be\nso wretched that an impartial mind can find no compensations in it.\nSmall sites, if ingeniously divided, may be made use of for many\ndifferent purposes, and arrangement will render ever so narrow a\nroom habitable. Call good sense to your aid against difficulties:\nit is possible to soften what is harsh, to widen what is too narrow,\nand to make heavy burdens press less severely upon one who bears\nthem skilfully. Moreover, we ought not to allow our desires to\nwander far afield, but we must make them confine themselves to our\nimmediate neighbourhood, since they will not endure to be altogether\nlocked up. We must leave alone things which either cannot come to\npass or can only be effected with difficulty, and follow after such\nthings as are near at hand and within reach of our hopes, always\nremembering that all things are equally unimportant, and that though\nthey have a different outward appearance, they are all alike empty\nwithin. Neither let us envy those who are in high places: the heights\nwhich look lofty to us are steep and rugged. Again, those whom\nunkind fate has placed in critical situations will be safer if they\nshow as little pride in their proud position as may be, and do all\nthey are able to bring down their fortunes to the level of other\nmen\u2019s. There are many who must needs cling to their high pinnacle\nof power, because they cannot descend from it save by falling\nheadlong: yet they assure us that their greatest burden is being\nobliged to be burdensome to others, and that they are nailed to\ntheir lofty post rather than raised to it: let {273} them then, by\ndispensing justice, clemency, and kindness with an open and liberal\nhand, provide themselves with assistance to break their fall, and\nlooking forward to this maintain their position more hopefully. Yet\nnothing sets us free from these alternations of hope and fear so\nwell as always fixing some limit to our successes, and not allowing\nFortune to choose when to stop our career, but to halt of our own\naccord long before we apparently need do so. By acting thus certain\ndesires will rouse up our spirits, and yet being confined within\nbounds, will not lead us to embark on vast and vague enterprises.\n\nXI. These remarks of mine apply only to imperfect, commonplace, and\nunsound natures, not to the wise man, who needs not to walk with\ntimid and cautious gait: for he has such confidence in himself that\nhe does not hesitate to go directly in the teeth of Fortune, and\nnever will give way to her. Nor indeed has he any reason for fearing\nher, for he counts not only chattels, property, and high office,\nbut even his body, his eyes, his hands, and everything whose use\nmakes life dearer to us, nay, even his very self, to be things whose\npossession is uncertain; he lives as though he had borrowed them,\nand is ready to return them cheerfully whenever they are claimed.\nYet he does not hold himself cheap, because he knows that he is not\nhis own, but performs all his duties as carefully and prudently as\na pious and scrupulous man would take care of property left in his\ncharge as trustee. When he is bidden to give them up, he will not\ncomplain of Fortune, but will say, \u201cI thank you for what I have had\npossession of: I have managed your property so as largely to increase\nit, but since you order me, I give it back to you and return it\nwillingly and thankfully. If you still wish me to own anything of\nyours, I will keep it for you: if you have other views, I restore\ninto your hands and make restitution of all my wrought and coined\nsilver, my house and my {274} household. Should Nature recall what\nshe previously entrusted us with, let us say to her also: \u2018Take\nback my spirit, which is better than when you gave it me: I do not\nshuffle or hang back. Of my own free will I am ready to return what\nyou gave me before I could think: take me away,\u2019\u201d What hardship can\nthere be in returning to the place from whence one came? a man\ncannot live well if he knows not how to die well. We must, therefore,\ntake away from this commodity its original value, and count the\nbreath of life as a cheap matter. \u201cWe dislike gladiators,\u201d says\nCicero, \u201cif they are eager to save their lives by any means whatever:\nbut we look favourably upon them if they are openly reckless of\nthem,\u201d You may be sure that the same thing occurs with us: we often\ndie because we are afraid of death. Fortune, which regards our lives\nas a show in the arena for her own enjoyment, says, \u201cWhy should I\nspare you, base and cowardly creature that you are? you will be\npierced and hacked with all the more wounds because you know not\nhow to offer your throat to the knife: whereas you, who receive the\nstroke without drawing away your neck or putting up your hands to\nstop it, shall both live longer and die more quickly,\u201d He who fears\ndeath will never act as becomes a living man: but he who knows that\nthis fate was laid upon him as soon as he was conceived will live\naccording to it, and by this strength of mind will gain this further\nadvantage, that nothing can befal him unexpectedly: for by looking\nforward to everything which can happen as though it would happen\nto him, he takes the sting out of all evils, which can make no\ndifference to those who expect it and are prepared to meet it: evil\nonly comes hard upon those who have lived without giving it a thought\nand whose attention has been exclusively directed to happiness.\nDisease, captivity, disaster, conflagration, are none of them\nunexpected: I always knew with what disorderly company {275} Nature\nhad associated me. The dead have often been wailed for in my\nneighbourhood: the torch and taper have often been borne past my\ndoor before the bier of one who has died before his time: the crash\nof falling buildings has often resounded by my side: night has\nsnatched away many of those with whom I have become intimate in the\nforum, the Senate-house, and in society, and has sundered the hands\nwhich were joined in friendship: ought I to be surprised if the\ndangers which have always been circling around me at last assail\nme? How large a part of mankind never think of storms when about\nto set sail? I shall never be ashamed to quote a good saying because\nit comes from a bad author. Publilius, who was a more powerful\nwriter than any of our other playwrights, whether comic or tragic,\nwhenever he chose to rise above farcical absurdities and speeches\naddressed to the gallery, among many other verses too noble even\nfor tragedy, let alone for comedy, has this one:\u2014\n\n \u201cWhat one hath suffered may befall us all.\u201d\n\nIf a man takes this into his inmost heart and looks upon all the\nmisfortunes of other men, of which there is always a great plenty,\nin this spirit, remembering that there is nothing to prevent their\ncoming upon him also, he will arm himself against them long before\nthey attack him. It is too late to school the mind to endurance of\nperil after peril has come. \u201cI did not think this would happen,\u201d\nand \u201cWould you ever have believed that this would have happened?\u201d\nsay you. But why should it not? Where are the riches after which\nwant, hunger, and beggary do not follow? what office is there whose\npurple robe, augur\u2019s staff, and patrician reins have not as their\naccompaniment rags and banishment, the brand of infamy, a thousand\ndisgraces, and utter reprobation? what kingdom is there for which\nruin, trampling under foot, a tyrant and a {276} butcher are not\nready at hand? nor are these matters divided by long periods of\ntime, but there is but the space of an hour between sitting on the\nthrone ourselves and clasping the knees of some one else as suppliants.\nKnow then that every station of life is transitory, and that what\nhas ever happened to anybody may happen to you also. You are wealthy:\nare you wealthier than Pompeius?[6] Yet when Gaius,[7] his old\nrelative and new host, opened Caesar\u2019s house to him in order that\nhe might close his own, he lacked both bread and water: though he\nowned so many rivers which both rose and discharged themselves\nwithin his dominions, yet he had to beg for drops of water: he\nperished of hunger and thirst in the palace of his relative, while\nhis heir was contracting for a public funeral for one who was in\nwant of food. You have filled public offices: were they either as\nimportant, as unlooked for, or as all-embracing as those of Sejanus?\nYet on the day on which the Senate disgraced him, the people tore\nhim to pieces: the executioner[8] could find no part left large\nenough to drag to the Tiber, of one upon whom gods and men had\nshowered all that could be given to man. You are a king: I will not\nbid you go to Croesus for an example, he who while yet alive saw\nhis funeral pile both lighted and extinguished, being made to outlive\nnot only his kingdom but even his own death, nor to Jugurtha, whom\nthe people of Rome beheld as a captive within the year in which\nthey had feared him. We have seen Ptolemaeus King of Africa, and\nMithridates King of Armenia, under the charge of Gaius\u2019s[9] guards:\nthe former was sent into exile, the latter chose it in order to\nmake his {277} exile more honourable. Among such continual topsy-turvy\nchanges, unless you expect that whatever can happen will happen to\nyou, you give adversity power against you, a power which can be\ndestroyed by any one who looks at it beforehand.\n\nXII. The next point to these will be to take care that we do not\nlabour for what is vain, or labour in vain: that is to say, neither\nto desire what we are not able to obtain, nor yet, having obtained\nour desire too late, and after much toil to discover the folly of\nour wishes: in other words, that our labour may not be without\nresult, and that the result may not be unworthy of our labour: for\nas a rule sadness arises from one of these two things, either from\nwant of success or from being ashamed of having succeeded. We must\nlimit the running to and fro which most men practise, rambling about\nhouses, theatres, and market-places. They mind other men\u2019s business,\nand always seem as though they themselves had something to do. If\nyou ask one of them as he comes out of his own door, \u201cWhither are\nyou going?\u201d he will answer, \u201cBy Hercules, I do not know: but I shall\nsee some people and do something.\u201d They wander purposelessly seeking\nfor something to do, and do, not what they have made up their minds\nto do, but what has casually fallen in their way. They move uselessly\nand without any plan, just like ants crawling over bushes, which\ncreep up to the top and then down to the bottom again without gaining\nanything. Many men spend their lives in exactly the same fashion,\nwhich one may call a state of restless indolence. You would pity\nsome of them when you see them running as if their house was on\nfire: they actually jostle all whom they meet, and hurry along\nthemselves and others with them, though all the while they are going\nto salute some one who will not return their greeting, or to attend\nthe funeral of some one whom they did not know: they are going to\nhear the verdict on one {278} who often goes to law, or to see the\nwedding of one who often gets married: they will follow a man\u2019s\nlitter, and in some places will even carry it: afterwards returning\nhome weary with idleness, they swear that they themselves do not\nknow why they went out, or where they have been, and on the following\nday they will wander through the same round again. Let all your\nwork, therefore, have some purpose, and keep some object in view:\nthese restless people are not made restless by labour, but are\ndriven out of their minds by mistaken ideas: for even they do not\nput themselves in motion without any hope: they are excited by the\noutward appearance of something, and their crazy mind cannot see\nits futility. In the same way every one of those who walk out to\nswell the crowd in the streets, is led round the city by worthless\nand empty reasons; the dawn drives him forth, although he has nothing\nto do, and after he has pushed his way into many men\u2019s doors, and\nsaluted their nomenclators one after the other, and been turned\naway from many others, he finds that the most difficult person of\nall to find at home is himself. From this evil habit comes that\nworst of all vices, talebearing and prying into public and private\nsecrets, and the knowledge of many things which it is neither safe\nto tell nor safe to listen to.\n\nXIII. It was, I imagine, following out this principle that Democritis\ntaught that \u201che who would live at peace must not do much business\neither public or private,\u201d referring of course to unnecessary\nbusiness: for if there be any necessity for it we ought to transact\nnot only much but endless business, both public and private; in\ncases, however, where no solemn duty invites us to act, we had\nbetter keep ourselves quiet: for he who does many things often puts\nhimself in Fortune\u2019s power, and it is safest not to tempt her often,\nbut always to remember her existence, and never to promise oneself\nanything on her security. I will set sail unless anything happens\nto prevent me, I shall {279} be praetor, if nothing hinders me, my\nfinancial operations will succeed, unless anything goes wrong with\nthem. This is why we say that nothing befals the wise man which he\ndid not expect\u2014we do not make him exempt from the chances of human\nlife, but from its mistakes, nor does everything happen to him as\nhe wished it would, but as he thought it would: now his first thought\nwas that his purpose might meet with some resistance, and the pain\nof disappointed wishes must affect a man\u2019s mind less severely if\nhe has not been at all events confident of success.\n\nXIV. Moreover, we ought to cultivate an easy temper, and not become\nover fond of the lot which fate has assigned to us, but transfer\nourselves to whatever other condition chance may lead us to, and\nfear no alteration, either in our purposes or our position in life,\nprovided that we do not become subject to caprice, which of all\nvices is the most hostile to repose: for obstinacy, from which\nFortune often wrings some concession, must needs be anxious and\nunhappy, but caprice, which can never restrain itself, must be more\nso. Both of these qualities, both that of altering nothing, and\nthat of being dissatisfied with everything, are energies to repose.\nThe mind ought in all cases to be called away from the contemplation\nof external things to that of itself: let it confide in itself,\nrejoice in itself, admire its own works; avoid as far as may be\nthose of others, and devote itself to itself; let it not feel losses,\nand put a good construction even upon misfortunes. Zeno, the chief\nof our school, when he heard the news of a shipwreck, in which all\nhis property had been lost, remarked, \u201cFortune bids me follow\nphilosophy in lighter marching order.\u201d A tyrant threatened Theodorus\nwith death, and even with want of burial. \u201cYou are able to please\nyourself,\u201d he answered, \u201cmy half pint of blood is in your power:\nfor, as for burial, what a fool you must be if you suppose that I\ncare whether I rot above ground or under it.\u201d Julius {280} Kanus,\na man of peculiar greatness, whom even the fact of his having been\nborn in this century does not prevent our admiring, had a long\ndispute with Gaius, and when as he was going away that Phalaris of\na man said to him, \u201cThat you may not delude yourself with any foolish\nhopes, I have ordered you to be executed,\u201d he answered, \u201cI thank\nyou, most excellent prince.\u201d I am not sure what he meant: for many\nways of explaining his conduct occur to me. Did he wish to be\nreproachful, and to show him how great his cruelty must be if death\nbecame a kindness? or did he upbraid him with his accustomed insanity?\nfor even those whose children were put to death, and whose goods\nwere confiscated, used to thank him: or was it that he willingly\nreceived death, regarding it as freedom? Whatever he meant, it was\na magnanimous answer. Some one may say, \u201cAfter this Gaius might\nhave let him live.\u201d Kanus had no fear of this: the good faith with\nwhich Gaius carried out such orders as these was well known. Will\nyou believe that he passed the ten intervening days before his\nexecution without the slightest despondency? it is marvellous how\nthat man spoke and acted, and how peaceful he was. He was playing\nat draughts when the centurion in charge of a number of those who\nwhere going to be executed bade him join them: on the summons he\ncounted his men and said to his companion, \u201cMind you do not tell a\nlie after my death, and say that you won;\u201d then, turning to the\ncenturion, he said \u201cYou will bear me witness that I am one man ahead\nof him.\u201d Do you think that Kanus played upon that draught-board?\nnay, he played with it. His friends were sad at being about to lose\nso great a man: \u201cWhy,\u201d asked he, \u201care you sorrowful? you are enquiring\nwhether our souls are immortal, but I shall presently know.\u201d Nor\ndid he up to the very end cease his search after truth, and raised\narguments upon the subject of his own death. His own teacher of\nphilosophy accompanied him, and they {281} were not far from the\nhill on which the daily sacrifice to Caesar our god was offered,\nwhen he said, \u201cWhat are you thinking of now, Kanus? or what are\nyour ideas?\u201d \u201cI have decided,\u201d answered Kanus, \u201cat that most\nswiftly-passing moment of all to watch whether the spirit will be\nconscious of the act of leaving the body.\u201d He promised, too, that\nif he made any discoveries, he would come round to his friends and\ntell them what the condition of the souls of the departed might be.\nHere was peace in the very midst of the storm: here was a soul\nworthy of eternal life, which used its own fate as a proof of truth,\nwhich when at the last step of life experimented upon his fleeting\nbreath, and did not merely continue to learn until he died, but\nlearned something even from death itself. No man has carried the\nlife of a philosopher further. I will not hastily leave the subject\nof a great man, and one who deserves to be spoken of with respect:\nI will hand thee down to all posterity, thou most noble heart, chief\namong the many victims of Gaius.\n\nXV. Yet we gain nothing by getting rid of all personal causes of\nsadness, for sometimes we are possessed by hatred of the human race.\nWhen you reflect how rare simplicity is, how unknown innocence, how\nseldom faith is kept, unless it be to our advantage, when you\nremember such numbers of successful crimes, so many equally hateful\nlosses and gains of lust, and ambition so impatient even of its own\nnatural limits that it is willing to purchase distinction by baseness,\nthe mind seems as it were cast into darkness, and shadows rise\nbefore it as though the virtues were all overthrown and we were no\nlonger allowed to hope to possess them or benefited by their\npossession. We ought therefore to bring ourselves into such a state\nof mind that all the vices of the vulgar may not appear hateful to\nus, but merely ridiculous, and we should imitate Democritus rather\nthan Heraclitus. The latter of these, whenever be {282} appeared\nin public, used to weep, the former to laugh: the one thought all\nhuman doings to be follies, the other thought them to be miseries.\nWe must take a higher view of all things, and bear with them more\neasily: it better becomes a man to scoff at life than to lament\nover it. Add to this that he who laughs at the human race deserves\nbetter of it than he who mourns for it, for the former leaves it\nsome good hopes of improvement, while the latter stupidly weeps\nover what he has given up all hopes of mending. He who after surveying\nthe universe cannot control his laughter shows, too, a greater mind\nthan he who cannot restrain his tears, because his mind is only\naffected in the slightest possible degree, and he does not think\nthat any part of all this apparatus is either important, or serious,\nor unhappy. As for the several causes which render us happy or\nsorrowful, let every one describe them for himself, and learn the\ntruth of Bion\u2019s saying, \u201cThat all the doings of men were very like\nwhat he began with, and that there is nothing in their lives which\nis more holy or decent than their conception.\u201d Yet it is better to\naccept public morals and human vices calmly without bursting into\neither laughter or tears; for to be hurt by the sufferings of others\nis to be for ever miserable, while to enjoy the sufferings of others\nis an inhuman pleasure, just as it is a useless piece of humanity\nto weep and pull a long face because some one is burying his son.\nIn one\u2019s own misfortunes, also, one ought so to conduct oneself as\nto bestow upon them just as much sorrow as reason, not as much as\ncustom requires: for many shed tears in order to show them, and\nwhenever no one is looking at them their eyes are dry, but they\nthink it disgraceful not to weep when every one does so. So deeply\nhas this evil of being guided by the opinion of others taken root\nin us, that even grief, the simplest of all emotions, begins to be\ncounterfeited.\n\n{283}\n\nXVI. There comes now a part of our subject which is wont with good\ncause to make one sad and anxious: I mean when good men come to bad\nends; when Socrates is forced to die in prison, Rutilius to live\nin exile, Pompeius and Cicero to offer their necks to the swords\nof their own followers, when the great Cato, that living image of\nvirtue, falls upon his sword and rips up both himself and the\nrepublic, one cannot help being grieved that Fortune should bestow\nher gifts so unjustly: what, too, can a good man hope to obtain\nwhen he sees the best of men meeting with the worst fates. Well,\nbut see how each of them endured his fate, and if they endured it\nbravely, long in your heart for courage as great as theirs; if they\ndied in a womanish and cowardly manner, nothing was lost: either\nthey deserved that you should admire their courage, or else they\ndid not deserve that you should wish to imitate their cowardice:\nfor what can be more shameful than that the greatest men should die\nso bravely as to make people cowards. Let us praise one who deserves\nsuch constant praises, and say, \u201cThe braver you are the happier you\nare! You have escaped from all accidents, jealousies, diseases: you\nhave escaped from prison: the gods have not thought you worthy of\nill-fortune, but have thought that fortune no longer deserved to\nhave any power over you\u201d: but when any one shrinks back in the hour\nof death and looks longingly at life, we must lay hands upon him.\nI will never weep for a man who dies cheerfully, nor for one who\ndies weeping: the former wipes away my tears, the latter by his\ntears makes himself unworthy that any should be shed for him. Shall\nI weep for Hercules because he was burned alive, or for Regulus\nbecause he was pierced by so many nails, or for Cato because he\ntore open his wounds a second time? All these men discovered how\nat the cost of a small portion of time they might obtain immortality,\nand by their deaths gained eternal life.\n\n{284}\n\nXVII. It also proves a fertile source of troubles if you take pains\nto conceal your feelings and never show yourself to any one\nundisguised, but, as many men do, live an artificial life, in order\nto impose upon others: for the constant watching of himself becomes\na torment to a man, and he dreads being caught doing something at\nvariance with his usual habits, and, indeed, we never can be at our\nease if we imagine that every one who looks at us is weighing our\nreal value: for many things occur which strip people of their\ndisguise, however reluctantly they may part with it, and even if\nall this trouble about oneself is successful, still life is neither\nhappy nor safe when one always has to wear a mask. But what pleasure\nthere is in that honest straight-forwardness which is its own\nornament, and which conceals no part of its character? Yet even\nthis life, which hides nothing from any one runs some risk of being\ndespised; for there are people who disdain whatever they come close\nto: but there is no danger of virtue\u2019s becoming contemptible when\nshe is brought near our eyes, and it is better to be scorned for\none\u2019s simplicity than to bear the burden of unceasing hypocrisy.\nStill, we must observe moderation in this matter, for there is a\ngreat difference between living simply and living slovenly. Moreover,\nwe ought to retire a great deal into ourselves: for association\nwith persons unlike ourselves upsets all that we had arranged,\nrouses the passions which were at rest, and rubs into a sore any\nweak or imperfectly healed place in our minds. Nevertheless we ought\nto mix up these two things, and to pass our lives alternately in\nsolitude and among throngs of people; for the former will make us\nlong for the society of mankind, the latter for that of ourselves,\nand the one will counteract the other: solitude will cure us when\nwe are sick of crowds, and crowds will cure us when we are sick of\nsolitude. Neither ought we always to keep the mind strained to the\n{285} same pitch, but it ought sometimes to be relaxed by amusement.\nSocrates did not blush to play with little boys, Cato used to refresh\nhis mind with wine after he had wearied it with application to\naffairs of state, and Scipio would move his triumphal and soldierly\nlimbs to the sound of music, not with a feeble and halting gait,\nas is the fashion now-a-days, when we sway in our very walk with\nmore than womanly weakness, but dancing as men were wont in the\ndays of old on sportive and festal occasions, with manly bounds,\nthinking it no harm to be seen so doing even by their enemies. Men\u2019s\nminds ought to have relaxation: they rise up better and more vigorous\nafter rest. We must not force crops from rich fields, for an unbroken\ncourse of heavy crops will soon exhaust their fertility, and so\nalso the liveliness of our minds will be destroyed by unceasing\nlabour, but they will recover their strength after a short period\nof rest and relief: for continuous toil produces a sort of numbness\nand sluggishness. Men would not be so eager for this, if play and\namusement did not possess natural attractions for them, although\nconstant indulgence in them takes away all gravity and all strength\nfrom the mind: for sleep, also, is necessary for our refreshment,\nyet if you prolong it for days and nights together it will become\ndeath. There is a great difference between slackening your hold of\na thing and letting it go. The founders of our laws appointed\nfestivals, in order that men might be publicly encouraged to be\ncheerful, and they thought it necessary to vary our labours with\namusements, and, as I said before, some great men have been wont\nto give themselves a certain number of holidays in every month, and\nsome divided every day into play-time and work-time. Thus, I remember\nthat great orator Asinius Pollio would not attend to any business\nafter the tenth hour: he would not even read letters after that\ntime for fear some new {286} trouble should arise, but in those two\nhours[10] used to get rid of the weariness which he had contracted\nduring the whole day. Some rest in the middle of the day, and reserve\nsome light occupation for the afternoon. Our ancestors, too, forbade\nany new motion to be made in the Senate after the tenth hour.\nSoldiers divide their watches, and those who have just returned\nfrom active service are allowed to sleep the whole night undisturbed.\nWe must humour our minds and grant them rest from time to time,\nwhich acts upon them like food, and restores their strength. It\ndoes good also to take walks out of doors, that our spirits may be\nraised and refreshed by the open air and fresh breeze: sometimes\nwe gain strength by driving in a carriage, by travel, by change of\nair, or by social meals and a more generous allowance of wine: at\ntimes we ought to drink even to intoxication, not so as to drown,\nbut merely to dip ourselves in wine: for wine washes away troubles\nand dislodges them from the depths of the mind, and acts as a remedy\nto sorrow as it does to some diseases. The inventor of wine is\ncalled Liber, not from the licence which he gives to our tongues,\nbut because he liberates the mind from the bondage of cares, and\nemancipates it, animates it, and renders it more daring in all that\nit attempts. Yet moderation is wholesome both in freedom and in\nwine. It is believed that Solon and Arcesilaus used to drink deep.\nCato is reproached with drunkenness: but whoever casts this in his\nteeth will find it easier to turn his reproach into a commendation\nthan to prove that Cato did anything wrong: however, we ought not\nto do it often, for fear the mind should contract evil habits,\nthough it ought sometimes to be forced into frolic and frankness,\nand to cast off dull sobriety for a while. If we believe the Greek\npoet, \u201cit is sometimes pleasant to be mad\u201d; again, Plato always\n{287} knocked in vain at the door of poetry when he was sober; or,\nif we trust Aristotle, no great genius has ever been without a touch\nof insanity. The mind cannot use lofty language, above that of the\ncommon herd, unless it be excited. When it has spurned aside the\ncommonplace environments of custom, and rises sublime, instinct\nwith sacred fire, then alone can it chant a song too grand for\nmortal lips: as long as it continues to dwell within itself it\ncannot rise to any pitch of splendour: it must break away from the\nbeaten track, and lash itself to frenzy, till it gnaws the curb and\nrushes away bearing up its rider to heights whither it would fear\nto climb when alone.\n\nI have now, my beloved Serenus, given you an account of what things\ncan preserve peace of mind, what things can restore it to us, what\ncan arrest the vices which secretly undermine it: yet be assured,\nthat none of these is strong enough to enable us to retain so\nfleeting a blessing, unless we watch over our vacillating mind with\nintense and unremitting care.\n\n\n[1] Cf. Juv. ii. 150.\n\n[2] The chief magistrate of the Greeks.\n\n[3] The chief magistrate of the Oscans.\n\n[4] The chief magistrate of the Carthaginians.\n\n[5] \u201cLivy himself styled the Alexandrian library _elegantiae regum\ncuraeque egregium opus_: a liberal encomium, for which he is pertly\ncriticised by the narrow stoicism of Seneca (Tranq., ch. ix.), whose\nwisdom, on this occasion, deviates into nonsense.\u201d\u2014Gibbon, \u201cDecline\nand Fall,\u201d ch. li, note.\n\n[6] Haase reads _Ptolemaeus_.\n\n[7] Caligula.\n\n[8] It was the duty of the executioner to fasten a hook to the neck\nof condemned criminals, by which they were dragged to the Tiber.\n\n[9] Caligula.\n\n[10] The Romans reckoned twelve hours from sunrise to sunset. These\n\u201ctwo hours\u201d were therefore the two last of the day.\n\n\n\n\n{288}\n\nTHE TENTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO\nPAULINUS.[1]\n\nOF THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE.\n\n\nI. The greater part of mankind, my Paulinus, complains of the\nunkindness of Nature, because we are born only for a short space\nof time, and that this allotted period of life runs away so swiftly,\nnay so hurriedly, that with but few exceptions men\u2019s life comes to\nan end just as they are preparing to enjoy it: nor is it only the\ncommon herd and the ignorant vulgar who mourn over this universal\nmisfortune, as they consider it to be: this reflection has wrung\ncomplaints even from great men. Hence comes that well-known saying\nof physicians, that art is long but life is short: hence arose that\nquarrel, so unbefitting a sage, which Aristotle picked with Nature,\nbecause she had indulged animals with such length of days that some\nof them lived for ten or fifteen centuries, while man, although\nborn for many and such great exploits, had the term of his existence\ncut so much shorter. We do not have a very short time assigned to\nus, but we lose a great deal of it: life is long enough to carry\nout the most important projects: we {289} have an ample portion,\nif we do but arrange the whole of it aright: but when it all runs\nto waste through luxury and carelessness, when it is not devoted\nto any good purpose, then at the last we are forced to feel that\nit is all over, although we never noticed how it glided away. Thus\nit is: we do not receive a short life, but we make it a short one,\nand we are not poor in days, but wasteful of them. When great and\nkinglike riches fall into the hands of a bad master, they are\ndispersed straightway, but even a moderate fortune, when bestowed\nupon a wise guardian, increases by use: and in like manner our life\nhas great opportunities for one who knows how to dispose of it to\nthe best advantage.\n\nII. Why do we complain of Nature? she has dealt kindly with us.\nLife is long enough, if you know how to use it. One man is possessed\nby an avarice which nothing can satisfy, another by a laborious\ndiligence in doing what is totally useless: another is sodden by\nwine: another is benumbed by sloth: one man is exhausted by an\nambition which makes him court the good will of others[2]: another,\nthrough his eagerness as a merchant, is led to visit every land and\nevery sea by the hope of gain: some are plagued by the love of\nsoldiering, and are always either endangering other men\u2019s lives or\nin trembling for their own: some wear away their lives in that\nvoluntary slavery, the unrequited service of great men: many are\noccupied either in laying claim to other men\u2019s fortune or in\ncomplaining of their own: a great number have no settled purpose,\nand are tossed from one new scheme to another by a rambling,\ninconsistent, dissatisfied, fickle habit of mind: some care for no\nobject sufficiently to try to attain it, but lie lazily yawning\nuntil their fate comes upon them: so that I cannot {290} doubt the\ntruth of that verse which the greatest of poets has dressed in the\nguise of an oracular response\u2014\n\n \u201cWe live a small part only of our lives.\u201d\n\nBut all duration is time, not life: vices press upon us and surround\nus on every side, and do not permit us to regain our feet, or to\nraise our eyes and gaze upon truth, but when we are down keep us\nprostrate and chained to low desires. Men who are in this condition\nare never allowed to come to themselves: if ever by chance they\nobtain any rest, they roll to and fro like the deep sea, which\nheaves and tosses after a gale, and they never have any respite\nfrom their lusts. Do you suppose that I speak of those whose ills\nare notorious? Nay, look at those whose prosperity all men run to\nsee: they are choked by their own good things. To how many men do\nriches prove a heavy burden? how many men\u2019s eloquence and continual\ndesire to display their own cleverness has cost them their lives?[3]\nhow many are sallow with constant sensual indulgence? how many have\nno freedom left them by the tribe of clients that surges around\nthem? Look through all these, from the lowest to the highest:\u2014this\nman calls his friends to support him, this one is present in court,\nthis one is the defendant, this one pleads for him, this one is on\nthe jury: but no one lays claim to his own self, every one wastes\nhis time over some one else. Investigate those men, whose names are\nin every one\u2019s mouth: you will find that they bear just the same\nmarks: A is devoted to B, and B to C: no one belongs to himself.\nMoreover some men are full of most irrational anger: they complain\nof the insolence of their chiefs, because they have not granted\nthem an audience when they wished for it; as if a man had any right\nto complain of being so haughtily shut out by another, when he never\nhas {291} leisure to give his own conscience a hearing. This chief\nof yours, whoever he is, though he may look at you in an offensive\nmanner, still will some day look at you, open his ears to your\nwords, and give you a seat by his side: but you never design to\nlook upon yourself, to listen to your own grievances. You ought\nnot, then, to claim these services from another, especially since\nwhile you yourself were doing so, you did not wish for an interview\nwith another man, but were not able to obtain one with yourself.[4]\n\nIII. Were all the brightest intellects of all time to employ\nthemselves on this one subject, they never could sufficiently express\ntheir wonder at this blindness of men\u2019s minds: men will not allow\nany one to establish himself upon their estates, and upon the most\ntrifling dispute about the measuring of boundaries, they betake\nthemselves to stones and cudgels: yet they allow others to encroach\nupon {292} their lives, nay, they themselves actually lead others\nin to take possession of them. You cannot find any one who wants\nto distribute his money; yet among how many people does every one\ndistribute his life? men covetously guard their property from waste,\nbut when it comes to waste of time, they are most prodigal of that\nof which it would become them to be sparing. Let us take one of the\nelders, and say to him, \u201cWe perceive that you have arrived at the\nextreme limits of human life: you are in your hundredth year, or\neven older. Come now, reckon up your whole life in black and white:\ntell us how much of your time has been spent upon your creditors,\nhow much on your mistress, how much on your king, how much on your\nclients, how much in quarrelling with your wife, how much in keeping\nyour slaves in order, how much in running up and down the city on\nbusiness. Add to this the diseases which we bring upon us with our\nown hands, and the time which has laid idle without any use having\nbeen made of it; you will see that you have not lived as many years\nas you count. Look back in your memory and see how often you have\nbeen consistent in your projects, how many days passed as you\nintended them to do when you were at your own disposal, how often\nyou did not change colour and your spirit did not quail, how much\nwork you have done in so long a time, how many people have without\nyour knowledge stolen parts of your life from you, how much you\nhave lost, how large a part has been taken up by useless grief,\nfoolish gladness, greedy desire, or polite conversation; how little\nof yourself is left to you: you will then perceive that you will\ndie prematurely.