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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e2c096b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64576 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64576) diff --git a/old/64576-0.txt b/old/64576-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1c15710..0000000 --- a/old/64576-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14125 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Minor Dialogues, by Lucius Seneca - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Minor Dialogues - Together with the Dialogue On Clemency - -Author: Lucius Seneca - -Translator: Aubrey Stewart - -Release Date: February 16, 2021 [eBook #64576] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Michael Budiansky - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR DIALOGUES *** - L. ANNAEUS SENECA - - MINOR DIALOGUES TOGETHER WITH THE DIALOGUE ON CLEMENCY - - - _TRANSLATED BY_ AUBREY STEWART, M.A. LATE FELLOW OF TRINITY - COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE - - - LONDON — GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET COVENT GARDEN 1889 - - - CHISWICK PRESS :—C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY - LANE - - - - -PREFACE. - -I can say little by way of preface to Seneca’s “Minor Dialogues” -which I have not already expressed in my preface to “De Beneficiis,” -except that the “Minor Dialogues” seem to me to be composed in a -gloomier key than either the “De Beneficiis” or “De Clementia,” and -probably were written at a time when the author had already begun -to experience the ingratitude of his imperial pupil. Some of the -Dialogues are dated from Corsica, Seneca’s place of exile, which -he seems to have found peculiarly uncomfortable, although he remarks -that there are people who live there from choice. Nevertheless, -mournful as they are in tone, these Dialogues have a certain value, -because they teach us what was meant by Stoic philosophy in the -time of the Twelve Caesars. I have only to add that the value of -my work has been materially enhanced by the kindness of the Rev. -Professor J. E. B. Mayor, who has been good enough to read and -correct almost all the proof sheets of this volume. - -AUBREY STEWART. _London,_ 1889. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - PAGE -Of Providence 1 -On the Firmness of the Wise Man 22 -Of Anger. I. 48 - " II. 76 - " III. 115 -Of Consolation. To Marcia 162 -Of a Happy Life 204 -Of Leisure 240 -Of Peace of Mind 250 -Of the Shortness of Life 288 -Of Consolation. To Helvia 320 - " To Polybius 353 -Of Clemency. I. 380 - " II. 415 - - - - -{1} - -THE FIRST BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO -LUCILIUS. - -“WHY, WHEN A PROVIDENCE EXISTS, ANY MISFORTUNES BEFALL GOOD MEN;” -OR, “OF PROVIDENCE” - - -I. You have asked me, Lucilius, why, if the world be ruled by -providence, so many evils befall good men? The answer to this would -be more conveniently given in the course of this work, after we -have proved that providence governs the universe, and that God is -amongst us: but, since you wish me to deal with one point apart -from the whole, and to answer one replication before the main action -has been decided, I will do what is not difficult, and plead the -cause of the gods. At the present time it is superfluous to point -out that it is not without some guardian that so great a work -maintains its position, that the assemblage and movements of the -stars do not depend upon accidental impulses, or that objects whose -motion is regulated by chance often fall into confusion and soon -stumble, whereas this swift and safe movement goes on, governed by -eternal law, bearing with it so many things both on sea and land, -so many most brilliant lights shining in order in the skies; that -this regularity does not belong to matter moving at random, and -that particles brought together by chance could not {2} arrange -themselves with such art as to make the heaviest weight, that of -the earth, remain unmoved, and behold the flight of the heavens as -they hasten round it, to make the seas pour into the valleys and -so temper the climate of the land, without any sensible increase -from the rivers which flow into them, or to cause huge growths to -proceed from minute seeds. Even those phenomena which appear to be -confused and irregular, I mean showers of rain and clouds, the rush -of lightning from the heavens, fire that pours from the riven peaks -of mountains, quakings of the trembling earth, and everything else -which is produced on earth by the unquiet element in the universe, -do not come to pass without reason, though they do so suddenly: but -they also have their causes, as also have those things which excite -our wonder by the strangeness of their position, such as warm springs -amidst the waves of the sea, and new islands that spring up in the -wide ocean. Moreover, any one who has watched how the shore is laid -bare by the retreat of the sea into itself, and how within a short -time it is again covered, will believe that it is in obedience to -some hidden law of change that the waves are at one time contracted -and driven inwards, at another burst forth and regain their bed -with a strong current, since all the while they wax in regular -proportion, and come up at their appointed day and hour greater or -less, according as the moon, at whose pleasure the ocean flows, -draws them. Let these matters be set aside for discussion at their -own proper season, but I, since you do not doubt the existence of -providence but complain of it, will on that account more readily -reconcile you to gods who are most excellent to excellent men: for -indeed the nature of things does not ever permit good to be injured -by good. Between good men and the gods there is a friendship which -is brought about by virtue— friendship do I say? nay, rather -relationship and likeness, since the good man differs from a god -in time alone, {3} being his pupil and rival and true offspring, -whom his glorious parent trains more severely than other men, -insisting sternly on virtuous conduct, just as strict fathers do. -When therefore you see men who are good and acceptable to the gods -toiling, sweating, painfully struggling upwards, while bad men run -riot and are steeped in pleasures, reflect that modesty pleases us -in our sons, and forwardness in our house-born slave-boys; that the -former are held in check by a somewhat stern rule, whereas the -boldness of the latter is encouraged. Be thou sure that God acts -in like manner: He does not pet the good man: He tries him, hardens -him, and fits him for Himself. - -II. Why do many things turn out badly for good men? Why, no evil -can befall a good man: contraries cannot combine. Just as so many -rivers, so many showers of rain from the clouds, such a number of -medicinal springs, do not alter the taste of the sea, indeed, do -not so much as soften it, so the pressure of adversity does not -affect the mind of a brave man; for the mind of a brave man maintains -its balance and throws its own complexion over all that takes place, -because it is more powerful than any external circumstances. I do -not say that he does not feel them, but he conquers them, and on -occasion calmly and tranquilly rises superior to their attacks, -holding all misfortunes to be trials of his own firmness. Yet who -is there who, provided he be a man and have honourable ambition, -does not long for due employment, and is not eager to do his duty -in spite of danger? Is there any hard-working man to whom idleness -is not a punishment? We see athletes, who study only their bodily -strength, engage in contests with the strongest of men, and insist -that those who train them for the arena should put out their whole -strength when practising with them: they endure blows and maltreatment, -and, if they cannot find any single person who is their match, they -engage with several at once: their {4} strength and courage droop -without an antagonist: they can only prove how great and how mighty -it is by proving how much they can endure. You should know that -good men ought to act in like manner, so as not to fear troubles -and difficulties, nor to lament their hard fate, to take in good -part whatever befalls them, and force it to become a blessing to -them. It does not matter what you bear, but how you bear it. Do you -not see how differently fathers and mothers indulge their children? -how the former urge them to begin their tasks betimes, will not -suffer them to be idle even on holidays, and exercise them till -they perspire, and sometimes till they shed tears—while their mothers -want to cuddle them in their laps, and keep them out of the sun, -and never wish them to be vexed, or to cry, or to work. God bears -a fatherly mind towards good men, and loves them in a manly spirit. -“Let them,” says He, “be exercised by labours, sufferings, and -losses, that so they may gather true strength.” Those who are -surfeited with ease break down not only with labour, but with mere -motion and by their own weight. Unbroken prosperity cannot bear a -single blow; but he who has waged an unceasing strife with his -misfortunes has gained a thicker skin by his sufferings, yields to -no disaster, and even though he fall yet fights on his knee. Do you -wonder that God, who so loves the good, who would have them attain -the highest goodness and pre-eminence, should appoint fortune to -be their adversary? I should not be surprised if the gods sometimes -experience a wish to behold great men struggling with some misfortune. -We sometimes are delighted when a youth of steady courage receives -on his spear the wild beast that attacks him; or when he meets the -charge of a lion without flinching; and the more eminent the man -is who acts thus,[1] the more {5} attractive is the sight: yet these -are not matters which can attract the attention of the gods, but -are mere pastime and diversions of human frivolity. Behold a sight -worthy to be viewed by a god interested in his own work, behold a -pair[2] worthy of a god, a brave man matched with evil fortune, -especially if he himself has given the challenge. I say, I do not -know what nobler spectacle Jupiter could find on earth, should he -turn his eyes thither, than that of Cato, after his party had more -than once been defeated, still standing upright amid the ruins of -the commonwealth. Quoth he, “What though all be fallen into one -man’s power, though the land be guarded by his legions, the sea by -his fleets, though Caesar’s soldiers beset the city gate? Cato has -a way out of it: with one hand he will open a wide path to freedom; -his sword, which he has borne unstained by disgrace and innocent -of crime even in a civil war, will still perform good and noble -deeds; it will give to Cato that freedom which it could not give -to his country. Begin, my soul, the work which thou so long hast -contemplated, snatch thyself away from the world of man. Already -Petreius and Juba have met and fallen, each slain by the other’s -hand—a brave and noble compact with fate, yet not one befitting my -greatness: it is as disgraceful for Cato to beg his death of any -one as it would be for him to beg his life.” - -It is clear to me that the gods must have looked on with great joy, -while that man, his own most ruthless avenger, took thought for the -safety of others and arranged the escape of those who departed, -while even on his last night he pursued his studies, while he drove -the sword into his sacred breast, while he tore forth his vitals -and laid his hand upon that most holy life which was unworthy to -be defiled by steel. This, I am inclined to think, was the reason -that {6} his wound was not well-aimed and mortal: the gods were not -satisfied with seeing Cato die once: his courage was kept in action -and recalled to the stage, that it might display itself in a more -difficult part: for it needs a greater mind to return a second time -to death. How could they fail to view their pupil with interest -when leaving his life by such a noble and memorable departure? Men -are raised to the level of the gods by a death which is admired -even by those who fear them. - -III. However, as my argument proceeds, I shall prove that what -appear to be evils are not so; for the present I say this, that -what you call hard measure, misfortunes, and things against which -we ought to pray, are really to the advantage, firstly, of those -to whom they happen, and secondly, of all mankind, for whom the -gods care more than for individuals; and next, that these evils -befall them with their own good will, and that men deserve to endure -misfortunes, if they are unwilling to receive them. To this I shall -add, that misfortunes proceed thus by destiny, and that they befall -good men by the same law which makes them good. After this, I shall -prevail upon you never to pity any good man; for though he may be -called unhappy, he cannot be so. - -Of all these propositions that which I have stated first appears -the most difficult to prove. I mean, that the things which we dread -and shudder at are to the advantage of those to whom they happen. -“Is it,” say you, “to their advantage to be driven into exile, to -be brought to want, to carry out to burial their children and wife, -to be publicly disgraced, to lose their health?” Yes! if you are -surprised at these being to any man’s advantage, you will also be -surprised at any man being benefited by the knife and cautery, or -by hunger and thirst as well. Yet if you consider that some men, -in order to be cured, have their bones scraped, and pieces of them -extracted, that their veins are pulled out {7} and that some have -limbs cut off, which could not remain in their place without ruin -to the whole body, you will allow me to prove to you this also, -that some misfortunes are for the good of those to whom they happen, -just as much, by Hercules, as some things which are praised and -sought after are harmful to those who enjoy them like indigestions -and drunkenness and other matters which kill us through pleasure. -Among many grand sayings of our Demetrius is this, which I have but -just heard, and which still rings and thrills in my ears: “No one,” -said he, “seems to me more unhappy than the man whom no misfortune -has ever befallen.” He never has had an opportunity of testing -himself; though everything has happened to him according to his -wish, nay, even before he has formed a wish, yet the gods have -judged him unfavourably; he has never been deemed worthy to conquer -ill fortune, which avoids the greatest cowards, as though it said, -“Why should I take that man for my antagonist? He will straightway -lay down his arms: I shall not need all my strength against him: -he will be put to flight by a mere menace: he dares not even face -me; let me look around for some other with whom I may fight hand -to hand: I blush to join battle with one who is prepared to be -beaten.” A gladiator deems it a disgrace to be matched with an -inferior, and knows that to win without danger is to win without -glory. Just so Fortune; she seeks out the bravest to match herself -with, passes over some with disdain, and makes for the most unyielding -and upright of men, to exert her strength against them. She tried -Mucius fire, Fabricius by poverty, Rutilius by exile, Regulus by -torture, Socrates by poison, Cato by death: it is ill fortune alone -that discovers these glorious examples. Was Mucius unhappy, because -he grasped the enemy’s fire with his right hand, and of his own -accord paid the penalty of his mistake? because he overcame the -King with his hand when it was burned, though he could {8} not when -it held a sword? Would he have been happier, if he had warmed his -hand in his mistress’s bosom? Was Fabricius unhappy, because when -the state could spare him, he dug his own land? because he waged -war against riches as keenly as against Pyrrhus? because he supped -beside his hearth off the very roots and herbs which he himself, -though an old man, and one who had enjoyed a triumph, had grubbed -up while clearing his field of weeds? What then? would he have been -happier if he had gorged himself with fishes from distant shores, -and birds caught in foreign lands? if he had roused the torpor of -his queasy stomach with shellfish from the upper and the lower sea? -if he had piled a great heap of fruits round game of the first head, -which many huntsmen had been killed in capturing? Was Rutilius -unhappy, because those who condemned him will have to plead their -cause for all ages? because he endured the loss of his country more -composedly than that of his banishment? because he was the only man -who refused anything to Sulla the dictator, and when recalled from -exile all but went further away and banished himself still more. -“Let those,” said he, “whom thy fortunate reign catches at Rome, -see to the Forum drenched with blood,[3] and the heads of Senators -above the Pool of Servilius—the place where the victims of Sulla’s -proscriptions were stripped—the bands of assassins roaming at large -through the city, and many thousands of Roman citizens slaughtered -in one place, after, nay, by means of a promise of quarter. Let -those who are unable to go into exile behold these things.” Well! -is Lucius Sulla happy, because when he comes down into the Forum -room is made for him with sword-strokes, because he allows the heads -of consulars to be shown to him, and counts out the price of blood -through the quaestor and the state exchequer? {9} And this, this -was the man who passed the Lex Cornelia! Let us now come to Regulus: -what injury did fortune do him when she made him an example of good -faith, an example of endurance? They pierce his skin with nails: -wherever he leans his weary body, it rests on a wound; his eyes are -fixed for ever open; the greater his sufferings, the greater is his -glory. Would you know how far he is from regretting that he valued -his honour at such a price? heal his wounds and send him again into -the senate-house; he will give the same advice. So, then, you think -Maecenas a happier man, who when troubled by love, and weeping at -the daily repulses of his ill-natured wife, sought for sleep by -listening to distant strains of music? Though he drug himself with -wine, divert himself with the sound of falling waters, and distract -his troubled thoughts with a thousand pleasures, yet Maecenas will -no more sleep on his down cushions than Regulus on the rack. Yet -it consoles the latter that he suffers for the sake of honour, and -he looks away from his torments to their cause: whilst the other, -jaded with pleasures and sick with over-enjoyment, is more hurt by -the cause of his sufferings than by the sufferings themselves. Vice -has not so utterly taken possession of the human race that, if men -were allowed to choose their destiny, there can be any doubt but -that more would choose to be Reguluses than to be Maecenases: or -if there were any one who dared to say that he would prefer to be -born Maecenas than Regulus that man, whether he says so or not, -would rather have been Terentia (than Cicero). - -Do you consider Socrates to have been badly used, because he took -that draught which the state assigned to him as though it were a -charm to make him immortal, and argued about death until death -itself? Was he ill treated, because his blood froze and the current -of his veins gradually stopped as the chill of death crept over -them? How much more is this man to be envied than he who is {10} -served on precious stones, whose drink a creature trained to every -vice, a eunuch or much the same, cools with snow in a golden cup? -Such men as these bring up again all that they drink, in misery and -disgust at the taste of their own bile, while Socrates cheerfully -and willingly drains his poison. As for Cato, enough has been said, -and all men must agree that the highest happiness was reached by -one who was chosen by Nature herself as worthy to contend with all -her terrors: “The enmity,” says she, “of the powerful is grievous, -therefore let him be opposed at once by Pompeius, Caesar, and -Crassus: it is grievous, when a candidate for public offices, to -be defeated by one’s inferiors; therefore let him be defeated by -Vatinius: it is grievous to take part in civil wars, therefore let -him fight in every part of the world for the good cause with equal -obstinacy and ill-luck: it is grievous to lay hands upon one’s self, -therefore let him do so. What shall I gain by this? That all men -may know that these things, which I have deemed Cato worthy to -undergo, are not real evils.” - -IV. Prosperity comes to the mob, and to low-minded men as well as -to great ones; but it is the privilege of great men alone to send -under the yoke[4] the disasters and terrors of mortal life: whereas -to be always prosperous, and to pass through life without a twinge -of mental distress, is to remain ignorant of one half of nature. -You are a great man; but how am I to know it, if fortune gives you -no opportunity of showing your virtue? You have entered the arena -of the Olympic games, but no one {11} else has done so: you have -the crown, but not the victory: I do not congratulate you as I would -a brave man, but as one who has obtained a consulship or praetorship. -You have gained dignity. I may say the same of a good man, if -troublesome circumstances have never given him a single opportunity -of displaying the strength of his mind. I think you unhappy because -you never have been unhappy: you have passed through your life -without meeting an antagonist: no one will know your powers, not -even you yourself. For a man cannot know himself without a trial: -no one ever learnt what he could do without putting himself to the -test; for which reason many have of their own free will exposed -themselves to misfortunes which no longer came in their way, and -have sought for an opportunity of making their virtue, which otherwise -would have been lost in darkness, shine before the world. Great -men, I say, often rejoice at crosses of fortune just as brave -soldiers do at wars. I remember to have heard Triumphus, who was a -gladiator[5] in the reign of Tiberius Caesar, complaining about the -scarcity of prizes; “What a glorious time,” said he, “is past.” -Valour is greedy of danger, and thinks only of whither it strives -to go, not of what it will suffer, since even what it will suffer -is part of its glory. Soldiers pride themselves on their wounds, -they joyously display their blood flowing over their breastplate.[6] -Though those who return unwounded from battle may have done as -bravely, yet he who returns wounded is more admired. God, I say, -favours those whom He wishes to enjoy the greatest honours, whenever -He affords them the means of performing some exploit with spirit -and courage, something which is not easily to be accomplished: you -can judge of a pilot in a storm, of a soldier in a battle. How can -I know with {12} how great a spirit you could endure poverty, if -you overflow with riches? How can I tell with how great firmness -you could bear up against disgrace, dishonour, and public hatred, -if you grow old to the sound of applause, if popular favour cannot -be alienated from you, and seems to flow to you by the natural bent -of men’s minds? How can I know how calmly you would endure to be -childless, if you see all your children around you? I have heard -what you said when you were consoling others: then I should have -seen whether you could have consoled yourself, whether you could -have forbidden yourself to grieve. Do not, I beg you, dread those -things which the immortal gods apply to our minds like spurs: -misfortune is virtue’s opportunity. Those men may justly be called -unhappy who are stupified with excess of enjoyment, whom sluggish -contentment keeps as it were becalmed in a quiet sea: whatever -befalls them will come strange to them. Misfortunes press hardest -on those who are unacquainted with them: the yoke feels heavy to -the tender neck. The recruit turns pale at the thought of a wound: -the veteran, who knows that he has often won the victory after -losing blood, looks boldly at his own flowing gore. In like manner -God hardens, reviews, and exercises those whom He tests and loves: -those whom He seems to indulge and spare, He is keeping out of -condition to meet their coming misfortunes: for you are mistaken -if you suppose that any one is exempt from misfortune: he who has -long prospered will have his share some day; those who seem to have -been spared them have only had them put off. Why does God afflict -the best of men with ill-health, or sorrow, or other troubles? -Because in the army the most hazardous services are assigned to the -bravest soldiers: a general sends his choicest troops to attack the -enemy in a midnight ambuscade, to reconnoitre his line of march, -or to drive the hostile garrisons from their strong places. No one -of these {13} men says as he begins his march, “The general has -dealt hardly with me,” but “He has judged well of me.” Let those -who are bidden to suffer what makes the weak and cowardly weep, say -likewise, “God has thought us worthy subjects on whom to try how -much suffering human nature can endure.” Avoid luxury, avoid -effeminate enjoyment, by which men’s minds are softened, and in -which, unless something occurs to remind them of the common lot of -humanity, they lie unconscious, as though plunged in continual -drunkenness. He whom glazed windows have always guarded from the -wind, whose feet are warmed by constantly renewed fomentations, -whose dining-room is heated by hot air beneath the floor and spread -through the walls, cannot meet the gentlest breeze without danger. -While all excesses are hurtful, excess of comfort is the most hurtful -of all; it affects the brain; it leads men’s minds into vain -imaginings; it spreads a thick cloud over the boundaries of truth -and falsehood. Is it not better, with virtue by one’s side, to -endure continual misfortune, than to burst with an endless surfeit -of good things? It is the overloaded stomach that is rent asunder: -death treats starvation more gently. The gods deal with good men -according to the same rule as schoolmasters with their pupils, who -exact most labour from those of whom they have the surest hopes. -Do you imagine that the Lacedaemonians, who test the mettle of their -children by public flogging, do not love them? Their own fathers -call upon them to endure the strokes of the rod bravely, and when -they are torn and half dead, ask them to offer their wounded skin -to receive fresh wounds. Why then should we wonder if God tries -noble spirits severely? There can be no easy proof of virtue. Fortune -lashes and mangles us: well, let us endure it: it is not cruelty, -it is a struggle, in which the oftener we engage the braver we shall -become. The strongest part of the {14} body is that which is exercised -by the most frequent use: we must entrust ourselves to fortune to -be hardened by her against herself: by degrees she will make us a -match for herself. Familiarity with danger leads us to despise it. -Thus the bodies of sailors are hardened by endurance of the sea, -and the hands of farmers by work; the arms of soldiers are powerful -to hurl darts, the legs of runners are active: that part of each -man which he exercises is the strongest: so by endurance the mind -becomes able to despise the power of misfortunes. You may see what -endurance might effect in us if you observe what labour does among -tribes that are naked and rendered stronger by want. Look at all -the nations that dwell beyond the Roman Empire: I mean the Germans -and all the nomad tribes that war against us along the Danube. They -suffer from eternal winter, and a dismal climate, the barren soil -grudges them sustenance, they keep off the rain with leaves or -thatch, they bound across frozen marshes, and hunt wild beasts for -food. Do you think them unhappy? There is no unhappiness in what -use has made part of one’s nature: by degrees men find pleasure in -doing what they were first driven to do by necessity. They have no -homes and no resting-places save those which weariness appoints -them for the day; their food, though coarse, yet must be sought -with their own hands; the harshness of the climate is terrible, and -their bodies are unclothed. This, which you think a hardship, is -the mode of life of all these races: how then can you wonder at -good men being shaken, in order that they may be strengthened? No -tree which the wind does not often blow against is firm and strong; -for it is stiffened by the very act of being shaken, and plants its -roots more securely: those which grow in a sheltered valley are -brittle: and so it is to the advantage of good men, and causes them -to be undismayed, that they should live much {15} amidst alarms, -and learn to bear with patience what is not evil save to him who -endures it ill. - -V. Add to this that it is to the advantage of every one that the -best men should, so to speak, be on active service and perform -labours: God has the same purpose as the wise man, that is, to prove -that the things which the herd covets and dreads are neither good -nor bad in themselves. If, however, He only bestows them upon good -men, it will be evident that they are good things, and bad, if He -only inflicts them upon bad men. Blindness would be execrable if -no one lost his eyes except those who deserve to have them pulled -out; therefore let Appius and Metellus be doomed to darkness. Riches -are not a good thing: therefore let Elius the pander possess them, -that men who have consecrated money in the temple, may see the same -in the brothel: for by no means can God discredit objects of desire -so effectually as by bestowing them upon the worst of men, and -removing them from the best. “But,” you say, “it is unjust that a -good man should be enfeebled, or transfixed, or chained, while bad -men swagger at large with a whole skin.” What! is it not unjust -that brave men should bear arms, pass the night in camps, and stand -on guard along the rampart with their wounds still bandaged, while -within the city eunuchs and professional profligates live at their -ease? what? is it not unjust that maidens of the highest birth -should be roused at night to perform Divine service, while fallen -women enjoy the soundest sleep? Labour calls for the best man: the -senate often passes the whole day in debate, while at the same time -every scoundrel either amuses his leisure in the Campus Martius, -or lurks in a tavern, or passes his time in some pleasant society. -The same thing happens in this great commonwealth (of the world): -good men labour, spend and are spent, and that too of their own -free will; they are not dragged along by fortune, but follow {16} -her and take equal steps with her; if they knew how, they would -outstrip her. I remember, also, to have heard this spirited saying -of that stoutest-hearted of men, Demetrius. “Ye immortal Gods,” -said he, “the only complaint which I have to make of you is that -you did not make your will known to me earlier; for then I would -sooner have gone into that state of life to which I now have been -called. Do you wish to take my children? it was for you that I -brought them up. Do you wish to take some part of my body? take it: -it is no great thing that I am offering you, I shall soon have done -with the whole of it. Do you wish for my life? why should I hesitate -to return to you what you gave me? whatever you ask you shall receive -with my good will: nay, I would rather give it than be forced to -hand it over to you: what need had you to take away what you did? -you might have received it from me: yet even as it is you cannot -take anything from me, because you cannot rob a man unless he -resists.” - -I am constrained to nothing, I suffer nothing against my will, nor -am I God’s slave, but his willing follower, and so much the more -because I know that everything is ordained and proceeds according -to a law that endures for ever. The fates guide us, and the length -of every man’s days is decided at the first hour of his birth: every -cause depends upon some earlier cause: one long chain of destiny -decides all things, public or private. Wherefore, everything must -be patiently endured, because events do not fall in our way, as we -imagine, but come by a regular law. It has long ago been settled -at what you should rejoice and at what you should weep, and although -the lives of individual men appear to differ from one another in a -great variety of particulars, yet the sum total comes to one and -the same thing: we soon perish, and the gifts which we receive soon -perish. Why, then, should we be angry? why should we lament? we are -prepared for our fate: let nature deal {17} as she will with her -own bodies; let us be cheerful whatever befalls, and stoutly reflect -that it is not anything of our own that perishes. What is the duty -of a good man? to submit himself to fate: it is a great consolation -to be swept away together with the entire universe: whatever law -is laid upon us that thus we must live and thus we must die, is -laid upon the gods also: one unchangeable stream bears along men -and gods alike: the creator and ruler of the universe himself, -though he has given laws to the fates, yet is guided by them: he -always obeys, he only once commanded. “But why was God so unjust -in His distribution of fate, as to assign poverty, wounds, and -untimely deaths to good men?” The workman cannot alter his materials: -this is their nature. Some qualities cannot be separated from some -others: they cling together; are indivisible. Dull minds, tending -to sleep or to a waking state exactly like sleep, are composed of -sluggish elements: it requires stronger stuff to form a man meriting -careful description. His course will not be straightforward; he -must go upwards and downwards, be tossed about, and guide his vessel -through troubled waters: he must make his way in spite of fortune: -he will meet with much that is hard which he must soften, much that -is rough that he must make smooth. Fire tries gold, misfortune tries -brave men. See how high virtue has to climb: you may be sure that -it has no safe path to tread. - - “Steep is the path at first: the steeds, though strong, Fresh - from their rest, can hardly crawl along; The middle part lies - through the topmost sky, Whence oft, as I the earth and sea - descry, I shudder, terrors through my bosom thrill. The ending - of the path is sheer down hill, And needs the careful guidance - of the rein, For ever when I sink beneath the main, {18} Old - Tethys trembles in her depths below Lest headlong down upon - her I should go.”[7] - -When the spirited youth heard this, he said, “I have no fault to -find with the road: I will mount it, it is worth while to go through -these places, even though one fall.” His father did not cease from -trying to scare his brave spirit with terrors:— - - “Then, too, that thou may’st hold thy course aright, And neither - turn aside to left nor right. Straight through the Bull’s fell - horns thy path must go. Through the fierce Lion, and the - Archer’s bow.” - -After this Phaethon says:— - - “Harness the chariot which you yield to me, - -I am encouraged by these things with which you think to scare me: -I long to stand where the Sun himself trembles to stand.” It is the -part of grovellers and cowards to follow the safe track; courage -loves a lofty path. - -VI. “Yet, why does God permit evil to happen to good men?” He does -not permit it: he takes away from them all evils, such as crimes -and scandalous wickedness, daring thoughts, grasping schemes, blind -lusts, and avarice coveting its neighbour’s goods. He protects and -saves them. Does any one besides this demand that God should look -after the baggage of good men also? Why, they themselves leave the -care of this to God: they scorn external accessories. Democritus -forswore riches, holding them to be a burden to a virtuous mind: -what wonder then, if God permits that to happen to a good man, which -a good man sometimes chooses should happen to himself? Good men, -you say, lose their children: why should they not, since sometimes -they even put them to death? They are banished: why should they not -be, since sometimes they {19} leave their country of their own free -will, never to return? They are slain: why not, since sometimes -they choose to lay violent hands on themselves? Why do they suffer -certain miseries? it is that they may teach others how to do so. -They are born as patterns. Conceive, therefore, that God says:—“You, -who have chosen righteousness, what complaint can you make of me? -I have encompassed other men with unreal good things, and have -deceived their inane minds as it were by a long and misleading -dream: I have bedecked them with gold, silver, and ivory, but within -them there is no good thing. Those men whom you regard as fortunate, -if you could see, not their outward show, but their hidden life, -are really unhappy, mean, and base, ornamented on the outside like -the walls of their houses: that good fortune of theirs is not sound -and genuine: it is only a veneer, and that a thin one. As long, -therefore, as they can stand upright and display themselves as they -choose, they shine and impose upon one; when something occurs to -shake and unmask them, we see how deep and real a rottenness was -hidden by that factitious magnificence. To you I have given sure -and lasting good things, which become greater and better the more -one turns them over and views them on every side: I have granted -to you to scorn danger, to disdain passion. You do not shine -outwardly, all your good qualities are turned inwards; even so does -the world neglect what lies without it, and rejoices in the -contemplation of itself. I have placed every good thing within your -own breasts: it is your good fortune not to need any good fortune. -‘Yet many things befall you which are sad, dreadful, hard to be -borne.’ Well, as I have not been able to remove these from your -path, I have given your minds strength to combat all: bear them -bravely. In this you can surpass God himself; He is beyond suffering -evil: you are above it. Despise poverty; no man lives as poor as -he was born: {20} despise pain; either it will cease or you will -cease: despise death; it either ends you or takes you elsewhere: -despise fortune; I have given her no weapon that can reach the mind. -Above all, I have taken care that no one should hold you captive -against your will: the way of escape lies open before you: if you -do not choose to fight, you may fly. For this reason, of all those -matters which I have deemed essential for you, I have made nothing -easier for you than to die. I have set man’s life as it were on a -mountain side: it soon slips down.[8] Do but watch, and you will -see how short and how ready a path leads to freedom. I have not -imposed such long delays upon those who quit the world as upon those -who enter it: were it not so, fortune would hold a wide dominion -over you, if a man died as slowly as he is born. Let all time, let -every place teach you, how simple it is to renounce nature, and to -fling back her gifts to her: before the altar itself and during the -solemn rites of sacrifice, while life is being prayed for, learn -how to die. Fat oxen fall dead with a tiny wound; a blow from a -man’s hand fells animals of great strength: the sutures of the neck -are severed by a thin blade, and when the joint which connects the -head and neck is cut, all that great mass falls. The breath of life -is not deep seated, {21} nor only to be let forth by steel—the -vitals need not be searched throughout by plunging a sword among -them to the hilt: death lies near the surface, I have not appointed -any particular spot for these blows—the body may be pierced wherever -you please. That very act which is called dying, by which the breath -of life leaves the body, is too short for you to be able to estimate -its quickness: whether a knot crushes the windpipe, or water stops -your breathing: whether you fall headlong from a height and perish -upon the hard ground below, or a mouthful of fire checks the drawing -of your breath—whatever it is, it acts swiftly. Do you not blush -to spend so long a time in dreading what takes so short a time to -do?” - - -[1] _honestior_ opposed to the gladiator—the loftier the station -of the combatant. The Gracchus of Juvenal, Sat. ii. and viii., -illustrates, the passage. - -[2] _par_, a technical term in the language of sport (_worthy_ of -such a spectator). - -[3] _viderint_—Let them see to it: it is no matter of mine. - -[4] That is, to triumph over. “Two spears were set upright ... and -a third was fastened across them at the top; and through this gateway -the vanquished army marched out, as a token that they had been -conquered in war, and owed their lives to the enemy’s mercy. It was -no peculiar insult devised for this occasion, but a common usage, -so far as appears, in similar cases; like the modern ceremony of -piling arms when a garrison or army surrender themselves as prisoners -of war.”