\u201d What, then, is the reason of this? It is that\npeople live as though they would live for ever: you never remember\nyour human frailty; you never notice how much of your time has\nalready gone by: you spend it as though you had an abundant and\noverflowing store of it, though all the while that day which you\ndevote {293} to some man or to some thing is perhaps your last. You\nfear everything, like mortals as you are, and yet you desire\neverything as if you were immortals. You will hear many men say,\n\u201cAfter my fiftieth year I will give myself up to leisure: my sixtieth\nshall be my last year of public office\u201d: and what guarantee have\nyou that your life will last any longer? who will let all this go\non just as you have arranged it? are you not ashamed to reserve\nonly the leavings of your life for yourself, and appoint for the\nenjoyment of your own right mind only that time which you cannot\ndevote to any business? How late it is to begin life just when we\nhave to be leaving it! What a foolish forgetfulness of our mortality,\nto put off wholesome counsels until our fiftieth or sixtieth year,\nand to choose that our lives shall begin at a point which few of\nus ever reach.\n\nIV. You will find that the most powerful and highly-placed men let\nfall phrases in which they long for leisure, praise it, and prefer\nit to all the blessings which they enjoy. Sometimes they would fain\ndescend from their lofty pedestal, if it could be safely done: for\nFortune collapses by its own weight, without any shock or interference\nfrom without. The late Emperor Augustus, upon whom the gods bestowed\nmore blessings than on any one else, never ceased to pray for rest\nand exemption from the troubles of empire: he used to enliven his\nlabours with this sweet, though unreal consolation, that he would\nsome day live for himself alone. In a letter which he addressed to\nthe Senate, after promising that his rest shall not be devoid of\ndignity nor discreditable to his former glories, I find the following\nwords:\u2014\u201dThese things, however, it is more honourable to do than to\npromise: but my eagerness for that time, so earnestly longed for,\nhas led me to derive a certain pleasure from speaking about it,\nthough the reality is still far distant.\u201d[5] He thought leisure so\nimportant, that though {294} he could not actually enjoy it, yet\nhe did so by anticipation and by thinking about it. He, who saw\neverything depending upon himself alone, who swayed the fortunes\nof men and of nations, thought that his happiest day would be that\non which he laid aside his greatness. He knew by experience how\nmuch labour was involved in that glory that shone through all lands,\nand how much secret anxiety was concealed within it: he had been\nforced to assert his rights by war, first with his countrymen, next\nwith his colleagues, and lastly with his own relations, and had\nshed blood both by sea and by land: after marching his troops under\narms through Macedonia, Sicily, Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor, and almost\nall the countries of the world, when they were weary with slaughtering\nRomans he had directed them against a foreign foe. While he was\npacifying the Alpine regions, and subduing the enemies whom he found\nin the midst of the Roman empire, while he was extending its\nboundaries beyond the Rhine, the Euphrates, and the Danube, at Rome\nitself the swords of Murena, Caepio, Lepidus, Egnatius, and others\nwere being sharpened to slay him. Scarcely had he escaped from their\nplot, when his already failing age was terrified by his daughter\nand all the noble youths who were pledged to her cause by adultery\nwith her by way of oath of fidelity. Then there was Paulus and\nAntonius\u2019s mistress, a second time to be {295} feared by Rome: and\nwhen he had cut out these ulcers from his very limbs, others grew\nin their place: the empire, like a body overloaded with blood, was\nalways breaking out somewhere. For this reason he longed for leisure:\nall his labours were based upon hopes and thoughts of leisure: this\nwas the wish of him who could accomplish the wishes of all other\nmen.\n\nV. While tossed hither and thither by Catiline and Clodius, Pompeius\nand Crassus, by some open enemies and some doubtful friends, while\nhe struggled with the struggling republic and kept it from going\nto ruin, when at last he was banished, being neither able to keep\nsilence in prosperity nor to endure adversity with patience, how\noften must Marcus Cicero have cursed that consulship of his which\nhe never ceased to praise, and which nevertheless deserved it? What\npiteous expressions he uses in a letter to Atticus when Pompeius\nthe father had been defeated, and his son was recruiting his shattered\nforces in Spain? \u201cDo you ask,\u201d writes he, \u201cwhat I am doing here? I\nam living in my Tusculan villa almost as a prisoner.\u201d He adds more\nafterwards, wherein he laments his former life, complains of the\npresent, and despairs of the future. Cicero called himself \u201chalf a\nprisoner,\u201d but, by Hercules, the wise man never would have come\nunder so lowly a title: he never would be half a prisoner, but would\nalways enjoy complete and entire liberty, being free, in his own\npower, and greater than all others: for what can be greater than\nthe man who is greater than Fortune?\n\nVI. When Livius Drusus, a vigorous and energetic man, brought forward\nbills for new laws and radical measures of the Gracchus pattern,\nbeing the centre of a vast mob of all the peoples of Italy, and\nseeing no way to solve the question, since he was not allowed to\ndeal with it as he wished, and yet was not free to throw it up after\nhaving once taken part in it, complained bitterly of his life, which\nhad been {296} one of unrest from the very cradle, and said, we are\ntold, that \u201che was the only person who had never had any holidays\neven when he was a boy.\u201d Indeed, while he was still under age and\nwearing the praetexta, he had the courage to plead the cause of\naccused persons in court, and to make use of his influence so\npowerfully that it is well known that in some causes his exertions\ngained a verdict. Where would such precocious ambition stop? You\nmay be sure that one who showed such boldness as a child would end\nby becoming a great pest both in public and in private life: it was\ntoo late for him to complain that he had had no holidays, when from\nhis boyhood he had been a firebrand and a nuisance in the courts.\nIt is a stock question whether he committed suicide: for he fell\nby a sudden wound in the groin, and some doubted whether his death\nwas caused by his own hand, though none disputed its having happened\nmost seasonably. It would be superfluous to mention more who, while\nothers thought them the happiest of men, have themselves borne true\nwitness to their own feelings, and have loathed all that they have\ndone for all the years of their lives: yet by these complaints they\nhave effected no alteration either in others or in themselves: for\nafter these words have escaped them their feelings revert to their\naccustomed frame. By Hercules, that life of you great men, even\nthough it should last for more than a thousand years, is still a\nvery short one: those vices of yours would swallow up any extent\nof time: no wonder if this our ordinary span, which, though Nature\nhurries on, can be enlarged by common sense, soon slips away from\nyou: for you do not lay hold of it or hold it back, and try to delay\nthe swiftest of all things, but you let it pass as though it were\na useless thing and you could supply its place.\n\nVII. Among these I reckon in the first place those who devote their\ntime to nothing but drinking and debauchery: {297} for no men are\nbusied more shamefully: the others, although the glory which they\npursue is but a counterfeit, still deserve some credit for their\npursuit of it\u2014though you may tell me of misers, of passionate men,\nof men who hate and who even wage war without a cause\u2014yet all such\nmen sin like men: but the sin of those who are given up to gluttony\nand lust is a disgraceful one. Examine all the hours of their lives:\nconsider how much time they spend in calculation, how much in\nplotting, how much in fear, how much in giving and deceiving flattery,\nhow much in entering into recognizances for themselves or for others,\nhow much in banquets, which indeed become a serious business, you\nwill see that they are not allowed any breathing time either by\ntheir pleasures or their pains. Finally, all are agreed that nothing,\nneither eloquence nor literature, can be done properly by one who\nis occupied with something else; for nothing can take deep root in\na mind which is directed to some other subject, and which rejects\nwhatever you try to stuff into it. No man knows less about living\nthan a business man: there is nothing about which it is more difficult\nto gain knowledge. Other arts have many folk everywhere who profess\nto teach them: some of them can be so thoroughly learned by mere\nboys, that they are able to teach them to others: but one\u2019s whole\nlife must be spent in learning how to live, and, which may perhaps\nsurprise you more, one\u2019s whole life must be spent in learning how\nto die. Many excellent men have freed themselves from all hindrances,\nhave given up riches, business, and pleasure, and have made it their\nduty to the very end of their lives to learn how to live: and yet\nthe larger portion of them leave this life confessing that they do\nnot yet know how to live, and still less know how to live as wise\nmen. Believe me, it requires a great man and one who is superior\nto human frailties not to allow any of his time to be filched from\nhim: {298} and therefore it follows that his life is a very long\none, because he devotes every possible part of it to himself: no\nportion lies idle or uncultivated, or in another man\u2019s power; for\nhe finds nothing worthy of being exchanged for his time, which he\nhusbands most grudgingly. He, therefore, had time enough: whereas\nthose who gave up a great part of their lives to the people of\nnecessity had not enough. Yet you need not suppose that the latter\nwere not sometimes conscious of their loss: indeed, you will hear\nmost of those who are troubled with great prosperity every now and\nthen cry out amid their hosts of clients, their pleadings in court,\nand their other honourable troubles, \u201cI am not allowed to live my\nown life.\u201d Why is he not allowed? because all those who call upon\nyou to defend them, take you away from yourself. How many of your\ndays have been spent by that defendant? by that candidate for office?\nby that old woman who is weary with burying her heirs? by that man\nwho pretends to be ill, in order to excite the greed of those who\nhope to inherit his property? by that powerful friend of yours, who\nuses you to swell his train, not to be his friend? Balance your\naccount, and run over all the days of your life; you will see that\nonly a very few days, and only those which were useless for any\nother purpose, have been left to you. He who has obtained the\n_fasces_[6] for which he longed, is eager to get rid of them, and\nis constantly saying, \u201cWhen will this year be over?\u201d another exhibits\npublic games, and once would have given a great deal for the chance\nof doing so, but now \u201cwhen,\u201d says he, \u201cshall I escape from this?\u201d\nanother is an advocate who is fought for in all the courts, and who\ndraws immense audiences, who crowd all the forum to a far greater\ndistance than they can hear him; \u201cWhen,\u201d says he, \u201cwill vacation-time\ncome?\u201d Every man hurries through his life, and {299} suffers from\na yearning for the future, and a weariness of the present: but he\nwho disposes of all his time for his own purposes, who arranges all\nhis days as though he were arranging the plan of his life, neither\nwishes for nor fears the morrow: for what new pleasure can any hour\nnow bestow upon him? he knows it all, and has indulged in it all\neven to satiety. Fortune may deal with the rest as she will, his\nlife is already safe from her: such a man may gain something, but\ncannot lose anything: and, indeed, he can only gain anything in the\nsame way as one who is already glutted and filled can get some extra\nfood which he takes although he does not want it. You have no\ngrounds, therefore, for supposing that any one has lived long,\nbecause he has wrinkles or grey hairs: such a man has not lived\nlong, but has only been long alive. Why! would you think that a man\nhad voyaged much if a fierce gale had caught him as soon as he left\nhis port, and he had been driven round and round the same place\ncontinually by a succession of winds blowing from opposite quarters?\nsuch a man has not travelled much, he has only been much tossed\nabout.\n\nVIII. I am filled with wonder when I see some men asking others for\ntheir time, and those who are asked for it most willing to give it:\nboth parties consider the object for which the time is given, but\nneither of them thinks of the time itself, as though in asking for\nthis one asked for nothing, and in giving it one gave nothing: we\nplay with what is the most precious of all things: yet it escapes\nmen\u2019s notice, because it is an incorporeal thing, and because it\ndoes not come before our eyes; and therefore it is held very cheap,\nnay, hardly any value whatever is put upon it. Men set the greatest\nstore upon presents or pensions, and hire out their work, their\nservices, or their care in order to gain them: no one values time:\nthey give it much more freely, as though it cost nothing. Yet you\nwill see these {300} same people clasping the knees of their physician\nas suppliants when they are sick and in present peril of death, and\nif threatened with a capital charge willing to give all that they\npossess in order that they may live: so inconsistent are they.\nIndeed, if the number of every man\u2019s future years could be laid\nbefore him, as we can lay that of his past years, how anxious those\nwho found that they had but few years remaining would be to make\nthe most of them? Yet it is easy to arrange the distribution of a\nquantity, however small, if we know how much there is: what you\nought to husband most carefully is that which may run short you\nknow not when. Yet you have no reason to suppose that they do not\nknow how dear a thing time is: they are wont to say to those whom\nthey especially love that they are ready to give them a part of\ntheir own years. They do give them, and know not that they are\ngiving them; but they give them in such a manner that they themselves\nlose them without the others gaining them. They do not, however,\nknow whence they obtain their supply, and therefore they are able\nto endure the waste of what is not seen: yet no one will give you\nback your years, no one will restore them to you again: your life\nwill run its course when once it has begun, and will neither begin\nagain or efface what it has done. It will make no disturbance, it\nwill give you no warning of how fast it flies: it will move silently\non: it will not prolong itself at the command of a king, or at the\nwish of a nation: as it started on its first day, so it will run:\nit will never turn aside, never delay. What follows, then? Why! you\nare busy, but life is hurrying on: death will be here some time or\nother, and you must attend to him, whether you will or no.\n\nIX. Can anything be mentioned which is more insane than the ideas\nof leisure of those people who boast of their worldly wisdom? They\nlive laboriously, in order that {301} they may live better; they\nfit themselves out for life at the expense of life itself, and cast\ntheir thoughts a long way forwards: yet postponement is the greatest\nwaste of life: it wrings day after day from us, and takes away the\npresent by promising something hereafter: there is no such obstacle\nto true living as waiting, which loses to-day while it is depending\non the morrow. You dispose of that which is in the hand of Fortune,\nand you let go that which is in your own. Whither are you looking,\nwhither are you stretching forward? everything future is uncertain:\nlive now straightway. See how the greatest of bards cries to you\nand sings in wholesome verse as though inspired with celestial\nfire:\u2014\n\n \u201cThe best of wretched mortals\u2019 days is that Which is the first\n to fly.\u201d\n\nWhy do you hesitate, says he, why do you stand back? unless you\nseize it it will have fled: and even if you do seize it, it will\nstill fly. Our swiftness in making use of our time ought therefore\nto vie with the swiftness of time itself, and we ought to drink of\nit as we should of a fast-running torrent which will not be always\nrunning. The poet, too, admirably satirizes our boundless thoughts,\nwhen he says, not \u201cthe first age,\u201d but \u201cthe first day.\u201d Why are you\ncareless and slow while time is flying so fast, and why do you\nspread out before yourself a vision of long months and years, as\nmany as your greediness requires? he talks with you about one day,\nand that a fast-fleeting one. There can, then, be no doubt that the\nbest days are those which fly first for wretched, that is, for busy\nmortals, whose minds are still in their childhood when old age comes\nupon them, and they reach it unprepared and without arms to combat\nit. They have never looked forward: they have all of a sudden\nstumbled upon old age: they never noticed that it was stealing upon\nthem day by day. As conversation, or reading, or deep thought\ndeceives travellers, and they find {302} themselves at their journey\u2019s\nend before they knew that it was drawing near, so in this fast and\nnever-ceasing journey of life, which we make at the same pace whether\nwe are asleep or awake, busy people never notice that they are\nmoving till they are at the end of it.\n\nX. If I chose to divide this proposition into separate steps,\nsupported by evidence, many things occur to me by which I could\nprove that the lives of busy men are the shortest of all. Fabianus,\nwho was none of your lecture-room philosophers, but one of the true\nantique pattern, used to say, \u201cWe ought to fight against the passions\nby main force, not by skirmishing, and upset their line of battle\nby a home charge, not by inflicting trifling wounds: I do not approve\nof dallying with sophisms; they must be crushed, not merely scratched.\u201d\nYet, in order that sinners may be confronted with their errors,\nthey must be taught, and not merely mourned for. Life is divided\ninto three parts: that which has been, that which is, and that which\nis to come: of these three stages, that which we are passing through\nis brief, that which we are about to pass is uncertain, and that\nwhich we have passed is certain: this it is over which Fortune has\nlost her rights, and which can fall into no other man\u2019s power: and\nthis is what busy men lose: for they have no leisure to look back\nupon the past, and even if they had, they take no pleasure in\nremembering what they regret: they are, therefore, unwilling to\nturn their minds to the contemplation of ill-spent time, and they\nshrink from reviewing a course of action whose faults become glaringly\napparent when handled a second time, although they were snatched\nat when we were under the spell of immediate gratification. No one,\nunless all his acts have been submitted to the infallible censorship\nof his own conscience, willingly turns his thoughts back upon the\npast. He who has ambitiously desired, haughtily scorned, passionately\nvanquished, treacherously deceived, greedily snatched, or prodigally\n{303} wasted much, must needs fear his own memory; yet this is a\nholy and consecrated part of our time, beyond the reach of all human\naccidents, removed from the dominion of Fortune, and which cannot\nbe disquieted by want, fear, or attacks of sickness: this can neither\nbe troubled nor taken away from one: we possess it for ever\nundisturbed. Our present consists only of single days, and those,\ntoo, taken one hour at a time: but all the days of past times appear\nbefore us when bidden, and allow themselves to be examined and\nlingered over, albeit busy men cannot find time for so doing. It\nis the privilege of a tranquil and peaceful mind to review all the\nparts of its life: but the minds of busy men are like animals under\nthe yoke, and cannot bend aside or look back. Consequently, their\nlife passes away into vacancy, and as you do no good however much\nyou may pour into a vessel which cannot keep or hold what you put\nthere, so also it matters not how much time you give men if it can\nfind no place to settle in, but leaks away through the chinks and\nholes of their minds. Present time is very short, so much so that\nto some it seems to be no time at all; for it is always in motion,\nand runs swiftly away: it ceases to exist before it comes, and can\nno more brook delay than can the universe or the host of heaven,\nwhose unresting movement never lets them pause on their way. Busy\nmen, therefore, possess present time, alone, that being so short\nthat they cannot grasp it, and when they are occupied with many\nthings they lose even this.\n\nXI. In a word, do you want to know for how short a time they live?\nsee how they desire to live long: broken-down old men beg in their\nprayers for the addition of a few more years: they pretend to be\nyounger than they are: they delude themselves with their own lies,\nand are as willing to cheat themselves as if they could cheat Fate\nat the same time: when at last some weakness reminds them that they\n{304} are mortal, they die as it were in terror: they may rather\nbe said to be dragged out of this life than to depart from it. They\nloudly exclaim that they have been fools and have not lived their\nlives, and declare that if they only survive this sickness they\nwill spend the rest of their lives at leisure: at such times they\nreflect how uselessly they have laboured to provide themselves with\nwhat they have never enjoyed, and how all their toil has gone for\nnothing: but those whose life is spent without any engrossing\nbusiness may well find it ample: no part of it is made over to\nothers, or scattered here and there; no part is entrusted to Fortune,\nis lost by neglect, is spent in ostentatious giving, or is useless:\nall of it is, so to speak, invested at good interest. A very small\namount of it, therefore, is abundantly sufficient, and so, when his\nlast day arrives, the wise man will not hang back, but will walk\nwith a steady step to meet death.\n\nXII. Perhaps you will ask me whom I mean by \u201cbusy men\u201d? you need\nnot think that I allude only to those who are hunted out of the\ncourts of justice with dogs at the close of the proceedings, those\nwhom you see either honourably jostled by a crowd of their own\nclients or contemptuously hustled in visits of ceremony by strangers,\nwho call them away from home to hang about their patron\u2019s doors,\nor who make use of the praetor\u2019s sales by auction to acquire infamous\ngains which some day will prove their own ruin. Some men\u2019s leisure\nis busy: in their country house or on their couch, in complete\nsolitude, even though they have retired from all men\u2019s society,\nthey still continue to worry themselves: we ought not to say that\nsuch men\u2019s life is one of leisure, but their very business is sloth.\nWould you call a man idle who expends anxious finicking care in the\narrangement of his Corinthian bronzes, valuable only through the\nmania of a few connoisseurs? and who passes the greater part of his\ndays among plates of rusty metal? who sits in the palaestra (shame,\nthat our very vices {305} should be foreign) watching boys wrestling?\nwho distributes his gangs of fettered slaves into pairs according\nto their age and colour? who keeps athletes of the latest fashion?\nWhy, do you call those men idle, who pass many hours at the barber\u2019s\nwhile the growth of the past night is being plucked out by the\nroots, holding councils over each several hair, while the scattered\nlocks are arranged in order and those which fall back are forced\nforward on to the forehead? How angry they become if the shaver is\na little careless, as though he were shearing a _man_! what a white\nheat they work themselves into if some of their mane is cut away,\nif some part of it is ill-arranged, if all their ringlets do not\nlie in regular order! who of them would not rather that the state\nwere overthrown than that his hair should be ruffled? who does not\ncare more for the appearance of his head than for his health? who\nwould not prefer ornament to honour? Do you call these men idle,\nwho make a business of the comb and looking-glass? what of those\nwho devote their lives to composing, hearing, and learning songs,\nwho twist their voices, intended by Nature to sound best and simplest\nwhen used straightforwardly, through all the turns of futile melodies:\nwhose fingers are always beating time to some music on which they\nare inwardly meditating; who, when invited to serious and even sad\nbusiness may be heard humming an air to themselves?\u2014such people are\nnot at leisure, but are busy about trifles. As for their banquets,\nby Hercules, I cannot reckon them among their unoccupied times when\nI see with what anxious care they set out their plate, how laboriously\nthey arrange the girdles of their waiters\u2019 tunics, how breathlessly\nthey watch to see how the cook dishes up the wild boar, with what\nspeed, when the signal is given, the slave-boys run to perform their\nduties, how skilfully birds are carved into pieces of the right\nsize, how painstakingly wretched youths wipe up the spittings of\ndrunken men. By these means men seek credit for taste {306} and\ngrandeur, and their vices follow them so far into their privacy\nthat they can neither eat nor drink without a view to effect. Nor\nshould I count those men idle who have themselves carried hither\nand thither in sedans and litters, and who look forward to their\nregular hour for taking this exercise as though they were not allowed\nto omit it: men who are reminded by some one else when to bathe,\nwhen to swim, when to dine: they actually reach such a pitch of\nlanguid effeminacy as not to be able to find out for themselves\nwhether they are hungry. I have heard one of these luxurious folk\u2014if\nindeed, we ought to give the name of luxury to unlearning the life\nand habits of a man\u2014when he was carried in men\u2019s arms out of the\nbath and placed in his chair, say inquiringly, \u201cAm I seated?\u201d Do\nyou suppose that such a man as this, who did not know when he was\nseated, could know whether he was alive, whether he could see,\nwhether he was at leisure? I can hardly say whether I pity him more\nif he really did not know or if he pretended not to know this. Such\npeople do really become unconscious of much, but they behave as\nthough they were unconscious of much more: they delight in some\nfailings because they consider them to be proofs of happiness: it\nseems the part of an utterly low and contemptible man to know what\nhe is doing. After this, do you suppose that playwrights draw largely\nupon their imaginations in their burlesques upon luxury: by Hercules,\nthey omit more than they invent; in this age, inventive in this\nalone, such a number of incredible vices have been produced, that\nalready you are able to reproach the playwrights with omitting to\nnotice them. To think that there should be any one who had so far\nlost his senses through luxury as to take some one else\u2019s opinion\nas to whether he was sitting or not? This man certainly is not at\nleisure: you must bestow a different title on him: he is sick, or\nrather dead: he only is at leisure who feels that he is at leisure:\nbut this creature is {307} only half alive, if he wants some one\nto tell him what position his body is in. How can such a man be\nable to dispose of any time?\n\nXIII. It would take long to describe the various individuals who\nhave wasted their lives over playing at draughts, playing at ball,\nor toasting their bodies in the sun: men are not at leisure if their\npleasures partake of the character of business, for no one will\ndoubt that those persons are laborious triflers who devote themselves\nto the study of futile literary questions, of whom there is already\na great number in Rome also. It used to be a peculiarly Greek disease\nof the mind to investigate how many rowers Ulysses had, whether the\nIliad or the Odyssey was written first, and furthermore, whether\nthey were written by the same author, with other matters of the\nsame stamp, which neither please your inner consciousness if you\nkeep them to yourself, nor make you seem more learned, but only\nmore troublesome, if you publish them abroad. See, already this\nvain longing to learn what is useless has taken hold of the Romans:\nthe other day I heard somebody telling who was the first Roman\ngeneral who did this or that: Duillius was the first who won a\nsea-fight, Curius Dentatus was the first who drove elephants in his\ntriumph: moreover, these stories, though they add nothing to real\nglory, do nevertheless deal with the great deeds of our countrymen:\nsuch knowledge is not profitable, yet it claims our attention as a\nfascinating kind of folly. I will even pardon those who want to\nknow who first persuaded the Romans to go on board ship. It was\nClaudius, who for this reason was surnamed Caudex, because any piece\nof carpentry formed of many planks was called _caudex_ by the ancient\nRomans, for which reason public records are called _Codices_, and\nby old custom the ships which ply on the Tiber with provisions are\ncalled _codicariae_. Let us also allow that it is to the point to\ntell how Valerius Corvinus was the first {308} to conquer Messana,\nand first of the family of the Valerii transferred the name of the\ncaptured city to his own, and was called Messana, and how the people\ngradually corrupted the pronunciation and called him Messalla: or\nwould you let any one find interest in Lucius Sulla having been the\nfirst to let lions loose in the circus, they having been previously\nexhibited in chains, and hurlers of darts having been sent by King\nBocchus to kill them? This may be permitted to their curiosity: but\ncan it serve any useful purpose to know that Pompeius was the first\nto exhibit eighteen elephants in the circus, who were matched in a\nmimic battle with some convicts? The leading man in the state, and\none who, according to tradition, was noted among the ancient leaders\nof the state for his transcendent goodness of heart, thought it a\nnotable kind of show to kill men in a manner hitherto unheard of.\nDo they fight to the death? that is not cruel enough: are they torn\nto pieces? that is not cruel enough: let them be crushed flat by\nanimals of enormous bulk. It would be much better that such a thing\nshould be forgotten, for fear that hereafter some potentate might\nhear of it and envy its refined barbarity. O, how doth excessive\nprosperity blind our intellects! at the moment at which he was\ncasting so many troops of wretches to be trampled on by outlandish\nbeasts, when he was proclaiming war between such different creatures,\nwhen he was shedding so much blood before the eyes of the Roman\npeople, whose blood he himself was soon to shed even more freely,\nhe thought himself the master of the whole world; yet he afterwards,\ndeceived by the treachery of the Alexandrians, had to offer himself\nto the dagger of the vilest of slaves, and then at last discovered\nwhat an empty boast was his surname of \u201cThe Great.\u201d But to return\nto the point from which I have digressed, I will prove that even\non this very subject some people expend useless pains. The same\nauthor tells us that {309} Metellus, when he triumphed after having\nconquered the Carthaginians in Sicily, was the only Roman who ever\nhad a hundred and twenty captured elephants led before his car: and\nthat Sulla was the last Roman who extended the pomoerium,[7] which\nit was not the custom of the ancients to extend on account of the\nconquest of provincial, but only of Italian territory. Is it more\nuseful to know this, than to know that the Mount Aventine, according\nto him, is outside of the pomoerium, for one of two reasons, either\nbecause it was thither that the plebeians seceded, or because when\nRemus took his auspices on that place the birds which he saw were\nnot propitious: and other stories without number of the like sort,\nwhich are either actual falsehoods or much the same as falsehoods?\nfor even if you allow that these authors speak in all good faith,\nif they pledge themselves for the truth of what they write, still,\nwhose mistakes will be made fewer by such stories? whose passions\nwill be restrained? whom will they make more brave, more just, or\nmore gentlemanly? My friend Fabianus used to say that he was not\nsure that it was not better not to apply oneself to any studies at\nall than to become interested in these.\n\nXIV. The only persons who are really at leisure are those who devote\nthemselves to philosophy: and they alone really live: for they do\nnot merely enjoy their own lifetime, but they annex every century\nto their own: all the years which have passed before them belong\nto them. Unless we are the most ungrateful creatures in the world,\nwe shall regard these noblest of men, the founders of divine schools\nof thought, as having been born for us, and having prepared life\nfor us: we are led by the labour of others to behold most beautiful\nthings which have been brought out of darkness into light; we are\nnot shut out from any period, we can make our way into every subject,\n{310} and, if only we can summon up sufficient strength of mind to\noverstep the narrow limit of human weakness, we have a vast extent\nof time wherein to disport ourselves: we may argue with Socrates,\ndoubt with Carneades, repose with Epicurus, overcome human nature\nwith the Stoics, out-herod it with the Cynics. Since Nature allows\nus to commune with every age, why do we not abstract ourselves from\nour own petty fleeting span of time, and give ourselves up with our\nwhole mind to what is vast, what is eternal, what we share with\nbetter men than ourselves? Those who gad about in a round of calls,\nwho worry themselves and others, after they have indulged their\nmadness to the full, and crossed every patron\u2019s threshold daily,\nleaving no open door unentered, after they have hawked about their\ninterested greetings in houses of the most various character,\u2014after\nall, how few people are they able to see out of so vast a city,\ndivided among so many different ruling passions: how many will be\nmoved by sloth, self-indulgence, or rudeness to deny them admittance:\nhow many, after they have long plagued them, will run past them\nwith feigned hurry? how many will avoid coming out through their\nentrance-hall with its crowds of clients, and will escape by some\nconcealed backdoor? as though it were not ruder to deceive their\nvisitor than to deny him admittance!\u2014how many, half asleep and\nstupid with yesterday\u2019s debauch, can hardly be brought to return\nthe greeting of the wretched man who has broken his own rest in\norder to wait on that of another, even after his name has been\nwhispered to them for the thousandth time, save by a most offensive\nyawn of his half-opened lips. We may truly say that those men are\npursuing the true path of duty, who wish every day to consort on\nthe most familiar terms with Zeno, Pythagoras, Democritus, and the\nrest of those high priests of virtue, with Aristotle and with\nTheophrastus. None of these men will be \u201cengaged,\u201d {311} none of\nthese will fail to send you away after visiting him in a happier\nframe of mind and on better terms with yourself, none of them will\nlet you leave him empty-handed: yet their society may be enjoyed\nby all men, and by night as well as by day.\n\nXV. None of these men will force you to die, but all of them will\nteach you how to die: none of these will waste your time, but will\nadd his own to it. The talk of these men is not dangerous, their\nfriendship will not lead you to the scaffold, their society will\nnot ruin you in expenses: you may take from them whatsoever you\nwill; they will not prevent your taking the deepest draughts of\ntheir wisdom that you please. What blessedness, what a fair old age\nawaits the man who takes these for his patrons! he will have friends\nwith whom he may discuss all matters, great and small, whose advice\nhe may ask daily about himself, from whom he will hear truth without\ninsult, praise without flattery, and according to whose likeness\nhe may model his own character. We are wont to say that we are not\nable to choose who our parents should be, but that they were assigned\nto us by chance; yet we may be born just as we please: there are\nseveral families of the noblest intellects: choose which you would\nlike to belong to: by your adoption you will not receive their name\nonly, but also their property, which is not intended to be guarded\nin a mean and miserly spirit: the more persons you divide it among\nthe larger it becomes. These will open to you the path which leads\nto eternity, and will raise you to a height from whence none shall\ncast you down. By this means alone can you prolong your mortal life,\nnay, even turn it into an immortal one. High office, monuments, all\nthat ambition records in decrees or piles up in stone, soon passes\naway: lapse of time casts down and ruins everything; but those\nthings on which Philosophy has set its seal are beyond the reach\nof injury: no age will discard them or {312} lessen their force,\neach succeeding century will add somewhat to the respect in which\nthey are held: for we look upon what is near us with jealous eyes,\nbut we admire what is further off with less prejudice. The wise\nman\u2019s life, therefore, includes much: he is not hedged in by the\nsame limits which confine others: he alone is exempt from the laws\nby which mankind is governed: all ages serve him like a god. If any\ntime be past, he recals it by his memory; if it be present, he uses\nit; if it be future, he anticipates it: his life is a long one\nbecause he concentrates all times into it.