— Arnold’s _History of Rome_, ch. xxxi. - -[5] He was a “mirmillo,” a kind of gladiator who was armed with a -Gaulish helmet. - -[6] _e lorica_. - -[7] The lines occur in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, ii. 63. Phoebus is -telling Phaethon how to drive the chariot of the Sun. - -[8] Compare Walter Scott: “All. . . . must have felt that but for -the dictates of religion, or the natural recoil of the mind from -the idea of dissolution, there have been times when they would have -been willing to throw away life as a child does a broken toy. I am -sure I know one who has often felt so. O God! what are we?—Lords -of nature?—Why, a tile drops from a house-top, which an elephant -would not feel more than a sheet of pasteboard, and there lies his -lordship. Or something of inconceivably minute origin, the pressure -of a bone, or the inflammation of a particle of the brain takes -place, and the emblem of the Deity destroys himself or some one -else. We hold our health and our reason on terms slighter than any -one would desire, were it in their choice, to hold an Irish -cabin.”—Lockhart’s _Life of Sir Walter Scott_, vol. vii., p. 11. - - - - -{22} - -THE SECOND BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED -TO SERENUS. - -“THAT THE WISE MAN CAN NEITHER RECEIVE INJURY NOR INSULT,” OR, AN -ESSAY ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN. - - -I. I might truly say, Serenus, that there is as wide a difference -between the Stoics and the other sects of philosophers as there is -between men and women, since each class contributes an equal share -to human society, but the one is born to command, the other to obey. -The other philosophers deal with us gently and coaxingly, just as -our accustomed family physicians usually do with our bodies, treating -them not by the best and shortest method, but by that which we allow -them to employ; whereas the Stoics adopt a manly course, and do not -care about its appearing attractive to those who are entering upon -it, but that it should as quickly as possible take us out of the -world, and lead us to that lofty eminence which is so far beyond -the scope of any missile weapon that it is above the reach of Fortune -herself. “But the way by which we are asked to climb is steep and -uneven.” What then? Can heights be reached by a level path? Yet -they are not so sheer and precipitous as some think. It is only the -first part that {23} has rocks and cliffs and no apparent outlet, -just as many hills seen from a long way off appear abruptly steep -and joined together, because the distance deceives our sight, and -then, as we draw nearer, those very hills which our mistaken eyes -had made into one gradually unfold themselves, those parts which -seemed precipitous from afar assume a gently sloping outline. When -just now mention was made of Marcus Cato, you whose mind revolts -at injustice were indignant at Cato’s own age having so little -understood him, at its having allotted a place below Vatinius to -one who towered above both Caesar and Pompeius; it seemed shameful -to you, that when he spoke against some law in the Forum his toga -was torn from him, and that he was hustled through the hands of a -mutinous mob from the Rostra as far as the arch of Fabius, enduring -all the bad language, spitting, and other insults of the frantic -rabble. - -II. I then answered, that you had good cause to be anxious on behalf -of the commonwealth, which Publius Clodius on the one side, Vatinius -and all the greatest scoundrels on the other, were putting up for -sale, and, carried away by their blind covetousness, did not -understand that when they sold it they themselves were sold with -it; I bade you have no fears on behalf of Cato himself, because the -wise man can neither receive injury nor insult, and it is more -certain that the immortal gods have given Cato as a pattern of a -wise man to us, than that they gave Ulysses or Hercules to the -earlier ages; for these our Stoics have declared were wise men, -unconquered by labours, despisers of pleasure, and superior to all -terrors. Cato did not slay wild beasts, whose pursuit belongs to -huntsmen and countrymen, nor did he exterminate fabulous creatures -with fire and sword, or live in times when it was possible to believe -that the heavens could be supported on the shoulders of one man. -In an age which had thrown {24} off its belief in antiquated -superstitions, and had carried material knowledge to its highest -point, he had to struggle against that many-headed monster, ambition, -against that boundless lust for power which the whole world divided -among three men could not satisfy. He alone withstood the vices of -a worn-out State, sinking into ruin through its own bulk; he upheld -the falling commonwealth as far as it could be upheld by one man’s -hand, until at last his support was withdrawn, and he shared the -crash which he had so long averted, and perished together with that -from which it was impious to separate him—for Cato did not outlive -freedom, nor did freedom outlive Cato. Think you that the people -could do any wrong to such a man when they tore away his praetorship -or his toga? when they bespattered his sacred head with the rinsings -of their mouths? The wise man is safe, and no injury or insult can -touch him. - -III. I think I see your excited and boiling temper. You are preparing -to exclaim: “These are the things which take away all weight from -your maxims; you promise great matters, such as I should not even -wish for, let alone believe to be possible, and then, after all -your brave words, though you say that the wise man is not poor, you -admit that he often is in want of servants, shelter, and food. You -say that the wise man is not mad, yet you admit that he sometimes -loses his reason, talks nonsense, and is driven to the wildest -actions by the stress of his disorder. When you say that the wise -man cannot be a slave, you do not deny that he will be sold, carry -out orders, and perform menial services at the bidding of his master; -so, for all your proud looks, you come down to the level of every -one else, and merely call things by different names. Consequently, -I suspect that something of this kind lurks behind this maxim, which -at first sight appears so beautiful and noble, ‘that the wise man -can neither receive {25} injury nor insult.’ It makes a great deal -of difference whether you declare that the wise man is beyond feeling -resentment, or beyond receiving injury; for if you say that he will -bear it calmly, he has no special privilege in that, for he has -developed a very common quality, and one which is learned by long -endurance of wrong itself, namely, patience. If you declare that -he can never receive an injury, that is, that no one will attempt -to do him one, then I will throw up all my occupations in life and -become a Stoic.” - -It has not been my object to decorate the wise man with mere imaginary -verbal honours, but to raise him to a position where no injury will -be permitted to reach him. “What? will there be no one to tease -him, to try to wrong him?” There is nothing on earth so sacred as -not to be liable to sacrilege; yet holy things exist on high none -the less because there are men who strike at a greatness which is -far above themselves, though with no hope of reaching it. The -invulnerable is not that which is never struck, but that which is -never wounded. In this class I will show you the wise man. Can we -doubt that the strength which is never overcome in fight is more -to be relied on than that which is never challenged, seeing that -untested power is untrustworthy, whereas that solidity which hurls -back all attacks is deservedly regarded as the most trustworthy of -all? In like manner you may know that the wise man, if no injury -hurts him, is of a higher type than if none is offered to him, and -I should call him a brave man whom war does not subdue and the -violence of the enemy does not alarm, not him who enjoys luxurious -ease amid a slothful people. I say, then, that such a wise man is -invulnerable against all injury; it matters not, therefore, how -many darts be hurled at him, since he can be pierced by none of -them. Just as the hardness of some stones is impervious to steel, -and adamant can neither be cut, {26} broken, or ground, but blunts -all instruments used upon it; just as some things cannot be destroyed -by fire, but when encircled by flame still retain their hardness -and shape; just as some tall projecting cliffs break the waves of -the sea, and though lashed by them through many centuries, yet show -no traces of their rage; even so the mind of the wise man is firm, -and gathers so much strength, that it is as safe from injury as any -of those things which I have mentioned. - -IV. “What then? Will there be no one who will try to do an injury -to the wise man?” Yes, some one will try, but the injury will not -reach him; for he is separated from the contact of his inferiors -by so wide a distance that no evil impulse can retain its power of -harm until it reaches him. Even when powerful men, raised to positions -of high authority, and strong in the obedience of their dependents, -strive to injure him, all their darts fall as far short of his -wisdom as those which are shot upwards by bowstrings or catapults, -which, although they rise so high as to pass out of sight, yet fall -back again without reaching the heavens. Why, do you suppose that -when that stupid king[1] clouded the daylight with the multitude -of his darts, that any arrow of them all went into the sun? or that -when he flung his chains into the deep, that he was able to reach -Neptune? Just as sacred things escape from the hands of men, and -no injury is done to the godhead by those who destroy temples and -melt down images, so whoever attempts to treat the wise man with -impertinence, insolence, or scorn, does so in vain. “It would be -better,” say you, “if no one wished to do so.” You are expressing -a wish that the whole human race were inoffensive, which may hardly -be; moreover, those who would gain by such wrongs not being done -are those who would do them, not he who could not suffer from them -even if they were done; nay, I {27} know not whether wisdom is not -best displayed by calmness in the midst of annoyances, just as the -greatest proof of a general’s strength in arms and men consists in -his quietness and confidence in the midst of an enemy’s country. - -V. If you think fit, my Serenus, let us distinguish between injury -and insult. The former is naturally the more grievous, the latter -less important, and grievous only to the thin-skinned, since it -angers men but does not wound them. Yet such is the weakness of -men’s minds, that many think that there is nothing more bitter than -insult; thus you will find slaves who prefer to be flogged to being -slapped, and who think stripes and death more endurable than insulting -words. To such a pitch of absurdity have we come that we suffer not -only from pain, but from the idea of pain, like children, who are -terror-stricken by darkness, misshapen masks, and distorted faces, -and whose tears flow at hearing names unpleasing to their ears, at -the movement of our fingers, and other things which they ignorantly -shrink from with a sort of mistaken spasm. The object which injury -proposes to itself is to do evil to some one. Now wisdom leaves no -room for evil; to it, the only evil is baseness, which cannot enter -into the place already occupied by virtue and honour. If, therefore, -there can be no injury without evil, and no evil without baseness, -and baseness cannot find any place with a man who is already filled -with honour, it follows that no injury can reach the wise man: for -if injury be the endurance of some evil, and the wise man can endure -no evil, it follows that no injury takes effect upon the wise man. -All injury implies a making less of that which it affects, and no -one can sustain an injury without some loss either of his dignity, -or of some part of his body, or of some of the things external to -ourselves; but the wise man can lose nothing. He has invested -everything in himself, has entrusted nothing to fortune, has his -property in safety, {28} and is content with virtue, which does not -need casual accessories, and therefore can neither be increased or -diminished; for virtue, as having attained to the highest position, -has no room for addition to herself, and fortune can take nothing -away save what she gave. Now fortune does not give virtue; therefore -she does not take it away. Virtue is free, inviolable, not to be -moved, not to be shaken, and so hardened against misfortunes that -she cannot be bent, let alone overcome by them. She looks unfalteringly -on while tortures are being prepared for her; she makes no change -of countenance, whether misery or pleasure be offered to her. The -wise man therefore can lose nothing of whose loss he will be sensible, -for he is the property of virtue alone, from whom he never can be -taken away. He enjoys all other things at the good pleasure of -fortune; but who is grieved at the loss of what is not his own? If -injury can hurt none of those things which are the peculiar property -of the wise man, because while his virtue is safe they are safe, -then it is impossible that an injury should be done to a wise man. -Demetrius, who was surnamed Poliorcetes, took Megara, and the -philosopher Stilbo, when asked by him whether he had lost anything, -answered, “No, I carry all my property about me.” Yet his inheritance -had been given up to pillage, his daughters had been outraged by -the enemy, his country had fallen under a foreign dominion, and it -was the king, enthroned on high, surrounded by the spears of his -victorious troops, who put this question to him; yet he struck the -victory out of the king’s hands, and proved that, though the city -was taken, he himself was not only unconquered but unharmed, for -he bore with him those true goods which no one can lay hands upon. -What was being plundered and carried away hither and thither he did -not consider to be his own, but to be merely things which come and -go at the caprice of fortune; therefore he had not loved them as -his own, for {29} the possession of all things which come from -without is slippery and insecure. - -VI. Consider now, whether any thief, or false accuser, or headstrong -neighbour, or rich man enjoying the power conferred by a childless -old age, could do any injury to this man, from whom neither war nor -an enemy whose profession was the noble art of battering city walls -could take away anything. Amid the flash of swords on all sides, -and the riot of the plundering soldiery, amid the flames and blood -and ruin of the fallen city, amid the crash of temples falling upon -their gods, one man was at peace. You need not therefore account -that a reckless boast, for which I will give you a surety, if my -words goes for nothing. Indeed, you would hardly believe so much -constancy or such greatness of mind to belong to any man; but here -a man comes forward to prove that you have no reason for doubting -that one who is but of human birth can raise himself above human -necessities, can tranquilly behold pains, losses, diseases, wounds, -and great natural convulsions roaring around him, can bear adversity -with calm and prosperity with moderation, neither yielding to the -former nor trusting to the latter, that he can remain the same amid -all varieties of fortune, and think nothing to be his own save -himself, and himself too only as regards his better part. “Behold,” -says he, “I am here to prove to you that although, under the direction -of that destroyer of so many cities, walls may be shaken by the -stroke of the ram, lofty towers may be suddenly brought low by -galleries and hidden mines, and mounds arise so high as to rival -the highest citadel, yet that no siege engines can be discovered -which can shake a well-established mind. I have just crept from -amid the ruins of my house, and with conflagrations blazing all -around I have escaped from the flames through blood. What fate has -befallen my daughters, whether a worse one than that of their -country, I {30} know not. Alone and elderly, and seeing everything -around me in the hands of the enemy, still I declare that my property -is whole and untouched. I have, I hold whatever of mine I have ever -had. There is no reason for you to suppose me conquered and yourself -my conqueror. It is your fortune which has overcome mine. As for -those fleeting possessions which change their owners, I know not -where they are; what belongs to myself is with me, and ever will -be. I see rich men who have lost their estates; lustful men who -have lost their loves, the courtesans whom they cherished at the -cost of much shame; ambitious men who have lost the senate, the law -courts, the places set apart for the public display of men’s vices; -usurers who have lost their account-books, in which avarice vainly -enjoyed an unreal wealth; but I possess everything whole and -uninjured. Leave me, and go and ask those who are weeping and -lamenting over the loss of their money, who are offering their bare -breasts to drawn swords in its defence, or who are fleeing from the -enemy with weighty pockets.” See then, Serenus, that the perfect -man, full of human and divine virtues, can lose nothing; his goods -are surrounded by strong and impassable walls. You cannot compare -with them the walls of Babylon, which Alexander entered, nor the -fortifications of Carthage and Numantia, won by one and the same -hand,[2] nor the Capitol and citadel of Rome, which are branded -with the marks of the victors’ insults; the ramparts which protect -the wise man are safe from fire and hostile invasion; they afford -no passage; they are lofty, impregnable, divine. - -VII. You have no cause for saying, as you are wont to do, that this -wise man of ours[3] is nowhere to be found; we do not invent him -as an unreal glory of the human race, or conceive a mighty shadow -of an untruth, but we have displayed and will display him just as -we sketch him, though {31} he may perhaps be uncommon, and only one -appears at long intervals; for what is great and transcends the -common ordinary type is not often produced; but this very Marcus -Cato himself, the mention of whom started this discussion, was a -man who I fancy even surpassed our model. Moreover, that which hurts -must be stronger than that which is hurt. Now wickedness is not -stronger than virtue; therefore the wise man cannot be hurt. Only -the bad attempt to injure the good. Good men are at peace among -themselves; bad ones are equally mischievous to the good and to one -another. If a man cannot be hurt by one weaker than himself, and a -bad man be weaker than a good one, and the good have no injury to -dread, except from one unlike themselves; then, no injury takes -effect upon the wise man; for by this time I need not remind you -that no one save the wise man is good. - -“If,” says our adversary, “Socrates was unjustly condemned, he -received an injury.” At this point it is needful for us to bear in -mind that it is possible for some one to do an injury to me, and -yet for me not to receive it, as if any one were to steal something -from my country-house and leave it in my town-house, that man would -commit a theft, yet I should lose nothing. A man may become -mischievous, and yet do no actual mischief: if a man lies with his -own wife as if she were a stranger, he will commit adultery, but -his wife will not; if a man gives me poison and the poison lose its -strength when mixed with food, that man, by administering the poison, -has made himself a criminal, even though he has done no hurt. A man -is no less a brigand because his sword becomes entangled in his -victim’s clothes and misses its mark. All crimes, as far as concerns -their criminality, are completed before the actual deed is accomplished. -Some crimes are of such a nature and bound by such conditions that -the first part can take place without the second. {32} though the -second cannot take place without the first. I will endeavour to -explain these words: I can move my feet and yet not run; but I -cannot run without moving my feet. I can be in the water without -swimming; but if I swim, I cannot help being in the water. The -matter of which we are treating is of this character: if I have -received an injury, it is necessary that some one must have done -it to me; but if an injury has been done me, it is not necessary -that I should have received one; for many circumstances may intervene -to avert the injury, as, for example, some chance may strike the -hand that is aiming at us, and the dart, after it has been thrown, -may swerve aside. So injuries of all kinds may by certain circumstances -be thrown back and intercepted in mid-course, so that they may be -done and yet not received. - -VIII. Moreover, justice can suffer nothing unjust, because contraries -cannot co-exist; but an injury can only be done unjustly, therefore -an injury cannot be done to the wise man. Nor need you wonder at -no one being able to do him an injury; for no one can do him any -good service either. The wise man lacks nothing which he can accept -by way of a present, and the bad man can bestow nothing that is -worthy of the wise man’s acceptance; for he must possess it before -he can bestow it, and he possesses nothing which the wise man would -rejoice to have handed over to him. Consequently, no one can do -either harm or good to the wise man, because divine things neither -want help nor are capable of being hurt; and the wise man is near, -indeed very near to the gods, being like a god in every respect -save that he is mortal. As he presses forward and makes his way -towards the life that is sublime, well-ordered, without fear, -proceeding in a regular and harmonious course, tranquil, beneficent, -made for the good of mankind, useful both to itself and to others, -he will neither long nor weep for anything that is grovelling. He -who, trusting to {33} reason, passes through human affairs with -godlike mind, has no quarter from which he can receive injury. Do -you suppose that I mean merely from no man? He cannot receive an -injury even from fortune, which, whenever she contends with virtue, -always retires beaten. If we accept with an undisturbed and tranquil -mind that greatest terror of all, beyond which the angry laws and -the most cruel masters have nothing to threaten us with, in which -fortune’s dominion is contained—if we know that death is not an -evil, and therefore is not an injury either, we shall much more -easily endure the other things, such as losses, pains, disgraces, -changes of abode, bereavements, and partings, which do not overwhelm -the wise man even if they all befall him at once, much less does -he grieve at them when they assail him separately. And if he bears -the injuries of fortune calmly, how much more will he bear those -of powerful men, whom he knows to be the hands of fortune. - -IX. He therefore endures everything in the same spirit with which -he endures the cold of winter and the severities of climate, fevers, -diseases, and other chance accidents, nor does he entertain so high -an opinion of any man as to suppose that he acts of set purpose, -which belongs to the wise man alone. All other men have no plans, -but only plots and deceits and irregular impulses of mind, which -he reckons the same as pure accident; now, what depends upon pure -accident cannot rage around us designedly. He reflects, also, that -the largest sources of injury are to be found in those things by -means of which danger is sought for against us, as, for example, -by a suborned accuser, or a false charge, or by the stirring up -against us of the anger of great men, and the other forms of the -brigandage of civilized life. Another common type of injury is when -a man loses some profit or prize for which he has long been angling; -when an inheritance which he {34} has spent great pains to render -his own is left to some one else, or the favour of some noble house, -through which he makes great gain, is taken from him. The wise man -escapes all this, since he knows not what it is to live for hope -or for fear. Add to this, that no one receives an injury unmoved, -but is disturbed by the feeling of it. Now, the man free from -mistakes has no disturbance; he is master of himself, enjoying a -deep and tranquil repose of mind; for if an injury reaches him it -moves and rouses him. But the wise man is without anger, which is -caused by the appearance of injury, and he could not be free from -anger unless he were also free from injury, which he knows cannot -be done to him; hence it is that he is so upright and cheerful, -hence he is elate with constant joy. So far, however, is he from -shrinking from the encounter either of circumstances or of men, -that he makes use of injury itself to make trial of himself and -test his own virtue. Let us, I beseech you, show favour to this -thesis and listen with impartial ears and minds while the wise man -is being made exempt from injury; for nothing is thereby taken away -from your insolence, your greediest lusts, your blind rashness and -pride; it is without prejudice to your vices that this freedom is -sought for the wise man; we do not strive to prevent your doing an -injury, but to enable him to sink all injuries beneath himself and -protect himself from them by his own greatness of mind. So in the -sacred games many have won the victory by patiently enduring the -blows of their adversaries and so wearying them out. Think that the -wise man belongs to this class, that of men who, by long and faithful -practice, have acquired strength to endure and tire out all the -violence of their enemies. - -X. Since we have now discussed the first part of our subject, let -us pass on to the second, in which we will prove by arguments, some -of which are our own, but {35} which for the most part are Stoic -commonplaces, that the wise man cannot be insulted. There is a -lesser form of injury, which we must complain of rather than avenge, -which the laws also have considered not to deserve any special -punishment. This passion is produced by a meanness of mind which -shrinks at any act or deed which treats it with disrespect. “He did -not admit me to his house to-day, although he admitted others; he -either turned haughtily away or openly laughed when I spoke;” or, -“he placed me at dinner, not on the middle couch (the place of -honour), but on the lowest one;” and other matters of the same sort, -which I can call nothing but the whinings of a queasy spirit. These -matters chiefly affect the luxuriously-nurtured and prosperous; for -those who are pressed by worse evils have no time to notice such -things as these. Through excessive idleness, dispositions naturally -weak and womanish and prone to indulge in fancies through want of -real injuries are disturbed at these things, the greater part of -which arise from misunderstanding. He therefore who is affected by -insult shows that he possesses neither sense nor trustfulness; for -he considers it certain that he is scorned, and this vexation affects -him with a certain sense of degradation, as he effaces himself and -takes a lower room; whereas the wise man is scorned by no one, for -he knows his own greatness, gives himself to understand that he -allows no one to have such power over him, and as for all of what -I should not so much call distress as uneasiness of mind, he does -not overcome it, but never so much as feels it. Some other things -strike the wise man, though they may not shake his principles, such -as bodily pain and weakness, the loss of friends and children, and -the ruin of his country in war-time. I do not say that the wise man -does not feel these, for we do not ascribe to him the hardness of -stone or iron; there is no virtue but is conscious of its own -endurance. What then does he? He receives some {36} blows, but when -he has received them he rises superior to them, heals them, and -brings them to an end; these more trivial things he does not even -feel, nor does he make use of his accustomed fortitude in the -endurance of evil against them, but either takes no notice of them -or considers them to deserve to be laughed at. - -XI. Besides this, as most insults proceed from those who are haughty -and arrogant and bear their prosperity ill, he has something wherewith -to repel this haughty passion, namely, that noblest of all the -virtues, magnanimity, which passes over everything of that kind as -like unreal apparitions in dreams and visions of the night, which -have nothing in them substantial or true. At the same time he -reflects that all men are too low to venture to look down upon what -is so far above them. The Latin word _contumelia_ is derived from -the word _contempt_, because no one does that injury to another -unless he regards him with contempt; and no one can treat his elders -and betters with contempt, even though he does what contemptuous -persons are wont to do; for children strike their parents’ faces, -infants rumple and tear their mother’s hair, and spit upon her and -expose what should be covered before her, and do not shrink from -using dirty language; yet we do not call any of these things -contemptuous. And why? Because he who does it is not able to show -contempt. For the same reason the scurrilous raillery of our slaves -against their masters amuses us, as their boldness only gains licence -to exercise itself at the expense of the guests if they begin with -the master; and the more contemptible and the more an object of -derision each one of them is, the greater licence he gives his -tongue. Some buy forward slave-boys for this purpose, cultivate -their scurrility and send them to school that they may vent -premeditated libels, which we do not call insults, but smart sayings; -yet what madness, at one time to be amused and at another to be -affronted by the same thing, {37} and to call a phrase an outrage -when spoken by a friend, and an amusing piece of raillery when used -by a slave-boy! - -XII. In the same spirit in which we deal with boys, the wise man -deals with all those whose childhood still endures after their youth -is past and their hair is grey. What do men profit by age when their -mind has all the faults of childhood and their defects are intensified -by time? when they differ from children only in the size and -appearance of their bodies, and are just as unsteady and capricious, -eager for pleasure without discrimination, timorous and quiet through -fear rather than through natural disposition? One cannot say that -such men differ from children because the latter are greedy for -knuckle-bones and nuts and coppers, while the former are greedy for -gold and silver and cities; because the latter play amongst themselves -at being magistrates, and imitate the purple-edged robe of state, -the lictors’ axes, and the judgment-seat, while the former play -with the same things in earnest in the Campus Martius and the courts -of justice; because the latter pile up the sand on the seashore -into the likeness of houses, and the former, with an air of being -engaged in important business, employ themselves in piling up stones -and walls and roofs until they have turned what was intended for -the protection of the body into a danger to it? Children and those -more advanced in age both make the same mistake, but the latter -deal with different and more important things; the wise man, -therefore, is quite justified in treating the affronts which he -receives from such men as jokes: and sometimes he corrects them, -as he would children, by pain and punishment, not because he has -received an injury, but because they have done one and in order -that they may do so no more. Thus we break in animals with stripes, -yet we are not angry with them when they refuse to carry their -rider, but curb them in order that pain may overcome {38} their -obstinacy. Now, therefore, you know the answer to the question which -was put to us, “Why, if the wise man receives neither injury nor -insult, he punishes those who do these things?” He does not revenge -himself, but corrects them. - -XIII. What, then, is there to prevent your believing this strength -of mind to belong to the wise man, when you can see the same thing -existing in others, though not from the same cause?—for what physician -is angry with a crazy patient? who takes to heart the curses of a -fever-stricken one who is denied cold water? The wise man retains -in his dealings with all men this same habit of mind which the -physician adopts in dealing with his patients, whose parts of shame -he does not scorn to handle should they need treatment, nor yet to -look at their solid and liquid evacuations, nor to endure their -reproaches when frenzied by disease. The wise man knows that all -those who strut about in purple-edged togas,[4] healthy and embrowned, -are brain-sick people, whom he regards as sick and full of follies. -He is not, therefore, angry, should they in their sickness presume -to bear themselves somewhat impertinently towards their physician, -and in the same spirit as that in which he sets no value upon their -titles of honour, he will set but little value upon their acts of -disrespect to himself. He will not rise in his own esteem if a -beggar pays his court to him, and he will not think it an affront -if one of the dregs of the people does not return his greeting. So -also he will not admire himself even if many rich men admire him; -for he knows that they differ in no respect from beggars—nay, are -even more wretched than they; for {39} beggars want but a little, -whereas rich men want a great deal. Again, he will not be moved if -the King of the Medes, or Attalus, King of Asia, passes by him in -silence with a scornful air when he offers his greeting; for he -knows that such a man’s position has nothing to render it more -enviable than that of the man whose duty it is in some great household -to keep the sick and mad servants in order. Shall I be put out if -one of those who do business at the temple of Castor, buying and -selling worthless slaves, does not return my salute, a man whose -shops are crowded with throngs of the worst of bondmen? I trow not; -for what good can there be in a man who owns none but bad men? As -the wise man is indifferent to the courtesy or incivility of such -a man, so is he to that of a king. “You own,” says he, “the Parthians -and Bactrians, but they are men whom you keep in order by fear, -they are people whose possession forbids you to unstring the bow, -they are fierce enemies, on sale, and eagerly looking out for a new -master.” He will not, then, be moved by an insult from any man for -though all men differ one from another, yet the wise man regards -them all as alike on account of their equal folly; for should he -once lower himself to the point of being affected by either injury -or insult, he could never feel safe afterwards, and safety is the -especial advantage of the wise man, and he will not be guilty of -showing respect to the man who has done him an injury by admitting -that he has received one, because it necessarily follows that he -who is disquieted at any one’s scorn would value that person’s -admiration. - -XIV. Such madness possesses some men that they imagine it possible -for an affront to be put upon them by a woman. What matters it who -she may be, how many slaves bear her litter, how heavily her ears -are laden, how soft her seat? she is always the same thoughtless -creature, and unless she possesses acquired knowledge and {40} much -learning, she is fierce and passionate in her desires. Some are -annoyed at being jostled by a heater of curling-tongs, and call the -reluctance of a great man’s porter to open the door, the pride of -his nomenclator,[5] or the disdainfulness of his chamberlain, -insults. O! what laughter is to be got out of such things, with -what amusement the mind may be filled when it contrasts the frantic -follies of others with its own peace! “How then? will the wise man -not approach doors which are kept by a surly porter?” Nay, if any -need calls him thither, he will make trial of him, however fierce -he may be, will tame him as one tames a dog by offering it food, -and will not be enraged at having to expend entrance-money, reflecting -that on certain bridges also one has to pay toll; in like fashion -he will pay his fee to whoever farms this revenue of letting in -visitors, for he knows that men are wont to buy whatever is offered -for sale.[6] A man shows a poor spirit if he is pleased with himself -for having answered the porter cavalierly, broken his staff, forced -his way into his master’s presence, and demanded a whipping for -him. He who strives with a man makes himself that man’s rival, and -must be on equal terms with him before he can overcome him. But -what will the wise man do when he receives a cuff? He will do as -Cato did when he was struck in the face; he did not flare up and -revenge the outrage, he did not even pardon it, but ignored it, -showing more magnanimity in not acknowledging it than if he had -forgiven it. We will not dwell long upon this point; for who is -there who knows not that none of those things which are thought to -be good or evil are looked upon by the wise man and by mankind in -general in the same manner? He does not regard what all men think -low or wretched; he does not follow the people’s track, but as the -{41} stars move in a path opposite to that of the earth, so he -proceeds contrary to the prejudices of all. - -XV. Cease then to say, “Will not the wise man, then, receive an -injury if he be beaten, if his eye be knocked out? will he not -receive an insult if he be hooted through the Forum by the foul -voices of ruffians? if at a court banquet he be bidden to leave the -table and eat with slaves appointed to degrading duties? if he be -forced to endure anything else that can be thought of that would -gall a high spirit?” However many or however severe these crosses -may be, they will all be of the same kind; and if small ones do not -affect him, neither will greater ones; if a few do not affect him, -neither will more. It is from your own weakness that you form your -idea of his colossal mind, and when you have thought how much you -yourselves could endure to suffer, you place the limit of the wise -man’s endurance a little way beyond that. But his virtue has placed -him in another region of the universe which has nothing in common -with you. Seek out sufferings and all things hard to be borne, -repulsive to be heard or seen; he will not be overwhelmed by their -combination, and will bear all just as he bears each one of them. -He who says that the wise man can bear this and cannot bear that, -and restrains his magnanimity within certain limits, does wrong; -for Fortune overcomes us unless she is entirely overcome. Think not -that this is mere Stoic austerity. Epicurus, whom you adopt as the -patron of your laziness, and who, you imagine, always taught what -was soft and slothful and conducive to pleasure, said, “Fortune -seldom stands in a wise man’s way.” How near he came to a manly -sentiment! Do thou dare to speak more boldly, and clear her out of -the way altogether! This is the house of the wise man—narrow, -unadorned, without bustle and splendour, the threshold guarded by -no porters who marshal the crowd of visitors with a haughtiness -proportionate to their bribes—but For {42} tune cannot cross this -open and unguarded threshold. She knows that there is no room for -her where there is nothing of hers. - -XVI. Now if even Epicurus, who made more concessions to the body -than any one, takes a spirited tone with regard to injuries, what -can appear beyond belief or beyond the scope of human nature amongst -us Stoics? He says that injuries may be endured by the wise man, -we say that they do not exist for him. Nor is there any reason why -you should declare this to be repugnant to nature. We do not deny -that it is an unpleasant thing to be beaten or struck, or to lose -one of our limbs, but we say that none of these things are injuries. -We do not take away from them the feeling of pain, but the name of -“injury,” which cannot be received while our virtue is unimpaired. -We shall see which of the two is nearest the truth; each of them -agree in despising injury. You ask what difference there is between -them? All that there is between two very brave gladiators, one of -whom conceals his wound and holds his ground, while the other turns -round to the shouting populace, gives them to understand that his -wound is nothing, and does not permit them to interfere on his -behalf. You need not think that it is any great thing about which -we differ; the whole gist of the matter, that which alone concerns -you, is what both schools of philosophy urge you to do, namely, to -despise injuries and insults, which I may call the shadows and -outlines of injuries, to despise which does not need a wise man, -but merely a sensible one, who can say to himself, “Do these things -befall me deservedly or undeservedly? If deservedly, it is not an -insult, but a judicial sentence; if undeservedly, then he who does -injustice ought to blush, not I. And what is this which is called -an insult? Some one has made a joke about the baldness of my head, -the weakness of my eyes, the thinness of my legs, the shortness of -my stature; what insult is there in {43} telling me that which every -one sees? We laugh when _tête-à-tête_ at the same thing at which -we are indignant when it is said before a crowd, and we do not allow -others the privilege of saying what we ourselves are