\n\nXVI. Those men lead the shortest and unhappiest lives who forget\nthe past, neglect the present, and dread the future: when they reach\nthe end of it the poor wretches learn too late that they were busied\nall the while that they were doing nothing. You need not think,\nbecause sometimes they call for death, that their lives are long:\ntheir folly torments them with vague passions which lead them into\nthe very things of which they are afraid: they often, therefore,\nwish for death because they live in fear. Neither is it, as you\nmight think, a proof of the length of their lives that they often\nfind the days long, that they often complain how slowly the hours\npass until the appointed time arrives for dinner: for whenever they\nare left without their usual business, they fret helplessly in their\nidleness, and know not how to arrange or to spin it out. They betake\nthemselves, therefore, to some business, and all the intervening\ntime is irksome to them; they would wish, by Hercules, to skip over\nit, just as they wish to skip over the intervening days before a\ngladiatorial contest or some other time appointed for a public\nspectacle or private indulgence: all postponement of what they wish\nfor is grievous to them. Yet the very time which they enjoy is brief\nand soon past, and is made much briefer by their own fault: for\nthey run from one pleasure to another, and are not able to devote\n{313} themselves consistently to one passion: their days are not\nlong, but odious to them: on the other hand, how short they find\nthe nights which they spend with courtezans or over wine? Hence\narises that folly of the poets who encourage the errors of mankind\nby their myths, and declare that Jupiter to gratify his voluptuous\ndesires doubled the length of the night. Is it not adding fuel to\nour vices to name the gods as their authors, and to offer our\ndistempers free scope by giving them deity for an example? How can\nthe nights for which men pay so dear fail to appear of the shortest?\nthey lose the day in looking forward to the night, and lose the\nnight through fear of the dawn.\n\nXVII. Such men\u2019s very pleasures are restless and disturbed by various\nalarms, and at the most joyous moment of all there rises the anxious\nthought: \u201cHow long will this last?\u201d This frame of mind has led kings\nto weep over their power, and they have not been so much delighted\nat the grandeur of their position, as they have been terrified by\nthe end to which it must some day come. That most arrogant Persian\nking,[8] when his army stretched over vast plains and could not be\ncounted but only measured, burst into tears at the thought that in\nless than a hundred years none of all those warriors would be alive:\nyet their death was brought upon them by the very man who wept over\nit, who was about to destroy some of them by sea, some on land,\nsome in battle, and some in flight, and who would in a very short\nspace of time put an end to those about whose hundredth year he\nshowed such solicitude. Why need we wonder at their very joys being\nmixed with fear? they do not rest upon any solid grounds, but are\ndisturbed by the same emptiness from which they spring. What must\nwe suppose to be the misery of such times as even they acknowledge\nto be wretched, when even the joys by which they elevate themselves\nand raise themselves above their fellows are of {314} a mixed\ncharacter. All the greatest blessings are enjoyed with fear, and\nno thing is so untrustworthy as extreme prosperity: we require fresh\nstrokes of good fortune to enable us to keep that which we are\nenjoying, and even those of our prayers which are answered require\nfresh prayers. Everything for which we are dependent on chance is\nuncertain: the higher it rises, the more opportunities it has of\nfalling. Moreover, no one takes any pleasure in what is about to\nfall into ruin: very wretched, therefore, as well as very short\nmust be the lives of those who work very hard to gain what they\nmust work even harder to keep: they obtain what they wish with\ninfinite labour, and they hold what they have obtained with fear\nand trembling. Meanwhile they take no account of time, of which\nthey will never have a fresh and larger supply: they substitute new\noccupations for old ones, one hope leads to another, one ambition\nto another: they do not seek for an end to their wretchedness, but\nthey change its subject. Do our own preferments trouble us? nay,\nthose of other men occupy more of our time. Have we ceased from our\nlabours in canvassing? then we begin others in voting. Have we got\nrid of the trouble of accusation? then we begin that of judging.\nHas a man ceased to be a judge? then he becomes an examiner. Has\nhe grown old in the salaried management of other people\u2019s property?\nthen he becomes occupied with his own. Marius is discharged from\nmilitary service; he becomes consul many times: Quintius is eager\nto reach the end of his dictatorship; he will be called a second\ntime from the plough: Scipio marched against the Carthaginians\nbefore he was of years sufficient for so great an undertaking; after\nhe has conquered Hannibal, conquered Antiochus, been the glory of\nhis own consulship and the surety for that of his brother, he might,\nhad he wished it, have been set on the same pedestal with Jupiter;\nbut civil factions will vex the saviour of the state, and he who\nwhen {315} a young man disdained to receive divine honours, will\ntake pride as an old man in obstinately remaining in exile. We shall\nnever lack causes of anxiety, either pleasurable or painful: our\nlife will be pushed along from one business to another: leisure\nwill always be wished for, and never enjoyed.\n\nXVIII. Whefore, my dearest Paulinus, tear yourself away from the\ncommon herd, and since you have seen more rough weather than one\nwould think from your age, betake yourself at length to a more\npeaceful haven: reflect what waves you have sailed through, what\nstorms you have endured in private life, and brought upon yourself\nin public. Your courage has been sufficiently displayed by many\ntoilsome and wearisome proofs; try how it will deal with leisure:\nthe greater, certainly the better part of your life, has been given\nto your country; take now some part of your time for yourself as\nwell. I do not urge you to practise a dull or lazy sloth, or to\ndrown all your fiery spirit in the pleasures which are dear to the\nherd: that is not rest: you can find greater works than all those\nwhich you have hitherto so manfully carried out, upon which you may\nemploy yourself in retirement and security. You manage the revenues\nof the entire world, as unselfishly as though they belonged to\nanother, as laboriously as if they were your own, as scrupulously\nas though they belonged to the public: you win love in an office\nin which it is hard to avoid incurring hatred; yet, believe me, it\nis better to understand your own mind than to understand the\ncorn-market. Take away that keen intellect of yours, so well capable\nof grappling with the greatest subjects, from a post which may be\ndignified, but which is hardly fitted to render life happy, and\nreflect that you did not study from childhood all the branches of\na liberal education merely in order that many thousand tons of corn\nmight safely be entrusted to your charge: you have {316} given us\npromise of something greater and nobler than this. There will never\nbe any want of strict economists or of laborious workers: slow-going\nbeasts of burden are better suited for carrying loads than well-bred\nhorses, whose generous swiftness no one would encumber with a heavy\npack. Think, moreover, how full of risk is the great task which you\nhave undertaken: you have to deal with the human stomach: a hungry\npeople will not endure reason, will not be appeased by justice, and\nwill not hearken to any prayers. Only just a few days ago, when G.\nCaesar perished, grieving for nothing so much (if those in the other\nworld can feel grief) as that the Roman people did not die with\nhim, there was said to be only enough corn for seven or eight days\u2019\nconsumption: while he was making bridges with ships[9] and playing\nwith the resources of the empire, want of provisions, the worst\nevil that can befall even a besieged city, was at hand: his imitation\nof a crazy outlandish and misproud king very nearly ended in ruin,\nfamine, and the general revolution which follows famine. What must\nthen have been the feelings of those who had the charge of supplying\nthe city with corn, who were in danger of stoning, of fire and\nsword, of Gaius himself? With consummate art they concealed the\nvast internal evil by which the state was menaced, and were quite\nright in so doing; for some diseases must be cured without the\npatient\u2019s knowledge: many have died through discovering what was\nthe matter with them.\n\nXIX. Betake yourself to these quieter, safer, larger fields of\naction: do you think that there can be any comparison between seeing\nthat corn is deposited in the public {317} granary without being\nstolen by the fraud or spoilt by the carelessness of the importer,\nthat it does not suffer from damp or overheating, and that it\nmeasures and weighs as much as it ought, and beginning the study\nof sacred and divine knowledge, which will teach you of what elements\nthe gods are formed, what are their pleasures, their position, their\nform? to what changes your soul has to look forward? where Nature\nwill place us when we are dismissed from our bodies? what that\nprinciple is which holds all the heaviest particles of our universe\nin the middle, suspends the lighter ones above, puts fire highest\nof all, and causes the stars to rise in their courses, with many\nother matters, full of marvels? Will you not[10] cease to grovel\non earth and turn your mind\u2019s eye on these themes? nay, while your\nblood still flows swiftly, before your knees grow feeble, you ought\nto take the better path. In this course of life there await you\nmany good things, such as love and practice of the virtues,\nforgetfulness of passions, knowledge of how to live and die, deep\nrepose. The position of all busy men is unhappy, but most unhappy\nof all is that of those who do not even labour at their own affairs,\nbut have to regulate their rest by another man\u2019s sleep, their walk\nby another man\u2019s pace, and whose very love and hate, the freest\nthings in the world, are at another\u2019s bidding. If such men wish to\nknow how short their lives are, let them think how small a fraction\nof them is their own.\n\nXX. When, therefore, you see a man often wear the purple robes of\noffice, and hear his name often repeated in the forum, do not envy\nhim: he gains these things by losing so much of his life. Men throw\naway all their years in order to have one year named after them as\nconsul: some lose their lives during the early part of the struggle,\nand never reach the height to which they aspired: {318} some after\nhaving submitted to a thousand indignities in order to reach the\ncrowning dignity, have the miserable reflexion that the only result\nof their labours will be the inscription on their tombstone. Some,\nwhile telling off extreme old age, like youth, for new aspirations,\nhave found it fail from sheer weakness amid great and presumptuous\nenterprises. It is a shameful ending, when a man\u2019s breath deserts\nhim in a court of justice, while, although well stricken in years,\nhe is still striving to gain the sympathies of an ignorant audience\nfor some obscure litigant: it is base to perish in the midst of\none\u2019s business, wearied with living sooner than with working;\nshameful, too, to die in the act of receiving payments, amid the\nlaughter of one\u2019s long-expectant heir. I cannot pass over an an\ninstance which occurs to me: Turannius was an old man of the most\npainstaking exactitude, who after entering upon his ninetieth year,\nwhen he had by G. Caesar\u2019s own act been relieved of his duties as\ncollector of the revenue, ordered himself to be laid out on his bed\nand mourned for as though he were dead. The whole house mourned for\nthe leisure of its old master, and did not lay aside its mourning\nuntil his work was restored to him. Can men find such pleasure in\ndying in harness? Yet many are of the same mind: they retain their\nwish for labour longer than their capacity for it, and fight against\ntheir bodily weakness; they think old age an evil for no other\nreason than because it lays them on the shelf. The law does not\nenrol a soldier after his fiftieth year, or require a senator\u2019s\nattendance after his sixtieth: but men have more difficulty in\nobtaining their own consent than that of the law to a life of\nleisure. Meanwhile, while they are plundering and being plundered,\nwhile one is disturbing another\u2019s repose, and all are being made\nwretched alike, life remains without profit, without pleasure,\nwithout any intellectual progress: no one keeps death well before\nhis eyes, no one refrains from far-reaching {319} hopes. Some even\narrange things which lie beyond their own lives, such as huge\nsepulchral buildings, the dedication of public works, and exhibitions\nto be given at their funeral-pyre, and ostentatious processions:\nbut, by Hercules, the funerals of such men ought to be conducted\nby the light of torches and wax tapers,[11] as though they had lived\nbut a few days.\n\n\n[1] \u201cOn croit que ce Paulin \u00e9toit fr\u00e8re de Pauline, \u00e9pouse de\nS\u00e9n\u00e9que.\u201d \u2014La Grange.\n\n[2] \u201cL\u2019un se consume en projets d\u2019ambition, dont le succ\u00e8s depend\ndu suffrage de l\u2019autrui.\u201d\u2014La Grange.\n\n[3] \u201cCombien d\u2019orateurs qui s\u2019\u00e9puisent de sang et de forces pour\nfaire montrer de leur g\u00e9nie!\u201d\u2014La Grange.\n\n[4] \u201cPour vous, jamais vous ne daign\u00e2tes vous regarder seulement,\nou vous entendre. Ne faites pas non plus valoir votre condescendance\na \u00e9couter les autres. Lorsque vous vous y pr\u00eatez, ce n\u2019est pas que\nvous aimiez a vous communiquer aux autres; c\u2019est que vous craignez\nde vous trouver avec vous-m\u00eame.\u201d\u2014La Grange.\n\n \u201cIt is a folly therefore beyond Sence, When great men will not\n give us Audience To count them proud; how dare we call it pride\n When we the same have to ourselves deny\u2019d.\n\n Yet they how great, how proud so e\u2019re, have bin Sometimes so\n courteous as to call thee in. And hear thee speak; but thou\n could\u2019st nere afford Thyself the leisure of a look or word.\n\n Thou should\u2019st not then herein another blame, Because when thou\n thyself do\u2019st do the same. Thou would\u2019st not be with others,\n but we see Plainly thou can\u2019st not with thine own self be.\u201d\n\n\u201cL. ANNAEUS SENECA, the Philosopher, his book of the Shortness of\nLife, translated into an English Poem. Imprinted at London, by\nWilliam Goldbird, for the Author, mdclxiii.\u201d\n\n[5] \u201cDans une lettre qu\u2019il envoya au S\u00e9nat apres avoir promis que\nson repos n\u2019aura ri\u00e8n indigne de la gloire de ses premi\u00e8res ann\u00e9es,\nil ajoute: Mais l\u2019execution y mettra un prix, que ne peuvent y\nmettre les promesses. J\u2019obeis cependant a la vive passion que j\u2019ai,\nde me voir a ce temps si d\u00e9sir\u00e9; et puisque l\u2019heureuse situation\nd\u2019affaires m\u2019en tient encore \u00e9loign\u00e9, j\u2019ai voulu du moins me\nsatisfaire en partie, par la douceur que je trouve \u00e0 vous en\nparler.\u201d\u2014La Grange.\n\n \u201cSuch words I find. But these things rather ought Be done, then\n said; yet so far hath the thought Of that wish\u2019d time prevail\u2019d,\n that though the glad Fruition of the thing be not yet had. Yet\n I,\u201d &c.\n\n[6] Fasces, the rods carried by the _lictors_ as symbols of office.\nSee Smith\u2019s \u201cDiet, of Antiquities,\u201d _s.v._\n\n[7] See Smith\u2019s \u201cDict. of Antiquities.\u201d\n\n[8] Xerxes.\n\n[9] \u201cS\u00e9n\u00e9que parle ici du pont que Caligula fit construire sur le\ngolphe de Baies, l\u2019an de Rome 791, 40 de J. C. . . . . rassembla\net fit entrer dans la construction de son pont tous les vaisseaux\nqui se trouverent dans les ports d\u2019Italie et des contr\u00e9es voisines.\nIl n\u2019excepta pas m\u00eame ceux qui etoient destin\u00e9s a y apporter des\ngrains \u00e9trangers,\u201d &c.\u2014LaGrange.\n\n[10] For _vis tu_ see Juv. v., vis tu consuetis, &c. Mayor\u2019s note.\n\n[11] As those of children were.\n\n\n\n\n{320}\n\nTHE ELEVENTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED\nTO HIS MOTHER, HELVIA.\n\nOF CONSOLATION.\n\n\nI. My best of mothers, I have often felt eager to console you, and\nhave as often checked that impulse. Many things urged me to make\nthe attempt: in the first place, I thought that if, though I might\nnot be able to restrain your tears, yet that if I could even wipe\nthem away, I should set myself free from all my own sorrows: then\nI was quite sure that I should rouse you from your grief with more\nauthority if I had first shaken it off myself. I feared, too, lest\nFortune, though overcome by me, might nevertheless overcome some\none of my family. Then I endeavoured to crawl and bind up your\nwounds in the best way I could, holding my hand over my own wound;\nbut then again other considerations occurred to me which held me\nback: I knew that I must not oppose your grief during its first\ntransports, lest my very attempts at consolation might irritate it,\nand add fuel to it: for in diseases, also, there is nothing more\nhurtful than medicine applied too soon. I waited, therefore, until\nit exhausted itself by its own violence, and being weakened by time,\nso that it was able to bear remedies, would allow itself to be\nhandled and {321} touched. Beside this, while turning over all the\nworks which the greatest geniuses have composed, for the purpose\nof soothing and pacifying grief, I could not find any instance of\none who had offered consolation to his relatives, while he himself\nwas being sorrowed over by them. Thus, the subject being a new one,\nI hesitated and feared that instead of consoling, I might embitter\nyour grief. Then there was the thought that a man who had only just\nraised his head after burying his child, and who wished to console\nhis friends, would require to use new phrases not taken from our\ncommon every-day words of comfort: but every sorrow of more than\nusual magnitude must needs prevent one\u2019s choosing one\u2019s words,\nseeing that it often prevents one\u2019s using one\u2019s very voice. However\nthis may be, I will make the attempt, not trusting in my own genius,\nbut because my consolation will be most powerful since it is I who\noffer it. You never would deny me anything, and I hope, though all\ngrief is obstinate, that you will surely not refuse me this request,\nthat you will allow me to set bounds to your sorrow.\n\nII. See how far I have presumed upon your indulgence: I have no\ndoubts about my having more power over you than your grief, than\nwhich nothing has more power over the unhappy. In order, therefore,\nto avoid encountering it straightway, I will at first take its part\nand offer it every encouragement: I will rip up and bring to light\nagain wounds already scarred. Some one may say, \u201cWhat sort of\nconsolation is this, for a man to rake up buried evils, and to bring\nall its sorrows before a mind which scarcely can bear the sight of\none?\u201d but let him reflect that diseases which are so malignant that\nthey do but gather strength from ordinary remedies, may often be\ncured by the opposite treatment: I will, therefore, display before\nyour grief all its woes and miseries: this will be to effect a cure,\nnot by soothing measures, but by cautery and {322} the knife. What\nshall I gain by this? I shall make the mind that could overcome so\nmany sorrows, ashamed to bewail one wound more in a body so full\nof scars. Let those whose feeble minds have been enervated by a\nlong period of happiness, weep and lament for many days, and faint\naway on receiving the slightest blow: but those whose years have\nall been passed amid catastrophes should bear the severest losses\nwith brave and unyielding patience. Continual misfortune has this\none advantage, that it ends by rendering callous those whom it is\nalways scourging. Ill fortune has given you no respite, and has not\nleft even your birthday free from the bitterest grief: you lost\nyour mother as soon as you were born, nay, while you were being\nborn, and you came into life, as it were, an outcast: you grew up\nunder a step-mother, whom you made into a mother by all the obedience\nand respect which even a real daughter could have bestowed upon\nher: and even a good step-mother costs every one dear. You lost\nyour most affectionate uncle, a brave and excellent man, just when\nyou were awaiting his return: and, lest Fortune should weaken its\nblows by dividing them, within a month you lost your beloved husband,\nby whom you had become the mother of three children. This sorrowful\nnews was brought you while you were already in mourning, while all\nyour children were absent, so that all your misfortunes seemed to\nhave been purposely brought upon you at a time when your grief could\nnowhere find any repose. I pass over all the dangers and alarms\nwhich you have endured without any respite: it was but the other\nday that you received the bones of three of your grandchildren in\nthe bosom from which you had sent them forth: less than twenty days\nafter you had buried my child, who perished in your arms and amid\nyour kisses, you heard that I had been exiled: you wanted only this\ndrop in your cup, to have to weep for those who still lived.\n\n{323}\n\nIII. The last wound is, I admit, the severest that you have ever\nyet sustained: it has not merely torn the skin, but has pierced you\nto the very heart: yet as recruits cry aloud when only slightly\nwounded, and shudder more at the hands of the surgeon than at the\nsword, while veterans even when transfixed allow their hurts to be\ndressed without a groan, and as patiently as if they were in some\none else\u2019s body, so now you ought to offer yourself courageously\nto be healed. Lay aside lamentations and wailings, and all the usual\nnoisy manifestations of female sorrow: you have gained nothing by\nso many misfortunes, if you have not learned how to suffer. Now,\ndo I seem not to have spared you? nay, I have not passed over any\nof your sorrows, but have placed them all together in a mass before\nyou.\n\nIV. I have done this by way of a heroic remedy: for I have determined\nto conquer this grief of yours, not merely to limit it; and I shall\nconquer it, I believe, if in the first place I can prove that I am\nnot suffering enough to entitle me to be called unhappy, let alone\nto justify me in rendering my family unhappy: and, secondly, if I\ncan deal with your case and prove that even your misfortune, which\ncomes upon you entirely through me, is not a severe one.\n\nThe point to which I shall first address myself is that of which\nyour motherly love longs to hear, I mean, that I am not suffering:\nif I can, I will make it clear to you that the events by which you\nthink that I am overwhelmed, are not unendurable: if you cannot\nbelieve this, I at any rate shall be all the more pleased with\nmyself for being happy under circumstances which could make most\nmen miserable. You need not believe what others say about me: that\nyou may not be puzzled by any uncertainty as to what to think, I\ndistinctly tell you that I am not miserable: I will add, for your\ngreater comfort, that it is not possible for me to be made miserable.\n\nV. We are born to a comfortable position enough, if we {324} do not\nafterwards lose it: the aim of Nature has been to enable us to live\nwell without needing a vast apparatus to enable us to do so: every\nman is able by himself to make himself happy. External circumstances\nhave very little importance either for good or for evil: the wise\nman is neither elated by prosperity nor depressed by adversity; for\nhe has always endeavoured to depend chiefly upon himself and to\nderive all his joys from himself. Do I, then, call myself a wise\nman? far from it: for were I able to profess myself wise, I should\nnot only say that I was not unhappy, but should avow myself to be\nthe most fortunate of men, and to be raised almost to the level of\na god: as it is, I have applied myself to the society of wise men,\nwhich suffices to lighten all sorrows, and, not being as yet able\nto rely upon my own strength, I have betaken myself for refuge to\nthe camp of others, of those, namely, who can easily defend both\nthemselves and their friends. They have ordered me always to stand\nas it were on guard, and to mark the attacks and charges of Fortune\nlong before she delivers them; she is only terrible to those whom\nshe catches unawares; he who is always looking out for her assault,\neasily sustains it: for so also an invasion of the enemy overthrows\nthose by whom it is unexpected, but those who have prepared themselves\nfor the coming war before it broke out, stand in their ranks fully\nequipped and repel with ease the first, which is always the most\nfurious onset. I never have trusted in Fortune, even when she seemed\nmost peaceful. I have accepted all the gifts of wealth, high office,\nand influence, which she has so bountifully bestowed upon me, in\nsuch a manner that she can take them back again without disturbing\nme: I have kept a great distance between them and myself: and\ntherefore she has taken them, not painfully torn them away from me.\nNo man loses anything by the frowns of Fortune unless he has been\ndeceived by her smiles: those who have {325} enjoyed her bounty as\nthough it were their own heritage for ever, and who have chosen to\ntake precedence of others because of it, lie in abject sorrow when\nher unreal and fleeting delights forsake their empty childish minds,\nthat know nothing about solid pleasure: but he who has not been\npuffed up by success, does not collapse after failure: he possesses\na mind of tried constancy, superior to the influences of either\nstate; for even in the midst of prosperity he has experimented upon\nhis powers of enduring adversity. Consequently I have always believed\nthat there was no real good in any of those things which all men\ndesire: I then found that they were empty, and merely painted over\nwith artificial and deceitful dyes, without containing anything\nwithin which corresponds to their outside: I now find nothing so\nharsh and fearful as the common opinion of mankind threatened me\nwith in this which is known as adversity: the word itself, owing\nto the prevalent belief and ideas current about it, strikes somewhat\nunpleasantly upon one\u2019s ears, and thrills the hearers as something\ndismal and accursed, for so hath the vulgar decreed that it should\nbe: but a great many of the decrees of the vulgar are reversed by\nthe wise.\n\nVI. Setting aside, then, the verdict of the majority, who are carried\naway by the first appearance of things and the usual opinion about\nthem, let us consider what is meant by exile: clearly a changing\nfrom one place to another. That I may not seem to be narrowing its\nforce, and taking away its worst parts, I must add, that this\nchanging of place is accompanied by poverty, disgrace, and contempt.\nAgainst these I will combat later on: meanwhile I wish to consider\nwhat there is unpleasant in the mere act of changing one\u2019s place\nof abode.\n\n\u201dIt is unbearable,\u201d men say, \u201cto lose one\u2019s native land.\u201d Look, I\npray you, on these vast crowds, for whom all the countless roofs\nof Rome can scarcely find shelter: the {326} greater part of those\ncrowds have lost their native land: they have flocked hither from\ntheir country towns and colonies, and in fine from all parts of the\nworld. Some have been brought by ambition, some by the exigencies\nof public office, some by being entrusted with embassies, some by\nluxury which seeks a convenient spot, rich in vices, for its exercise,\nsome by their wish for a liberal education, others by a wish to see\nthe public shows. Some have been led hither by friendship, some by\nindustry, which finds here a wide field for the display of its\npowers. Some have brought their beauty for sale, some their eloquence:\npeople of every kind assemble themselves together in Rome, which\nsets a high price both upon virtues and vices. Bid them all to be\nsummoned to answer to their names, and ask each one from what home\nhe has come: you will find that the greater part of them have left\ntheir own abodes, and journeyed to a city which, though great and\nbeauteous beyond all others, is nevertheless not their own. Then\nleave this city, which may be said to be the common property of all\nmen, and visit all other towns: there is not one of them which does\nnot contain a large proportion of aliens. Pass away from those whose\ndelightful situation and convenient position attracts many settlers:\nexamine wildernesses and the most rugged islands, Sciathus and\nSeriphus, Gyarus and Corsica: you will find no place of exile where\nsome one does not dwell for his own pleasure. What can be found\nbarer or more precipitous on every side than this rock? what more\nbarren in respect of food? what more uncouth in its inhabitants?\nmore mountainous in its configuration? or more rigorous in its\nclimate? yet even here there are more strangers than natives. So\nfar, therefore, is the mere change of place from being irksome,\nthat even this place has allured some away from their country. I\nfind some writers who declare that mankind has a natural itch for\nchange of abode and alteration of {327} domicile: for the mind of\nman is wandering and unquiet; it never stands still, but spreads\nitself abroad and sends forth its thoughts into all regions, known\nor unknown; being nomadic, impatient of repose, and loving novelty\nbeyond everything else. You need not be suprised at this, if you\nreflect upon its original source: it is not formed from the same\nelements as the heavy and earthly body, but from heavenly spirit:\nnow heavenly things are by their nature always in motion, speeding\nalong and flying with the greatest swiftness. Look at the luminaries\nwhich light the world: none of them stands still. The sun is\nperpetually in motion, and passes from one quarter to another, and\nalthough he revolves with the entire heaven, yet nevertheless he\nhas a motion in the contrary direction to that of the universe\nitself, and passes through all the constellations without remaining\nin any: his wandering is incessant, and he never ceases to move\nfrom place to place. All things continually revolve and are for\never changing; they pass from one position to another in accordance\nwith natural and unalterable laws: after they have completed a\ncertain circuit in a fixed space of time, they begin again the path\nwhich they had previously trodden. Be not surprised, then, if the\nhuman mind, which is formed from the same seeds as the heavenly\nbodies, delights in change and wandering, since the divine nature\nitself either takes pleasure in constant and exceeding swift motion\nor perhaps even preserves its existence thereby.\n\nVII. Come now, turn from divine to human affairs: you will see that\nwhole tribes and nations have changed their abodes. What is the\nmeaning of Greek cities in the midst of barbarous districts? or of\nthe Macedonian language existing among the Indians and the Persians?\nScythia and all that region which swarms with wild and uncivilized\ntribes boasts nevertheless Achaean cities along the shores of the\nBlack Sea. Neither the rigours of eternal winter, {328} nor the\ncharacter of men as savage as their climate, has prevented people\nmigrating thither. There is a mass of Athenians in Asia Minor.\nMiletus has sent out into various parts of the world citizens enough\nto populate seventy-five cities. That whole coast of Italy which\nis washed by the Lower Sea is a part of what once was \u201cGreater\nGreece.\u201d Asia claims the Tuscans as her own: there are Tyrians\nliving in Africa, Carthaginians in Spain; Greeks have pushed in\namong the Gauls, and Gauls among the Greeks. The Pyrenees have\nproved no barrier to the Germans: human caprice makes its way through\npathless and unknown regions: men drag along with them their children,\ntheir wives, and their aged and worn-out parents. Some have been\ntossed hither and thither by long wanderings, until they have become\ntoo wearied to choose an abode, but have settled in whatever place\nwas nearest to them: others have made themselves masters of foreign\ncountries by force of arms: some nations while making for parts\nunknown have been swallowed up by the sea: some have established\nthemselves in the place in which they were originally stranded by\nutter destitution. Nor have all men had the same reasons for leaving\ntheir country and for seeking for a new one: some have escaped from\ntheir cities when destroyed by hostile armies, and having lost their\nown lands have been thrust upon those of others: some have been\ncast out by domestic quarrels: some have been driven forth in\nconsequence of an excess of population, in order to relieve the\npressure at home: some have been forced to leave by pestilence, or\nfrequent earthquakes, or some unbearable defects of a barren soil:\nsome have been seduced by the fame of a fertile and over-praised\nclime. Different people have been led away from their homes by\ndifferent causes; but in all cases it is clear that nothing remains\nin the same place in which it was born: the movement of the human\nrace is perpetual: in this vast world some changes {329} take place\ndaily. The foundations of new cities are laid, new names of nations\narise, while the former ones die out, or become absorbed by more\npowerful ones. And yet what else are all these general migrations\nbut the banishments of whole peoples? Why should I lead you through\nall these details? what is the use of mentioning Antenor the founder\nof Padua, or Evander who established his kingdom of Arcadian settlers\non the banks of the Tiber? or Diomedes and the other heroes, both\nvictors and vanquished, whom the Trojan war scattered over lands\nwhich were not their own? It is a fact that the Roman Empire itself\ntraces its origin back to an exile as its founder, who, fleeing\nfrom his country after its conquest, with what few relics he had\nsaved from the wreck, had been brought to Italy by hard necessity\nand fear of his conqueror, which bade him seek distant lands. Since\nthen, how many colonies has this people sent forth into every\nprovince? wherever the Roman conquers, there he dwells. These\nmigrations always found people eager to take part in them, and\nveteran soldiers desert their native hearths and follow the flag\nof the colonists across the sea. The matter does not need illustrations\nby any more examples: yet I will add one more which I have before\nmy eyes: this very island[1] has often changed its inhabitants. Not\nto mention more ancient events, which have become obscure from their\nantiquity, the Greeks who inhabit Marseilles at the present day,\nwhen they left Phocaea, first settled here, and it is doubtful what\ndrove them hence, whether it was the rigour of the climate, the\nsight of the more powerful land of Italy, or the want of harbours\non the coast: for the fact of their having placed themselves in the\nmidst of what were then the most savage and uncouth tribes of Gaul\nproves that they were not driven hence by the ferocity of the\nnatives. Subsequently {330} the Ligurians came over into this same\nisland, and also the Spaniards,[2] which is proved by the resemblance\nof their customs: for they wear the same head-coverings and the\nsame sort of shoes as the Cantabrians, and some of their words are\nthe same: for by association with Greeks and Ligurians they have\nentirely lost their native speech. Hither since then have been\nbrought two Roman colonies, one by Marius, the other by Sulla: so\noften has the population of this barren and thorny rock been changed.\nIn fine, you will scarcely find any land which is still in the hands\nof its original inhabitants: all peoples have become confused and\nintermingled: one has come after another: one has wished for what\nanother scorned: some have been driven out of the land which they\ntook from another. Thus fate has decreed that nothing should ever\nenjoy an uninterrupted course of good fortune.\n\nVIII. Varro, that most learned of all the Romans, thought that for\nthe mere change of place, apart from the other evils attendant on\nexile, we may find a sufficient remedy in the thought that wherever\nwe go we always have the same Nature to deal with. Marcus Brutus\nthought that there was sufficient comfort in the thought that those\nwho go into exile are permitted to carry their virtues thither with\nthem. Though one might think that neither of these alone were able\nto console an exile, yet it must be confessed that when combined\nthey have great power: for how very little it is that we lose!\nwhithersoever we betake ourselves two most excellent things will\naccompany us, namely, a common Nature and our own especial virtue.