wont to say -about ourselves; we are amused at decorous jests, but are angry if -they are carried too far.” - -XVII. Chrysippus says that a man was enraged because some one called -him a sea-sheep; we have seen Fidus Cornelius, the son-in-law of -Ovidius Naso, weeping in the Senate-house because Corbulo called -him a plucked ostrich; his command of his countenance did not fail -him at other abusive charges, which damaged his character and way -of life; at this ridiculous saying he burst into tears. So deplorable -is the weakness of men’s minds when reason no longer guides them. -What of our taking offence if any one imitates our talk, our walk, -or apes any defect of our person or our pronunciation? as if they -would become more notorious by another’s imitation than by our doing -them ourselves. Some are unwilling to hear about their age and grey -hairs, and all the rest of what men pray to arrive at. The reproach -of poverty agonizes some men, and whoever conceals it makes it a -reproach to himself; and therefore if you of your own accord are -the first to acknowledge it, you cut the ground from under the feet -of those who would sneer and politely insult you; no one is laughed -at who begins by laughing at himself. Tradition tells us that -Vatinius, a man born both to be laughed at and hated, was a witty -and clever jester. He made many jokes about his feet and his short -neck, and thus escaped the sarcasms of Cicero above all, and of his -other enemies, of whom he had more than he had diseases. If he, who -through constant abuse had forgotten how to blush, could do this -by sheer brazenness, why should not he who has made some progress -in the education of a gentleman and the study of philosophy? Besides, -it is a sort of revenge to spoil a man’s {44} enjoyment of the -insult he has offered to us; such men say, “Dear me, I suppose he -did not understand it.” Thus the success of an insult lies in the -sensitiveness and rage of the victim; hereafter the insulter will -sometimes meet his match; some one will be found to revenge you -also. - -XVIII. Gaius Caesar, among the other vices with which he overflowed, -was possessed by a strange insolent passion for marking every one -with some note of ridicule, he himself being the most tempting -subject for derision; so ugly was the paleness which proved him -mad, so savage the glare of the eyes which lurked under his old -woman’s brow, so hideous his misshapen head, bald and dotted about -with a few cherished hairs; besides the neck set thick with bristles, -his thin legs, his monstrous feet. It would be endless were I to -mention all the insults which he heaped upon his parents and -ancestors, and people of every class of life. I will mention those -which brought him to ruin. An especial friend of his was Asiaticus -Valerius, a proud-spirited man and one hardly likely to put up with -another’s insults quietly. At a drinking bout, that is, a public -assembly, Gaius, at the top of his voice, reproached this man with -the way his wife behaved in bed. Good gods! that a man should hear -that the emperor knew this, and that he, the emperor, should describe -his adultery and his disappointment to the lady’s husband, I do not -say to a man of consular rank and his own friend. Chaerea, on the -other hand, the military tribune, had a voice not befitting his -prowess, feeble in sound, and somewhat suspicious unless you knew -his achievements. When he asked for the watchword Gaius at one time -gave him “Venus,” and at another “Priapus,” and by various means -reproached the man-at-arms with effeminate vice; while he himself -was dressed in transparent clothes, wearing sandals and jewellery. -Thus he forced him to use his sword, that he might not have to ask -for the watchword oftener; it was Chaerea who {45} first of all the -conspirators raised his hand, who cut through the middle of Caligula’s -neck with one blow. After that, many swords, belonging to men who -had public or private injuries to avenge, were thrust into his body, -but he first showed himself a man who seemed least like one. The -same Gaius construed everything as an insult (since those who are -most eager to offer affronts are least able to endure them). He was -angry with Herennius Macer for having greeted him as Gaius—nor did -the chief centurion of triarii get off scot-free for having saluted -him as Caligula; having been born in the camp and brought up as the -child of the legions, he had been wont to be called by this name, -nor was there any by which he was better known to the troops, but -by this time he held “Caligula” to be a reproach and a dishonour. -Let wounded spirits, then, console themselves with this reflexion, -that, even though our easy temper may have neglected to revenge -itself, nevertheless that there will be some one who will punish -the impertinent, proud, and insulting man, for these are vices which -he never confines to one victim or one single offensive act. Let -us look at the examples of those men whose endurance we admire, as, -for instance, that of Socrates, who took in good part the published -and acted jibes of the comedians upon himself, and laughed no less -than he did when he was drenched with dirty water by his wife -Xanthippe. Antisthenes was reproached with his mother being a -barbarian and a Thracian; he answered that the mother of the gods, -too, came from Mount Ida. - -XIX. We ought not to engage in quarrels and wrangling; we ought to -betake ourselves far away and to disregard everything of this kind -which thoughtless people do (indeed thoughtless people alone do -it), and to set equal value upon the honours and the reproaches of -the mob; we ought not to be hurt by the one or to be pleased by the -other. Otherwise we shall neglect many essential points, shall -desert our {46} duty both to the state and in private life through -excessive fear of insults or weariness of them, and sometimes we -shall even miss what would do us good, while tortured by this -womanish pain at hearing something not to our mind. Sometimes, too, -when enraged with powerful men we shall expose this failing by our -reckless freedom of speech; yet it is not freedom to suffer nothing—we -are mistaken—freedom consists in raising one’s mind superior to -injuries and becoming a person whose pleasures come from himself -alone, in separating oneself from external circumstances that one -may not have to lead a disturbed life in fear of the laughter and -tongues of all men; for if any man can offer an insult, who is there -who cannot? The wise man and the would-be wise man will apply -different remedies to this; for it is only those whose philosophical -education is incomplete, and who still guide themselves by public -opinion, who would suppose that they ought to spend their lives in -the midst of insults and injuries; yet all things happen in a more -endurable fashion to men who are prepared for them. The nobler a -man is by birth, by reputation, or by inheritance, the more bravely -he should bear himself, remembering that the tallest men stand in -the front rank in battle. As for insults, offensive language, marks -of disgrace, and such-like disfigurements, he ought to bear them -as he would bear the shouts of the enemy, and darts or stones flung -from a distance, which rattle upon his helmet without causing a -wound; while he should look upon injuries as wounds, some received -on his armour and others on his body, which, he endures without -falling or even leaving his place in the ranks. Even though you be -hard pressed and violently attacked by the enemy, still it is base -to give way; hold the post assigned to you by nature. You ask, what -this post is? it is that of being a man. The wise man has another -help, of the opposite kind to this; you are hard at work, while he -has already won the victory. Do not {47} quarrel with your own good -advantage, and, until you shall have made your way to the truth, -keep alive this hope in your minds, be willing to receive the news -of a better life, and encourage it by your admiration and your -prayers; it is to the interest of the commonwealth of mankind that -there should be some one who is unconquered, some one against whom -fortune has no power. - - -[1] Xerxes. - -[2] Scipio. - -[3] The Stoics. - -[4] Seneca here speaks of men wearing the toga as officials, -contrasted with the mass of Roman citizens, among whom the wearing -of the toga was already falling into disuse in the time of Augustus. -See Macrob., “Sat.,” vi. 5 extr., and Suetonius, “Life of Octavius,” -40, where the author mentions that Augustus used sarcastically to -apply the verse, Virg., ‘Aen.,’ i. 282, to the Romans of his day. - -[5] See note, “De Beneficiis,” vi. 33. - -[6] Gertz reads ‘decet emere venalia,’ ‘there is no harm in buying -what is for sale.’ - - - - -{48} - -THE THIRD BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO -NOVATUS. - -OF ANGER. - -Book I. - - -You have demanded of me, Novatus, that I should write how anger may -be soothed, and it appears to me that you are right in feeling -especial fear of this passion, which is above all others hideous -and wild: for the others have some alloy of peace and quiet, but -this consists wholly in action and the impulse of grief, raging -with an utterly inhuman lust for arms, blood and tortures, careless -of itself provided it hurts another, rushing upon the very point -of the sword, and greedy for revenge even when it drags the avenger -to ruin with itself. Some of the wisest of men have in consequence -of this called anger a short madness: for it is equally devoid of -self control, regardless of decorum, forgetful of kinship, obstinately -engrossed in whatever it begins to do, deaf to reason and advice, -excited by trifling causes, awkward at perceiving what is true and -just, and very like a falling rock which breaks itself to pieces -upon the very thing which it crushes. That you may know that they -whom anger possesses are not sane, look at their appearance; for -as there are distinct symptoms which mark madmen, such as a bold -and menacing air, a gloomy {49} brow, a stern face, a hurried walk, -restless hands, changed colour, quick and strongly-drawn breathing; -the signs of angry men, too, are the same: their eyes blaze and -sparkle, their whole face is a deep red with the blood which boils -up from the bottom of their heart, their lips quiver, their teeth -are set, their hair bristles and stands on end, their breath is -laboured and hissing; their joints crack as they twist them about, -they groan, bellow, and burst into scarcely intelligible talk, they -often clap their hands together and stamp on the ground with their -feet, and their whole body is highly-strung and plays those tricks -which mark a distraught mind, so as to furnish an ugly and shocking -picture of self-perversion and excitement. You cannot tell whether -this vice is more execrable or more disgusting. Other vices can be -concealed and cherished in secret; anger shows itself openly and -appears in the countenance, and the greater it is, the more plainly -it boils forth. Do you not see how in all animals certain signs -appear before they proceed to mischief, and how their entire bodies -put off their usual quiet appearance and stir up their ferocity? -Boars foam at the mouth and sharpen their teeth by rubbing them -against trees, bulls toss their horns in the air and scatter the -sand with blows of their feet, lions growl, the necks of enraged -snakes swell, mad dogs have a sullen look—there is no animal so -hateful and venomous by nature that it does not, when seized by -anger, show additional fierceness. I know well that the other -passions, can hardly be concealed, and that lust, fear, and boldness -give signs of their presence and may be discovered beforehand, for -there is no one of the stronger passions that does not affect the -countenance: what then is the difference between them and anger? -Why, that the other passions are visible, but that this is conspicuous. - -II. Next, if you choose to view its results and the mischief that -it does, no plague has cost the human race {50} more dear: you will -see slaughterings and poisonings, accusations and counter-accusations, -sacking of cities, ruin of whole peoples, the persons of princes -sold into slavery by auction, torches applied to roofs, and fires -not merely confined within city-walls but making whole tracts of -country glow with hostile flame. See the foundations of the most -celebrated cities hardly now to be discerned; they were ruined by -anger. See deserts extending for many miles without an inhabitant: -they have been desolated by anger. See all the chiefs whom tradition -mentions as instances of ill fate; anger stabbed one of them in his -bed, struck down another, though he was protected by the sacred -rights of hospitality, tore another to pieces in the very home of -the laws and in sight of the crowded forum, bade one shed his own -blood by the parricide hand of his son, another to have his royal -throat cut by the hand of a slave, another to stretch out his limbs -on the cross: and hitherto I am speaking merely of individual cases. -What, if you were to pass from the consideration of those single -men against whom anger has broken out to view whole assemblies cut -down by the sword, the people butchered by the soldiery let loose -upon it, and whole nations condemned to death in one common ruin . -. . .[1] as though by {51} men who either freed themselves from our -charge or despised our authority? Why, wherefore is the people angry -with gladiators, and so unjust as to think itself wronged if they -do not die cheerfully? It thinks itself scorned, and by looks, -gestures, and excitement turns itself from a mere spectator into -an adversary. Everything of this sort is not anger, but the semblance -of anger, like that of boys who want to beat the ground when they -have fallen upon it, and who often do not even know why they are -angry, but are merely angry without any reason or having received -any injury, yet not without some semblance of injury received, or -without some wish to exact a penalty for it. Thus they are deceived -by the likeness of blows, and are appeased by the pretended tears -of those who deprecate their wrath, and thus an unreal grief is -healed by an unreal revenge. - -III. “We often are angry,” says our adversary, “not with men who -have hurt us, but with men who are going to hurt us: so you may be -sure that anger is not born of injury.” It is true that we are angry -with those who are going to hurt us, but they do already hurt us -in intention, and one who is going to do an injury is already doing -it. “The weakest of men,” argues he, “are often angry with the most -powerful: so you may be sure that anger is not a desire to punish -their antagonist—for men do not desire to punish him when they -cannot hope to do so.” In the first place, I spoke of a desire to -inflict punishment, not a power to do so: now men desire even what -they cannot obtain. In the next place, no one is so low in station -as not to be able to hope to inflict punishment even upon the -greatest of men: we all are powerful for mischief. {52} Aristotle’s -definition differs little from mine: for he declares anger to be a -desire to repay suffering. It would be a long task to examine the -differences between his definition and mine: it may be urged against -both of them that wild beasts become angry without being excited -by injury, and without any idea of punishing others or requiting -them with pain: for, even though they do these things, these are -not what they aim at doing. We must admit, however, that neither -wild beasts nor any other creature except man is subject to anger: -for, whilst anger is the foe of reason, it nevertheless does not -arise in any place where reason cannot dwell. Wild beasts have -impulses, fury, cruelty, combativeness: they have not anger any -more than they have luxury: yet they indulge in some pleasures with -less self-control than human beings. Do not believe the poet who -says: - - “The boar his wrath forgets, the stag forgets the hounds. The - bear forgets how ’midst the herd he leaped with frantic bounds.”[2] - -When he speaks of beasts being angry he means that they are excited, -roused up: for indeed they know no more how to be angry than they -know how to pardon. Dumb creatures have not human feelings, but -have certain impulses which resemble them: for if it were not so, -if they could feel love and hate, they would likewise be capable -of friendship and enmity, of disagreement and agreement. Some traces -of these qualities exist even in them, though properly all of them, -whether good or bad, belong to the human breast alone. To no creature -besides man has been given wisdom, foresight, industry, and reflexion. -To animals not only human virtues but even human vices are forbidden: -their whole constitution, mental and bodily, is unlike that of human -beings: in them the royal[3] and {53} leading principle is drawn -from another source, as, for instance, they possess a voice, yet -not a clear one, but indistinct and incapable of forming words: a -tongue, but one which is fettered and not sufficiently nimble for -complex movements: so, too, they possess intellect, the greatest -attribute of all, but in a rough and inexact condition. It is, -consequently, able to grasp those visions and semblances which rouse -it to action, but only in a cloudy and indistinct fashion. It follows -from this that their impulses and outbreaks are violent, and that -they do not feel fear, anxieties, grief, or anger, but some semblances -of these feelings: wherefore they quickly drop them and adopt the -converse of them: they graze after showing the most vehement rage -and terror, and after frantic bellowing and plunging they straightway -sink into quiet sleep. - -IV. What anger is has been sufficiently explained. The difference -between it and irascibility is evident: it is the same as that -between a drunken man and a drunkard; between a frightened man and -a coward. It is possible for an angry man not to be irascible; an -irascible man may sometimes not be angry. I shall omit the other -varieties of anger, which the Greeks distinguish by various names, -because we have no distinctive words for them in our language, -although we call men bitter, and harsh, and also peevish, frantic, -clamorous, surly, and fierce: all of which are different forms of -irascibility. Among these you may class sulkiness, a refined form -of irascibility; for there are some sorts of anger which go no -further than noise, while some are as lasting as they are common: -some are fierce in deed, but inclined to be sparing of words: some -expend themselves in bitter words and curses: some do not go beyond -complaining and turning one’s back: some are great, deep-seated, -and brood within a man: there are a thousand other forms of a -multiform evil. - -V. We have now finished our enquiry as to what anger {54} is, whether -it exists in any other creature besides man, what the difference -is between it and irascibility, and how many forms it possesses. -Let us now enquire whether anger be in accordance with nature, and -whether it be useful and worth entertaining in some measure. - -Whether it be according to nature will become evident if we consider -man’s nature, than which what is more gentle while it is in its -proper condition? Yet what is more cruel than anger? What is more -affectionate to others than man? Yet what is more savage against -them than anger? Mankind is born for mutual assistance, anger for -mutual ruin: the former loves society, the latter estrangement. The -one loves to do good, the other to do harm; the one to help even -strangers, the other to attack even its dearest friends. The one -is ready even to sacrifice itself for the good of others, the other -to plunge into peril provided it drags others with it. Who, then, -can be more ignorant of nature than he who classes this cruel and -hurtful vice as belonging to her best and most polished work? Anger, -as we have said, is eager to punish; and that such a desire should -exist in man’s peaceful breast is least of all according to his -nature; for human life is founded on benefits and harmony, and is -bound together into an alliance for the common help of all, not by -terror, but by love towards one another. - -VI. “What, then? Is not correction sometimes necessary?” Of course -it is; but with discretion, not with anger; for it does not injure, -but heals under the guise of injury. We char crooked spearshafts -to straighten them, and force them by driving in wedges, not in -order to break them, but to take the bends out of them; and, in -like manner, by applying pain to the body or mind we