\nBelieve me, this is the work of whoever was the Creator of the\nuniverse, whether he be an all-powerful deity, an incorporeal mind\nwhich effects vast works, a divine spirit by which all things from\nthe greatest to the smallest are equally pervaded, or {331} fate\nand an unalterable connected sequence of events, this, I say, is\nits work, that nothing above the very lowest can ever fall into the\npower of another: all that is best for a man\u2019s enjoyment lies beyond\nhuman power, and can neither be bestowed or taken away: this world,\nthe greatest and the most beautiful of Nature\u2019s productions, and\nits noblest part, a mind which can behold and admire it, are our\nown property, and will remain with us as long as we ourselves endure.\nLet us therefore briskly and cheerfully hasten with undaunted steps\nwhithersoever circumstances call us: let us wander over whatever\ncountries we please; no place of banishment can be found in the\nwhole world in which man cannot find a home. I can raise my eyes\nfrom the earth to the sky in one place as well as in another; the\nheavenly bodies are everywhere equally near to mankind: accordingly,\nas long as my eyes are not deprived of that spectacle of which they\nnever can have their fill, as long as I am allowed to gaze on the\nsun and moon, to dwell upon the other stars, to speculate upon their\nrisings and settings, their periods, and the reasons why they move\nfaster or slower, to see so many stars glittering throughout the\nnight, some fixed, some not moving in a wide orbit but revolving\nin their own proper track, some suddenly diverging from it, some\ndazzling our eyes by a fiery blaze as though they were falling, or\nflying along drawing after them a long trail of brilliant light:\nwhile I am permitted to commune with these, and to hold intercourse,\nas far as a human being may, with all the company of heaven, while\nI can raise my spirit aloft to view its kindred sparks above, what\ndoes it matter upon what soil I tread?\n\nIX. \u201cBut this country does not produce beautiful or fruit-bearing\ntrees; it is not watered by the courses of large or navigable rivers;\nit bears nothing which other nations would covet, since its produce\nbarely suffices to support its inhabitants: no precious marbles are\nquarried here, no veins {332} of gold and silver are dug out.\u201d What\nof that! It must be a narrow mind that takes pleasure in things of\nthe earth: it ought to be turned away from them to the contemplation\nof those which can be seen everywhere, which are equally brilliant\neverywhere: we ought to reflect, also, that these vulgar matters\nby a mistaken perversion of ideas prevent really good things reaching\nus: the further men stretch out their porticos, the higher they\nraise their towers, the more widely they extend their streets, the\ndeeper they sink their retreats from the heats of summer, the more\nponderous the roofs with which they cover their banqueting halls,\nthe more there will be to obstruct their view of heaven. Fortune\nhas cast you into a country in which there is no lodging more\nsplendid than a cottage: you must indeed have a poor spirit, and\none which seeks low sources of consolation, if you endure this\nbravely because you have seen the cottage of Romulus: say, rather,\n\u201cShould that lowly barn be entered by the virtues, it will straightway\nbecome more beautiful than any temple, because within it will be\nseen justice, self-restraint, prudence, love, a right division of\nall duties, a knowledge of all things on earth and in heaven. No\nplace can be narrow, if it contains such a company of the greatest\nvirtues; no exile can be irksome in which one can be attended by\nthese companions. Brutus, in the book which he wrote upon virtue,\nsays that he saw Marcellus in exile at Mytilene, living as happily\nas it is permitted to man to live, and never keener in his pursuit\nof literature than at that time. He consequently adds the reflexion:\n\u2018I seemed rather to be going into exile myself when I had to return\nwithout him, than to be leaving him in exile.\u2019 O how much more\nfortunate was Marcellus at that time, when Brutus praised him for\nhis exile, than when Rome praised him for his consulship! what a\nman that must have been who made any one think himself exiled because\nhe was leaving him in exile! what a man that {333} must have been\nwho attracted the admiration of one whom even his friend Cato\nadmired! Brutus goes on to say:\u2014 \u2018Gaius Caesar sailed past Mytilene\nwithout landing, because he could not bear to see a fallen man.\u2019\nThe Senate did indeed obtain his recall by public petition, being\nso anxious and sorrowful the while, that you would have thought\nthat they all were of Brutus\u2019s mind that day, and were not pleading\nthe cause of Marcellus, but their own, that they might not be sent\ninto exile by being deprived of him: yet he gained far greater glory\non the day when Brutus could not bear to leave him in exile, and\nCaesar could not bear to see him: for each of them bore witness to\nhis worth: Brutus grieved, and Caesar blushed at going home without\nMarcellus. Can you doubt that so great a man as Marcellus frequently\nencouraged himself to endure his exile patiently in some such terms\nas these: \u201cThe loss of your country is no misery to you: you have\nso steeped yourself in philosophic lore, as to know that all the\nworld is the wise man\u2019s country? What! was not this very man who\nbanished you absent from his country for ten successive years? he\nwas, no doubt, engaged in the extension of the empire, but for all\nthat he was absent from his country. Now see how his presence is\nrequired in Africa, which threatens to re-kindle the war, in Spain\nwhich is nursing up again the strength of the broken and shattered\nopposite faction, in treacherous Egypt, in fine, in all the parts\nof the world, for all are watching their opportunity to seize the\nempire at a disadvantage. Which will he go to meet first? which\npart of the universal conspiracy will he first oppose? His victory\nwill drag him through every country in the world. Let nations look\nup to him and worship him: do thou live satisfied with the admiration\nof Brutus.\u201d\n\nX. Marcellus, then, nobly endured his exile, and his change of place\nmade no change in his mind, even though it was accompanied by\npoverty, in which every man who {334} has not fallen into the madness\nof avarice and luxury, which upset all our ideas, sees no harm.\nIndeed, how very little is required to keep a man alive? and who,\nthat has any virtue whatever, will find this fail him? As for myself,\nI do not feel that I have lost my wealth, but my occupation: the\nwants of the body are few: it wants protection from the cold, and\nthe means of allaying hunger and thirst: all desires beyond these\nare vices, not necessities. There is no need for prying into all\nthe depths of the sea, for loading one\u2019s stomach with heaps of\nslaughtered animals, or for tearing up shell-fish[3] from the unknown\nshore of the furthest sea: may the gods and goddesses bring ruin\nupon those whose luxury transcends the bounds of an empire which\nis already perilously wide. They want to have their ostentatious\nkitchens supplied with game from the other side of the Phasis, and\nthough Rome has not yet obtained satisfaction from the Parthians,\nthey are not ashamed to obtain birds from them: they bring together\nfrom all regions everything, known or unknown, to tempt their\nfastidious palate: food, which their stomach, worn out with delicacies,\ncan scarcely retain, is brought from the most distant ocean: they\nvomit that they may eat, and eat that they may vomit, and do not\neven deign to digest the banquets which they ransack the globe to\nobtain. If a man despises these things, what harm can poverty do\nhim? If he desires them, then poverty even does him good, for he\nis cured in spite of himself, and though he will not receive remedies\neven upon compulsion, yet while he is unable to fulfil his wishes\nhe is as though he had them not. Gaius Caesar, whom in my opinion\nNature produced in order to show what unlimited vice would be capable\nof when combined with unlimited power, dined one day at a cost of\nten millions of sesterces: and though in this he had the {335}\nassistance of the intelligence of all his subjects, yet he could\nhardly find how to make one dinner out of the tribute-money of three\nprovinces. How unhappy are they whose appetite can only be aroused\nby costly food! and the costliness of food depends not upon its\ndelightful flavour and sweetness of taste, but upon its rarity and\nthe difficulty of procuring it: otherwise, if they chose to return\nto their sound senses, what need would they have of so many arts\nwhich minister to the stomach? of so great a commerce? of such\nravaging of forests? of such ransacking of the depths of the sea?\nFood is to be found everywhere, and has been placed by Nature in\nevery part the world, but they pass it by as though they were blind,\nand wander through all countries, cross the seas, and excite at a\ngreat cost the hunger which they might allay at a small one. One\nwould like to say: Why do you launch ships? why do you arm your\nhands for battle both with men and wild beasts? why do you run so\nriotously hither and thither? why do you amass fortune after fortune?\nAre you unwilling to remember how small our bodies are? is it not\nfrenzy and the wildest insanity to wish for so much when you can\ncontain so little? Though you may increase your income, and extend\nthe boundaries of your property, yet you never can enlarge your own\nbodies: when your business transactions have turned out well, when\nyou have made a successful campaign, when you have collected the\nfood for which you have hunted through all lands, you will have no\nplace in which to bestow all these superfluities. Why do you strive\nto obtain so much? Do you think that our ancestors, whose virtue\nsupports our vices even to the present day, were unhappy, though\nthey dressed their food with their own hands, though the earth was\ntheir bed, though their roofs did not yet glitter with gold, nor\ntheir temples with precious stones? and so they used then to swear\nwith scrupulous honesty by earthenware {336} gods; those who called\nthese gods to witness would go back to the enemy for certain death\nrather than break their word.[4] Do you suppose that our dictator\nwho granted an audience to the ambassadors of the Samnites, while\nhe roasted the commonest food before the fire himself with that\nvery hand with which he had so often smitten the enemy, and with\nwhich he had placed his laurel wreath upon the lap of Capitolian\nJove, enjoyed life less than the Apicius who lived in our own days,\nwhose habits tainted the entire century, who set himself up as a\nprofessor of gastronomy in that very city from which philosophers\nonce were banished as corrupters of youth? It is worth while to\nknow his end. After he had spent a hundred millions of sesterces\non his kitchen, and had wasted on each single banquet a sum equal\nto so many presents from the reigning emperors, and the vast revenue\nwhich he drew from the Capitol, being overburdened with debt, he\nthen for the first time was forced to examine his accounts: he\ncalculated that he would have ten millions left of his fortune,\nand, as though he would live a life of mere starvation on ten\nmillions, put an end to his life by poison. How great must the\nluxury of that man have been, to whom ten millions signified want?\nCan you think after this that the amount of money necessary to make\na fortune depends upon its actual extent rather than on the mind\nof the owner? Here was a man who shuddered at the thought of a\nfortune of ten million sesterces, and escaped by poison from a\nprospect which other men pray for. Yet, for a mind so diseased,\nthat last draught of his was the most wholesome: he was really\neating and drinking poisons when he was not only enjoying, but\nboasting of his enormous banquets, when he was flaunting his vices,\nwhen he was causing his country to follow his example, when he was\ninviting youths to imitate him, albeit youth is quick {337} to learn\nevil, without being provided with a model to copy. This is what\nbefalls those who do not use their wealth according to reason, which\nhas fixed limits, but according to vicious fashion, whose caprices\nare boundless and immeasurable. Nothing is sufficient for covetous\ndesire, but Nature can be satisfied even with scant measure. The\npoverty of an exile, therefore, causes no inconvenience, for no\nplace of exile is so barren as not to produce what is abundantly\nsufficient to support a man.\n\nXI. Next, need an exile regret his former dress and house? If he\nonly wishes for these things because of their use to him, he will\nwant neither roof nor garment, for it takes as little to cover the\nbody as it does to feed it: Nature has annexed no difficult conditions\nto anything which man is obliged to do. If, however, he sighs for\na purple robe steeped in floods of dye, interwoven with threads of\ngold and with many coloured artistic embroideries, then his poverty\nis his own fault, not that of Fortune: even though you restored to\nhim all that he has lost, you would do him no good; for he would\nhave more unsatisfied ambitions, if restored, than he had unsatisfied\nwants when he was an exile. If he longs for furniture glittering\nwith silver vases, plate which boasts the signature of antique\nartists, bronze which the mania of a small clique has rendered\ncostly, slaves enough to crowd however large a house, purposely\noverfed horses, and precious stones of all countries: whatever\ncollections he may make of these, he never will satisfy his insatiable\nappetite, any more than any amount of liquor will quench a thirst\nwhich arises not from the need of drink but from the burning heat\nwithin a man; for this is not thirst but disease. Nor does this\ntake place only with regard to money and food, but every want which\nis caused by vice and not by necessity is of this nature: however\nmuch you supply it with you do not quench it but intensify it. He\nwho restrains himself within the limits prescribed by {338} nature,\nwill not feel poverty; he who exceeds them will always be poor,\nhowever great his wealth may be. Even a place of exile suffices to\nprovide one with necessaries; whole kingdoms do not suffice to\nprovide one with superfluities. It is the mind which makes men rich:\nthis it is that accompanies them into exile, and in the most savage\nwildernesses, after having found sufficient sustenance for the body,\nenjoys its own overflowing resources: the mind has no more connexion\nwith money than the immortal gods have with those things which are\nso highly valued by untutored intellects, sunk in the bondage of\nthe flesh. Gems, gold, silver, and vast polished round tables are\nbut earthly dross, which cannot be loved by a pure mind that is\nmindful of whence it came, is unblemished by sin, and which, when\nreleased from the body, will straightway soar aloft to the highest\nheaven: meanwhile, as far as it is permitted by the hindrances of\nits mortal limbs and this heavy clog of the body by which it is\nsurrounded, it examines divine things with swift and airy thought.\nFrom this it follows that no free-born man, who is akin to the gods,\nand fit for any world and any age, can ever be in exile: for his\nthoughts are directed to all the heavens and to all times past and\nfuture: this trumpery body, the prison and fetter of the spirit,\nmay be tossed to this place or to that; upon it tortures, robberies,\nand diseases may work their will: but the spirit itself is holy and\neternal, and upon it no one can lay hands.\n\nXII. That you may not suppose that I merely use the maxims of the\nphilosophers to disparage the evils of poverty, which no one finds\nterrible, unless he thinks it so; consider in the first place how\nmany more poor people there are than rich, and yet you will not\nfind that they are sadder or more anxious than the rich: nay, I am\nnot sure that they are not happier, because they have fewer things\nto distract their minds. From these poor men, who often are not\n{339} unhappy at their poverty, let us pass to the rich. How many\noccasions there are on which they are just like poor men! When they\nare on a journey their baggage is cut down, whenever they are obliged\nto travel fast their train of attendants is dismissed. When they\nare serving in the army, how small a part of their property can\nthey have with them, since camp discipline forbids superfluities!\nNor is it only temporary exigences or desert places that put them\non the same level as poor men: they have some days on which they\nbecome sick of their riches, dine reclining on the ground, put away\nall their gold and silver plate, and use earthenware. Madmen! they\nare always afraid of this for which they sometimes wish. O how dense\na stupidity, how great an ignorance of the truth they show when\nthey flee from this thing and yet amuse themselves by playing with\nit! Whenever I look back to the great examples of antiquity, I feel\nashamed to seek consolation for my poverty, now that luxury has\nadvanced so far in the present age, that the allowance of an exile\nis larger than the inheritance of the princes of old. It is well\nknown that Homer had one slave, that Plato had three, and that Zeno,\nwho first taught the stern and masculine doctrine of the Stoics,\nhad none: yet could any one say that they lived wretchedly without\nhimself being thought a most pitiable wretch by all men? Menenius\nAgrippa, by whose mediation the patricians and plebeians were\nreconciled, was buried by public subscription. Attilius Regulus,\nwhile he was engaged in scattering the Carthaginians in Africa,\nwrote to the Senate that his hired servant had left him, and that\nconsequently his farm was deserted: whereupon it was decreed that\nas long as Regulus was absent, it should be cultivated at the expense\nof the state. Was it not worth his while to have no slave, if thereby\nhe obtained the Roman people for his farm-bailiff? Scipio\u2019s daughters\nreceived their dowries from the Treasury, because {340} their father\nhad left them none: by Hercules, it was right for the Roman people\nto pay tribute to Scipio for once, since he had exacted it for ever\nfrom Carthage. O how happy were those girls\u2019 husbands, who had the\nRoman people for their father-in-law. Can you think that those whose\ndaughters dance in the ballet, and marry with a settlement of a\nmillion sesterces, are happier than Scipio, whose children received\ntheir dowry of old-fashioned brass money from their guardian the\nSenate? Can any one despise poverty, when she has such a noble\ndescent to boast of? can an exile be angry at any privation, when\nScipio could not afford a portion for his daughters, Regulus could\nnot afford a hired labourer, Menenius could not afford a funeral?\nwhen all these men\u2019s wants were supplied in a manner which rendered\nthem a source of additional honour? Poverty, when such men as these\nplead its cause, is not only harmless, but positively attractive.\n\nXIII. To this one may answer: \u201cWhy do you thus ingeniously divide\nwhat can indeed be endured if taken singly, but which all together\nare overwhelming? Change of place can be borne if nothing more than\none\u2019s place be changed: poverty can be borne if it be without\ndisgrace, which is enough to cow our spirits by itself.\u201d If any one\nwere to endeavour to frighten me with the number of my misfortunes,\nI should answer him as follows: If you have enough strength to\nresist any one part of your ill-fortune, you will have enough to\nresist it all. If virtue has once hardened your mind, it renders\nit impervious to blows from any quarter: if avarice, that greatest\npest of the human race, has left it, you will not be troubled by\nambition: if you regard the end of your days not as a punishment,\nbut as an ordinance of nature, no fear of anything else will dare\nto enter the breast which has cast out the fear of death. If you\nconsider sexual passion to have been bestowed on mankind not for\nthe sake of pleasure, but for {341} the continuance of the race,\nall other desires will pass harmlessly by one who is safe even from\nthis secret plague, implanted in our very bosoms. Reason does not\nconquers vices one by one, but all together: if reason is defeated,\nit is utterly defeated once for all. Do you suppose that any wise\nman, who relies entirely upon himself, who has set himself free\nfrom the ideas of the common herd, can be wrought upon by disgrace?\nA disgraceful death is worse even than disgrace: yet Socrates bore\nthe same expression of countenance with which he had rebuked thirty\ntyrants, when he entered the prison and thereby took away the\ninfamous character of the place; for the place which contained\nSocrates could not be regarded as a prison. Was any one ever so\nblind to the truth as to suppose that Marcus Cato was disgraced by\nhis double defeat in his candidature for the praetorship and the\nconsulship? that disgrace fell on the praetorship and consulship\nwhich Cato honoured by his candidature. No one is despised by others\nunless he be previously despised by himself: a grovelling and abject\nmind may fall an easy prey to such contempt: but he who stands up\nagainst the most cruel misfortunes, and overcomes those evils by\nwhich others would have been crushed\u2014such a man, I say, turns his\nmisfortunes into badges of honour, because we are so constituted\nas to admire nothing so much as a man who bears adversity bravely.\nAt Athens, when Aristides was being led to execution, every one who\nmet him cast down his eyes and groaned, as though not merely a just\nman but justice herself was being put to death. Yet one man was\nfound who spat in his face: he might have been disturbed at this,\nsince he knew it could only be a foul-mouthed fellow that would\nhave the heart to do so; he, however, wiped his face, and with a\nsmile asked the magistrate who accompanied him to warn that man not\nto open his mouth so rudely again. To act thus was to treat contumely\nitself {342} with contempt. I know that some say that there is\nnothing more terrible than disgrace, and that they would prefer\ndeath. To such men I answer that even exile is often accompanied\nby no disgrace whatever: if a great man falls, he remains a great\nman after his fall, you can no more suppose that he is disgraced\nthan when people tread upon the walls of a ruined temple, which the\npious treat with as much respect as when they were standing.\n\nXIV. Since, then, my dearest mother, you have no reason for endless\nweeping on my account, it follows that your tears must flow on your\nown: there are two causes for this, either your having lost my\nprotection, or your not being able to bear the mere fact of separation.\nThe first of these I shall only touch upon lightly, for I know that\nyour heart loves nothing belonging to your children except themselves.\nLet other mothers look to that, who make use of their sons\u2019 authority\nwith a woman\u2019s passion, who are ambitious through their sons because\nthey cannot bear office themselves, who spend their sons\u2019 inheritance,\nand yet are eager to inherit it, and who weary their sons by lending\ntheir eloquence to others: you have always rejoiced exceedingly in\nthe successes of your sons, and have made no use of them whatever:\nyou have always set bounds to our generosity, although you set none\nto your own: you, while a minor under the power of the head of the\nfamily, still used to make presents to your wealthy sons: you managed\nour inheritances with as much care as if you were working for your\nown, yet refrained from touching them as scrupulously as if they\nbelonged to strangers: you have spared to use our influence, as\nthough you enjoyed other means of your own, and you have taken no\npart in the public offices to which we have been elected beyond\nrejoicing in our success and paying our expenses: your indulgence\nhas never been tainted by any thought of profit, and you cannot\nregret the loss of your son for a reason which never had any weight\nwith you before his exile.\n\n{343}\n\nXV. All my powers of consolation must be directed to the other\npoint, the true source of your maternal grief. You say, \u201cI am\ndeprived of the embraces of my darling son, I cannot enjoy the\npleasure of seeing him and of hearing him talk. Where is he at whose\nsight I used to smooth my troubled brow, in whose keeping I used\nto deposit all my cares? Where is his conversation, of which I never\ncould have enough? his studies, in which I used to take part with\nmore than a woman\u2019s eagerness, with more than a mother\u2019s familiarity?\nWhere are our meetings? the boyish delight which he always showed\nat the sight of his mother?\u201d To all this you add the actual places\nof our merrymakings and conversation, and, what must needs have\nmore power to move you than anything else, the traces of our late\nsocial life, for Fortune treated you with the additional cruelty\nof allowing you to depart on the very third day before my ruin,\nwithout a trace of anxiety, and not fearing anything of the kind.\nIt was well that we had been separated by a vast distance: it was\nwell that an absence of some years had prepared you to bear this\nblow: you came home, not to take any pleasure in your son, but to\nget rid of the habit of longing for him. Had you been absent long\nbefore, you would have borne it more bravely, as the very length\nof your absence would have moderated your longing to see me: had\nyou never gone away, you would at any rate have gained one last\nadvantage in seeing your son for two days longer: as it was, cruel\nFate so arranged it that you were not present with me during my\ngood fortune, and yet have not become accustomed to my absence. But\nthe harder these things are to bear, the more virtue you must summon\nto your aid, and the more bravely you must struggle as it were with\nan enemy whom you know well, and whom you have already often\nconquered. This blood did not flow from a body previously unhurt:\nyou have been struck through the scar of an old wound.\n\n{344}\n\nXVI. You have no grounds for excusing yourself on the ground of\nbeing a woman, who has a sort of right to weep without restraint,\nthough not without limit. For this reason our ancestors allotted a\nspace of ten months\u2019 mourning for women who had lost their husbands,\nthus settling the violence of a woman\u2019s grief by a public ordinance.\nThey did not forbid them to mourn, but they set limits to their\ngrief: for while it is a foolish weakness to give way to endless\ngrief when you lose one of those dearest to you, yet it shows an\nunnatural hardness of heart to express no grief at all: the best\nmiddle course between affection and hard common sense is both to\nfeel regret and to restrain it. You need not look at certain women\nwhose sorrow, when once begun, has been ended only by death: you\nknow some who after the loss of their sons have never laid aside\nthe garb of mourning: you are constitutionally stronger than these,\nand from you more is required. You cannot avail yourself of the\nexcuse of being a woman, for you have no womanish vices. Unchastity,\nthe greatest evil of the age, has never classed you with the majority\nof women; you have not been tempted either by gems or by pearls;\nriches have not allured you into thinking them the greatest blessing\nthat man can own; respectably brought up as you were in an old-fashioned\nand strict household, you have never been led astray by that imitation\nof others which is so full of danger even to virtuous women. You\nhave never been ashamed of your fruitfulness as though it were a\nreproach to your youth: you never concealed the signs of pregnancy\nas though it were an unbecoming burden, nor did you ever destroy\nyour expected child within your womb after the fashion of many other\nwomen, whose attractions are to be found in their beauty alone. You\nnever defiled your face with paints or cosmetics: you never liked\nclothes which showed the figure as plainly as though it were naked:\nyour sole ornament has been a consummate {345} loveliness which no\ntime can impair, your greatest glory has been your modesty. You\ncannot, therefore, plead your womanhood as an excuse for your grief,\nbecause your virtues have raised you above it: you ought to be as\nsuperior to womanish tears as you are to womanish vices. Even women\nwould not allow you to pine away after receiving this blow, but\nwould bid you quickly and calmly go through the necessary amount\nof mourning, and then to arise and shake it off: I mean, if you are\nwilling to take as your models those women whose eminent virtue has\ngiven them a place among even great men. Misfortune reduced the\nnumber of Cornelia\u2019s children from twelve to two: if you count the\nnumber of their deaths, Cornelia had lost ten: if you weigh them,\nshe had lost the Gracchi: nevertheless, when her friends were weeping\naround her and using too bitter imprecations against her fate, she\nforbade them to blame fortune for having deprived[5] her of her\nsons the Gracchi. Such ought to have been the mother of him who,\nwhen speaking in the Forum, said, \u201cWould you speak evil of the\nmother who bore me?\u201d The mother\u2019s speech seems to me to show a far\ngreater spirit: the son set a high value on the birth of the Gracchi;\nthe mother set an equal value on their deaths. Rutilia followed her\nson Cotta into exile, and was so passionately attached to him that\nshe could bear exile better than absence from him; nor did she\nreturn home before her son did so: after he had been restored, and\nhad been raised to honour in the republic, she bore his death as\nbravely as she had borne his exile. No one saw any traces of tears\nupon her cheeks after she had buried her son: she displayed her\ncourage when he was banished, her wisdom when he died: she allowed\nno {346} considerations either to interfere with her affection, or\nto force her to protract a useless and foolish mourning. These are\nthe women with whom I wish you to be numbered: you have the best\nreasons for restraining and suppressing your sorrow as they did,\nbecause you have always imitated their lives.\n\nXVII. I am aware that this is a matter which is not in our power,\nand that none of the passions, least of all that which arises from\ngrief, are obedient to our wishes; indeed, it is overbearing and\nobstinate, and stubbornly rejects all remedies: we sometimes wish\nto crush it, and to swallow our emotion, but, nevertheless, tears\nflow over our carefully arranged and made-up countenance. Sometimes\nwe occupy our minds with public spectacles and shows of gladiators;\nbut during the very sights by which it is amused, the mind is wrung\nby slight touches of sorrow. It is better, therefore, to conquer\nit than to cheat it; for a grief which has been deceived and driven\naway either by pleasure or by business rises again, and its period\nof rest does but give it strength for a more terrible attack; but\na grief which has been conquered by reason is appeased for ever. I\nshall not, then, give you the advice which so many, I know, adopt,\nthat you should distract your thoughts by a long journey, or amuse\nthem by a beautiful one; that you should spend much of your time\nin the careful examination of accounts, and the management of your\nestate, and that you should keep constantly engaging in new\nenterprises: all these things avail but little, and do not cure,\nbut merely obstruct our sorrow. I had rather it should be brought\nto an end than that it should be cheated: and, therefore, I would\nfain lead you to the study of philosophy, the true place of refuge\nfor all those who are flying from the cruelty of Fortune: this will\nheal your wounds and take away all your sadness: to this you would\nnow have to apply yourself, even though you {347} had never done\nso before; but as far as my father\u2019s old-fashioned strictness\npermitted, you have gained a superficial, though not a thorough\nknowledge of all liberal studies. Would that my father, most excellent\nman that he was, had been less devoted to the customs of our\nancestors, and had been willing to have you thoroughly instructed\nin the elements of philosophy, instead of receiving a mere smattering\nof it! I should not now need to be providing you with the means of\nstruggling against Fortune, but you would offer them to me: but he\ndid not allow you to pursue your studies far, because some women\nuse literature to teach them luxury instead of wisdom. Still, thanks\nto your keen intellectual appetite, you learned more than one could\nhave expected in the time: you laid the foundations of all good\nlearning: now return to them: they will render you safe, they will\nconsole you, and charm you. If once they have thoroughly entered\ninto your mind, grief, anxiety, the distress of vain suffering will\nnever gain admittance thither: your breast will not be open to any\nof these; against all other vices it has long been closed. Philosophy\nis your most trustworthy guardian, and it alone can save you from\nthe attacks of Fortune.\n\nXVIII. Since, however, you require something to lean upon until you\ncan reach that haven of rest which philosophy offers to you, I wish\nin the meantime to point out to you the consolations which you have.\nLook at my two brothers\u2014while they are safe, you have no grounds\nfor complaint against Fortune; you can derive pleasure from the\nvirtues of each of them, different as they are; the one has gained\nhigh office by attention to business, the other has philosophically\ndespised it. Rejoice in the great place of one of your sons, in the\npeaceful retirement of the other, in the filial affection of both.\nI know my brothers\u2019 most secret motives: the one adorns his high\noffice in order to confer lustre upon you, the {348} other has\nwithdrawn from the world into his life of quiet and contemplation,\nthat he may have full enjoyment of your society. Fortune has consulted\nboth your safety and your pleasure in her disposal of your two sons:\nyou may be protected by the authority of the one, and delighted by\nthe literary leisure of the other. They will vie with one another\nin dutiful affection to you, and the loss of one son will be supplied\nby the love of two others. I can confidently promise that you will\nfind nothing wanting in your sons except their number. Now, then,\nturn your eyes from them to your grandchildren; to Marcus, that\nmost engaging child, whose sight no sorrow can withstand. No grief\ncan be so great or so fresh in any one\u2019s bosom as not to be charmed\naway by his presence. Where are the tears which his joyousness could\nnot dry? whose heart is so nipped by sorrow that his animation would\nnot cause it to dilate? who would not be rendered mirthful by his\nplayfulness? who would not be attracted and made to forget his\ngloomy thoughts by that prattle to which no one can ever be weary\nof listening? I pray the gods that he may survive us: may all the\ncruelty of fate exhaust itself on me and go no further; may all the\nsorrow destined for my mother and my grandmother fall upon me; but\nlet all the rest flourish as they do now: I shall make no complaints\nabout my childlessness or my exile, if only my sacrifice may be\nreceived as a sufficient atonement, and my family suffer nothing\nmore. Hold in your bosom Novatilla, who soon will present you with\ngreat-grandchildren, she whom I had so entirely adopted and made\nmy own, that, now that she has lost me, she seems like an orphan,\neven though her father is alive. Love her for my sake as well as\nfor her own: Fortune has lately deprived her of her mother: your\naffection will be able to prevent her really feeling the loss of\nthe mother whom she mourns. Take this opportunity of forming and\nstrengthening her principles; nothing sinks {349} so deeply into\nthe mind as the teaching which we receive in our earliest years;\nlet her become accustomed to hearing your discourses; let her\ncharacter be moulded according to your pleasure: she will gain much\neven if you give her nothing more than your example. This continually\nrecurring duty will be a remedy in itself: for when your mind is\nfull of maternal sorrow, nothing can distract it from its grief\nexcept either philosophic argument or honourable work. I should\ncount your father among your greatest consolations, were he not\nabsent: as it is, judge from your affection for me what his affection\nis for you, and then you will see how much more just it is that you\nshould be preserved for him than that you should be sacrificed to\nme. Whenever your keenest paroxysms of grief assail you and bid you\ngive way to them, think of your father. By giving him so many\ngrandchildren and great-grandchildren you have made yourself no\nlonger his only daughter; but you alone can crown his prosperous\nlife by a happy end: as long as he is alive it is impiety for you\nto regret having been born.\n\nXIX. I have hitherto said nothing of your chief source of consolation,\nyour sister, that most faithful heart which shares all your sorrows\nas fully as your own, and who feels for all of us like a mother.\nWith her you have mingled your tears, on her bosom you have tasted\nyour first repose: she always feels for your troubles, and when I\nam in the case she does not grieve for you alone. It was in her\narms that I was carried into Rome: by her affectionate and motherly\nnursing I regained my strength after a long period of sickness: she\nenlarged her influence to obtain the office of quaestor for me, and\nher fondness for me made her conquer a shyness which at other times\nmade her shrink from speaking to, or loudly greeting her friends.\nNeither her retired mode of life, nor her country-bred modesty, at\na time when so many women display such boldness of manner, her\nplacidity, nor her habits of solitary seclusion {350} prevented her\nfrom becoming actually ambitious on my account. Here, my dearest\nmother, is a source from which you may gain true consolation: join\nyourself, as far as you are able, to her, bind yourself to her by\nthe closest embraces. Those who are in sorrow are wont to flee from\nthose who are dearest to them, and to seek liberty for the indulgence\nof their grief: do you let her share your every thought: if you\nwish to nurse your grief, she will be your companion, if you wish\nto lay it aside she will bring it to an end. If, however, I rightly\nunderstand the wisdom of that most perfect woman, she will not\nsuffer you to waste your life in unprofitable mourning, and will\ntell you what happened in her own instance, which I myself witnessed.