correct -dispositions which have been rendered crooked by vice. So the -physician at first, when dealing with slight disorders, tries not -to make much change in his patient’s daily habits, to regulate {55} -his food, drink, and exercise, and to improve his health merely by -altering the order in which he takes them. The next step is to see -whether an alteration in their amount will be of service. If neither -alteration of the order or of the amount is of use, he cuts off -some and reduces others. If even this does not answer, he forbids -food, and disburdens the body by fasting. If milder remedies have -proved useless he opens a vein; if the extremities are injuring the -body and infecting it with disease he lays his hands upon the limbs; -yet none of his treatment is considered harsh if its result is to -give health. Similarly, it is the duty of the chief administrator -of the laws, or the ruler of a state, to correct ill-disposed men, -as long as he is able, with words, and even with gentle ones, that -he may persuade them to do what they ought, inspire them with a -love of honour and justice, and cause them to hate vice and set -store upon virtue. He must then pass on to severer language, still -confining himself to advising and reprimanding; last of all he must -betake himself to punishments, yet still making them slight and -temporary. He ought to assign extreme punishments only to extreme -crimes, that no one may die unless it be even to the criminal’s own -advantage that he should die. He will differ from the physician in -one point alone; for whereas physicians render it easy to die for -those to whom they cannot grant the boon of life, he will drive the -condemned out of life with ignominy and disgrace, not because he -takes pleasure in any man’s being punished, for the wise man is far -from such inhuman ferocity, but that they may be a warning to all -men, and that, since they would not be useful when alive, the state -may at any rate profit by their death. Man’s nature is not, therefore, -desirous of inflicting punishment; neither, therefore, is anger in -accordance with man’s nature, because that is desirous of inflicting -punishment. I will also adduce Plato’s argument—for what harm is -there in using {56} other men’s arguments, so far as they are on -our side? “A good man,” says he, “does not do any hurt: it is only -punishment which hurts. Punishment, therefore, does not accord with -a good man: wherefore anger does not do so either, because punishment -and anger accord one with another. If a good man takes no pleasure -in punishment, he will also take no pleasure in that state of mind -to which punishment gives pleasure: consequently anger is not natural -to man.” - -VII. May it not be that, although anger be not natural, it may be -right to adopt it, because it often proves useful? It rouses the -spirit and excites it; and courage does nothing grand in war without -it, unless its flame be supplied from this source; this is the goad -which stirs up bold men and sends them to encounter perils. Some -therefore consider it to be best to control anger, not to banish -it utterly, but to cut off its extravagances, and force it to keep -within useful bounds, so as to retain that part of it without which -action will become languid and all strength and activity of mind -will die away. - -In the first place, it is easier to banish dangerous passions than -to rule them; it is easier not to admit them than to keep them in -order when admitted; for when they have established themselves in -possession of the mind they are more powerful than the lawful ruler, -and will in no wise permit themselves to be weakened or abridged. -In the next place, Reason herself, who holds the reins, is only -strong while she remains apart from the passions; if she mixes and -befouls herself with them she becomes no longer able to restrain -those whom she might once have cleared out of her path; for the -mind, when once excited and shaken up, goes whither the passions -drive it. There are certain things whose beginnings lie in our own -power, but which, when developed, drag us along by their own force -and leave us no retreat. Those who have flung themselves over a -precipice {57} have no control over their movements, nor can they -stop or slacken their pace when once started, for their own headlong -and irremediable rashness has left no room for either reflexion or -remorse, and they cannot help going to lengths which they might -have avoided. So, also, the mind, when it has abandoned itself to -anger, love, or any other passion, is unable to check itself: its -own weight and the downward tendency of vices must needs carry the -man off and hurl him into the lowest depth. - -VIII. The best plan is to reject straightway the first incentives -to anger, to resist its very beginnings, and to take care not to -be betrayed into it: for if once it begins to carry us away, it is -hard to get back again into a healthy condition, because reason -goes for nothing when once passion has been admitted to the mind, -and has by our own free will been given a certain authority, it -will for the future do as much as it chooses, not only as much as -you will allow it. The enemy, I repeat, must be met and driven back -at the outermost frontier-line: for when he has once entered the -city and passed its gates, he will not allow his prisoners to set -bounds to his victory. The mind does not stand apart and view its -passions from without, so as not to permit them to advance further -than they ought, but it is itself changed into a passion, and is -therefore unable to check what once was useful and wholesome strength, -now that it has become degenerate and misapplied: for passion and -reason, as I said before, have not distinct and separate provinces, -but consist of the changes of the mind itself for better or for -worse. How then can reason recover itself when it is conquered and -held down by vices, when it has given way to anger? or how can it -extricate itself from a confused mixture, the greater part of which -consists of the lower qualities? “But,” argues our adversary, “some -men when in anger control themselves.” Do they so far control -themselves that they do nothing which anger dictates, or some {58} -what? If they do nothing thereof, it becomes evident that anger is -not essential to the conduct of affairs, although your sect advocated -it as possessing greater strength than reason . . . . Finally, I -ask, is anger stronger or weaker than reason? If stronger, how can -reason impose any check upon it, since it is only the less powerful -that obey: if weaker, then reason is competent to effect its ends -without anger, and does not need the help of a less powerful quality. -“But some angry men remain consistent and control themselves.” When -do they do so? It is when their anger is disappearing and leaving -them of its own accord, not when it was red-hot, for then it was -more powerful than they. What then? do not men, even in the height -of their anger, sometimes let their enemies go whole and unhurt, -and refrain from injuring them? “They do: but when do they do so? -It is when one passion overpowers another, and either fear or greed -gets the upper hand for a while. On such occasions, it is not thanks -to reason that anger is stilled, but owing to an untrustworthy and -fleeting truce between the passions. - -IX. In the next place, anger has nothing useful in itself, and does -not rouse up the mind to warlike deeds: for a virtue, being -self-sufficient, never needs the assistance of a vice: whenever it -needs an impetuous effort, it does not become angry, but rises to -the occasion, and excites or soothes itself as far as it deems -requisite, just as the machines which hurl darts may be twisted to -a greater or lesser degree of tension at the manager’s pleasure. -“Anger,” says Aristotle, “is necessary, nor can any fight be won -without it, unless it fills the mind, and kindles up the spirit. -It must, however, be made use of, not as a general, but as a soldier,” -Now this is untrue; for if it listens to reason and follows whither -reason leads, it is no longer anger, whose characteristic is -obstinacy: if, again, it is disobedient and will not be quiet when -ordered, but is carried away by its own {59} wilful and headstrong -spirit, it is then as useless an aid to the mind as a soldier who -disregards the sounding of the retreat would be to a general. If, -therefore, anger allows limits to be imposed upon it, it must be -called by some other name, and ceases to be anger, which I understand -to be unbridled and unmanageable: and if it does not allow limits -to be imposed upon it, it is harmful and not to be counted among -aids: wherefore either anger is not anger, or it is useless: for -if any man demands the infliction of punishment, not because he is -eager for the punishment itself, but because it is right to inflict -it, he ought not to be counted as an angry man: that will be the -useful soldier, who knows how to obey orders: the passions cannot -obey any more than they can command. - -X. For this cause reason will never call to its aid blind and fierce -impulses, over whom she herself possesses no authority, and which -she never can restrain save by setting against them similar and -equally powerful passions, as for example, fear against anger, anger -against sloth, greed against timidity. May virtue never come to -such a pass, that reason should fly for aid to vices! The mind can -find no safe repose there, it must needs be shaken and tempest-tossed -if it be safe only because of its own defects, if it cannot be brave -without anger, diligent without greed, quiet without fear: such is -the despotism under which a man must live if he becomes the slave -of a passion. Are you not ashamed to put virtues under the patronage -of vices? Then, too, reason ceases to have any power if she can do -nothing without passion, and begins to be equal and like unto -passion; for what difference is there between them if passion without -reason be as rash as reason without passion is helpless? They are -both on the same level, if one cannot exist without the other. Yet -who could endure that passion should be made equal to reason? “Then,” -says our adversary, “passion is useful, provided it be moderate.” -{60} Nay, only if it be useful by nature: but if it be disobedient -to authority and reason, al that we gain by its moderation is that -the less there is of it, the less harm it does: wherefore a moderate -passion is nothing but a moderate evil. - -XI. “But,” argues he, “against our enemies anger is necessary.” In -no case is it less necessary; since our attacks ought not to be -disorderly, but regulated and under control. What, indeed, is it -except anger, so ruinous to itself, that overthrows barbarians, who -have so much more bodily strength than we, and are so much better -able to endure fatigue? Gladiators, too, protect themselves by -skill, but expose themselves to wounds when they are angry. Moreover, -of what use is anger, when the same end can be arrived at by reason? -Do you suppose that a hunter is angry with the beasts he kills? Yet -he meets them when they attack him, and follows them when they flee -from him, all of which is managed by reason without anger. When so -many thousands of Cimbri and Teutones poured over the Alps, what -was it that caused them to perish so completely, that no messenger, -only common rumour, carried the news of that great defeat to their -homes, except that with them anger stood in the place of courage? -and anger, although sometimes it overthrows and breaks to pieces -whatever it meets, yet is more often its own destruction. Who can -be braver than the Germans? who charge more boldly? who have more -love of arms, among which they are born and bred, for which alone -they care, to the neglect of everything else? Who can be more -hardened to undergo every hardship, since a large part of them have -no store of clothing for the body, no shelter from the continual -rigour of the climate: yet Spaniards and Gauls, and even the unwarlike -races of Asia and Syria cut them down before the main legion comes -within sight, nothing but their own irascibility exposing them to -death. Give but intelligence to those {61} minds, and discipline -to those bodies of theirs, which now are ignorant of vicious -refinements, luxury, and wealth,—to say nothing more, we should -certainly be obliged to go back to the ancient Roman habits of life. -By what did Fabius restore the shattered forces of the state, except -by knowing how to delay and spin out time, which angry men know not -how to do? The empire, which then was at its last gasp, would have -perished if Fabius had been as daring as anger urged him to be: but -he took thought about the condition of affairs, and after counting -his force, no part of which could be lost without everything being -lost with it, he laid aside thoughts of grief and revenge, turning -his sole attention to what was profitable and to making the most -of his opportunities, and conquered his anger before he conquered -Hannibal. What did Scipio do? Did he not leave behind Hannibal and -the Carthaginian army, and all with whom he had a right to be angry, -and carry over the war into Africa with such deliberation that he -made his enemies think him luxurious and lazy? What did the second -Scipio do? Did he not remain a long, long time before Numantia, and -bear with calmness the reproach to himself and to his country that -Numantia took longer to conquer than Carthage? By blockading and -investing his enemies, he brought them to such straits that they -perished by their own swords. Anger, therefore, is not useful even -in wars or battles: for it is prone to rashness, and while trying -to bring others into danger, does not guard itself against danger. -The most trustworthy virtue is that which long and carefully considers -itself, controls itself, and slowly and deliberately brings itself -to the front. - -XII. “What, then,” asks our adversary, “is a good man not to be -angry if he sees his father murdered or his mother outraged?” No, -he will not be angry, but will avenge them, or protect them. Why -do you fear that {62} filial piety will not prove a sufficient spur -to him even without anger? You may as well say—“What then? When a -good man sees his father or his son being cut down, I suppose he -will not weep or faint,” as we see women do whenever any trifling -rumour of danger reaches them. The good man will do his duty without -disturbance or fear, and he will perform the duty of a good man, -so as to do nothing unworthy of a man. My father will be murdered: -then I will defend him: he has been slain, then I will avenge him, -not because I am grieved, but because it is my duty. “Good men are -made angry by injuries done to their friends.” When you say this, -Theophrastus, you seek to throw discredit upon more manly maxims; -you leave the judge and appeal to the mob: because every one is -angry when such things befall his own friends, you suppose that men -will decide that it is their duty to do what they do: for as a rule -every man considers a passion which he recognises to be a righteous -one. But he does the same thing if the hot water is not ready for -his drink, if a glass be broken, or his shoe splashed with mud. It -is not filial piety, but weakness of mind that produces this anger, -as children weep when they lose their parents, just as they do when -they lose their toys. To feel anger on behalf of one’s friends does -not show a loving, but a weak mind: it is admirable and worthy -conduct to stand forth as the defender of one’s parents, children, -friends, and countrymen, at the call of duty itself, acting of one’s -own free will, forming a deliberate judgment, and looking forward -to the future, not in an impulsive, frenzied fashion. No passion -is more eager for revenge than anger, and for that very reason it -is unapt to obtain it: being over hasty and frantic, like almost -all desires, it hinders itself in the attainment of its own object, -and therefore has never been useful either in peace or war: for it -makes peace like war, and when in arms forgets that Mars belongs -{63} to neither side, and falls into the power of the enemy, because -it is not in its own. In the next place, vices ought not to be -received into common use because on some occasions they have effected -somewhat: for so also fevers are good for certain kinds of ill-health, -but nevertheless it is better to be altogether free from them: it -is a hateful mode of cure to owe one’s health to disease. Similarly, -although anger, like poison, or falling headlong, or being shipwrecked, -may have unexpectedly done good, yet it ought not on that account -to be classed as wholesome, for poisons have often proved good for -the health. - -XIII. Moreover, qualities which we ought to possess become better -and more desirable the more extensive they are: if justice is a -good thing, no one will say that it would be better if any part -were subtracted from it; if bravery is a good thing, no one would -wish it to be in any way curtailed: consequently the greater anger -is, the better it is, for who ever objected to a good thing being -increased? But it is not expedient that anger should be increased: -therefore it is not expedient that it should exist at all, for that -which grows bad by increase cannot be a good thing. “Anger is -useful,” says our adversary, “because it makes men more ready to -fight.” According to that mode of reasoning, then, drunkenness also -is a good thing, for it makes men insolent and daring, and many use -their weapons better when the worse for liquor: nay, according to -that reasoning, also, you may call frenzy and madness essential to -strength, because madness often makes men stronger. Why, does not -fear often by the rule of contraries make men bolder, and does not -the terror of death rouse up even arrant cowards to join battle? -Yet anger, drunkenness, fear, and the like, are base and temporary -incitements to action, and can furnish no arms to virtue, which has -no need of vices, although they may at times be of some little -assistance to sluggish and cowardly minds. {64} No man becomes -braver through anger, except one who without anger would not have -been brave at all: anger does not therefore come to assist courage, -but to take its place. What are we to say to the argument that, if -anger were a good thing it would attach itself to all the best men? -Yet the most irascible of creatures are infants, old men, and sick -people. Every weakling is naturally prone to complaint. - -XIV. It is impossible, says Theophrastus, for a good man not to be -angry with bad men. By this reasoning, the better a man is, the -more irascible he will be: yet will he not rather be more tranquil, -more free from passions, and hating no one: indeed, what reason has -he for hating sinners, since it is error that leads them into such -crimes? now it does not become a sensible man to hate the erring, -since if so he will hate himself: let him think how many things he -does contrary to good morals, how much of what he has done stands -in need of pardon, and he will soon become angry with himself also, -for no righteous judge pronounces a different judgment in his own -case and in that of others. No one, I affirm, will be found who can -acquit himself. Every one when he calls himself innocent looks -rather to external witnesses than to his own conscience. How much -more philanthropic it is to deal with the erring in a gentle and -fatherly spirit, and to call them into the right course instead of -hunting them down? When a man is wandering about our fields because -he has lost his way, it is better to place him on the right path -than to drive him away. - -XV. The sinner ought, therefore, to be corrected both by warning -and by force, both by gentle and harsh means, and may be made a -better man both towards himself and others by chastisement, but not -by anger: for who is angry with the patient whose wounds he is -tending? “But they cannot be corrected, and there is nothing in -them that is {65} gentle or that admits of good hope.” Then let -them be removed from mortal society, if they are likely to deprave -every one with whom they come in contact, and let them cease to be -bad men in the only way in which they can: yet let this be done -without hatred: for what reason have I for hating the man to whom -I am doing the greatest good, since I am rescuing him from himself? -Does a man hate his own limbs when he cuts them off? That is not -an act of anger, but a lamentable method of healing. We knock mad -dogs on the head, we slaughter fierce and savage bulls, and we doom -scabby sheep to the knife, lest they should infect our flocks: we -destroy monstrous births, and we also drown our children if they -are born weakly or unnaturally formed; to separate what is useless -from what is sound is an act, not of anger, but of reason. Nothing -becomes one who inflicts punishment less than anger, because the -punishment has all the more power to work reformation if the sentence -be pronounced with deliberate judgment. This is why Socrates said -to the slave, “I would strike you, were I not angry.” He put off -the correction of the slave to a calmer season; at the moment, he -corrected himself. Who can boast that he has his passions, under -control, when Socrates did not dare to trust himself to his anger? - -XVI. We do not, therefore, need an angry chastiser to punish the -erring and wicked: for since anger is a crime of the mind, it is -not right that sins should be punished by sin. “What! am I not to -be angry with a robber, or a poisoner?” No: for I am not angry with -myself when I bleed myself. I apply all kinds of punishment as -remedies. You are as yet only in the first stage of error, and do -not go wrong seriously, although you do so often: then I will try -to amend you by a reprimand given first in private and then in -public.[4] You, again, have gone {66} too far to be restored to -virtue by words alone; you must be kept in order by disgrace. For -the next, some stronger measure is required, something that he can -feel must be branded upon him; you, sir, shall be sent into exile -and to a desert place. The next man’s thorough villany needs harsher -remedies: chains and public imprisonment must be applied to him. -You, lastly, have an incurably vicious mind, and add crime to crime: -you have come to such a pass, that you are not influenced by the -arguments which are never wanting to recommend evil, but sin itself -is to you a sufficient reason for sinning: you have so steeped your -whole heart in wickedness, that wickedness cannot be taken from you -without bringing your heart with it. Wretched man! you have long -sought to die; we will do you good service, we will take away that -madness from which you suffer, and to you who have so long lived a -misery to yourself and to others, we will give the only good thing -which remains, that is, death. Why should I be angry with a man -just when I am doing him good: sometimes the truest form of compassion -is to put a man to death. If I were a skilled and learned physician, -and were to enter a hospital, or a rich[5] man’s house, I should -not have prescribed the same treatment for all the patients who -were suffering from various diseases. I see different kinds of vice -in the vast number of different minds, and am called in to heal the -whole body of citizens: let us seek for the remedies proper for -each disease. This man may be cured by his own sense of honour, -that one by travel, that one by pain, that one by want, that one -by the sword. If, therefore, it becomes my duty as a magistrate to -put on black[6] robes, and summon an assembly by the sound of a -{67} trumpet,[7] I shall walk to the seat of judgment not in a rage -or in a hostile spirit, but with the countenance of a judge; I shall -pronounce the formal sentence in a grave and gentle rather than a -furious voice, and shall bid them proceed {68} sternly, yet not -angrily. Even when I command a criminal to be beheaded, when I sew -a parricide up in a sack, when I send a man to be punished by -military law, when I fling a traitor or public enemy down the -Tarpeian Rock, I shall be free from anger, and shall look and feel -just as though I were crushing snakes and other venomous creatures. -“Anger is necessary to enable us to punish.” What? do you think -that the law is angry with men whom it does not know, whom it has -never seen, who it hopes will never exist? We ought, therefore, to -adopt the law’s frame of mind, which does not become angry, but -merely defines offences: for, if it is right for a good man to be -angry at wicked crimes, it will also be right for him to be moved -with envy at the prosperity of wicked men: what, indeed, is more -scandalous than that in some cases the very men, for whose deserts -no fortune could be found bad enough, should flourish and actually -be the spoiled children of success? Yet he will see their affluence -without envy, just as he sees their crimes without anger: a good -judge condemns wrongful acts, but does not hate them. “What then? -when the wise man is dealing with something of this kind, will his -mind not be affected by it and become excited beyond its usual -wont?” I admit that it will: he will experience a slight and trifling -emotion; for, as Zeno says, “Even in the mind of the wise man, a -scar remains after the wound is quite healed.” He will, therefore, -feel certain hints and semblances of passions; but he will be free -from the passions themselves. - -XVII. Aristotle says that “certain passions, if one makes a proper -use of them, act as arms”: which would be true if, like weapons of -war, they could be taken up or laid aside at the pleasure of their -wielder. These arms, which Aristotle assigns to virtue, fight of -their own accord, do not wait to be seized by the hand, and possess -a man instead of being possessed by him. We have no need of {69} -external weapons, nature has equipped us sufficiently by giving us -reason. She has bestowed this weapon upon us, which is strong, -imperishable, and obedient to our will, not uncertain or capable -of being turned against its master. Reason suffices by itself not -merely to take thought for the future, but to manage our affairs:[8] -what, then, can be more foolish than for reason to beg anger for -protection, that is, for what is certain to beg of what is uncertain? -what is trustworthy of what is faithless? what is whole of what is -sick? What, indeed? since reason is far more powerful by itself -even in performing those operations in which the help of anger seems -especially needful: for when reason has decided that a particular -thing should be done, she perseveres in doing it; not being able -to find anything better than herself to exchange with. She, therefore, -abides by her purpose when it has once been formed; whereas anger -is often overcome by pity: for it possesses no firm strength, but -merely swells like an empty bladder, and makes a violent beginning, -just like the winds which rise from the earth and are caused by -rivers and marshes, which blow furiously without any continuance: -anger begins with a mighty rush, and then falls away, becoming -fatigued too soon: that which but lately thought of nothing but -cruelty and novel forms of torture, is become quite softened and -gentle when the time comes for punishment to be inflicted. Passion -soon cools, whereas reason is always consistent: yet even in cases -where anger has continued to burn, it often happens that although -there may be many who deserve to die, yet after the death of two -or three it ceases to slay. Its first onset is fierce, just as the -teeth of snakes when first roused from their lair are venomous, but -become harmless after repeated bites have exhausted their poison. -Consequently those who are {70} equally guilty are not equally -punished, and often he who has done less is punished more, because -he fell in the way of anger when it was fresher. It is altogether -irregular; at one time it runs into undue excess, at another it -falls short of its duty: for it indulges its own feelings and gives -sentence according to its caprices, will not listen to evidence, -allows the defence no opportunity of being heard, clings to what -it has wrongly assumed, and will not suffer its opinion to be wrested -from it, even when it is a mistaken one. - -XVIII. Reason gives each side time to plead; moreover, she herself -demands adjournment, that she may have sufficient scope for the -discovery of the truth; whereas anger is in a hurry: reason wishes -to give a just decision; anger wishes its decision to be thought -just: reason looks no further than the matter in hand; anger is -excited by empty matters hovering on the outskirts of the case: it -is irritated by anything approaching to a confident demeanour, a -loud voice, an unrestrained speech, dainty apparel, high-flown -pleading, or popularity with the public. It often condemns a man -because it dislikes his patron; it loves and maintains error even -when truth is staring it in the face. It hates to be proved wrong, -and thinks it more honourable to persevere in a mistaken line of -conduct than to retract it. I remember Gnaeus Piso, a man who was -free from many vices, yet of a perverse disposition, and one who -mistook harshness for consistency. In his anger he ordered a soldier -to be led off to execution because he had returned from furlough -without his comrade, as though he must have murdered him if he could -not show him. When the man asked for time for search, he would not -grant it: the condemned man was brought outside the rampart, and -was just offering his neck to the axe, when suddenly there appeared -his comrade who was thought to be slain. Hereupon the centurion in -charge of the execution bade the guardsman sheathe his sword, and -led the condemned {71} man back to Piso, to restore to him the -innocence which Fortune had restored to the soldier. They were led -into his presence by their fellow soldiers amid the great joy of -the whole camp, embracing one another and accompanied by a vast -crowd. Piso mounted the tribunal in a fury and ordered them both -to be executed, both him who had not murdered and him who had not -been slain. What could be more unworthy than this? Because one was -proved to be innocent, two perished. Piso even added a third: for -he actually ordered the centurion, who had brought back the condemned -man, to be put to death. Three men were set up to die in the same -place because one was innocent. O, how clever is anger at inventing -reasons for its frenzy! “You,” it says, “I order to be executed, -because you have been condemned to death: you, because you have -been the cause of your comrade’s condemnation, and you, because -when ordered to put him to death you disobeyed your general.” He -discovered the means of charging them with three crimes, because -he could find no crime in them. - -XIX. Irascibility, I say, has this fault—it is loth to be ruled: -it is angry with the truth itself, if it comes to light against its -will: it assails those whom it has marked for its victims with -shouting and riotous noise and gesticulation of the entire body, -together with reproaches and curses. Not thus does reason act: but -if it must be so, she silently and quietly wipes out whole households, -destroys entire families of the enemies of the state, together with -their wives and children, throws down their very dwellings, levels -them with the ground, and roots out the names of those who are the -foes of liberty. This she does without grinding her teeth or shaking -her head, or doing anything unbecoming to a judge, whose countenance -ought to be especially calm and composed at the time when he is -pronouncing an important sentence. “What need is there,” asks -Hieronymus, “for you to bite your own lips when you want to strike -some one?” What {72} would he have said, had he seen a proconsul -leap down from the tribunal, snatch the fasces from the lictor, and -tear his own clothes because those of others were not torn as fast -as he wished. Why need you upset the table, throw down the drinking -cups, knock yourself against the columns, tear your hair, smite -your thigh and your breast? How vehement do you suppose anger to -be, if it thus turns back upon itself, because it cannot find vent -on another as fast as it wishes? Such men, therefore, are held back -by the bystanders and are begged to become reconciled with themselves. -But he who while free from anger assigns to each man the penalty -which he deserves, does none of these things. He often lets a man -go after detecting his crime, if his penitence for what he has done -gives good hope for the future, if he perceives that the man’s -wickedness is not deeply rooted in his mind, but is only, as the -saying is, skin-deep. He will grant impunity in cases where it will -hurt neither the receiver nor the giver. In some cases he will -punish great crimes more leniently than lesser ones, if the former -were the result of momentary impulse, not of cruelty, while the -latter were instinct with secret, underhand, long-practised craftiness. -The same fault, committed by two separate men, will not be visited -by him with the same penalty, if the one was guilty of it through -carelessness, the other with a premeditated intention of doing -mischief. In all dealing with crime he will remember that the one -form of punishment is meant to make bad men better, and the other -to put them out of the way. In either case he will look to the -future, not to the past: for, as Plato says, “no wise man punishes -any one because he has sinned, but that he may sin no more: for -what is past cannot be recalled, but what is to come may be checked.” -Those, too, whom he wishes to make examples of the ill success of -wickedness, he executes publicly, not merely in order that they -themselves may die, but that by dying they {73} may deter others -from doing likewise. You see how free from any mental disturbance -a man ought to be who has to weigh and consider all this, when he -deals with a matter which ought to be handled with the utmost care, -I mean, the power of life and death. The sword of justice is -ill-placed in the hands of an angry man. - -XX. Neither ought it to be believed that anger contributes anything -to magnanimity: what it gives is not magnanimity but vain glory. -The increase which disease produces in bodies swollen with morbid -humours is not healthy growth, but bloated corpulence. All those -whose madness raises them above human considerations, believe -themselves to be inspired with high and sublime ideas; but there -is no solid ground beneath, and what is built without foundation -is liable to collapse in ruin. Anger has no ground to stand upon, -and does not rise from a firm and enduring foundation, but is a -windy, empty quality, as far removed from true magnanimity as -fool-hardiness from courage, boastfulness from confidence, gloom -from austerity, cruelty from strictness. There is, I say, a great -difference between a lofty and a proud mind: anger brings about -nothing grand or beautiful. On the other hand, to be constantly -irritated seems to me to be the part of a languid and unhappy mind, -conscious of its own feebleness, like folk with diseased bodies -covered with sores, who cry out at the lightest touch. Anger, -therefore, is a vice which for the most part affects women and -children. “Yet it affects men also.” Because many men, too, have -womanish or childish intellects. “But what are we to say? do not -some words fall from angry men which appear to flow from a great -mind?” Yes, to those who know not what true greatness is: as, for -example, that foul and hateful saying, “Let them hate me, provided -they fear me,” which you may be sure was written in Sulla’s time. -I know not which was the worse of the two things he wished {74} -for, that he might be hated or that he might be feared. It occurs -to his mind that some day people will curse him, plot against him, -crush him: what prayer does he add to this? May all the gods curse -him—for discovering a cure for hate so worthy of it. “Let them -hate.” How? “Provided they obey me?” No! “Provided they approve of -me?” No! How then? “Provided they fear me!” I would not even be -loved upon such terms. Do you imagine that this was a very spirited -saying? You are wrong: this is not greatness, but monstrosity. You -should not believe the words of angry men, whose speech is very -loud and menacing, while their mind within them is as timid as -possible: nor need you suppose that the most eloquent of men, Titus -Livius, was right in describing somebody as being “of a great rather -than a good disposition.” The things cannot be separated: he must -either be good or else he cannot be great, because I take greatness -of mind to mean that it is unshaken, sound throughout, firm and -uniform to its very foundation; such as cannot exist in evil -dispositions. Such dispositions may be terrible, frantic, and -destructive, but cannot possess greatness; because greatness rests -upon goodness, and owes its strength to it. “Yet by speech, action, -and all outward show they will make one think them great.” True, -they will say something which you may think shows a great spirit, -like Gaius Caesar, who when angry with heaven because it interfered -with his ballet-dancers, whom he imitated more carefully than he -attended to them when they acted, and because it frightened his -revels by its thunders, surely ill-directed,[9] challenged Jove to -fight, and that to the death, shouting the Homeric verse:— - - “Carry me off, or I will carry thee!” - -{75} How great was his madness! He must have believed either that -he could not be hurt even by Jupiter himself, or that he could hurt -even Jupiter itself. I imagine that this saying of his had no small -weight in nerving the minds of the conspirators for their task: for -it seemed to be the height of endurance to bear one who could not -bear Jupiter. - -XXI. There is therefore nothing great or noble in anger, even when -it seems to be powerful and to contemn both gods and men alike. Any -one who thinks that anger produces greatness of mind, would think -that luxury produces it: such a man wishes to rest on ivory, to be -clothed with purple, and roofed with gold; to remove lands, embank -seas, hasten the course of rivers, suspend woods in the air. He -would think that avarice shows greatness of mind: for the avaricious -man broods over heaps of gold and silver, treats whole provinces -as merely fields on his estate, and has larger tracts of country -under the charge of single bailiffs than those which consuls once -drew lots to administer. He would think that lust shows greatness -of mind: for the lustful man swims across straits, castrates troops -of boys, and puts himself within reach of the swords of injured -husbands with complete scorn of death. Ambition, too, he would think -shows greatness of mind: for the ambitious man is not content with -office once a year, but, if possible, would fill the calendar of -dignities with his name alone, and cover the whole world with his -titles. It matters nothing to what heights or lengths these passions -may proceed: they are narrow, pitiable, grovelling. Virtue alone -is lofty and sublime, nor is anything great which is not at the -same time tranquil. - - -[1] Here a leaf or more has been lost, including the fragment cited -in Lactantius, _De ira dei_, 17 “Ira est eupiditas,” &c. The entire -passage is:—“But the Stoics did not perceive that there is a -difference between right and wrong; that there is just and unjust -anger: and as they could find no remedy for it, they wished to -extirpate it. The Peripatetics, on the other hand, declared that -it ought not to be destroyed, but restrained. These I have sufficiently -answered in the sixth book of my ‘Institutiones.’ It is clear that -the philosophers did not comprehend the reason of anger, from the -definitions of it which Seneca has enumerated in the books ‘On -Anger’ which he has written. ‘Anger,’ he says, ‘is the desire of -avenging an injury.’ Others, as Posidonius says, call it ‘a desire -to punish one by whom you think that you have been unjustly injured,’ -Some have defined it thus, ‘Anger is an impulse of the mind to -injure him who either has injured you or has sought to injure you.’ -Aristotle’s definition differs but little from our own. He says, -‘that anger is a desire to repay suffering,’” etc. - -[2] Ovid, “Met.” vii. 545-6. - -[3] τὸ ἡγεμονικὸν of the Stoics. - -[4] The gospel rule. Matt, xviii. 15. - -[5] _Divitis_ (where there might be an army of slaves). - -[6] “Lorsque le Préteur devoit prononcer la sentence d’un coupable, -il se depouilloit de la robe pretexte, et se revêtoit alors d’une -simple tunique, ou d’une autre robe, presque usée, et d’un blanc -sale (_sordida_) ou d’un gris très foncé tirant sur le noir (_toga -pulla_), telle qu’en portoient à Rome le peuple et les pauvres -(_pullaque paupertas_). Dans les jours solemnelles et marqués par -un deuil public, les Senateurs quittoient le laticlave, et les -Magistrats la pretexte. La pourpre, la hache, les faisceaux, aucun -de ces signes extérieurs de leur dignité ne les distinguoient alors -des autres citoyens: _sine insignibus Magistratus_. Mais ce n’étoit -pas seulement pendant le temps ou la ville étoit plongée dans le -deuil et dans I’affliction, que les magistrats s’habilloient comme -le peuple (_sordidam vestem induebant_); ils en usoient de même -lorsqu’ils devoient condamner à mort un citoyen. C’est dans ces -tristes circonstances qu’ils quittoient la prétexte et prenoient -la robe de deuil _perversam vestem_. (No doubt “inside out.”