\nDuring a sea-voyage she lost a beloved husband, my uncle, whom she\nmarried when a maiden; she endured at the same time grief for him\nand fear for herself, and at last, though shipwrecked, nevertheless\nrescued his body from the vanquished tempest. How many noble deeds\nare unknown to fame! If only she had had the simple-minded ancients\nto admire her virtues, how many brilliant intellects would have\nvied with one another in singing the praises of a wife who forgot\nthe weakness of her sex, forgot the perils of the sea, which terrify\neven the boldest, exposed herself to death in order to lay him in\nthe earth, and who was so eager to give him decent burial that she\ncared nothing about whether she shared it or no. All the poets have\nmade the wife[6] famous who gave herself to death instead of her\nhusband: my aunt did more when she risked her life in order to give\nher husband a tomb: it shows greater love to endure the same peril\nfor a less important end. After this, no one need wonder that for\nsixteen years, during which her husband governed the province of\nEgypt, she was never beheld in public, never admitted any of the\nnatives to her house, never {351} begged any favour of her husband,\nand never allowed anyone to beg one of her. Thus it came to pass\nthat a gossiping province, ingenious in inventing scandal about its\nrulers, in which even the blameless often incurred disgrace, respected\nher as a singular example of uprightness,[7] never made free with\nher name,\u2014a remarkable piece of self-restraint among a people who\nwill risk everything rather than forego a jest,\u2014and that at the\npresent time it hopes for another governor\u2019s wife like her, although\nit has no reasonable expectation of ever seeing one. It would have\nbeen greatly to her credit if the province had approved her conduct\nfor a space of sixteen years: it was much more creditable to her\nthat it knew not of her existence. I do not remind you of this in\norder to celebrate her praises, for to take such scanty notice of\nthem is to curtail them, but in order that you may understand the\nmagnanimity of a woman who has not yielded either to ambition or\nto avarice, those twin attendants and scourges of authority, who,\nwhen her ship was disabled and her own death was impending, was not\nrestrained by fear from keeping fast hold of her husband\u2019s dead\nbody, and who sought not how to escape from the wreck, but how to\ncarry him out of it with her. You must now show a virtue equal to\nhers, recall your mind from grief, and take care that no one may\nthink that you are sorry that you have borne a son.\n\nXX. However, since it is necessary, whatever you do, that your\nthoughts should sometimes revert to me, and that I should now be\npresent to your mind more often than your other children, not because\nthey are less dear to you, but because it is natural to lay one\u2019s\nhands more often upon a place that pains one; learn how you are to\nthink of me: I am as joyous and cheerful as in my best days: indeed\nthese {352} days are my best, because my mind is relieved from all\npressure of business and is at leisure to attend to its own affairs,\nand at one time amuses itself with lighter studies, at another\neagerly presses its inquiries into its own nature and that of the\nuniverse: first it considers the countries of the world and their\nposition: then the character of the sea which flows between them,\nand the alternate ebbings and flowings of its tides; next it\ninvestigates all the terrors which hang between heaven and earth,\nthe region which is torn asunder by thunderings, lightnings, gusts\nof wind, vapour, showers of snow and hail. Finally, having traversed\nevery one of the realms below, it soars to the highest heaven,\nenjoys the noblest of all spectacles, that of things divine, and,\nremembering itself to be eternal, reviews all that has been and all\nthat will be for ever and ever.\n\n\n[1] Corsica.\n\n[2] Seneca himself was of Spanish extraction.\n\n[3] Qu., oysters from Britain.\n\n[4] The allusion is evidently to Regulus.\n\n[5] I think Madvig\u2019s _ademisset_ spoils the sense. _Dedisset_ means:\n\u201cwhen you bid me mourn the loss of the Gracchi you bid me blame\nfortune for having given me such sons.\u201d \u201c\u2019Tis better to have loved\nand lost than to have never loved at all.\u201d\u2014J. E. B. M.\n\n[6] Alcestis.\n\n[7] The context shows that _sanctitas_ is opposed to \u201crapacity,\u201d\n\u201ctaking bribes,\u201d like the Celaeno of Juv. viii.\u2014J. E. B. M.\n\n\n\n\n{353}\n\nTHE TWELFTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED\nTO POLYBIUS.\n\nOF CONSOLATION.\n\n\nI. .... compared with ours is firm and lasting; but if you transfer\nit to the domain of Nature, which destroys everything and calls\neverything back to the place from whence it came, it is transitory.\nWhat, indeed, have mortal hands made that is not mortal? The seven\nwonders of the world, and any even greater wonders which the ambition\nof later ages has constructed, will be seen some day levelled with\nthe ground. So it is: nothing lasts for ever, few things even last\nfor long: all are susceptible of decay in one way or another. The\nways in which things come to an end are manifold, but yet everything\nthat has a beginning has an end also. Some threaten the world with\ndeath, and, though you may think the thought to be impious, this\nentire universe, containing gods and men and all their works will\nsome day be swept away and plunged a second time into its original\ndarkness and chaos. Weep, if you can, after this, over the loss of\nany individual life! Can we mourn the ashes of Carthage, Numantia,\nCorinth, or any city that has fallen from a high estate, when we\nknow that the world must perish, albeit it has no place {354} into\nwhich it can fall. Weep, if you can, because Fate has not spared\nyou, she who some day will dare to work so great a wickedness! Who\ncan be so haughtily and peevishly arrogant as to expect that this\nlaw of nature by which everything is brought to an end will be set\naside in his own case, and that his own house will be exempted from\nthe ruin which menaces the whole world itself? It is, therefore, a\ngreat consolation to reflect that what has happened to us has\nhappened to every one before us and will happen to every one after\nus. In my opinion, nature has made her cruellest acts affect all\nmen alike, in order that the universality of their lot might console\nthem for its hardship.\n\nII. It will also be no small assistance to you to reflect that grief\ncan do no good either to him whom you have lost or to yourself, and\nyou would not wish to protract what is useless: for if we could\ngain anything by sorrow, I should not refuse to bestow upon your\nmisfortunes whatever tears my own have left at my disposal: I would\nforce some drops to flow from these eyes, exhausted as they are\nwith weeping over my own domestic afflictions, were it likely to\nbe of any service to you. Why do you hesitate? let us lament together,\nand I will even make this quarrel my own:\u2014\u201cFortune, whom every one\nthinks most unjust, you seemed hitherto to have restrained yourself\nfrom attacking one who by your favour had become the object of such\nuniversal respect that\u2014rare distinction for any one\u2014his prosperity\nhad excited no jealousy: but now, behold! you have dealt him the\ncruellest wound which, while Caesar lives, he could receive, and\nafter reconnoitring him from all sides you have discovered that on\nthis point alone he was exposed to your strokes. What else indeed\ncould you have done to him? should you take away his wealth? he\nnever was its slave: now he has even as far as possible put it away\nfrom him, and the chief thing that he has gained by his unrivalled\nfacilities {355} for amassing money has been to despise it. Should\nyou take away his friends? you knew that he was of so loveable a\ndisposition that he could easily gain others to replace those whom\nhe might lose: for of all the powerful officers of the Imperial\nhousehold he seems to me to be the only one whom all men wish to\nhave for their friend without considering how advantageous his\nfriendship would be. Should you take away his reputation? it is so\nfirmly established, that even you could not shake it. Should you\ntake away his health? you knew that his mind was so grounded on\nphilosophical studies, in whose schools he was born as well as bred,\nthat it would rise superior to any sufferings of the body. Should\nyou take away his breath? how small an injury would that be to him?\nfame promised his genius one of the longest of lives: he himself\nhas taken care that his better part should remain alive, and has\nguarded himself against death by the composition of his admirable\nworks of eloquence: as long as literature shall be held in any\nhonour, as long as the vigour of the Latin or the grace of the Greek\nlanguage shall endure, he will flourish together with their greatest\nwriters, with whose genius he has measured, or, if his modesty will\nnot let me say this, has connected his own. This, then, was the\nonly means you could devise of doing him a great injury. The better\na man is, the more frequently he is wont to suffer from your\nindiscriminate rage, you who are to be feared even when you are\nbestowing benefits upon one. How little it would have cost you to\navert this blow from one upon whom your favours seemed to be conferred\naccording to some regular plan, and not to be flung at random in\nyour wonted fashion!\u201d\n\nIII. Let us add, if you please, to these grounds of complaint the\ndisposition of the youth himself, cut off in the midst of its first\ngrowth. He was worthy to be your brother: you most certainly did\nnot deserve to be given {356} any pain through your brother, even\nthough he had been unworthy. All men alike bear witness to his\nmerits: he is regretted for your sake, and is praised for his own.\nHe had no qualities which you would not be glad to recognize. You\nwould indeed have been good to a worse brother, but to him your\nfraternal love was given all the more freely because in him it found\nso fitting a field for its exercise. No one ever was made to feel\nhis influence by receiving wrongs at his hands, he never used the\nfact of your being his brother to threaten any one: he had moulded\nhis character after the pattern of your modesty, and reflected how\ngreat a glory and how great a burden you were to your family: the\nburden he was able to sustain; but, O pitiless Fate, always unjust\nto virtue\u2014before your brother could taste the happiness of his\nposition, he was called away. I am well aware that I express my\nfeelings inadequately; for nothing is harder than to find words\nwhich adequately represent great grief: still, let us again lament\nfor him, if it be of any use to do so:\u2014\u201cWhat did you mean, Fortune,\nby being so unjust and so savage? did you so soon repent you of\nyour favour? What cruelty it was to fall upon brothers, to break\nup so loving a circle by so deadly an attack; why did you bring\nmourning into a house so plenteously stocked with admirable youths,\nin which no brother came short of the high standard of the rest,\nand without any cause pluck one of them away? So, then, scrupulous\ninnocency of life, old-fashioned frugality, the power of amassing\nvast wealth wielded with the greatest self-denial, a true and\nimperishable love of literature, a mind free from the least spot\nof sin, all avail nothing: Polybius is in mourning, and, warned by\nthe fate of one brother what he may have to dread for the rest, he\nfears for the very persons who soothe his grief. O shame! Polybius\nis in mourning, and mourns even though he still enjoys the favour\nof Caesar. No doubt, Fortune, what you aimed at in {357} your\nimpotent rage was to prove that no one could be protected from your\nattacks, not even by Caesar himself.\u201d\n\nIV. We might go on blaming fate much longer, but we cannot alter\nit: it stands harsh and inexorable: no one can move it by reproaches,\nby tears, or by justice. Fate never spares any one, never makes\nallowances to any one. Let us, then, refrain from unprofitable\ntears: for our grief will carry us away to join him sooner than it\nwill bring him back to us: and if it tortures us without helping\nus, we ought to lay it aside as soon as possible, and restore the\ntone of our minds after their indulgence in that vain solace and\nthe bitter luxury of woe: for unless reason puts an end to our\ntears, fortune will not do so. Look around, I pray you, upon all\nmortals: everywhere there is ample and constant reason for weeping:\none man is driven to daily labour by toilsome poverty, another is\ntormented by never-resting ambition, another fears the very riches\nthat he once wished for, and suffers from the granting of his own\nprayer: one man is made wretched by loneliness, another by labour,\nanother by the crowds which always besiege his antechamber. This\nman mourns because he has children, that one because he has lost\nthem. Tears will fail us sooner than causes for shedding them. Do\nyou not see what sort of a life it must be that Nature has promised\nto us men when she makes us weep as soon as we are born? We begin\nlife in this fashion, and all the chain of years that follow it is\nin harmony with it. Thus we pass our lives, and consequently we\nought to be sparing in doing what we have to do so often, and when\nwe look back upon the mass of sorrows that hangs over us, we ought,\nif not to end our tears, at any rate to reserve them. There is\nnothing that we ought to husband more carefully than this, which\nwe are so often obliged to expend.\n\nV. It will also be no small assistance to you to consider that there\nis no one to whom your grief is more offensive {358} than he upon\nwhom it is nominally bestowed: he either does not wish you to suffer\nor does not understand why you suffer. There is, therefore, no\nreason for a service which is useless if it is not felt by him who\nis the object of it, and which is displeasing to him if it is. I\ncan boldly affirm that there is no one in the whole world who derives\nany pleasure from your tears. What then? do you suppose that your\nbrother has a feeling against you which no one else has, that he\nwishes you to be injured by your self-torture, that he desires to\nseparate you from the business of your life, that is, from philosophy\nand from Caesar? that is not likely: for he always gave way to you\nas a brother, respected you as a parent, courted you as a superior.\nHe wishes to be fondly remembered by you, but not to be a source\nof agony to you. Why, then, should you insist upon pining away with\na grief which, if the dead have any feelings, your brother wishes\nto bring to an end? If it were any other brother about whose affection\nthere could be any question, I should put all this vaguely, and\nsay, \u201cIf your brother wishes you to be tortured with endless mourning,\nhe does not deserve such affection: if he does not wish it, dismiss\nthe grief which affects you both: an unnatural brother ought not,\na good brother would not wish to be so mourned for,\u201d but with one\nwhose brotherly love has been so clearly proved, we may be quite\nsure that nothing could hurt him more than that you should be hurt\nby his loss, that it should agonize you, that your eyes, most\nundeserving as they are of such a fate, should be by the same cause\ncontinually filled and drained of never-ceasing tears.\n\nNothing however will restrain your loving nature from these useless\ntears so effectually as the reflexion that you ought to show your\nbrothers an example by bearing this outrage of fortune bravely. You\nought to imitate great generals in times of disaster, when they are\ncareful to affect {359} a cheerful demeanour, and conceal misfortunes\nby a counterfeited joyousness, lest, if the soldiers saw their\nleader cast down, they should themselves become dispirited. This\nmust now be done by you also. Put on a countenance that does not\nreflect your feelings, and if you possibly can, cast out conceal\nit within you and hide it away so that it may not be seen, and take\ncare that your brothers, who will think everything honourable that\nthey see you doing, imitate you in this and take courage from the\nsight of your looks. It is your duty to be both their comfort and\ntheir consoler; but you will have no power to check their grief if\nyou humour your own.\n\nVI. It may also keep you from excessive grief if you remind yourself\nthat nothing which you do can be done in secret: all men agree in\nregarding you as an important personage, and you must keep up this\ncharacter: you are encompassed by all that mass of offerers of\nconsolation who all are peering into your mind to learn how much\nstrength it has to resist grief, and whether you merely know how\nto avail yourself cunningly of prosperity, or whether you can also\nbear adversity with a manly spirit: the expression of your very\neyes is watched. Those who are able to conceal their feelings may\nindulge them more freely; but you are not free to have any secresy:\nyour fortune has set you in so brilliant a position, that nothing\nwhich you do can be hid: all men will know how you have borne this\nwound of yours, whether you laid down your arms at the first shock\nor whether you stood your ground. Long ago the love of Caesar raised\nyou, and your own literary pursuits brought you, to the highest\nrank in the state: nothing vulgar, nothing mean befits you: yet\nwhat can be meaner or more womanish than to make oneself a victim\nto grief? Although your sorrow is as great as that of your brothers,\nyet you may not indulge it as much as they: the ideas which the\npublic have formed about your philosophic {360} learning and your\ncharacter make many things impossible for you. Men demand much, and\nexpect much from you: you ought not to have drawn all eyes upon\nyourself, if you wished to be allowed to act as you pleased: as it\nis, you must make good that of which you have given promise. All\nthose, who praise the works of your genius, who make copies of them,\nwho need your genius if they do not need your fortune, are as guards\nset over your mind: you cannot, therefore, ever do anything unworthy\nof the character of a thorough philosopher and sage, without many\nmen feeling sorry that they ever admired you. You may not weep\nbeyond reason: nor is this the only thing that you may not do: you\nmay not so much as remain asleep after daybreak, or retreat from\nthe noisy troubles of public business to the peaceful repose of the\ncountry, or refresh yourself with a pleasure tour when wearied by\nconstant attendance to the duties of your toilsome post, or amuse\nyourself with beholding various shows, or even arrange your day\naccording to your own wish. Many things are forbidden to you which\nare permitted to the poorest beggars that lie about in holes and\ncorners. A great fortune is a great slavery; you may not do anything\naccording to your wish: you must give audiences to all those thousands\nof people, you must take charge of all those petitions: you must\ncheer yourself up, in order that all this mass of business which\nflows hither from every part of the world may be offered in due\norder for the consideration of our excellent emperor. I repeat, you\nyourself are forbidden to weep, that you may be able to listen to\nso many weeping petitioners: your own tears must be dried, in order\nthat the tears of those who are in peril and who desire to obtain\nthe gracious pardon of the kindest-hearted of Caesars may be dried.\n\nVII. These reflexions will serve you as partial remedies for your\ngrief, but if you wish to forget it altogether, remember Caesar:\nthink with what loyalty, with what {361} industry you are bound to\nrequite the favours which he has shown you: you will then see that\nyou can no more sink beneath your burden than could he of whom the\nmyths tells us, he whose shoulders upheld the world. Even Caesar,\nwho may do all things, may not do many things for this very reason:\nhis watchfulness protects all men\u2019s sleep, his labour guarantees\ntheir leisure, his toil ensures their pleasures, his work preserves\ntheir holidays. On the day on which Caesar devoted his services to\nthe universe, he lost them for himself, and like the planets which\never unrestingly pursue their course, he can never halt or attend\nto any affair of his own. After a certain fashion this prohibition\nis imposed upon you also; you may not consider your own interests,\nor devote yourself to your own studies: while Caesar owns the world,\nyou cannot allow either joy or grief, or anything else to occupy\nany part of you: you owe your entire self to Caesar. Add to this\nthat, since you have always declared that Caesar was dearer to you\nthan your own life, you have no right to complain of misfortune as\nlong as Caesar is alive: while he is safe all your friends are\nalive, you have lost nothing, your eyes ought not only to be dry,\nbut glad. In him is your all, he stands in the place of all else\nto you: you are not grateful enough for your present happy state\n(which God forbid that one of your most wise and loyal disposition\nshould be) if you permit yourself to weep at all while Caesar is\nsafe.\n\nVIII. I will now point out to you yet another remedy, of a more\ndomestic, though not of a more efficacious character. Your sorrow\nis most to be feared when you have retired to your own home: for\nas long as your divinity is before your eyes, it can find no means\nof access to you, but Caesar will possess your entire being; when\nyou have left his presence, grief, as though it then had an opportunity\nof attack, will lie in ambush for you in your loneliness, and creep\nby degrees over your mind as it rests from its labours. {362} You\nought not, therefore, to allow any moment to be unoccupied by\nliterary pursuits: at such times let literature repay to you the\ndebt which your long and faithful love has laid upon it, let it\nclaim you for its high priest and worshipper: at such times let\nHomer[1] and Virgil be much in your company, those poets to whom\nthe human race owes as much as every one owes to you, and they\nespecially, because you have made them known to a wider circle than\nthat for which they wrote. All time which you entrust to their\nkeeping will be safe. At such times, as far as you are able, compile\nan account of your Caesar\u2019s acts, that they may be read by all\nfuture ages in a panegyric written by one of his own household: for\nhe himself will afford you both the noblest subject and the noblest\nexample for putting together and composing a history. I dare not\ngo so far as to advise you to write in your usual elegant style a\nversion of Aesop\u2019s fables, a work which no Roman intellect has\nhitherto attempted. It is hard, no doubt, for a mind which has\nreceived so rude a shock to betake itself so quickly to these\nlivelier pursuits: but if it is able to pass from more serious\nstudies to these lighter ones, you must regard it as a proof that\nit has recovered its strength, and is itself again. In the former\ncase, although it may suffer and hang back, still it will be led\non by the serious nature of the subject under consideration to take\nan interest in it: but, unless it has thoroughly recovered, it will\nnot endure to treat of subjects which must be written of in a\ncheerful spirit. You ought, therefore, first to exercise your mind\nupon grave studies, and then to enliven it with gayer ones.\n\n{363}\n\nIX. It will also be a great solace to you if you often ask yourself:\n\u201cAm I grieving on my own account or on that of him who is gone? if\non my own, I have no right to boast of my affectionate sensibility;\ngrief is only excusable as long as it is honourable; but when it\nis only caused by personal interests, it no longer springs from\ntenderness: nothing can be less becoming to a good man than to make\na calculation about his grief for his brother. If I grieve on his\naccount, I must necessarily take one of the two following views:\nif the dead retain no feeling whatever, my brother has escaped from\nall the troubles of life, has been restored to the place which he\noccupied before his birth, and, being free from every kind of ill,\ncan neither fear, nor desire, nor suffer: what madness then for me\nnever to cease grieving for one who will never grieve again? If the\ndead have any feeling, then my brother is now like one who has been\nlet out of a prison in which he has long been confined, who at last\nis free and his own master, and who enjoys himself, amuses himself\nwith viewing the works of Nature, and looks down from above the\nearth upon all human things, while he looks at things divine, whose\nmeaning he has long sought in vain, from a much nearer standpoint.\nWhy then am I wasting away with grief for one who is either in bliss\nor non-existent? it would be envy to weep for one who is in bliss,\nit would be madness to weep for one who has no existence whatever.\u201d\nAre you affected by the thought that he appears to have been deprived\nof great blessings just at the moment when they came crowding upon\nhim? after thinking how much he has lost, call to mind how much\nmore he has ceased to fear: anger will never more wring his heart,\ndisease will not crush him, suspicion will not disquiet him, the\ngnawing pain of envy which we feel at the successes of others will\nnot attend him, terror will not make him wretched, the fickleness\nof fortune who quickly transfers her favours from one man {364} to\nanother will not alarm him. If you reckon it up properly, he has\nbeen spared more than he has lost. He will not enjoy wealth, or\nyour influence at Court, or his own: he will not receive benefits,\nand will not confer them: do you imagine him to be unhappy, because\nhe has lost these things, or happy because he does not miss them?\nBelieve me, he who does not need good fortune is happier than he\non whom it attends: all those good things which charm us by the\nattractive but unreal pleasures which they afford, such as money,\nhigh office, influence, and many other things which dazzle the\nstupid greed of mankind, require hard labour to keep, are regarded\nby others with bitter jealousy, and are more of a menace than an\nadvantage to those who are bedecked and encumbered by them. They\nare slippery and uncertain; one never can enjoy them in comfort;\nfor, even setting aside anxiety about the future, the present\nmanagement of great prosperity is an uneasy task. If we are to\nbelieve some profound seekers after truth, life is all torment: we\nare flung, as it were, into this deep and rough sea, whose tides\nebb and flow, at one time raising us aloft by sudden accessions of\nfortune, at another bringing down low by still greater losses, and\nfor ever tossing us about, never letting us rest on firm ground.\nWe roll and plunge upon the waves, and sometimes strike against one\nanother, sometimes are shipwrecked, always are in terror. For those\nwho sail upon this stormy sea, exposed as it is to every gale, there\nis no harbour save death. Do not, then, grudge your brother his\nrest: he has at last become free, safe, and immortal: he leaves\nsurviving him Caesar and all his family, yourself, and his and your\nbrothers. He left Fortune before she had ceased to regard him with\nfavour, while she stood still by him, offering him gifts with a\nfull hand. He now ranges free and joyous through the boundless\nheavens; he has left this poor and low-lying region, and has soared\n{365} upwards to that place, whatever it may be, which receives in\nits happy bosom the souls which have been set free from the chains\nof matter: he now roams there at liberty, and enjoys with the keenest\ndelight all the blessings of Nature. You are mistaken! your brother\nhas not lost the light of day, but has obtained a more enduring\nlight: whither he has gone, we all alike must go: why then do we\nweep for his fate? He has not left us, but has gone on before us.\nBelieve me, there is great happiness in a happy death. We cannot\nbe sure of anything even for one whole day: since the truth is so\ndark and hard to come at, who can tell whether death came to your\nbrother out of malice or out of kindness?\n\nX. One who is as just in all things as you are, must find comfort\nin the thought that no wrong has been done you by the loss of so\nnoble a brother, but that you have received a benefit by having\nbeen permitted for so long a time to enjoy his affection. He who\nwill not allow his benefactor to choose his own way of bestowing a\ngift upon him, is unjust: he who does not reckon what he receives\nas gain, and yet reckons what he gives back again as loss, is greedy:\nhe who says that he has been wronged, because his pleasure has come\nto an end, is ungrateful: he who thinks that we gain nothing from\ngood things beyond the present enjoyment of them, is a fool, because\nhe finds no pleasure in past joys, and does not regard those which\nare gone as his most certain possessions, since he need not fear\nthat they will come to an end. A man limits his pleasures too\nnarrowly if he believes that he enjoys those things only which he\ntouches and sees, if he counts the having enjoyed them for nothing:\nfor all pleasure quickly leaves us, seeing that it flows away, flits\nacross our lives, and is gone almost before it has come. We ought,\ntherefore, to make our mind travel back over past time, to bring\nback whatever we once took pleasure in, and frequently to ruminate\nover it {366} in our thoughts: the remembrance of pleasures is truer\nand more trustworthy than their reality. Regard it, then, among\nyour greatest blessings that you have had an excellent brother: you\nneed not think for how much longer you might have had him, but for\nhow long you did have him. Nature gave him to you, as she gives\nothers to other brothers, not as an absolute property, but as a\nloan: afterwards when she thought proper she took him back again,\nand followed her own rules of action, instead of waiting until you\nhad indulged your love to satiety. If any one were to be indignant\nat having to repay a loan of money, especially if he had been allowed\nto use it without having to pay any interest, would he not be thought\nan unreasonable man? Nature gave your brother his life, just as she\ngave you yours: exercising her lawful rights, she has chosen to ask\none of you to repay her loan before the other: she cannot be blamed\nfor this, for you knew the conditions on which you received it: you\nmust blame the greedy hopes of mortal men\u2019s minds, which every now\nand then forget what Nature is, and never remember their own lot\nunless reminded of it. Rejoice, then, that you have had so good a\nbrother, and be grateful for having had the use and enjoyment of\nhim, though it was for a shorter time than you wished. Reflect that\nwhat you have had of him was most delightful, that your having lost\nhim is an accident common to mankind. There is nothing more\ninconsistent than that a man should grieve that so good a brother\nwas not long enough with him, and should not rejoice that he\nnevertheless has been with him.\n\nXI. \u201cBut,\u201d you say, \u201che was taken away unexpectedly.\u201d Every man is\ndeceived by his own willingness to believe what he wishes, and he\nchooses to forget that those whom he loves are mortal: yet Nature\ngives us clear proofs that she will not suspend her laws in favour\nof any one: the funeral processions of our friends and of strangers\nalike {367} pass daily before our eyes, yet we take no notice of\nthem, and when an event happens which our whole life warns us will\nsome day happen, we call it sudden. This is not, therefore, the\ninjustice of fate, but the perversity and insatiable universal\ngreediness of the human mind, which is indignant at having to leave\na place to which it was only admitted on sufferance. How far more\nrighteous was he who, on hearing of the death of his son, made a\nspeech worthy of a great man, saying: \u201cWhen I begat him, I knew\nthat he would die some day.\u201d Indeed, you need not be surprised at\nthe son of such a man being able to die bravely. He did not receive\nthe tidings of his son\u2019s death as news: for what is there new in a\nman\u2019s dying, when his whole life is merely a journey towards death?\n\u201cWhen I begat him, I knew that he would die some day,\u201d said he: and\nthen he added, what showed even more wisdom and courage, \u201cIt was\nfor this that I brought him up.\u201d It is for this that we have all\nbeen brought up: every one who is brought into life is intended to\ndie. Let us enjoy what is given to us, and give it back when it is\nasked for: the Fates lay their hands on some men at some times, and\non other men at other times, but they will never pass any one by\naltogether. Our mind ought always to be on the alert, and while it\nought never to fear what is certain to happen, it ought always to\nbe ready for what may happen at any time. Why need I tell you of\ngenerals and the children of generals, of men ennobled by many\nconsulships and triumphs, who have succumbed to pitiless fate? whole\nkingdoms together with their kings, whole nations with all their\ncomponent tribes, have all submitted to their doom. All men, nay,\nall things look forward to an end of their days: yet all do not\ncome to the same end: one man loses his life in the midst of his\ncareer, another at the very beginning of it, another seems hardly\nable to free himself from it when worn out with extreme old age,\nand eager to {368} be released: we are all going to the same place,\nbut we all go thither at different times, I know not whether it is\nmore foolish not to know the law of mortality, or more presumptuous\nto refuse to obey it. Come, take into your hands the poems[2] of\nwhichever you please of those two authors upon whom your genius has\nexpended so much labour, whom you have so well paraphrased, that\nalthough the structure of the verse be removed, its charm nevertheless\nis preserved; for you have transferred them from one language to\nanother so well as to effect the most difficult matter of all, that\nof making all the beauties of the original reappear in a foreign\nspeech: among their works you will find no volume which will not\noffer you numberless instances of the vicissitudes of human life,\nof the uncertainty of events, and of tears shed for various reasons.\nRead with what fire you have thundered out their swelling phrases:\nyou will feel ashamed of suddenly failing and falling short of the\nelevation of their magnificent language. Do not commit the fault\nof making every one, who according to his ability admires your\nwritings, ask how so frail a mind can have formed such stable and\nwell-connected ideas.\n\nXII. Turn yourself away from these thoughts which torment you, and\nlook rather at those numerous and powerful sources of consolation\nwhich you possess: look at your excellent brothers, look at your\nwife and your son. It is to guarantee the safety of all these that\nFortune[3] has struck you in this quarter: you have many left in\nwhom you can take comfort. Guard yourself from the shame of letting\nall men think that a single grief has more power with you than these\nmany consolations. You see all of them cast down into the same\ndespondency as yourself, and you know that they cannot help you,\nnay, that on the other hand they look to {369} you to encourage\nthem: wherefore, the less learning and the less intellect they\npossess, the more vigorously you ought to withstand the evil which\nhas fallen upon you all. The very fact of one\u2019s grief being shared\nby many persons acts as a consolation, because if it be distributed\namong such a number the share of it which falls upon you must be\nsmall. I shall never cease to recall your thoughts to Caesar. While\nhe governs the earth, and shows how far better the empire may be\nmaintained by kindnesses than by arms, while he presides over the\naffairs of mankind, there is no danger of your feeling that you\nhave lost anything: in this fact alone you will find ample help and\nample consolation; raise yourself up, and fix your eyes upon Caesar\nwhenever tears rise to them; they will become dry on beholding that\ngreatest and most brilliant light; his splendour will attract them\nand firmly attach them to himself, so that they are able to see\nnothing else. He whom you behold both by day and by night, from\nwhom your mind never deviates to meaner matters, must occupy your\nthoughts and be your defence against Fortune; indeed, so kind and\ngracious as he is towards all his followers that he has already, I\ndoubt not, laid many healing balms upon this wound of yours, and\nfurnished you with many antidotes for your sorrow. Why, even had\nhe done nothing of the kind, is not the mere sight and thought of\nCaesar in itself your greatest consolation? May the gods and goddesses\nlong spare him to the earth: may he rival the deeds of the Emperor\nAugustus, and surpass him in length of days! as long as he remains\namong mortals, may he never be reminded that any of his house are\nmortal: may he train up his son by long and faithful service to be\nthe ruler of the Roman people, and see him share his father\u2019s power\nbefore he succeeds to it: may the day on which his kindred shall\nclaim him for heaven be far distant, and may our grandchildren alone\nbe alive to see it.\n\n{370}\n\nXIII. Fortune, refrain your hands from him, and show your power\nover him only in doing him good: allow him to heal the long sickness\nfrom which mankind has suffered; to replace and restore whatever\nhas been shattered by the frenzy of our late sovereign: may this\nstar, which has shed its rays upon a world overthrown and cast into\ndarkness, ever shine brightly: may he give peace to Germany, open\nBritain to us, and lead through the city triumphs, both over the\nnations whom his fathers conquered, and over new ones. Of these his\nclemency, the first of his many virtues, gives me hopes of being a\nspectator: for he has not so utterly cast me down that he will never\nraise me up again; nay, he has not cast me down at all; rather he\nhas supported me when I was struck by evil fortune and was tottering,\nand has gently used his godlike hand to break my headlong fall: he\npleaded with the Senate on my behalf, and not only gave me my life\nbut even begged it for me. He will see to my cause: let him judge\nmy cause to be such as he would desire; let his justice pronounce\nit good or his clemency so regard it: his kindness to me will be\nequal in either case, whether he knows me to be innocent or chooses\nthat I should be thought so. Meanwhile it is a great comfort to me\nfor my own miseries to behold his pardons travelling throughout the\nworld: even from the corner in which I am confined his mercy has\nunearthed and restored to light many exiles who had been buried and\nforgotten here for long years, and I have no fear that I alone shall\nbe passed over by it. He best knows the time at which he ought to\nshow favour to each man: I will use my utmost efforts to prevent\nhis having to blush when he comes to me. O how blessed is your\nclemency, Caesar, which makes exiles live more peacefully during\nyour reign than princes did in that of Gaius! We do not tremble or\nexpect the fatal stroke every hour, nor are we terrified whenever\na ship comes in sight: you have set bounds to the cruelty of Fortune\ntowards {371} us, and have given us present peace and hopes of a\nhappier future. You may indeed be sure that those thunderbolts alone\nare just which are worshipped even by those who are struck by them.\n\nXIV. Thus this prince, who is the universal consoler of all men,\nhas, unless I am altogether mistaken, already revived your spirit\nand applied more powerful remedies to so severe a wound than I can:\nhe has already strengthened you in every way: his singularly retentive\nmemory has already furnished you with all the examples which will\nproduce tranquillity: his practised eloquence has already displayed\nbefore you all the precepts of sages. No one therefore could console\nyou as well as he: when he speaks his words have greater weight,\nas though they were the utterances of an oracle: his divine authority\nwill crush all the strength of your grief. Think, then, that he\nspeaks to you as follows:\u2014\u201cFortune has not chosen you as the only\nman in the world to receive so severe a blow: there is no house in\nall the earth, and never has been one, that has not something to\nmourn for: I will pass over examples taken from the common herd,\nwhich, while they are of less importance, are also endless in number,\nand I will direct your attention to the Calendar and the State\nChronicles. Do you see all these images which fill the hall of the\nCaesars? there is not one of these men who was not especially\nafflicted by domestic sorrows: no one of those men who shine there\nas the ornament of the ages was not either tortured by grief for\nsome of his family or most bitterly mourned for by those whom he\nleft behind. Why need I remind you of Scipio Africanus, who heard\nthe news of his brother\u2019s death when he was himself in exile? he\nwho saved his brother from prison could not save him from his fate.\nYet all men saw how impatient Africanus\u2019s brotherly affection was\neven of equal law: on the same day on which Scipio Africanus rescued\nhis brother from the {372} hands of the apparitor, he, although not\nholding any office, protested against the action of the tribune of\nthe people. He mourned for his brother as magnanimously as he had\ndefended him. Why need I remind you of Scipio Aemilianus,[4] who\nalmost at one and the same time beheld his father\u2019s triumph and the\nfuneral of his two brothers? yet, although a stripling and hardly\nmore than a boy, he bore the sudden bereavement which befel his\nfamily at the very time of Paulus\u2019s triumph with all the courage\nwhich beseemed one who was born that Rome might not be without a\nScipio and that she might be without a Carthage.\n\nXV. Why should I speak of the intimacy of the two Luculli, which\nwas broken only by their death? or of the Pompeii? whom the cruelty\nof Fortune did not even allow to perish by the same catastrophe;\nfor Sextus Pompeius in the first place survived his sister,[5] by\nwhose death the firmly knit bond of peace in the Roman empire was\nbroken, and he also survived his noble brother, whom Fortune had\nraised so high in order that she might cast him down from as great\na height as she had already cast down his father; yet after this\ngreat misfortune Sextus Pompeius was able not only to endure his\ngrief but even to make war. Innumerable instances occur to me of\nbrothers who were separated by death: indeed on the other hand we\nsee very few pairs of brothers growing old together: however, I\nshall content myself with examples from my own family. No one can\nbe so devoid of feeling or of reason as to complain of Fortune\u2019s\nhaving thrown him into mourning when he learns that she has coveted\nthe tears of the Caesars themselves. The Emperor Augustus lost his\ndarling sister Octavia, and though Nature destined him for heaven,\nyet she did not relax her laws to spare him from mourning while on\nearth: nay, he suffered every kind of bereavement, {373} losing his\nsister\u2019s son,[6] who was intended to be his heir. In fine, not to\nmention his sorrows in detail, he lost his son-in-law, his children,\nand his grandchildren, and, while he remained among men, no mortal\nwas more often reminded that he was a man. Yet his mind, which was\nable to bear all things, bore all these heavy sorrows, and the\nblessed Augustus was the conqueror, not only of foreign nations,\nbut also of his own sorrows. Gaius Caesar,[7] the grandson of the\nblessed Augustus, my maternal great uncle, in the first years of\nmanhood, when Prince of the Roman Youth, as he was preparing for\nthe Parthian war, lost his darling brother Lucius[8] who was also\n\u2018Prince of the Roman Youth,\u2019 and suffered more thereby in his mind\nthan he did afterwards in his body, though he bore both afflictions\nwith the greatest piety and fortitude. Tiberius Caesar, my paternal\nuncle, lost his younger brother Drusus Germanicus,[9] my father,\nwhen he was opening out the innermost fastnesses of Germany, and\nbringing the fiercest tribes under the dominion of the Roman empire;\nhe embraced him and received his last kiss, but he nevertheless\nrestrained not only his own grief but that of others, and when the\nwhole army, not merely sorrowful but heartbroken, claimed the corpse\nof their Drusus for themselves, he made them grieve only as it\nbecame Romans to grieve, {374} and taught them that they must observe\nmilitary discipline not only in fighting but also in mourning. He\ncould not have checked the tears of others had he not first repressed\nhis own.\n\nXVI. \u201cMarcus Antonius, my grandfather, who was second to none save\nhis conqueror, received the news of his brother\u2019s execution at the\nvery time when the state was at his disposal, and when, as a member\nof the triumvirate, he saw no one in the world superior to himself\nin power, nay, when, with the exception of his two colleagues, every\nman was subordinate to himself. O wanton Fortune, what sport you\nmake for yourself out of human sorrows! At the very time when Marcus\nAntonius was enthroned with power of life and death over his\ncountrymen, Marcus Antonius\u2019s brother was being led to his death:\nyet Antonius bore this cruel wound with the same greatness of mind\nwith which he had endured all his other crosses; and he mourned for\nhis brother by offering the blood of twenty legions to his manes.\nHowever, to pass by all other instances, not to speak of the other\ndeaths which have occurred in my own house. Fortune has twice\nassailed me through the death of a brother; she has twice learned\nthat she could wound me but could not overthrow me. I lost my brother\nGermanicus, whom I loved in a manner which any one will understand\nif he thinks how affectionate brothers love one another; yet I so\nrestrained my passion of grief as neither to leave undone anything\nwhich a good brother could be called upon to do, nor yet to do\nanything which a sovereign could be blamed for doing.\u201d\n\nThink, then, that our common parent quotes these instances to you,\nand that he points out to you how nothing is respected or held\ninviolable by Fortune, who actually dares to send out funeral\nprocessions from the very house in which she will have to look for\ngods: so let no one be surprised at her committing any act of cruelty\n{375} or injustice; for how could she show any humanity or moderation\nin her dealings with private families, when her pitiless fury has\nso often hung the very throne[10] itself with black? She will not\nchange her habits even though reproached, not by my voice alone,\nbut by that of the entire nation: she will hold on her course in\nspite of all prayers and complaints. Such has Fortune always been,\nand such she ever will be in connexion with human affairs: she has\nnever shrunk from attacking anything, and she will never let anything\nalone: she will rage everywhere terribly, as she has always been\nwont to do: she will dare to enter for evil purposes into those\nhouses whose entrance lies through the temples of the gods, and\nwill hang signs of mourning upon laurelled door-posts. However, if\nshe has not yet determined to destroy the human race: if she still\nlooks with favour upon the Roman nation, may our public and private\nprayers prevail upon her to regard as sacred from her violence this\nprince, whom all men think to be sacred, who has been granted them\nby heaven to give them rest after their misfortunes: let her learn\nclemency from him, and let the mildest of all sovereigns teach her\nmildness.\n\nXVII. You ought, therefore, to fix your eyes upon all the persons\nwhom I have just mentioned, who have either been deified or were\nnearly related to those who have been deified, and when Fortune\nlays her hands upon you to bear it calmly, seeing that she does not\neven respect those by whose names we swear. It is your duty to\nimitate their constancy in enduring and triumphing over suffering,\nas far as it is permitted to a mere man to follow in the footsteps\nof the immortals. Albeit in all other matters rank and birth make\ngreat distinctions between men, yet virtue is open to all; she\ndespises no one provided he thinks himself {376} worthy to possess\nher. Surely you cannot do better than follow the example of those\nwho, though they might have been angry at not being exempt from\nthis evil, nevertheless have decided to regard this, the only thing\nwhich brings them down to the level of other men, not as a wrong\ndone to themselves, but as the law of our mortal nature, and to\nbear what befals them without undue bitterness and wrath, and yet\nin no base or cowardly spirit: for it is not human not to feel our\nsorrows, while it is unmanly not to bear them. When I glance through\nthe roll of all the Caesars whom fate has bereaved of sisters or\nbrothers, I cannot pass over that one who is unworthy to figure on\nthe list of Caesars, whom Nature produced to be the ruin and the\nshame of the human race, who utterly wrecked and destroyed the state\nwhich is now recovering under the gentle rule of the most benign\nof princes. On losing his sister Drusilla, Gaius Caesar, a man who\ncould neither mourn nor rejoice as becomes a prince, shrank from\nseeing and speaking to his countrymen, was not present at his\nsister\u2019s funeral, did not pay her the conventional tribute of\nrespect, but tried to forget the sorrows caused by this most\ndistressing death by playing at dice in his Alban villa, and by\nsitting on the judgment-seat, and the like customary engagements.\nWhat a disgrace to the Empire! a Roman emperor solaced himself by\ngambling for his grief at the loss of his sister! This same Gaius,\nwith frantic levity, at one time let his beard and hair grow long,\nat another wandered aimlessly along the coast of Italy and Sicily.\nHe never clearly made up his mind whether he wished his sister to\nbe mourned for or to be worshipped, and during all the time that\nhe was raising temples and shrines[11] in her honour he punished\nthose who did not manifest sufficient {377} sorrow with the most\ncruel tortures:[12] for his mind was so ill-balanced, that he was\nas much cast down by adversity as he was unbecomingly elated and\npuffed up by success. Far be it from every Roman to follow such an\nexample, either to divert his mind from his grief by unreasonable\namusements, to stimulate it by unseemly squalor and neglect, or to\nbe so inhuman as to console himself by taking pleasure in the\nsufferings of others.\n\nXVIII. You, however, need change none of your ordinary habits, since\nyou have taught yourself to love those studies which, while they\nare pre-eminently fitted for perfecting our happiness, at the same\ntime teach us how we may bear misfortune most lightly, and which\nare at the same time a man\u2019s greatest honour and greatest comfort.\nNow, therefore, immerse yourself even more deeply in your studies,\nnow surround your mind with them like fortifications, so that grief\nmay not find any place at which it can gain entrance. At the same\ntime, prolong the remembrance of your brother by inserting some\nmemoir of him among your other writings: for that is the only sort\nof monument that can be erected by man which no storm can injure,\nno time destroy. The others, which consist of piles of stone, masses\nof marble, or huge mounds of earth heaped on high, cannot preserve\nhis memory for long, because they themselves perish; but the memorials\nwhich genius raises are everlasting. Lavish these upon your brother,\nembalm him in these: you will do better to immortalise him by an\neverlasting work of genius than to mourn over him with useless\ngrief. As for Fortune herself, although I cannot just now {378}\nplead her cause before you, because all that she has given us is\nnow hateful to you, because she has taken something away from you,\nyet I will plead her cause as soon as time shall have rendered you\na more impartial judge of her action: indeed she has bestowed much\nupon you to make amends for the injury which she has done you, and\nshe will give more hereafter by way of atonement for it: and, after\nall, it was she herself who gave you this brother whom she has taken\naway. Forbear, then, to display your abilities against your own\nself, or to take part with your grief against yourself: your\neloquence, can, no doubt, make trifles appear great, and, conversely,\ncan disparage and depreciate great things until they seem the merest\ntrifles; but let it reserve those powers and use them on some other\nsubject, and at the present time devote its entire strength to the\ntask of consoling you. Yet see whether even this task be not\nunnecessary. Nature demands from us a certain amount of grief, our\nimagination adds some more to it; but I will never forbid you to\nmourn at all. I know, indeed, that there are some men, whose wisdom\nis of a harsh rather than a brave character, who say that the wise\nman never would mourn. It seems to me that they never can have been\nin the position of mourners, for otherwise their misfortune would\nhave shaken all their haughty philosophy out of them, and, however\nmuch against their will, would have forced them to confess their\nsorrow. Reason will have done enough if she does but cut off from\nour grief all that is superfluous and useless: as for her not\nallowing us to grieve at all, that we ought neither to expect nor\nto wish for. Let her rather restrain us within the bounds of a\nchastened grief, which partakes neither of indifference nor of\nmadness, and let her keep our minds in that attitude which becomes\naffection without excitement: let your tears flow, but let them\nsome day cease to flow: groan as deeply as you will, but let your\n{379} groans cease some day: regulate your conduct so that both\nphilosophers and brothers may approve of it. Make yourself feel\npleasure in often thinking about your brother, talk constantly about\nhim, and keep him ever present in your memory; which you cannot\nsucceed in doing unless you make the remembrance of him pleasant\nrather than sad: for it is but natural that the mind should shrink\nfrom a subject which it cannot contemplate without sadness. Think\nof his retiring disposition, of his abilities for business, his\ndiligence in carrying it out, his loyalty to his word. Tell other\nmen of all his sayings and doings, and remind your own self of them:\nthink how good he was and how great you hoped he might become: for\nwhat success is there which you might not safely have wagered that\nsuch a brother would win?\n\nI have thrown together these reflexions in the best way that I\ncould, for my mind is dimmed and stupefied with the tedium of my\nlong exile: if, therefore, you should find them unworthy of the\nconsideration of a person of your intelligence, or unable to console\nyou in your grief, remember how impossible it is for one who is\nfull of his own sorrows to find time to minister to those of others,\nand how hard it is to express oneself in the Latin language, when\nall around one hears nothing but a rude foreign jargon, which even\nbarbarians of the more civilised sort regard with disgust.\n\n\n[1] \u201cThe Latins had four versions of Homer (Fabric, tom. i. 1. ii.\nch. 3, p. 297), yet, in spite of the phraises of Seneca, Consol,\nch. 26 (viii.), they appear to have been more successful in imitating\nthan in translating the Greek poets.\u201d\u2014Gibbon\u2019s \u201cDecline and Fall,\u201d\nch. 41, ad init., note. Polybius had made a prose translation of\nHomer, and a prose paraphrase of Virgil.\n\n[2] See note _ante_, ch. viii.\n\n[3] \u201cFortune hath parted stakes with thee, in taking away thy\nbrother, and leaving thee all the rest in securitie and safetie.\u201d\u2014Lodge.\n\n[4] See \u201cOn Benefits,\u201d v. 16.\n\n[5] Scipio Africanus minor, the son of Paulus Aemilius.\n\n[6] Marcellus. See \u201cVirgil\u2019s well-known lines, Aen. VI., 869, _sqq_.,\nand \u201cConsolatio ad Marciam,\u201d 2.\n\n[7] G. Caesar, d. at Limyra, a.d. 4.\n\n[8] Lucius Caesar, d. at Marseilles, A.D. 2.\n\n[9] Drusus died by a fall from his horse, B.C. 9. \u201cA monument was\nerected in his honour at Moguntiacum (Mayence), and games and\nmilitary spectacles were exhibited there on the anniversary of his\ndeath. An altar had already been raised in his honour on the banks\nof the Lippe.\u201d Tac. Ann. ii. 7. \u201cThe soldiers began now to regard\nthemselves as a distinct people, with rites and heroes of their\nown. Augustus required them to surrender the body of their beloved\nchief as a matter of discipline.\u201d Merivale, ch. 36.\n\n[10] _Pulvinaria_. See note, ch. xvii.\n\n[11] _Pulvinaria_. This word properly means \u201ca couch made of cushions,\nand spread over with a splendid covering, for the gods or persons\nwho received divine honours.\u201d\n\n[12] Merivale, following Suetonius and Dion Cassius, says: \u201cHe\ndeclared that if any man dared to mourn for his sister\u2019s death, he\nshould be punished, for she had become a goddess: if any one ventured\nto rejoice at her deification, he should be punished also, for she\nwas dead.\u201d The passage in the text, he remarks, gives a less\nextravagant turn to the story.\n\n\n\n\n{380}\n\nTHE FIRST BOOK OF THE DIALOGUE OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO\nNERO CAESAR.\n\nON CLEMENCY.\n\n\nI. I have determined to write a book upon clemency, Nero Caesar,\nin order that I may as it were serve as a mirror to you, and let\nyou see yourself arriving at the greatest of all pleasures. For\nalthough the true enjoyment of good deeds consists in the performance\nof them, and virtues have no adequate reward beyond themselves,\nstill it is worth your while to consider and investigate a good\nconscience from every point of view, and afterwards to cast your\neyes upon this enormous mass of mankind\u2014 quarrelsome, factious, and\npassionate as they are; likely, if they could throw off the yoke\nof your government, to take pleasure alike in the ruin of themselves\nand of one another \u2014and thus to commune with yourself:\u2014\u201cHave I of\nall mankind been chosen and thought fit to perform the office of a\ngod upon earth? I am the arbiter of life and death to mankind: it\nrests with me to decide what lot and position in life each man\npossesses: fortune makes use of my mouth to announce what she bestows\non each man: cities and nations are moved to joy by my words: no\nregion {381} anywhere can flourish without my favour and good will:\nall these thousands of swords now restrained by my authority, would\nbe drawn at a sign from me: it rests with me to decide which tribes\nshall be utterly exterminated, which shall be moved into other\nlands, which shall receive and which shall be deprived of liberty,\nwhat kings shall be reduced to slavery and whose heads shall be\ncrowned, what cities shall be destroyed and what new ones shall be\nfounded. In this position of enormous power I am not tempted to\npunish men unjustly by anger, by youthful impulse, by the recklessness\nand insolence of men, which often overcomes the patience even of\nthe best regulated minds, not even that terrible vanity, so common\namong great sovereigns, of displaying my power by inspiring terror.\nMy sword is sheathed, nay, fixed in its sheath: I am sparing of the\nblood even of the lowest of my subjects: a man who has nothing else\nto recommend him, will nevertheless find favour in my eyes because\nhe is a man. I keep harshness concealed, but I have clemency always\nat hand: I watch myself as carefully as though I had to give an\naccount of my actions to those laws which I have brought out of\ndarkness and neglect into the light of day. I have been moved to\ncompassion by the youth of one culprit, and the age of another: I\nhave spared one man because of his great place, another on account\nof his insignificance: when I could find no reason for showing\nmercy, I have had mercy upon myself. I am prepared this day, should\nthe gods demand it, to render to them an account of the human race.\u201d\nYou, Caesar, can boldly say that everything which has come into\nyour charge has been kept safe, and that the state has neither\nopenly nor secretly suffered any loss at your hands. You have coveted\na glory which is most rare, and which has been obtained by no emperor\nbefore you, that of innocence. Your remarkable goodness is not\nthrown away, nor is it ungratefully or spitefully undervalued. Men\nfeel {382} gratitude towards you: no one person ever was so dear\nto another as you are to the people of Rome, whose great and enduring\nbenefit you are. You have, however, taken upon yourself a mighty\nburden: no one any longer speaks of the good times of the late\nEmperor Augustus, or the first years of the reign of Tiberius, or\nproposes for your imitation any model outside yourself: yours is a\npattern reign. This would have been difficult had your goodness of\nheart not been innate, but merely adopted for a time; for no one\ncan wear a mask for long, and fictitious qualities soon give place\nto true ones. Those which are founded upon truth, and which, so to\nspeak, grow out of a solid basis, only become greater and better\nas time goes on. The Roman people were in a state of great hazard\nas long as it was uncertain how your generous[1] disposition would\nturn out; now, however, the prayers of the community are sure of\nan answer, for there is no fear that you should suddenly forget\nyour own character. Indeed, excess of happiness makes men greedy,\nand our desires are never so moderate as to be bounded by what they\nhave obtained: great successes become the stepping-stones to greater\nones, and those who have obtained more than they hoped, entertain\neven more extravagant hopes than before; yet by all your countrymen\nwe hear it admitted that they are now happy, and moreover, that\nnothing can be added to the blessings that they enjoy, except that\nthey should be eternal. Many circumstances force this admission\nfrom them, although it is the one which men are least willing to\nmake: we enjoy a profound and prosperous peace, the power of the\nlaw has been openly asserted in the sight of all men, and raised\nbeyond the reach of any violent interference: the form of our\ngovernment is so happy, as to contain all the essentials of liberty\nexcept the power of destroying itself. It is {383} nevertheless\nyour clemency which is most especially admired by the high and low\nalike: every man enjoys or hopes to enjoy the other blessings of\nyour rule according to the measure of his own personal good fortune,\nwhereas from your clemency all hope alike: no one has so much\nconfidence in his own innocence, as not to feel glad that in your\npresence stands a clemency which is ready to make allowance for\nhuman errors.\n\nII. I know, however, that there are some who imagine that clemency\nonly saves the life of every villain, because clemency is useless\nexcept after conviction, and alone of all the virtues has no function\namong the innocent. But in the first place, although a physician\nis only useful to the sick, yet he is held in honour among the\nhealthy also; and so clemency, though she be invoked by those who\ndeserve punishment, is respected by innocent people as well. Next,\nshe can exist also in the person of the innocent, because sometimes\nmisfortune takes the place of crime; indeed, clemency not only\nsuccours the innocent, but often the virtuous, since in the course\nof time it happens that men are punished for actions which deserve\npraise. Besides this, there is a large part of mankind which might\nreturn to virtue if the hope of pardon were not denied them. Yet\nit is not right to pardon indiscriminately; for when no distinction\nis made between good and bad men, disorder follows, and all vices\nbreak forth; we must therefore take care to distinguish those\ncharacters which admit of reform from those which are hopelessly\ndepraved. Neither ought we to show an indiscriminate and general,\nnor yet an exclusive clemency; for to pardon every one is as great\ncruelty as to pardon none; we must take a middle course; but as it\nis difficult to find the true mean, let us be careful, if we depart\nfrom it, to do so upon the side of humanity.\n\nIII. But these matters will be treated of better in their own place.\nI will now divide this whole subject into {384} three parts. The\nfirst will be of gentleness of temper:[2] the second will be that\nwhich explains the nature and disposition of clemency; for since\nthere are certain vices which have the semblance of virtue, they\ncannot be separated unless you stamp upon them the marks which\ndistinguish them from one another: in the third place we shall\ninquire how the mind may be led to practise this virtue, how it may\nstrengthen it, and by habit make it its own.\n\nThat clemency, which is the most humane of virtues, is that which\nbest befits a man, is necessarily an axiom, not only among our own\nsect, which regards man as a social animal, born for the good of\nthe whole community, but even among those philosophers who give him\nup entirely to pleasure, and whose words and actions have no other\naim than their own personal advantage. If man, as they argue, seeks\nfor quiet and repose, what virtue is there which is more agreeable\nto his nature than clemency, which loves peace and restrains him\nfrom violence? Now clemency becomes no one more than a king or a\nprince; for great power is glorious and admirable only when it is\nbeneficent; since to be powerful only for mischief is the power of\na pestilence. That man\u2019s greatness alone rests upon a secure\nfoundation, whom all men know to be as much on their side as he is\nabove them, of whose watchful care for the safety of each and all\nof them they receive daily proofs, at whose approach they do not\nfly in terror, as though some evil and dangerous animal had sprung\nout from its den, but flock to him as they would to the bright and\nhealth-giving sunshine. They are perfectly ready to fling themselves\nupon the swords of conspirators in his defence, to offer their\nbodies if his only path to safety must be formed of corpses: they\nprotect his sleep by nightly watches, they {385} surround him and\ndefend him on every side, and expose themselves to the dangers which\nmenace him. It is not without good reason that nations and cities\nthus agree in sacrificing their lives and property for the defence\nand the love of their king whenever their leader\u2019s safety demands\nit; men do not hold themselves cheap, nor are they insane when so\nmany thousands are put to the sword for the sake of one man, and\nwhen by so many deaths they save the life of one man alone, who not\nunfrequently is old and feeble. Just as the entire body is commanded\nby the mind, and although the body be so much larger and more\nbeautiful while the mind is impalpable and hidden, and we are not\ncertain as to where it is concealed, yet the hands, feet, and eyes\nwork for it, the skin protects it; at its bidding we either lie\nstill or move restlessly about; when it gives the word, if it be\nan avaricious master, we scour the sea in search of gain, or if it\nbe ambitious we straightway place our right hand in the flames like\nMucius, or leap into the pit like Curtius, so likewise this enormous\nmultitude which surrounds one man is directed by his will, is guided\nby his intellect, and would break and hurl itself into ruin by its\nown strength, if it were not upheld by his wisdom.\n\nIV. Men therefore love their own safety, when they draw up vast\nlegions in battle on behalf of one man, when they rush to the front,\nand expose their breasts to wounds, for fear that their leader\u2019s\nstandards should be driven back. He is the bond which fastens the\ncommonwealth together, he is the breath of life to all those\nthousands, who by themselves would become merely an encumbrance and\na source of plunder if that directing mind were withdrawn:\u2014\n\n Bees have but one mind, till their king doth die, But when he\n dies, disorderly they fly.\n\nSuch a misfortune will be the end of the peace of Rome, it will\nwreck the prosperity of this great people; the nation {386} will\nbe free from this danger as long as it knows how to endure the\nreins: should it ever break them, or refuse to have them replaced\nif they were to fall off by accident, then this mighty whole, this\ncomplex fabric of government will fly asunder into many fragments,\nand the last day of Rome\u2019s empire will be that upon which it forgets\nhow to obey. For this reason we need not wonder that princes, kings,\nand all other protectors of a state, whatever their titles may be,\nshould be loved beyond the circle of their immediate relatives; for\nsince right-thinking men prefer the interests of the state to their\nown, it follows that he who bears the burden of state affairs must\nbe dearer to them than their own friends. Indeed, the emperor long\nago identified himself so thoroughly with the state, that neither\nof them could be separated without injury to both, because the one\nrequires power, while the other requires a head.\n\nV. My argument seems to have wandered somewhat far from the subject,\nbut, by Hercules, it really is very much to the point. For if, as\nwe may infer from what has been said, you are the soul of the state,\nand the state is your body, you will perceive, I imagine, how\nnecessary clemency is; for when you appear to spare another, you\nare really sparing yourself. You ought therefore to spare even\nblameworthy citizens, just as you spare weakly limbs; and when\nblood-letting becomes necessary, you must hold your hand, lest you\nshould cut deeper than you need. Clemency therefore, as I said\nbefore, naturally befits all mankind, but more especially rulers,\nbecause in their case there is more for it to save, and it is\ndisplayed upon a greater scale. Cruelty in a private man can do but\nvery little harm; but the ferocity of princes is war. Although there\nis a harmony between all the virtues, and no one is better or more\nhonourable than another, yet some virtues befit some persons better\nthan {387} others. Magnanimity befits all mortal men, even the\nhumblest of all; for what can be greater or braver than to resist\nill fortune? Yet this virtue of magnanimity occupies a wider room\nin prosperity, and shows to greater advantage on the judgment seat\nthan on the floor of the court. On the other hand, clemency renders\nevery house into which it is admitted happy and peaceful; but though\nit is more rare, it is on that account even more admirable in a\npalace. What can be more remarkable than that he whose anger might\nbe indulged without fear of the consequences, whose decision, even\nthough a harsh one, would be approved even by those who were to\nsuffer by it, whom no one can interrupt, and of whom indeed, should\nhe become violently enraged, no one would dare to beg for mercy,\nshould apply a check to himself and use his power in a better and\ncalmer spirit, reflecting: \u201cAny one may break the law to kill a\nman, no one but I can break it to save him\u201d? A great position\nrequires a great mind, for unless the mind raises itself to and\neven above the level of its station, it will degrade its station\nand draw it down to the earth; now it is the property of a great\nmind to be calm and tranquil and to look down upon outrages and\ninsults with contempt. It is a womanish thing to rage with passion;\nit is the part of wild beasts, and that, too, not of the most noble\nones, to bite and worry the fallen. Elephants and lions pass by\nthose whom they have struck down; inveteracy is the quality of\nignoble animals. Fierce and implacable rage does not befit a king,\nbecause he does not preserve his superiority over the man to whose\nlevel he descends by indulging in rage; but if he grants their lives\nand honours to those who are in jeopardy and who deserve to lose\nthem, he does what can only be done by an absolute ruler; for life\nmay be torn away even from those who are above us in station, but\ncan never be granted save to those who are below us. To save men\u2019s\nlives {388} is the privilege of the loftiest station, which never\ndeserves admiration so much as when it is able to act like the gods,\nby whose kindness good and bad men alike are brought into the world.\nThus a prince, imitating the mind of a god, ought to look with\npleasure on some of his countrymen because they are useful and good\nmen, while he ought to allow others to remain to fill up the roll;\nhe ought to be pleased with the existence of the former, and to\nendure that of the latter.\n\nVI. Look at this city of Rome, in which the widest streets become\nchoked whenever anything stops the crowds which unceasingly pour\nthrough them like raging torrents, in which the people streaming\nto three theatres demand the roads at the same time, in which the\nproduce of the entire world is consumed, and reflect what a desolate\nwaste it would become if only those were left in it whom a strict\njudge would acquit. How few magistrates are there who ought not to\nbe condemned by the very same laws which they administer? How few\nprosecutors are themselves faultless? I imagine, also, that few men\nare less willing to grant pardon, than those who have often had to\nbeg it for themselves. We have all of us sinned, some more deeply\nthan others, some of set purpose, some either by chance impulse or\nled away by the wickedness of others; some of us have not stood\nbravely enough by our good resolutions, and have lost our innocence,\nalthough unwillingly and after a struggle; nor have we only sinned,\nbut to the very end of our lives we shall continue to sin. Even if\nthere be any one who has so thoroughly cleansed his mind that nothing\ncan hereafter throw him into disorder or deceive him, yet even he\nhas reached this state of innocence through sin.\n\nVII. Since I have made mention of the gods, I shall state the best\nmodel on which a prince may mould his life to be, that he deal with\nhis countrymen as he would that {389} the gods may deal with himself.\nIs it then desirable that the gods should show no mercy upon sins\nand mistakes, and that they should harshly pursue us to our ruin?\nIn that case what king will be safe? Whose limbs will not be torn\nasunder and collected by the soothsayers? If, on the other hand,\nthe gods are placable and kind, and do not at once avenge the crimes\nof the powerful with thunderbolts, is it not far more just that a\nman set in authority over other men should exercise his power in a\nspirit of clemency and should consider whether the condition of the\nworld is more beauteous and pleasant to the eyes on a fine calm\nday, or when everything is shaken with frequent thunder-claps and\nwhen lightning flashes on all sides! Yet the appearance of a peaceful\nand constitutional reign is the same as that of the calm and brilliant\nsky. A cruel reign is disordered and hidden in darkness, and while\nall shake with terror at the sudden explosions, not even he who\ncaused all this disturbance escapes unharmed. It is easier to find\nexcuses for private men who obstinately claim their rights; possibly\nthey may have been injured, and their rage may spring from their\nwrongs; besides this, they fear to be despised, and not to return\nthe injuries which they have received looks like weakness rather\nthan clemency; but one who can easily avenge himself, if he neglects\nto do so, is certain to gain praise for goodness of heart. Those\nwho are born in a humble station may with greater freedom exercise\nviolence, go to law, engage in quarrels, and indulge their angry\npassions; even blows count for little between two equals; but in\nthe case of a king, even loud clamour and unmeasured talk are\nunbecoming.\n\nVIII. You think it a serious matter to take away from kings the\nright of free speech which the humblest enjoy. \u201cThis,\u201d you say, \u201cis\nto be a subject, not a king.\u201d What, do you not find that we have\nthe command, you the subjection? {390} Your position is quite\ndifferent to that of those who lie hid in the crowd which they never\nleave, whose very virtues cannot be manifested without a long\nstruggle, and whose vices are shrouded in obscurity; rumour catches\nup your acts and sayings, and therefore no persons ought to be more\ncareful of their reputation than those who are certain to have a\ngreat one, whatsoever one they may have deserved. How many things\nthere are that you may not do which, thanks to you, we may do! I\nam able to walk alone without fear in any part of Rome whatever,\nalthough no companion accompanies me, though there is no guard at\nmy house no sword by my side. You must live armed in the peace which\nyou maintain.[3] You cannot stray away from your position; it besets\nyou, and follows you with mighty pomp wherever you go. This slavery\nof not being able to sink one\u2019s rank belongs to the highest position\nof all; yet it is a burden which you share with the gods. They too\nare held fast in heaven, and it is no more possible for them to\ncome down than it is safe[4] for you; you are chained to your lofty\npinnacle. Of our movements few persons are aware; we can go forth\nand return home and change our dress without its being publicly\nknown; but you are no more able to hide yourself than the sun. A\nstrong light is all around you, the eyes of all are turned towards\nit. Do you think you are leaving your house? nay, you are dawning\nupon the world. You cannot speak without all nations everywhere\nhearing your voice; you cannot be angry, without making everything\ntremble, because you can strike no one without shaking all around\nhim. Just as thunderbolts when they fall endanger few men but terrify\nall, so the chastisement inflicted by great potentates terrify more\nwidely than they injure, and that for good reasons; for in the case\nof one whose power is absolute, men do not think of what he has\ndone, so much as of what he may do. Add to this that {391} private\nmen endure wrongs more tamely, because they have already endured\nothers; the safety of kings on the other hand is more surely founded\non kindness, because frequent punishment may crush the hatred of a\nfew, but excites that of all. A king ought to wish to pardon while\nhe has still grounds for being severe; if he acts otherwise, just\nas lopped trees sprout forth again with numberless boughs, and many\nkinds of crops are cut down in order that they may grow more thickly,\nso a cruel king increases the number of his enemies by destroying\nthem; for the parents and children of those who are put to death,\nand their relatives and friends, step into the place of each victim.\n\nIX. I wish to prove the truth of this by an example drawn from your\nown family. The late Emperor Augustus was a mild prince, if in\nestimating his character one reckons from the era of his reign; yet\nhe appealed to arms while the state was shared among the triumvirate.\nWhen he was just of your age, at the end of his twenty-second year,\nhe had already hidden daggers under the clothes of his friends, he\nhad already conspired to assassinate Marcus Antonius, the consul,\nhe had already taken part in the proscription. But when he had\npassed his sixtieth[5] year, and was staying in {392} Gaul,\nintelligence was brought to him that Lucius Cinna, a dull man, was\nplotting against him: the plot was betrayed by one of the conspirators,\nwho told him where, when, and in what manner Cinna meant to attack\nhim. Augustus determined to consult his own safety against this\nman, and ordered a council of his own friends to be summoned. He\npassed a disturbed night, reflecting that he would be obliged to\ncondemn to death a youth of noble birth, who was guilty of no crime\nsave this one, and who was the grandson of Gnaeus Pompeius. He, who\nhad sat at dinner and heard M. Antonius[6] read aloud his edict for\nthe proscription, could not now bear to put one single man to death.\nWith groans he kept at intervals making various inconsistent\nexclamations:\u2014\u201cWhat! shall I allow my assassin to walk about at his\nease while I am racked by fears? Shall the man not be punished who\nhas plotted not merely to slay but actually to sacrifice at the\naltar\u201d (for the conspirators intended to attack him when he was\nsacrificing), \u201cnow when there is peace by land and sea, that life\nwhich so many civil wars have sought in vain, which has passed\nunharmed through so many battles of fleets and armies?\u201d\n\nThen, after an interval of silence, he would say to himself in a\nfar louder, angrier tone than he had used to Cinna, \u201cWhy do you\nlive, if it be to so many men\u2019s advantage that you should die? Is\nthere no end to these executions? to this bloodshed? I am a figure\nset up for nobly-born youths to sharpen their swords on. Is life\nworth having, if so many must perish to prevent my losing it?\u201d At\nlast his wife Livia interrupted him, saying: \u201cWill you take a woman\u2019s\n{393} advice? Do as the physicians do, who, when the usual remedies\nfail, try their opposites. Hitherto you have gained nothing by harsh\nmeasures: Salvidienus has been followed by Lepidus, Lepidus by\nMuraena, Muraena by Caepio, and Caepio by Egnatius, not to mention\nothers of whom one feels ashamed of their having dared to attempt\nso great a deed. Now try what effect clemency will have: pardon\nLucius Cinna. He has been detected, he cannot now do you any harm,\nand he can do your reputation much good.\u201d Delighted at finding some\none to support his own view of the case, he thanked his wife,\nstraightway ordered his friends, whose counsel he had asked for,\nto be told that he did not require their advice, and summoned Cinna\nalone. After ordering a second seat to be placed for Cinna, he sent\nevery one else out of the room, and said:\u2014\u201cThe first request which\nI have to make of you is, that you will not interrupt me while I\nam speaking to you: that you will not cry out in the middle of my\naddress to you: you shall be allowed time to speak freely in answer\nto me. Cinna, when I found you in the enemy\u2019s camp, you who had not\nbecome but were actually born my enemy, I saved your life, and\nrestored to you the whole of your father\u2019s estate. You are now so\nprosperous and so rich, that many of the victorious party envy you,\nthe vanquished one: when you were a candidate for the priesthood I\npassed over many others whose parents had served with me in the\nwars, and gave it to you: and now, after I have deserved so well\nof you, you have made up your mind to kill me.\u201d When at this word\nthe man exclaimed that he was far from being so insane, Augustus\nreplied, \u201cYou do not keep your promise, Cinna; it was agreed upon\nbetween us that you should not interrupt me. I repeat, you are\npreparing to kill me.\u201d He then proceeded to tell him of the place,\nthe names of his accomplices, the day, the way in which they had\narranged to do the deed, and which of them was to give the fatal\nstab. {394} When he saw Cinna\u2019s eyes fixed upon the ground, and\nthat he was silent, no longer because of the agreement, but from\nconsciousness of his guilt, he said, \u201cWhat is your intention in\ndoing this? is it that you yourself may be emperor? The Roman people\nmust indeed be in a bad way if nothing but my life prevents your\nruling over them. You cannot even maintain the dignity of your own\nhouse: you have recently been defeated in a legal encounter by the\nsuperior influence of a freedman: and so you can find no easier\ntask than to call your friends to rally round you against Caesar.\nCome, now, if you think that I alone stand in the way of your\nambition; will Paulus and Fabius Maximus, will the Cossi and the\nServilii and all that band of nobles, whose names are no empty\npretence, but whose ancestry really renders them illustrious\u2014will\nthey endure that you should rule over them?\u201d Not to fill up the\ngreater part of this book by repeating the whole of his speech\u2014for\nhe is known to have spoken for more than two hours, lengthening out\nthis punishment, which was the only one which he intended to\ninflict\u2014he said at last: \u201cCinna, I grant you your life for the\nsecond time: when I gave it you before you were an open enemy, you\nare now a secret plotter and parricide.[7] From this day forth let\nus be friends: let us try which of us is the more sincere, I in\ngiving you your life, or you in owing your life to me.\u201d After this\nhe of his own accord bestowed the consulship upon him, complaining\nof his not venturing to offer himself as a candidate for that office,\nand found him ever afterwards his most grateful and loyal adherent.\nCinna made the emperor his sole heir, and no one ever again formed\nany plot against him.\n\nX. Your great-great-grandfather spared the vanquished: for whom\ncould he have ruled over, had he not spared them? He recruited\nSallustius, the Cocoeii, the Deillii, and the whole {395} inner\ncircle of his court from the camp of his opponents. Soon afterwards\nhis clemency gave him a Domitius, a Messala, an Asinius, a Cicero,\nand all the flower of the state. For what a long time he waited for\nLepidus to die: for years he allowed him to retain all the insignia\nof royalty, and did not allow the office of pontifex maximus to be\nconferred upon himself until after Lepidus\u2019s death; for he wished\nit to be called a honourable office rather than a spoil stripped\nfrom a vanquished foe. It was this clemency which made him end his\ndays in safety and security: this it was which rendered him popular\nand beloved, although he had laid his hands on the neck of the\nRomans when they were still unused to bearing the yoke: this gives\nhim even at the present day a reputation such as hardly any prince\nhas enjoyed during his own lifetime. We believe him to be a god,\nand not merely because we are bidden to do so. We declare that\nAugustus was a good emperor, and that he was well worthy to bear\nhis parent\u2019s name, for no other reason than because he did not even\nshow cruelty in avenging personal insults, which most princes feel\nmore keenly than actual injuries; because he smiled at scandalous\njests against himself, because it was evident that he himself\nsuffered when he punished others, because he was so far from putting\nto death even those whom he had convicted of intriguing with his\ndaughter, that when they were banished he gave them passports to\nenable them to travel more safely. When you know that there will\nbe many who will take your quarrel upon themselves, and will try\nto gain your favour by the murder of your enemies, you do indeed\npardon them if you not only grant them their lives but ensure that\nthey shall not lose them.\n\nXI. Such was Augustus when an old man, or when growing old: in his\nyouth he was hasty and passionate, and did many things upon which\nhe looked back with regret. No one will venture to compare the rule\nof the {396} blessed Augustus to the mildness of your own, even if\nyour youth be compared with his more than ripe old age: he was\ngentle and placable, but it was after he had dyed the sea at Actium\nwith Roman blood; after he had wrecked both the enemy\u2019s fleet and\nhis own at Sicily; after the holocaust of Perusia and the proscriptions.\nBut I do not call it clemency to be wearied of cruelty; true clemency,\nCaesar, is that which you display, which has not begun from remorse\nat its past ferocity, on which there is no stain, which has never\nshed the blood of your countrymen: this, when combined with unlimited\npower, shows the truest self-control and all-embracing love of the\nhuman race as of one\u2019s self, not corrupted by any low desires, any\nextravagant ideas, or any of the bad examples of former emperors\ninto trying, by actual experiment, how great a tyranny you would\nbe allowed to exercise over his countrymen, but inclining rather\nto blunting your sword of empire. You, Caesar, have granted us the\nboon of keeping our state free from bloodshed, and that of which\nyou boast, that you have not caused one single drop of blood to\nflow in any part of the world, is all the more magnanimous and\nmarvellous because no one ever had the power of the sword placed\nin his hands at an earlier age. Clemency, then, makes princes safer\nas well as more respected, and is a glory to empires besides being\ntheir most trustworthy means of preservation. Why have legitimate\nsovereigns grown old on the throne, and bequeathed their power to\ntheir children and grandchildren, while the sway of despotic usurpers\nis both hateful and shortlived l? What is the difference between\nthe tyrant and the king\u2014for their outward symbols of authority and\ntheir powers are the same\u2014except it be that tyrants take delight\nin cruelty, whereas kings are only cruel for good reasons and because\nthey cannot help it.[8]\n\n{397}\n\nXII. \u201cWhat, then,\u201d say you, \u201cdo not kings also put men to death?\u201d\nThey do, but only when that measure is recommended by the public\nadvantage: tyrants enjoy cruelty. A tyrant differs from a king in\ndeeds, not in title: for the elder Dionysius deserves to be preferred\nbefore many kings, and what can prevent our styling Lucius Sulla a\ntyrant, since he only left off slaying because he had no more enemies\nto slay? Although he laid down his dictatorship and resumed the\ngarb of a private citizen, yet what tyrant ever drank human blood\nas greedily as he, who ordered seven thousand Roman citizens to be\nbutchered, and who, on hearing the shrieks of so many thousands\nbeing put to the sword as he sat in the temple of Bellona, said to\nthe terror-stricken Senate, \u201cLet us attend to our business, Conscript\nFathers; it is only a few disturbers of the public peace who are\nbeing put to death by my orders.\u201d In saying this he did not lie:\nthey really seemed few to Sulla. But we shall speak of Sulla\npresently, when we consider how we ought to feel anger against our\nenemies, at any rate when our own countrymen, members of the same\ncommunity as ourselves, have been torn away from it and assumed the\nname of enemies: in the meanwhile, as I was saying, clemency is\nwhat makes the great distinction between kings and tyrants. Though\neach of them may be equally fenced around by armed soldiers,\nnevertheless the one uses his troops to safeguard the peace of his\nkingdom, the other uses them to quell great hatred by great terror:\nand yet he does not look with any confidence upon those to whose\nhands he entrusts himself. He is driven in opposite directions by\nconflicting passions: for since he is hated because he is feared,\nhe wishes to be feared because he is {398} hated: and he acts up\nto the spirit of that odious verse, which has cast so many headlong\nfrom their thrones\u2014\n\n \u201cWhy, let them hate me, if they fear me too!\u201d\u2014\n\nnot knowing how frantic men become when their hatred becomes\nexcessive: for a moderate amount of fear restrains men, but a\nconstant and keen apprehension of the worst tortures rouses up even\nthe most grovelling spirits to deeds of reckless courage, and causes\nthem to hesitate at nothing. Just so a string stuck full of feathers[9]\nwill prevent wild beasts escaping: but should a horseman begin to\nshoot at them from another quarter, they will attempt to escape\nover the very thing that scared them, and will trample the cause\nof their alarm underfoot. No courage is so great as that which is\nborn of utter desperation. In order to keep people down by terror,\nyou must grant them a certain amount of security, and let them see\nthat they have far more to hope for than to fear: for otherwise,\nif a man is in equal peril whether he sits still or takes action,\nhe will feel actual pleasure in risking his life, and will fling\nit away as lightly as though it were not his own.\n\nXIII. A calm and peaceful king trusts his guards, because he makes\nuse of them to ensure the common safety of all his subjects, and\nhis soldiers, who see that the security of the state depends upon\ntheir labours, cheerfully undergo the severest toil and glory in\nbeing the protectors of the father of their country: whereas your\nharsh and murderous tyrant must needs be disliked even by his own\njanissaries. No man can expect willing and loyal service from those\nwhom he uses like the rack and the axe, as instruments of torture\nand death, to whom he casts men as he would cast them to wild beasts.\nNo prisoner at the bar is so full of agony and anxiety as a tyrant;\nfor while he dreads both gods and men because they have witnessed,\n{399} and will avenge his crimes, he has at the same time so far\ncommitted himself to this course of action that he is not able to\nalter it. This is perhaps the very worst quality of cruelty: a man\nmust go on exercising it, and it is impossible for him to retrace\nhis steps and start in a better path; for crimes must be safeguarded\nby fresh crimes. Yet who can be more unhappy than he who is actually\ncompelled to be a villain? How greatly he ought to be pitied: I\nmean, by himself, for it would be impious for others to pity a man\nwho has made use of his power to murder and ravage, who has rendered\nhimself mistrusted by every one at home and abroad, who fears the\nvery soldiers to whom he flees for safety, who dare not rely upon\nthe loyalty of his friends or the affection of his children: who,\nwhenever he considers what he has done, and what he is about to do,\nand calls to mind all the crimes and torturings with which his\nconscience is burdened, must often fear death, and yet must often\nwish for it, for he must be even more hateful to himself than he\nis to his subjects. On the other hand, he who takes an interest in\nthe entire state, who watches over every department of it with more\nor less care, who attends to all the business of the state as well\nas if it were his own, who is naturally inclined to mild measures,\nand shows, even when it is to his advantage to punish, how unwilling\nhe is to make use of harsh remedies; who has no angry or savage\nfeelings, but wields his authority calmly and beneficially, being\nanxious that even his subordinate officers shall be popular with\nhis countrymen, who thinks his happiness complete if he can make\nthe nation share his prosperity, who is courteous in language, whose\npresence is easy of access, who looks obligingly upon his subjects,\nwho is disposed to grant all their reasonable wishes, and does not\ntreat their unreasonable wishes with harshness\u2014such a prince is\nloved, protected, and worshipped by his whole empire. Men talk of\nsuch a one in private in the same {400} words which they use in\npublic: they are eager to bring up families under his reign, and\nthey put an end to the childlessness which public misery had\npreviously rendered general: every one feels that he will indeed\ndeserve that his children should be grateful to him for having\nbrought them into so happy an age. Such a prince is rendered safe\nby his own beneficence; he has no need of guards, their arms serve\nhim merely as decorations.\n\nXIV. What, then, is his duty? It is that of good parents, who\nsometimes scold their children goodnaturedly, sometimes threaten\nthem, and sometimes even flog them. No man in his senses disinherits\nhis son for his first offence: he does not pass this extreme sentence\nupon him unless his patience has been worn out by many grievous\nwrongs, unless he fears that his son will do something worse than\nthat which he punishes him for having done; before doing this he\nmakes many attempts to lead his son\u2019s mind into the right way while\nit is still hesitating between good and evil and has only taken its\nfirst steps in depravity; it is only when its case is hopeless that\nhe adopts this extreme measure. No one demands that people should\nbe executed until after he has failed to reform them. This which\nis the duty of a parent, is also that of the prince whom with no\nunmeaning flattery we call \u201cThe Father of our Country.\u201d Other names\nare given as titles of honour: we have styled some men \u201cThe Great,\u201d\n\u201cThe Fortunate,\u201d or \u201cThe August,\u201d and have thus satisfied their\npassion for grandeur by bestowing upon them all the dignity that\nwe could: but when we style a man \u201cThe Father of his Country\u201d we\ngive him to understand that we have entrusted him with a father\u2019s\npower over us, which is of the mildest character, for a father takes\nthought for his children and subordinates his own interests to\ntheirs. It is long before a father will cut off a member of his own\nbody: even after he has cut it off he longs to replace it, and in\ncutting it off he laments {401} and hesitates much and long: for\nhe who condemns quickly is not far from being willing to condemn;\nand he who inflicts too great punishment comes very near to punishing\nunjustly.\n\nXV. Within my own recollection the people stabbed in the forum with\ntheir writing-styles a Roman knight named Tricho, because he had\nflogged his son to death: even the authority of Augustus Caesar\ncould hardly save him from the angry clutches of both fathers and\nsons: but every one admired Tarius, who, on discovering that his\nson meditated parricide, tried him, convicted him, and was then\nsatisfied with punishing him by exile, and that, too, to that\npleasant place of exile, Marseilles, where he made him the same\nyearly allowance which he had done while he was innocent: the result\nof this generosity was that even in a city where every villain finds\nsome one to defend him, no one doubted that he was justly condemned,\nsince even the father who was unable to hate him, nevertheless had\ncondemned him. In this very same instance I will give you an example\nof a good prince, which you may compare with a good father. Tarius,\nwhen about to sit in judgement on his son, invited Augustus Caesar\nto assist in trying him: Augustus came into his private house, sat\nbeside the father, took part in another man\u2019s family council, and\ndid not say, \u201cNay, let him rather come to my house,\u201d because if he\nhad done so, the trial would have been conducted by Caesar and not\nby the father. When the cause had been heard, after all that the\nyoung man pleaded in his own defence and all that was alleged against\nhim had been thoroughly discussed, the emperor begged that each man\nwould write his sentence (instead of pronouncing it aloud), in order\nthat they might not all follow Caesar in giving sentence: then,\nbefore the tablets were opened, he declared that if Tarius, who was\na rich man, made him his heir, he would not accept the bequest. One\nmight say \u201cIt showed a paltry mind in him {402} to fear that people\nwould think that he condemned the son in order to enable himself\nto inherit the estate.\u201d I am of a contrary opinion\u2014any one of us\nought to have sufficient trust in the consciousness of his own\nintegrity to defend him against calumny, but princes must take great\npains to avoid even the appearance of evil. He swore that he would\nnot accept the property. On that day Tarius lost two heirs to his\nestate, but Caesar gained the liberty of forming an unbiassed\njudgement: and when he had proved that his severity was disinterested,\na point of which a prince should never lose sight, he gave sentence\nthat the son should be banished to whatever place the father might\nchoose. He did not sentence him to the sack and the snakes, or to\nprison, because he thought, not of who it was upon whom he was\npassing sentence, but of who it was with whom he was sitting in\njudgement: he said that a father ought to be satisfied with the\nmildest form of punishment for his stripling son, who had been\nseduced into a crime which he had attempted so faintheartedly as\nto be almost innocent of it, and that he ought to be removed from\nRome and out of his father\u2019s sight.\n\nXVI. How worthy was he to be invited by fathers to join their family\ncouncils: how worthy to be made co-heir with innocent children!\nThis is the sort of clemency which befits a prince; wherever he\ngoes, let him make every one more charitable. In the king\u2019s sight,\nno one ought to be so despicable that he should not notice whether\nhe lives or dies: be his character what it may, he is a part of the\nempire. Let us take examples for great kingdoms from smaller ones.\nThere are many forms of royalty: a prince reigns over his subjects,\na father over his children, a teacher over his scholars, a tribune\nor centurion over his soldiers. Would not he, who constantly punished\nhis children by beating them for the most trifling faults, be thought\nthe worst of fathers? Which is worthier to impart {403} a liberal\neducation: he who flays his scholars alive if their memory be weak,\nor if their eyes do not run quickly along the lines as they read,\nor he who prefers to improve and instruct them by kindly warnings\nand moral influence? If a tribune or a centurion is harsh, he will\nmake men deserters, and one cannot blame them for desertion. It is\nnever right to rule a human being more harshly and cruelly than we\nrule dumb animals; yet a skilled horse-breaker will not scare a\nhorse by frequent blows, because he will become timid and vicious\nif you do not soothe him with pats and caresses. So also a huntsman,\nboth when he is teaching puppies to follow the tracks of wild\nanimals, and when he uses dogs already trained to drive them from\ntheir lairs and hunt them, does not often threaten to beat them,\nfor, if he does, he will break their spirit, and make them stupid\nand currish with fear; though, on the other hand, he will not allow\nthem to roam and range about unrestrained. The same is the case\nwith those who drive the slower draught cattle, which, though brutal\ntreatment and wretchedness is their lot from their birth, still,\nby excessive cruelty may be made to refuse to draw.\n\nXVII. No creature is more self-willed, requires more careful\nmanagement, or ought to be treated with greater indulgence than\nman. What, indeed, can be more foolish than that we should blush\nto show anger against dogs or beasts of burden, and yet wish one\nman to be most abominably ill-treated by another? We are not angry\nwith diseases, but apply remedies to them: but this also is a disease\nof the mind, and requires soothing medicine and a physician who is\nanything but angry with his patient. It is the part of a bad physician\nto despair of effecting a cure: he, to whom the care of all men\u2019s\nwell-being is entrusted, ought to act like a good physician, and\nnot be in a hurry to give up hope or to declare that the symptoms\nare mortal: he should wrestle with vices, withstand them, reproach\n{404} some with their distemper, and deceive others by a soothing\nmode of treatment, because he will cure his patient more quickly\nand more thoroughly if the medicines which he administers escape\nhis notice: a prince should take care not only of the recovery of\nhis people, but also that their scars should be honourable. Cruel\npunishments do a king no honour: for who doubts that he is able to\ninflict them? but, on the other hand, it does him great honour to\nrestrain his powers, to save many from the wrath of others, and\nsacrifice no one to his own.\n\nXVIII. It is creditable to a man to keep within reasonable bounds\nin his treatment of his slaves. Even in the case of a human chattel\none ought to consider, not how much one can torture him with impunity,\nbut how far such treatment is permitted by natural goodness and\njustice, which prompts us to act kindly towards even prisoners of\nwar and slaves bought for a price (how much more towards free-born,\nrespectable gentlemen?), and not to treat them with scornful brutality\nas human chattels, but as persons somewhat below ourselves in\nstation, who have been placed under our protection rather than\nassigned to us as servants. Slaves are allowed to run and take\nsanctuary at the statue of a god, though the laws allows a slave\nto be ill-treated to any extent, there are nevertheless some things\nwhich the common laws of life forbid us to do to a human being. Who\ndoes not hate Vedius Pollio[10] more even than his own slaves did,\nbecause he used to fatten his lampreys with human blood, and ordered\nthose who had offended him in any way to be cast into his fish-pond,\nor rather snake-pond? That {405} man deserved to die a thousand\ndeaths, both for throwing his slaves to be devoured by the lampreys\nwhich he himself meant to eat, and for keeping lampreys that he\nmight feed them in such a fashion. Cruel masters are pointed at\nwith disgust in all parts of the city, and are hated and loathed;\nthe wrong-doings of kings are enacted on a wider theatre: their\nshame and unpopularity endures for ages: yet how far better it would\nhave been never to have been born than to be numbered among those\nwho have been born to do their country harm!\n\nXIX. Nothing can be imagined which is more becoming to a sovereign\nthan clemency, by whatever title and right he may be set over his\nfellow citizens. The greater his power, the more beautiful and\nadmirable he will confess his clemency to be: for there is no reason\nwhy power should do any harm, if only it be wielded in accordance\nwith the laws of nature. Nature herself has conceived the idea of\na king, as you may learn from various animals, and especially from\nbees, among whom the king\u2019s cell is the roomiest, and is placed in\nthe most central and safest part of the hive; moreover, he does no\nwork, but employs himself in keeping the others up to their work.\nIf the king be lost, the entire swarm disperses: they never endure\nto have more than one king at a time, and find out which is the\nbetter by making them fight with one another: moreover the king is\ndistinguished by his statelier appearance, being both larger and\nmore brilliantly coloured than the other bees. The most remarkable\ndistinction, however, is the following: bees are very fierce, and\nfor their size are the most pugnacious of creatures, and leave their\nstings in the wounds which they make, but the king himself has no\nsting: nature does not wish him to be savage or to seek revenge at\nso dear a rate, and so has deprived him of his weapon and disarmed\nhis rage. She has offered him as a pattern to great sovereigns: for\nshe is wont to practise {406} herself in small matters, and to\nscatter abroad tiny models of the hugest structures. We ought to\nbe ashamed of not learning a lesson in behaviour from these small\ncreatures, for a man, who has so much more power of doing harm than\nthey, ought to show a correspondingly greater amount of self-control.\nWould that human beings were subject to the same law, and that their\nanger destroyed itself together with its instrument, so that they\ncould only inflict a wound once, and would not make use of the\nstrength of others to carry out their hatreds: for their fury would\nsoon grow faint if it carried its own punishment with it, and could\nonly give rein to its violence at the risk of death. Even as it is,\nhowever, no one can exercise it with safety, for he must needs feel\nas much fear as he hopes to cause, he must watch every one\u2019s\nmovements, and even when his enemies are not laying violent hands\nupon him he must bear in mind that they are plotting to do so, and\nhe cannot have a single moment free from alarm. Would any one endure\nto live such a life as this, when he might enjoy the privileges of\nhis high station to the general joy of all men, without injuring\nany one, and for that very reason have no one to fear? for it is a\nmistake to suppose that the king can be safe in a state where nothing\nis safe from the king: he can only purchase a life without anxiety\nfor himself by guaranteeing the same for his subjects. He need not\npile up lofty citadels, escarp steep hills, cut away the sides of\nmountains, and fence himself about with many lines of walls and\ntowers: clemency will render a king safe even upon an open plain.\nThe one fortification which cannot be stormed is the love of his\ncountrymen. What can be more glorious than a life which every one\nspontaneously and without official pressure hopes may last long?\nto excite men\u2019s fears, not their hopes, if one\u2019s health gives way\na little? to know that no one holds anything so dear that he would\nnot be glad to give it in exchange for the health of his sovereign?\n\u201cO, may {407} no evil befall him!\u201d they would cry: \u201che must live\nfor his own sake, not only for ours: his constant proofs of goodness\nhave made him belong to the state instead of the state belonging\nto him.\u201d Who would dare to plot any danger to such a king? Who would\nnot rather, if he could, keep misfortune far from one under whom\njustice, peace, decency, security and merit flourish, under whom\nthe state grows rich with an abundance of all good things, and looks\nupon its ruler in the same spirit of adoration and respect with\nwhich we should look upon the immortal gods, if they allowed us to\nbehold them as we behold him? Why! does not that man come very close\nto the gods who acts in a god-like manner, and who is beneficent,\nopen-handed, and powerful for good? Your aim and your pride ought\nto lie in being thought the best, as well as the greatest of mankind.\n\nXX. A prince generally inflicts punishment for one of two reasons:\nhe wishes either to assert his own rights or those of another. I\nwill first discuss the case in which he is personally concerned,\nfor it is more difficult for him to act with moderation when he\nacts under the impulse of actual pain than when he merely does so\nfor the sake of the example. It is unnecessary in this place to\nremind him to be slow to believe what he hears, to ferret out the\ntruth, to show favour to innocence, and to bear in mind that to\nprove it is as much the business of the judge as that of the prisoner;\nfor these considerations are connected with justice, not with\nclemency: what we are now encouraging him to do is not to lose\ncontrol over his feelings when he receives an unmistakeable injury,\nand to forego punishing it if he possibly can do so with safety,\nif not, to moderate the severity of the punishment, and to show\nhimself far more unwilling to forgive wrongs done to others than\nthose done to himself: for, just as the truly generous man is not\nhe who gives away what belongs to others, but he who deprives himself\nof what he gives to another, so also I should not call a prince\nclement {408} who looked goodnaturedly upon a wrong done to someone\nelse, but one who is unmoved even by the sting of a personal injury,\nwho understands how magnanimous it is for one whose power is unlimited\nto allow himself to be wronged, and that there is no more noble\nspectacle than that of a sovereign who has received an injury without\navenging it.\n\nXXI. Vengeance effects two purposes: it either affords compensation\nto the person to whom the wrong was done, or it ensures him against\nmolestation for the future. A prince is too rich to need compensation,\nand his power is too evident for him to require to gain a reputation\nfor power by causing any one to suffer. I mean, when he is attacked\nand injured by his inferiors, for if he sees those who once were\nhis equals in a position of inferiority to himself he is sufficiently\navenged. A king may be killed by a slave, or a serpent, or an arrow:\nbut no one can be saved except by some one who is greater than him\nwhom he saves. He, therefore, who has the power of giving and of\ntaking away life ought to use such a great gift of heaven in a\nspirited manner. Above all, if he once obtains this power over those\nwho he knows were once on a level with himself, he has completed\nhis revenge, and done all that he need to towards the punishment\nof his adversary: for he who owes his life to another must have\nlost it, and he who has been cast down from on high and lies at his\nenemy\u2019s feet with his kingdom and his life depending upon the\npleasure of another, adds to the glory of his preserver if he be\nallowed to live, and increases his reputation much more by remaining\nunhurt than if he were put out of the way. In the former case he\nremains as an everlasting testimony to the valour of his conqueror;\nwhereas if led in the procession of a triumph he would have soon\npassed out of sight.[11] If, however, his kingdom also may be safely\nleft in his hands {409} and he himself replaced upon the throne\nfrom which he has fallen, such a measure confers an immense increase\nof lustre on him who scorned to take anything from a conquered king\nbeyond the glory of having conquered him. To do this is to triumph\neven over one\u2019s own victory, and to declare that one has found\nnothing among the vanquished which it was worth the victor\u2019s while\nto take. As for his countrymen, strangers, and persons of mean\ncondition, he ought to treat them with all the less severity because\nit costs so much less to overcome them. Some you would be glad to\nspare, against some you would disdain to assert your rights, and\nwould forbear to touch them as you would to touch little insects\nwhich defile your hands when you crush them: but in the case of men\nupon whom all eyes are fixed, whether they be spared or condemned,\nyou should seize the opportunity of making your clemency widely\nknown.\n\nXXII. Let us now pass on to the consideration of wrongs done to\nothers, in avenging which the law has aimed at three ends, which\nthe prince will do well to aim at also: they are, either that it\nmay correct him whom it punishes, or that his punishment may render\nother men better, or that, by bad men being put out of the way, the\nrest may live without fear. You will more easily correct the men\nthemselves by a slight punishment, for he who has some part of his\nfortune remaining untouched will behave less recklessly; on the\nother hand, no one cares about respectability after he has lost it:\nit is a species of impunity to have nothing left for punishment to\ntake away. It is conducive, however, to good morals in a state,\nthat punishment should seldom be inflicted: for where there is a\nmultitude of sinners men become familiar with sin, shame is less\nfelt when shared with a number of fellow-criminals, and severe\nsentences, if frequently pronounced, lose the influence which\nconstitutes their chief power as remedial measures. A good king\nestablishes a good standard of morals for his {410} kingdom and\ndrives away vices if he is long-suffering with them, not that he\nshould seem to encourage them, but to be very unwilling and to\nsuffer much when he is forced to chastise them. Clemency in a\nsovereign even makes men ashamed to do wrong: for punishment seems\nfar more grievous when inflicted by a merciful man.\n\nXXIII. Besides this, you will find that sins which are frequently\npunished are frequently committed. Your father sewed up more\nparricides in sacks during five years, than we hear of in all\nprevious centuries. As long as the greatest of crimes remained\nwithout any special law, children were much more timid about\ncommitting it. Our wise ancestors, deeply skilled in human nature,\npreferred to pass over this as being a wickedness too great for\nbelief, and beyond the audacity of the worst criminal, rather than\nteach men that it might be done by appointing a penalty for doing\nit: parricides, consequently, were unknown until a law was made\nagainst them, and the penalty showed them the way to the crime.\nFilial affection soon perished, for since that time we have seen\nmore men punished by the sack than by the cross. Where men are\nseldom punished innocence becomes the rule, and is encouraged as a\npublic benefit. If a state thinks itself innocent, it will be\ninnocent: it will be all the more angry with those who corrupt the\ngeneral simplicity of manners if it sees that they are few in number.\nBelieve me, it is a dangerous thing to show a state how great a\nmajority of bad men it contains.\n\nXXIV. A proposal was once made in the Senate to distinguish slaves\nfrom free men by their dress: it was then discovered how dangerous\nit would be for our slaves to be able to count our numbers. Be\nassured that the same thing would be the case if no one\u2019s offence\nis pardoned: it will quickly be discovered how far the number of\nbad men exceeds that of the good. Many executions are as disgraceful\nto a sovereign as many funerals are to a physician: {411} one who\ngoverns less strictly is better obeyed. The human mind is naturally\nself-willed, kicks against the goad, and sets its face against\nauthority; it will follow more readily than it can be led. As\nwell-bred and high-spirited horses are best managed with a loose\nrein, so mercy gives men\u2019s minds a spontaneous bias towards innocence,\nand the public think that it is worth observing. Mercy, therefore,\ndoes more good than severity.\n\nXXV, Cruelty is far from being a human vice, and is unworthy of\nman\u2019s gentle mind: it is mere bestial madness to take pleasure in\nblood and wounds, to cast off humanity and transform oneself into\na wild beast of the forest. Pray, Alexander, what is the difference\nbetween your throwing Lysimachus into a lion\u2019s den and tearing his\nflesh with your own teeth? it is you that have the lion\u2019s maw, and\nthe lion\u2019s fierceness. How pleased you would be if you had claws\ninstead of nails, and jaws that were capable of devouring men! We\ndo not expect of you that your hand, the sure murderer of your best\nfriends, should restore health to any one; or that your proud spirit,\nthat inexhaustible source of evil to all nations, should be satisfied\nwith anything short of blood and slaughter: we rather call it mercy\nthat your friend should have a human being chosen to be his butcher.\nThe reason why cruelty is the most hateful of all vices is that it\ngoes first beyond the ordinary limits, and then beyond those of\nhumanity; that it devises new kinds of punishments, calls ingenuity\nto aid it in inventing devices for varying and lengthening men\u2019s\ntorture, and takes delight in their sufferings: this accursed disease\nof the mind reaches its highest pitch of madness when cruelty itself\nturns into pleasure, and the act of killing a man becomes enjoyment.\nSuch a ruler is soon cast down from his throne; his life is attempted\nby poison one day and by the sword the next; he is exposed to as\nmany dangers as there are men to whom he is dangerous, and he {412}\nis sometimes destroyed by the plots of individuals, and at others\nby a general insurrection. Whole communities are not roused to\naction by unimportant outrages on private persons; but cruelty which\ntakes a wider range, and from which no one is safe, becomes a mark\nfor all men\u2019s weapons. Very small snakes escape our notice, and the\nwhole country does not combine to destroy them; but when one of\nthem exceeds the usual size and grows into a monster, when it poisons\nfountains with its spittle, scorches herbage with its breath, and\nspreads ruin wherever it crawls, we shoot at it with military\nengines. Trifling evils may cheat us and elude our observation, but\nwe gird up our loins to attack great ones. One sick person does not\nso much as disquiet the house in which he lies; but when frequent\ndeaths show that a plague is raging, there is a general outcry, men\ntake to flight and shake their fists angrily at the very gods\nthemselves. If a fire breaks out under one single roof, the family\nand the neighbours pour water upon it; but a wide conflagration\nwhich has consumed many houses must be smothered under the ruins\nof a whole quarter of a city.\n\nXXVI. The cruelty even of private men has sometimes been revenged\nby their slaves in spite of the certainty that they will be crucified:\nwhole kingdoms and nations when oppressed by tyrants or threatened\nby them, have attempted their destruction. Sometimes their own\nguards have risen in revolt, and have used against their master all\nthe deceit, disloyalty, and ferocity which they have learned from\nhim. What, indeed, can he expect from those whom he has taught to\nbe wicked? A bad man will not long be obedient, and will not do\nonly as much evil as he is ordered. But even if the tyrant may be\ncruel with safety, how miserable his kingdom must be: it must look\nlike a city taken by storm, like some frightful scene of general\npanic. Everywhere sorrow, anxiety, disorder; men dread even their\nown pleasures; they cannot even dine with one another in safety\n{413} when they have to keep watch over their tongues even when in\ntheir cups, nor can they safely attend the public shows when informers\nare ready to find grounds for their impeachment in their behaviour\nthere. Although the spectacles be provided at an enormous expense,\nwith royal magnificence and with world-famous artists, yet who cares\nfor amusement when he is in prison? Ye gods! what a miserable life\nit is to slaughter and to rage, to delight in the clanking of chains,\nand to cut off one\u2019s countrymen\u2019s heads, to cause blood to flow\nfreely wherever one goes, to terrify people, and make them flee\naway out of one\u2019s sight! It is what would happen if bears or lions\nwere our masters, if serpents and all the most venomous creatures\nwere given power over us. Even these animals, devoid of reason as\nthey are, and accused by us of cruel ferocity, spare their own kind,\nand wild beasts themselves respect their own likeness: but the fury\nof tyrants does not even stop short at their own relations, and\nthey treat friends and strangers alike, only becoming more violent\nthe more they indulge their passions. By insensible degrees he\nproceeds from the slaughter of individuals to the ruin of nations,\nand thinks it a sign of power to set roofs on fire and to plough\nup the sites of ancient cities: he considers it unworthy of an\nemperor to order only one or two people to be put to death, and\nthinks that his cruelty is unduly restrained if whole troops of\nwretches are not sent to execution together. True happiness, on the\nother hand; consists in saving many men\u2019s lives, in calling them\nback from the very gates of death, and in being so merciful as to\ndeserve a civic crown.[12] No decoration is more worthy or more\nbecoming to a prince\u2019s rank than that crown \u201cfor saving the lives\nof fellow-citizens\u201d: not trophies torn from a vanquished enemy, not\n{414} chariots wet with their savage owner\u2019s blood, not spoils\ncaptured in war. This power which saves men\u2019s lives by crowds and\nby nations, is godlike: the power of extensive and indiscrimate\nmassacre is the power of downfall and conflagration.\n\n\n[1] _Nobilis_.\n\n[2] The text is corrupt. I have followed Gertz\u2019s conjectural\nemendation, _mansuefactionis_, but I believe that Lipsius is right\nin thinking that a great deal more than one word has been lost here.\n\n[3] _Pace_.\n\n[4] Tutum.\n\n[5] Gertz reads _sexagesimum_, his sixtieth year, which he calls\n\u201cthe not very audacious conjecture of Wesseling,\u201d and adds that he\ndoes so because of the words at the beginning of chap. xi. and the\nauthority of Dion Cassius. The ordinary reading is _quadragesimum_,\n\u201chis fortieth year,\u201d and this is the date to which Cinna\u2019s conspiracy\nis referred to by Merivale, \u201cHistory of the Romans under the Empire,\u201d\nvol. iv. ch, 37. \u201cA plot,\u201d he says, \u201cwas formed for his destruction,\nat the head of which was Cornelius Cinna, described as a son of\nFaustus Sulla by a daughter of the Great Pompeius.\u201d The story of\nCinna\u2019s conspiracy is told by Seneca, de Clem, i, 9, and Dion iv.\n14, foll. They agree in the main fact; but Seneca is our authority\nfor the details of the interview between Augustus and his enemy,\nwhile Dion has doubtless invented his long conversation between the\nemperor and Livia. Seneca, however, calls the conspirator Lucius,\nand places the event in the fortieth year of Augustus (A.D. 731),\nthe scene in Gaul: Dion, on the other, gives the names of Gnaeus,\nand supposes the circumstances to have occured twenty-six years\nlater, and at Rome. It may be observed that a son of Faustus Sulla\nmust have been at least fifty at this latter date, nor do we know\nwhy he should bear the name of Cinna, though an adoption is not\nimpossible.\n\n[6] See Shakespeare\u2019s \u201cJulius Caesar,\u201d Act IV, Sc. 1.\n\n[7] In allusion to the title of \u201cFather of his country,\u201d bestowed\nby the Senate upon Augustus. See Merivale, ch. 33.\n\n[8] This whole comparison, which reads so meaninglessly both in\nLatin and in English, is borrowed from the eternal declamations of\nPlutarch and the Greek philosophers about \u03b2\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03bb\u03b5\u1fd6\u03c2 and \u03c4\u03cd\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9.\nSee Plutarch, Lives of Philopoemen and Aratus, Plato, Gorgias and\nPoliticus; Arnold, \u201cAppendix to Thucydides,\u201d vol. i., and \u201cDictionary\nof Antiquities,\u201d _s.v._\n\n[9] De lra, ii. 11.\n\n[10] Vedius Pollio had a villa on the mountain now called Punta di\nPosilippo, which projects into the sea between Naples and Puteoli,\nwhich he left to Augustus, and which was afterwards possessed by\nthe Emperor Trajan. He was a freedman by birth, and remarkable for\nnothing except his riches and his cruelty. Cf. Dion Cassius, liv.\n23; Pliny, H. N. ix. 23; and Seneca, \u201cOn Anger,\u201d iii. 40, 2.\n\n[11] The conquered princes who were led through Rome in triumphs\nwere as a rule put to death when the procession was over.\n\n[12] The \u201ccivic\u201d crown of oak-leaves was bestowed on him who had\nsaved the life of a fellow-citizen in war. It was bestowed upon\nAugustus, and after him upon the other emperors, as preservers of\nthe state.\n\n\n\n\n{415}\n\nTHE SECOND BOOK OF THE DIALOGUE OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO\nNERO CAESAR.\n\nON CLEMENCY.\n\n\nI. I have been especially led to write about clemency, Nero Caesar,\nby a saying of yours, which I remember having heard with admiration\nand which I afterwards told to others: a noble saying, showing a\ngreat mind and great gentleness, which suddenly burst from you\nwithout premeditation, and was not meant to reach any ears but your\nown, and which displayed the conflict which was raging between your\nnatural goodness and your imperial duties. Your prefect Burrus, an\nexcellent man who was born to be the servant of such an emperor as\nyou are, was about to order two brigands to be executed, and was\npressing you to write their names and the grounds on which they\nwere to be put to death: this had often been put off, and he was\ninsisting that it should then be done. When he reluctantly produced\nthe document and put it into your equally reluctant hands, you\nexclaimed: \u201cWould that I had never learned my letters!\u201d O what a\nspeech, how worthy to be heard by all nations, both those who dwell\nwithin the Roman Empire, those who enjoy a debatable independence\nupon its borders, and those who either in will or in deed fight\nagainst it! It is a speech which ought to be spoken {416} before a\nmeeting of all mankind, whose words all kings and princes ought to\nswear to obey: a speech worthy of the days of human innocence, and\nworthy to bring back that golden age. Now in truth we ought all to\nagree to love righteousness and goodness; covetousness, which is\nthe root of all evil, ought to be driven away, piety and virtue,\ngood faith and modesty ought to resume their interrupted reign, and\nthe vices which have so long and so shamefully ruled us ought at\nlast to give way to an age of happiness and purity.\n\nII. To a great extent, Caesar, we may hope and expect that this\nwill come to pass. Let your own goodness of heart be gradually\nspread and diffused throughout the whole body of the empire, and\nall parts of it will mould themselves into your likeness. Good\nhealth proceeds from the head into all the members of the body:\nthey are all either brisk and erect, or languid and drooping,\naccording as their guiding spirit blooms or withers. Both Romans\nand allies will prove worthy of this goodness of yours, and good\nmorals will return to all the world: your hands will everywhere\nfind less to do. Allow me to dwell somewhat upon this saying of\nyours, not because it is a pleasant subject for your ears (indeed,\nthis is not my way; I would rather offend by telling the truth than\ncurry favour by flattery). What, then, is my reason? Besides wishing\nthat you should be as familiar as possible with your own good deeds\nand good words, in order that what is now untutored impulse may\ngrow into matured decision, I remember that many great but odious\nsayings have become part of human life and are familiar in men\u2019s\nmouths, such as that celebrated \u201cLet them hate me, provided that\nthey fear me,\u201d which is like that Greek verse, \u03ad\u03bc\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03b8\u03b1\u03bd\u03cc\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b3\u03b1\u1fd6\u03b1\n\u03bc\u03b9\u03c7\u03b8\u03ae\u03c4\u03c9 \u03c0\u03bd\u03c1\u03af, in which a man bids the earth perish in flame after\nhe is dead, and others of the like sort. I know not how it is, but\ncertainly human ingenuity seems to have found it {417} easier to\nfind emphatic and ardent expression for monstrous and cynical\nsentiments: I have never hitherto heard any spirited saying from a\ngood and gentle person. What, then, is the upshot of all this? It\nis that, albeit seldom and against your will, and after much\nhesitation, you sometimes nevertheless must write that which made\nyou hate your letters, but that you ought to do so with great\nhesitation and after many postponements, even as you now do.\n\nIII. But lest the plausible word \u201cmercy\u201d should sometimes deceive\nus and lead us into the opposite extreme, let us consider what mercy\nis, what its qualities are, and within what limits it is confined.\n\nMercy is \u201ca restraining of the mind from vengeance when it is in\nits power to avenge itself,\u201d or it is \u201cgentleness shown by a powerful\nman in fixing the punishment of a weaker one.\u201d It is safer to have\nmore than one definition, since one may not include the whole\nsubject, and may, so to speak, lose its cause: mercy, therefore,\nmay likewise be termed a tendency towards mildness in inflicting\npunishment. It is possible to discover certain inconsistencies in\nthe definition which comes nearer the truth than all the rest, which\nis to call mercy \u201cself-restraint, which remits some part of a fine\nwhich it deserves to receive and which is due to it.\u201d To this it\nwill be objected that no virtue ever gives any man less than his\ndue. However, all men understand mercy to consist in coming short\nof the penalty which might with justice be inflicted.\n\nIV. The unlearned think that its opposite is strictness: but no\nvirtue is the opposite of another virtue. What, then, is the opposite\nof mercy? Cruelty: which is nothing more than obstinacy in exacting\npunishments. \u201cBut,\u201d say you, \u201csome men do not exact punishments,\nand nevertheless are cruel, such as those who kill the strangers\nwhom they meet, not in order to rob them, but for killing\u2019s sake,\nand men who are not satisfied with killing, but kill {418} with\nsavage tortures, like the famous Busiris,[1] and Procrustes, and\npirates who flog their captives and burn them alive.\u201d This appears\nto be cruelty: but as it is not the result of vengeance (for it has\nreceived no wrong), and is not excited by any offence (for no crime\nhas preceded it), it does not come within our definition, which was\nlimited to \u201cextravagance in exacting the penalties of wrongdoing.\u201d\nWe may say that this is not cruelty, but ferocity, which finds\npleasure in savagery: or we may call it madness; for madness is of\nvarious kinds, and there is no truer madness than that which takes\nto slaughtering and mutilating human beings. I shall, therefore,\ncall those persons cruel who have a reason for punishing but who\npunish without moderation, like Phalaris, who is not said to have\ntortured innocent men, but to have tortured criminals with inhuman\nand incredible barbarity. We may avoid hairsplitting by defining\ncruelty to be \u201ca tendency of the mind towards harsh measures.\u201d Mercy\nrepels cruelty and bids it be far from her: with strictness she is\non terms of amity.\n\nAt this point it is useful to inquire into what pity is; for many\npraise it as a virtue, and say that a good man is full of pity.\nThis also is a disease of the mind. Both of these stand close to\nmercy and to strictness, and both ought to be avoided, lest under\nthe name of strictness we be led into cruelty, and under the name\nof mercy into pity. It is less dangerous to make the latter mistake,\nbut both lead us equally far away from the truth.\n\nV. Just as the gods are worshipped by religion, but are dishonoured\nby superstition, so all good men will show mercy and mildness, but\nwill avoid pity, which is a vice incident to weak minds which cannot\nendure the sight of another\u2019s sufferings. It is, therefore, most\ncommonly {419} found in the worst people; there are old women and\ngirls[2] who are affected by the tears of the greatest criminals,\nand who, if they could, would let them out of prison. Pity considers\na man\u2019s misfortunes and does not consider to what they are due:\nmercy is combined with reason. I know that the doctrine of the\nStoics is unpopular among the ignorant as being excessively severe\nand not at all likely to give kings and princes good advice; it is\nblamed because it declares that the wise man knows not how to feel\npity or to grant pardon. These doctrines, if taken separately, are\nindeed odious, for they appear to give men no hope of repairing\ntheir mistakes but exact a penalty for every slip. If this were\ntrue, how can it be true wisdom to bid us put off human feeling,\nand to exclude us from mutual help, that surest haven of refuge\nagainst the attacks of Fortune? But no school of philosophy is more\ngentle and benignant, none is more full of love towards man or more\nanxious to promote the happiness of all, seeing that its maxims\nare, to be of service and assistance to others, and to consult the\ninterests of each and all, not of itself alone. Pity is a disorder\nof the mind caused by the sight of other men\u2019s miseries, or it is\na sadness caused by the evils with which it believes others to be\nundeservedly afflicted: but the wise man cannot be affected by any\ndisorder: his mind is calm, and nothing can possibly happen to\nruffle it. Moreover, nothing becomes a man more than magnanimity:\nbut magnanimity cannot coexist with sorrow. Sorrow overwhelms men\u2019s\nminds, casts them down, contracts them: now this cannot happen to\nthe wise man even in his greatest misfortunes, but he will beat\nback the rage of Fortune and triumph over it: he will {420} always\nretain the same calm, undisturbed expression of countenance, which\nhe never could do were he accessible to sorrow.\n\nVI. Add to this, that the wise man provides for the future and\nalways has a distinct plan of action ready: yet nothing clear and\ntrue can flow from a disturbed source. Sorrow is awkward at reviewing\nthe position of affairs, at devising useful expedients, avoiding\ndangerous courses, and weighing the merits of fair and just ones:\ntherefore the wise man will not feel pity, because this cannot\nhappen to a man unless his mind is disturbed. He will do willingly\nand highmindedly all that those who feel pity are wont to do; he\nwill dry the tears of others, but will not mingle his own with them;\nhe will stretch out his hand to the shipwrecked mariner, will offer\nhospitality to the exile, and alms to the needy\u2014not in the offensive\nway in which most of those who wish to be thought tender-hearted\nfling their bounty to those whom they assist and shrink from their\ntouch, but as one man would give another something out of the common\nstock\u2014he will restore children to their weeping mothers, will loose\nthe chains of the captive, release the gladiator from his bondage,\nand even bury the carcase of the criminal, but he will perform all\nthis with a calm mind and unaltered expression of countenance. Thus\nthe wise man will not pity men, but will help them and be of service\nto them, seeing that he is born to be a help to all men and a public\nbenefit, of which he will bestow a share upon every one. He will\neven grant a proportional part of his bounty to those sufferers who\ndeserve blame and correction; but he will much more willingly help\nthose whose troubles and adversities are caused by misfortune.\nWhenever he is able he will interpose between Fortune and her\nvictims: for what better employment can he find for his wealth or\nhis strength than in setting up again what chance has overthrown?\nHe will not show or feel any {421} disgust at a man\u2019s having withered\nlegs, or a flabby wrinkled skin, or supporting his aged body upon\na staff; but he will do good to those who deserve it, and will,\nlike a god, look benignantly upon all who are in trouble. Pity\nborders upon misery: it is partly composed of it and partly derived\nfrom it. You know that eyes must be weak, if they fill with rheum\nat the sight of another\u2019s blearedness, just as it is not real\nmerriment but hysteria which makes people laugh because others\nlaugh, and yawn whenever others open their jaws: pity is a defect\nin the mind of people who are extraordinarily affected by suffering,\nand he who requires a wise man to exhibit it is not far from requiring\nhim to lament and groan when strangers are buried.\n\nVII. But why should he not pardon?[3] Let us decide by exact\ndefinition this other slippery matter, the true nature of pardon,\nand we shall then perceive that the wise man ought not to grant it.\nPardon is the remitting of a deserved punishment. The reasons why\nthe wise man ought not to grant this remission are given at length\nby those of whom this question is specially asked: I will briefly\nsay, as though it were no concern of mine to decide this point, \u201cA\nman grants pardon to one whom he ought to punish: now the wise man\ndoes nothing which he ought not to do, and omits to [do] nothing\nwhich he ought to do: he does not, therefore, remit any punishment\nwhich he ought to exact. But the wise man will bestow upon you in\na more honourable way that which you wish to obtain by pardon, for\nhe will make allowances for you, will consult your interests, and\nwill correct your bad habits: he will act just as though he were\npardoning you, but nevertheless he will not pardon you, because he\nwho pardons admits that in so doing he has neglected a part of {422}\nhis duty. He will only punish some people by reprimanding them, and\nwill inflict no further penalty if he considers that they are of\nan age which admits of reformation: some people who are undeniably\nimplicated in an odious charge he will acquit, because they were\ndeceived into committing, or were not sober when they committed the\noffence with which they are charged: he will let his enemies depart\nunharmed, sometimes even with words of commendation, if they have\ntaken up arms to defend their honour, their covenants with others,\ntheir freedom, or on any other honourable ground. All these doings\ncome under the head of mercy, not of pardon. Mercy is free to come\nto what decision it pleases: she gives her decision, not under any\nstatute, but according to equity and goodness: she may acquit the\ndefendant, or impose what damages she pleases. She does not do any\nof these things as though she were doing less than justice requires,\nbut as though the justest possible course were that which she adopts.\nOn the other hand, to pardon is not to punish a man whom you have\ndecided ought to be punished; pardon is the remission of a punishment\nwhich ought to be inflicted. The first advantage which mercy has\nover it is that she does not tell those whom she lets off that they\nought to have suffered: she is more complete, more honourable than\npardon.\u201d\n\nIn my opinion, this is a mere dispute about words, and we are agreed\nabout the thing itself. The wise man will remit many penalties, and\nwill save many who are wicked, but whose wickedness is not incurable.\nHe will act like good husbandmen, who do not cultivate only straight\nand tall trees, but also apply props to straighten those which have\nbeen rendered crooked by various causes; they trim some, lest the\nluxuriance of their boughs should hinder their upward growth, they\nnurse those which have been {423} weakened by being planted in an\nunsuitable position, and they give air to those which are overshadowed\nby the foliage of others. The wise man will see the several treatments\nsuitable to several dispositions, and how what is crooked may be\nstraightened. . . .\n\n\n[1] A king of Egypt, who sacrificed strangers, and was himself slain\nby Hercules.\n\n[2] \u201cThree or four wenches where I stood, cried \u2018Alas, good soul!\u2014\u2019\nand forgave him with all their hearts: but there\u2019s no heed to be\ntaken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have\ndone no less.\u201d\u2014\u201cJulius Caesar,\u201d act i. sc. 2.\n\n[3] See above, chap. v.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n{425}\n\nINDEX.\n\n\nA\n\nAlexander the Great, 78, 98, 135, 141, 411.\n\nAlexandria, Library of, 270.\n\nAnger, 48; signs of, 49; results of, 50; definitions of, 50_n_;\nanimals not subject to, 52; not natural, 54; should be resisted at\nthe beginning, 57; examples of its results, 60; not necessary against\nenemies, 60; nor useful, 63; not necessary for punishment, 68;\ncontrasted with reason, 69; creates vain-glory, but not magnanimity,\n73; cannot act without the approval of the mind, 77; contrasted\nwith ferocity, 80; the wise man will never be angry, 81; anger and\nfear, 87; anger ought to be done away with, 88; must never become\na habit, 90; remedies for, 93; some men more prone to, than others,\n93; influence of education, 95; and of prosperity, 96; cause of,\n97; effect of trifles, 99; delay the best remedy, 104; anger caused\nby ignorance or arrogance, 106; or by desire for revenge, 108; its\nhideousness and danger, 111; its power, 114; contrasted with other\nvices and passions, 116; how to avoid it, 120; examples of anger\nindulged in, Cambyses, 131, 139; Astyages, 133; Darius, 135; Xerxes,\n135; Alexander, 135; Lysimachus, 136; Caligula, 137, 139; Rhinocolura,\n138; Cyrus, 139; examples of anger controlled, Antigonus, 140;\nPhilip, 141; Augustus, 142; how injuries ought to be bourne, 144;\nbetter to heal than to avenge them, 146; the evils of anger, 147;\nits trifling beginnings, 149; money, 151; other causes, 152; value\nof self-examination, 154; how to soothe the anger of others, 156;\nAugustus and Vedius, 158; anger should be got rid of altogether,\n159.\n\nAnimals, anger in, 49, 52.\n\nAntigonus (monophthalmus), 141.\n\nAntisthenes, 45.\n\nAntonius, M., 374, 391.\n\nAristides, 341.\n\nAristotle, 51_n_, 52, 58, 68, 118, 135, 287, 288.\n\nApicius, the glutton, 217, 336.\n\nAsinius Pollio, 142, 285.\n\nAstyages, King of Persia, 133.\n\nAugustus. _See_ Caesar.\n\n{426}\n\nAvarice, conquered by anger, 114.\n\nAthenodorus, quoted, 259, 265.\n\nB\n\nBees, 405.\n\nBibulus, L., 181.\n\nBion, quoted, 267, 282.\n\nBooks, should be bought to read, not for show, 270.\n\nBrutus, L. Junius, 183.\n\nBrutus, M. Junius, 330.\n\nBurrus, prefect of Nero, 415.\n\nC\n\nCaelius (Antipater), 125.\n\nCaesar, Augustus, 142, 158, 165, 182, 293, 372, 391, 393, 401.\n\nCaesar, Claudius, 360, 369, 370.\n\nCaesar, Gaius (Caligula), 44, 74, 109, 137, 140, 276, 280, 316,\n334, 376.\n\nCaesar, Gaius, grandson of Augustus, 373.\n\nCaesar, Gaius Julius, 98, 149, 181, 333.\n\nCaesar, Germanicus, brother of Claudius, 374.\n\nCaesar, Lucius, grandson of Augustus, 373.\n\nCaesar, Nero, 382, 396, 415.\n\nCaesar, Tiberius, 11, 182, 373.\n\nCaligula. _See_ Caesar, Gaius.\n\nCalmness, a sign of wisdom, 27.\n\nCambyses, 131, 139.\n\nCato, M., 5, 7, 10, 23, 31, 40, 108, 156, 192, 196, 228, 285, 286,\n341.\n\nChaerea, 44.\n\nChrysippus, 242, 247, 248, 252.\n\nCicero, 192, 274, 295.\n\nCimber, Tillius, 149.\n\nCinna, L., 392.\n\nClaudius Caudex, 307,\n\nCleanthes, 247, 252.\n\nClemency, 380; becomes no one more than a king, 384, 386; clemency\nof Augustus, 391; and of Nero, 396; distinguishes between kings and\ntyrants, 397; makes a king beloved, 399; Tarius, 401; clemency\ntowards slaves, 404; the king-bee, 405; clemency in inflicting\npunishment, 407; makes men ashamed to do wrong, 410; clemency of\nNero, 415; definitions of Mercy, 417; of cruelty, 417; of pity,\n418; of pardon, 421.\n\nClitus, killed by Alexander, 135.\n\nCloelia, 183.\n\nComfort, excess of, 13.\n\nConsolation, 162, 320, 353.\n\nContempt, 36.\n\nCordus, A. Cremutius, 162, 196, 197.\n\nCornelia, wife of L. Drusus, 183.\n\nCornelia, mother of the Gracchi, 183, 345.\n\nCorvinus, M. Valerius, 307.\n\nCotta, C. Aurelius, 345.\n\nCourage, aims high, 18; born of desperation, 398.\n\nCruelty, caused by anger, 80; cannot be left off, if once begun,\n399; inhumanity of, 411; shown in kings, 411; and in private men,\n412; the opposite of mercy, 417.\n\nCyrus (the elder), 139.\n\nD\n\nDarius, 135.\n\nDeath, quickness of, 21; not an evil, 23; a release from pain, 190.\n191.\n\n{427}\n\nDelay, a remedy for anger, 104, 115, 129; and for grief, 172.\n\nDemetrius the Cynic, quoted, 7, 16.\n\nDemetrius Poliorcetes, 28.\n\nDemochares (Parrhesiastes), 141 142.\n\nDemocritus, 18, 85, 122, 255, 278.\n\nDentatus, Curius, 264, 307.\n\nDesperation, breeds courage, 398.\n\nDiodorus, the Epicurean, 255.\n\nDiogenes, the Cynic, 225, 267, 268,\n\nDiogenes, the Stoic, 156,\n\nDionysius, of Syracuse, 186, 397,\n\nDrusilla, 376.\n\nDrusus, Livius, 183, 295.\n\nDrusus, N. Claudius, senior, 373.\n\nDrusus, N. Claudius, 166, 169.\n\nDuillius, C. 307.\n\nE\n\nEducation, should be carefully regulated, 95.\n\nEpicurus, and Epicureans, 41, 42, 218, 219, 242, 248.\n\nExile, 325.\n\nF\n\nFabianus (Papirius), quoted, 302, 309.\n\nFabius (Cunctator), 61, 106.\n\nFabricius, 7, 8.\n\nFear, felt by those who inspire it, 87; in moderation restrains\nmen, 398.\n\nFerocity, contrasted with anger, 80; and with cruelty, 418.\n\nFirmness, the, of a wise man, 22, _sqq_.\n\nFriendship, 265.\n\nG\n\nGood, the highest, definition of, 208. 212, 215, 221, 244.\n\nGracchi, the, 183, 345.\n\nGrief, examples of, 165; extreme grief unnatural, 171; cured by\ntime, 172; counterfeited, 282; should be countered by reason, 346;\nits unprofitableness, 357; cannot co-exist with magnanimity, 419.\n\nH\n\nHannibal, 61, 78, 80.\n\nHappiness, 204; how to gain it, 206; definitions of, 208; in connexion\nwith pleasure, 211; consists in virtue, 222; excess makes men greedy,\n382.\n\nHarpagus, 133.\n\nHeraclitus, 85.\n\nHieronymus, quoted, 71.\n\nHippias, 98.\n\nI\n\nInjury, cannot touch a wise man, 25, 32, 41, 42; distinguished from\ninsult, 27, 35; can be endured, 144.\n\nInsult, distinguished from injury, 27, 35; how received by Diogenes\nand Cato, 156.\n\nIrascibility, contrasted with anger, 53, 71.\n\nJ\n\nJulia Augusta (title of Livia), 168.\n\nK\n\nKanus, Julius, 280, 281.\n\n{428}\n\nL\n\nLaberius, quoted, 87.\n\nLacedaemonians, the, 13.\n\nLeisure, advantages of, 240, _sqq_.\n\nLife, shortness of, 160, 161, 175, 193, 288; its misery, 175; three\nkinds of, 248; divided into three parts, 302.\n\nLivia, wife of Augustus (afterwards Julia Augusta), 165, 168, 392.\n\nLivius, T., quoted, 74, 270.\n\nLove, conquered by anger, 114.\n\nLucretia. 183.\n\nLucretius, quoted, 258.\n\nLuxury, 218, 306.\n\nLysimachus, 136, 411.\n\nM\n\nMaecenas, 9.\n\nMagnanimity, repels insult, 36; not caused by anger, 73, 122; does\nnot feel blows, 144; befits all men, 387; cannot co-exist with\nsorrow, 419.\n\nMarcellus, M. Claudius, 332.\n\nMarcellus, M. Claudius, son of Octavia, 165, 373.\n\nMercy, inclines men to innocence, 411; definitions of, 417;\ndistinguished from pardon, 422.\n\nMetellus, L. Caecilius, 309.\n\nMindyrides, the Sybarite, 99.\n\nMisfortunes, how regarded by the wise man, 3; are to the advantage\nof those to whom they happen, 6; are the test of brave men, 11, 12,\n17; generally come unexpectedly, 173; attack all alike, 178;\nalleviated by habit, 271, 322.\n\nMoney, evils of, 151. _See_ Riches.\n\nMucius, 7.\n\nN\n\nNero. _See_ Caesar.\n\nNomentanus, 217.\n\nO\n\nOctavia, sister of Augustus, 165, 372.\n\nOeobazus, 135.\n\nOvid, quoted, 18, 52, 84, 228.\n\nP\n\nPardon, definition of, 421.\n\nPastor, 109.\n\nPaulus, L. Aemilius, 180.\n\nPeace of mind, definition of, 122, 255; how to attain it, etc.,\n255, _sqq_.\n\nPeripatetics, the, 50_n_.\n\nPhaethon, 18.\n\nPhalaris, 418.\n\nPhilip, of Macedon, 141, 142.\n\nPhilip, physician of Alexander, 98\n\nPisistratus, 128.\n\nPiso, Gnaeus, 70.\n\nPity, definition of, 418, 419; borders on misery, 421.\n\nPlato, 55, 72, 95, 97, 129, 198 286.\n\nPleasure, has no connexion with virtue, 211, 212; belongs to good\nand bad alike, 213; not the aim of virtue, 214; pleasures of bad\nmen, 216; and of the wise, 217; the Epicurean doctrine, 218; all\npleasure is short-lived, 365.\n\nPollio, Asinius, 142, 285.\n\nPollio, Vedius, 158, 402.\n\nPompeius, 78_n_, 98, 150, 181, 192, 276, 308.\n\nPompeius, Sextus, 372.\n\nPosidonius, his definition of anger, 50_n_.\n\n{429}\n\nPoverty, 333; no inconvenience to an exile, 337.\n\nPraexaspes, 131.\n\nPredestination, 194.\n\nProperty, 267. _See_ Riches.\n\nProsperity, 4, 10; fosters anger, 96.\n\nProvidence, 1, _sqq_.\n\nPublilius, quoted, 275.\n\nPulvillus, 179.\n\nPunishment, why inflicted, 407; should not be frequent, 410.\n\nPythagoras, 126.\n\nPythias, 135.\n\nR\n\nRage, does not befit kings, 317.\n\nReason, only strong apart from the passions, 56; its power, 69;\ncontrasted with anger, 70; cannot overcome some habits, 80.\n\nRegulus, 7, 9, 339.\n\nRelaxation, necessity for, 285.\n\nRevenge, a cause of anger, 108, 146; has two effects, 408.\n\nRhinocolura, why so called, 138.\n\nRiches, how regarded by the wise man, 229; and by the fool, 235;\nbetter never to possess, than to lose, 267.\n\nRutilia, mother of C. Cotta, 345.\n\nRutilius, 7, 8, 196.\n\nS\n\nScipio Africanus, 61, 371.\n\nScipio Africanus Minor, 61, 180, 285, 339, 372.\n\nSejanus, 162, 182, 196, 197, 276.\n\nSelf-examination, value of, 154, 206, 264.\n\nSelf-love, 106.\n\nSextius, Q., a Stoic, 113, 154.\n\nSocrates, 7, 9, 31, 45, 65, 128, 130, 196, 234, 236, 238, 262, 285,\n341.\n\nSorrow. _See_ Grief.\n\nStilbo, 28.\n\nStoics and Stoicism, 22, 23, 41, 42, 50_n_, 94, 207, 218, 241, 242,\n248, 419.\n\nSulkiness, a form of irascibility, 53.\n\nSulla, L., 8, 73, 78, 110, 179, 309, 397.\n\nSuspicion, a cause of anger, 99.\n\nT\n\nTarius, 401.\n\nTelesphorus, the Rhodian, 136.\n\nTheodorus, (Cyrenaicus), 279.\n\nTheophrastus, quoted, 62, 64.\n\nThrift, advantage of, 269.\n\nTillius Cimber, 149.\n\nTimagenes, 142.\n\nTrifles, anger caused by, 99, 100, 106, 149, 152.\n\nTriumphus, 11.\n\nTurannius, 318.\n\nTyrant, compared with king, 396, 397.\n\nV\n\nValerius, Asiaticus, 44.\n\nValour, greedy of danger, 11.\n\nVarro, M. Terentius, 330.\n\nVatinius, 43.\n\nVedius Pollio, 158, 402.\n\nVengeance, 408. _See_ Revenge.\n\nVirgil, quoted, 112, 185, 241.\n\nVirtue, not given by fortune, 28; its natural function to rejoice,\n81; is infectious, 124; has no connexion with pleasure, 211, 212;\nand does not aim at it, 214, 215; is a sure guide, 219; brings true\nhappiness, 222; should be reverenced, {430} 237; cannot be hidden,\n260, 262.\n\nVolesus, cruelty of, 81.\n\nW\n\nWeakness of mind, a cause of anger, 62.\n\nWine, 286.\n\nX\n\nXanthippe, wife of Socrates, 45.\n\nXerxes, 26, 135, 313.\n\nZ\n\nZeno, 68, 242, 247, 252, 279.","title":"Minor Dialogues, Together With the Dialogue on Clemency","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":150542}