—J. E. -B. M.) ”On pourroit supposer avec assez de vraisemblance que par -cette expression, Séneque a voulu faire allusion à ce changement . -. . . . Peut-être les Magistrats qui devoient juger à mort un -citoyen, portoient ils aussi leur robe renversée, ou la jettoient -ils de travers ou confusément sur leurs épaules, pour mieux peindre -par ce desordre le trouble de leur esprit. Si cette conjecture est -vraie, comme je serais assez porté à croire, l’expression _perversa -vestis_ dont Séneque s’est servi ici, indiqueroit plus d’un simple -changement d’habit,” &c, (La Grange’s translation of Seneca, edited -by J, A. Naigeon. Paris, 1778.) - -[7] “Ceci fait allusion à une coutume que Caius Gracchus prétend -avoir été pratiquée de tout tems à Rome, ‘Lorsqu’un citoyen,” dit -il, “avoit un procès criminel qui alloit à la mort, s’il refusoit -d’obéir aux sommations qui lui étoient faites; le jour qu’on devoit -le juger, en envoyoit des le matin à la porte de sa maison un -Officier I’appeller au son de la trompette, et jamais avant que -cette cérémonie eût été observée, les Juges ne donneroient leur -voix contre lui: tant ces hommes sages,’ ajoute ce hardi Tribun, -‘avoient de retenue et de precaution dans leurs jugements, quand -il s’agissoit de la vie d’un citoyen.’” - -“C’étoit de même au son de la trompette que l’on convoquoit le -peuple, lorsqu’on devoit faire mourir un citoyen, afin qu’il fût -témoin de ce triste spectacle, et que la supplice du coupable pût -lui servir d’exemple. Tacite dit qu’un Astrologue, nommé P. Marcius, -fût exécuté, selon l’ancien usage, hors de la porte Esquiline, en -presence du peuple Romain que les Consuls firent convoquer au son -de la trompette.” (Tac. Ann. II. 32.) L. Grom. - -[8] _I.e._ not only for counsel but for action. - -[9] _Prorsus parum certis_ (_i.e._, the thunderbolts missed their -aim in not striking him dead). - - - - -{76} - -THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED -TO NOVATUS. - -OF ANGER. - -Book II. - - -My first book, Novatus, had a more abundant subject: for carriages -roll easily down hill:[1] now we must proceed to drier matters. The -question before us is whether anger arises from deliberate choice -or from impulse, that is, whether it acts of its own accord or like -the greater part of those passions which spring up within us without -our knowledge. It is necessary for our debate to stoop to the -consideration of these matters, in order that it may afterwards be -able to rise to loftier themes; for likewise in our bodies the parts -which are first set in order are the bones, sinews, and joints, -which are by no means fair to see, albeit they are the foundation -of our frame and essential to its life: next to them come the parts -of which all beauty of face and appearance consists; and after -these, colour, which above all else charms the eye, is applied last -of all, when the rest of the body is complete. There is no doubt -that anger is roused by the appearance of an injury {77} being done: -but the question before us is, whether anger straightway follows -the appearance, and springs up without assistance from the mind, -or whether it is roused with the sympathy of the mind. Our (the -Stoics’) opinion is, that anger can venture upon nothing by itself, -without the approval of mind: for to conceive the idea of a wrong -having been done, to long to avenge it, and to join the two -propositions, that we ought not to have been injured and that it -is our duty to avenge our injuries, cannot belong to a mere impulse -which is excited without our consent. That impulse is a simple act; -this is a complex one, and composed of several parts. The man -understands something to have happened: he becomes indignant thereat: -he condemns the deed; and he avenges it. All these things cannot -be done without his mind agreeing to those matters which touched -him. - -II. Whither, say you, does this inquiry tend? That we may know what -anger is: for if it springs up against our will, it never will yield -to reason: because all the motions which take place without our -volition are beyond our control and unavoidable, such as shivering -when cold water is poured over us, or shrinking when we are touched -in certain places. Men’s hair rises up at bad news, their faces -blush at indecent words, and they are seized with dizziness when -looking down a precipice; and as it is not in our power to prevent -any of these things, no reasoning can prevent their taking place. -But anger can be put to flight by wise maxims; for it is a voluntary -defect of the mind, and not one of those things which are evolved -by the conditions of human life, and which, therefore, may happen -even to the wisest of us. Among these and in the first place must -be ranked that thrill of the mind which seizes us at the thought -of wrongdoing. We feel this even when witnessing the mimic scenes -of the stage, or when reading about things that happened long ago. -We often {78} feel angry with Clodius for banishing Cicero, and -with Antonius for murdering him. Who is not indignant with the wars -of Marius, the proscriptions of Sulla? who is not enraged against -Theodotus and Achillas and the boy king who dared to commit a more -than boyish crime?[2] Sometimes songs excite us, and quickened -rhythm and the martial noise of trumpets; so, too, shocking pictures -and the dreadful sight of tortures, however well deserved, affect -our minds. Hence it is that we smile when others are smiling, that -a crowd of mourners makes us sad, and that we take a glowing interest -in another’s battles; all of which feelings are not anger, any more -than that which clouds our brow at the sight of a stage shipwreck -is sadness, or what we feel, when we read how Hannibal after Cannae -beset the walls of Rome, can be called fear. All these are emotions -of minds which are loth to be moved, and are not passions, but -rudiments which may grow into passions. So, too, a soldier starts -at the sound of a trumpet, although he may be dressed as a civilian -and in the midst of a profound peace, and camp horses prick up their -ears at the clash of arms. It is said that Alexander, when Xenophantus -was singing, laid his hand upon his weapons. - -III. None of these things which casually influence the mind deserve -to be called passions: the mind, if I may so express it, rather -suffers passions to act upon itself than forms them. A passion, -therefore, consists not in being affected by the sights which are -presented to us, but in giving way to our feelings and following -up these chance promptings: for whoever imagines that paleness, -bursting into tears, lustful feelings, deep sighs, sudden flashes -of the eyes, and so forth, are signs of passion and betray the {79} -state of the mind, is mistaken, and does not understand that these -are merely impulses of the body. Consequently, the bravest of men -often turns pale while he is putting on his armour; when the signal -for battle is given, the knees of the boldest soldier shake for a -moment; the heart even of a great general leaps into his mouth just -before the lines clash together, and the hands and feet even of the -most eloquent orator grow stiff and cold while he is preparing to -begin his speech. Anger must not merely move, but break out of -bounds, being an impulse: now, no impulse can take place without -the consent of the mind: for it cannot be that we should deal with -revenge and punishment without the mind being cognisant of them. A -man may think himself injured, may wish to avenge his wrongs, and -then may be persuaded by some reason or other to give up his intention -and calm down: I do not call that anger, it is an emotion of the -mind which is under the control of reason. Anger is that which goes -beyond reason and carries her away with it: wherefore the first -confusion of a man’s mind when struck by what seems an injury is -no more anger than the apparent injury itself: it is the subsequent -mad rush, which not only receives the impression of the apparent -injury, but acts upon it as true, that is anger, being an exciting -of the mind to revenge, which proceeds from choice and deliberate -resolve. There never has been any doubt that fear produces flight, -and anger a rush forward; consider, therefore, whether you suppose -that anything can be either sought or avoided without the participation -of the mind. - -IV. Furthermore, that you may know in what manner passions begin -and swell and gain spirit, learn that the first emotion is involuntary, -and is, as it were, a preparation for a passion, and a threatening -of one. The next is combined with a wish, though not an obstinate -one, as, for example, “It is my duty to avenge myself, because I -have been injured,” {80} or “It is right that this man should be -punished, because he has committed a crime.” The third emotion is -already beyond our control, because it overrides reason, and wishes -to avenge itself, not if it be its duty, but whether or no. We are -not able by means of reason to escape from that first impression -on the mind, any more than we can escape from those things which -we have mentioned as occurring to the body: we cannot prevent other -people’s yawns temping us to yawn:[3] we cannot help winking when -fingers are suddenly darted at our eyes. Reason is unable to overcome -these habits, which perhaps might be weakened by practice and -constant watchfulness: they differ from an emotion which is brought -into existence and brought to an end by a deliberate mental act. - -V. We must also enquire whether those whose cruelty knows no bounds, -and who delight in shedding human blood, are angry when they kill -people from whom they have received no injury, and who they themselves -do not think have done them any injury; such as were Apollodorus -or Phalaris. This is not anger, it is ferocity: for it does not do -hurt because it has received injury: but is even willing to receive -injury, provided it may do hurt. It does not long to inflict stripes -and mangle bodies to avenge its wrongs, but for its own pleasure. -What then are we to say? This evil takes its rise from anger; for -anger, after it has by long use and indulgence made a man forget -mercy, and driven all feelings of human fellowship from his mind, -passes finally into cruelty. Such men therefore laugh, rejoice, -enjoy themselves greatly, and are as unlike as possible in countenance -to angry men, since cruelty is their relaxation. It is said that -when Hannibal saw a trench full of human blood, he exclaimed, “O, -what {81} a beauteous sight!” How much more beautiful would he have -thought it, if it had filled a river or a lake? Why should we wonder -that you should be charmed with this sight above all others, you -who were born in bloodshed and brought up amid slaughter from a -child? Fortune will follow you and favour your cruelty for twenty -years, and will display to you everywhere the sight that you love. -You will behold it both at Trasumene and at Cannae, and lastly at -your own city of Carthage. Volesus, who not long ago, under the -Emperor Augustus, was proconsul of Asia Minor, after he had one day -beheaded three hundred persons, strutted out among the corpses with -a haughty air, as though he had performed some grand and notable -exploit, and exclaimed in Greek, “What a kingly action!” What would -this man have done, had he been really a king? This was not anger, -but a greater and an incurable disease. - -VI. “Virtue,” argues our adversary, “ought to be angry with what -is base, just as she approves of what is honourable.” What should -we think if he said that virtue ought to be both mean and great; -yet this is what he means, when he wants her to be raised and -lowered, because joy at a good action is grand and glorious, while -anger at another’s sin is base and befits a narrow mind: and virtue -will never be guilty of imitating vice while she is repressing it; -she considers anger to deserve punishment for itself, since it often -is even more criminal than the faults which which it is angry. To -rejoice and be glad is the proper and natural function of virtue: -it is as much beneath her dignity to be angry, as to mourn: now, -sorrow is the companion of anger, and all anger ends in sorrow, -either from remorse or from failure. Secondly, if it be the part -of the wise man to be angry with sins, he will be more angry the -greater they are, and will often be angry: from which it follows -that the wise man will not only be angry but irascible. {82} Yet -if we do not believe that great and frequent anger can find any -place in the wise man’s mind, why should we not set him altogether -free from this passion? for there can be no limit, if he ought to -be angry in proportion to what every man does: because he will -either be unjust if he is equally angry at unequal crimes, or he -will be the most irascible of men, if he blazes into wrath as often -as crimes deserve his anger. - -VII. What, too, can be more unworthy of the wise man, than that his -passions should depend upon the wickedness of others? If so, the -great Socrates will no longer be able to return home with the same -expression of countenance with which he set out. Moreover, if it -be the duty of the wise man to be angry at base deeds, and to be -excited and saddened at crimes, then is there nothing more unhappy -than the wise man, for all his life will be spent in anger and -grief. What moment will there be at which he will not see something -deserving of blame? whenever he leaves his house, he will be obliged -to walk among men who are criminals, misers, spendthrifts, profligates, -and who are happy in being so: he can turn his eyes in no direction -without their finding something to shock them. He will faint, if -he demands anger from himself as often as reason calls for it. All -these thousands who are hurrying to the law courts at break of day, -how base are their causes, and how much baser their advocates? One -impugns his father’s will, when he would have done better to deserve -it; another appears as the accuser of his mother; a third comes to -inform against a man for committing the very crime of which he -himself is yet more notoriously guilty. The judge, too, is chosen -to condemn men for doing what he himself has done, and the audience -takes the wrong side, led astray by the fine voice of the pleader. - -VIII. Why need I dwell upon individual cases? Be assured, when you -see the Forum crowded with a multitude, {83} the Saepta[4] swarming -with people, or the great Circus, in which the greater part of the -people find room to show themselves at once, that among them there -are as many vices as there are men. Among those whom you see in the -garb of peace there is no peace: for a small profit any one of them -will attempt the ruin of another: no one can gain anything save by -another’s loss. They hate the fortunate and despise the unfortunate: -they grudgingly endure the great, and oppress the small: they are -fired by divers lusts: they would wreck everything for the sake of -a little pleasure or plunder: they live as though they were in a -school of gladiators, fighting with the same people with whom they -live: it is like a society of wild beasts, save that beasts are -tame with one another, and refrain from biting their own species, -whereas men tear one another, and gorge themselves upon one another. -They differ from dumb animals in this alone, that the latter are -tame with those who feed them, whereas the rage of the former preys -on those very persons by whom they were brought up. - -IX. The wise man will never cease to be angry, if he once begins, -so full is every place of vices and crimes. More evil is done than -can be healed by punishment: men seem engaged in a vast race of -wickedness. Every day there is greater eagerness to sin, less -modesty. Throwing aside all reverence for what is better and more -just, lust rushes whithersoever it thinks fit, and crimes are no -longer committed by stealth, they take place before our eyes, and -wickedness has become so general and gained such a footing in -everyone’s breast that innocence is no longer rare, but no longer -exists. Do men break the law singly, or a few at a time? Nay, they -rise in all quarters at once, as though obeying some universal -signal, to wipe out the boundaries of right and wrong. - -{84} - - “Host is not safe from guest, Father-in-law from son; but seldom - love Exists ’twixt brothers; wives long to destroy Their husbands, - husbands long to slay their wives, Stepmothers deadly aconite - prepare And child-heirs wonder when their sires will die.” - -And how small a part of men’s crimes are these! The poet[5] has not -described one people divided into two hostile camps, parents and -children enrolled on opposite sides, Rome set on fire by the hand -of a Roman, troops of fierce horsemen scouring the country to track -out the hiding-places of the proscribed, wells defiled with poison, -plagues created by human hands, trenches dug by children round their -beleaguered parents, crowded prisons, conflagrations that consume -whole cities, gloomy tyrannies, secret plots to establish despotisms -and ruin peoples, and men glorying in those deeds which, as long -as it was possible to repress them, were counted as crimes—I mean -rape, debauchery, and lust . . . . . Add to these, public acts of -national bad faith, broken treaties, everything that cannot defend -itself carried off as plunder by the stronger, knaveries, thefts, -frauds, and disownings of debt such as three of our present law-courts -would not suffice to deal with. If you want the wise man to be as -angry as the atrocity of men’s crimes requires, he must not merely -be angry, but must go mad with rage. - -X. You will rather think that we should not be angry with people’s -faults; for what shall we say of one who is angry with those who -stumble in the dark, or with deaf people who cannot hear his orders, -or with children, because they forget their duty and interest -themselves in the games and silly jokes of their companions? What -shall we say if you choose to be angry {85} with weaklings for being -sick, for growing old, or becoming fatigued? Among the other -misfortunes of humanity is this, that men’s intellects are confused, -and they not only cannot help going wrong, but love to go wrong. -To avoid being angry with individuals, you must pardon the whole -mass, you must grant forgiveness to the entire human race. If you -are angry with young and old men because they do wrong, you will -be angry with infants also, for they soon will do wrong. Does any -one become angry with children, who are too young to comprehend -distinctions? Yet, to be a human being is a greater and a better -excuse than to be a child. Thus are we born, as creatures liable -to as many disorders of the mind as of the body; not dull and -slow-witted, but making a bad use of our keenness of wit, and leading -one another into vice by our example. He who follows others who -have started before him on the wrong road is surely excusable for -having wandered on[6] the highway. A general’s severity may be shown -in the case of individual deserters; but where a whole army deserts, -it must needs be pardoned. What is it that puts a stop to the wise -man’s anger? It is the number of sinners. He perceives how unjust -and how dangerous it is to be angry with vices which all men share. -Heraclitcus, whenever he came out of doors and beheld around him -such a number of men who were living wretchedly, nay, rather perishing -wretchedly, used to weep: he pitied all those who met him joyous -and happy. He was of a gentle but too weak disposition: and he -himself was one of those for whom he ought to have wept. Democritus, -on the other hand, is said never to have appeared in public without -laughing; so little did men’s serious occupations appear serious -to him. What room is there for anger? Everything ought either to -move us to tears or to laughter. The wise man will not be angry -with {86} sinners. Why not? Because he knows that no one is born -wise, but becomes so: he knows that very few wise men are produced -in any age, because he thoroughly understands the circumstances of -human life. Now, no sane man is angry with nature: for what should -we say if a man chose to be surprised that fruit did not hang on -the thickets of a forest, or to wonder at bushes and thorns not -being covered with some useful berry? No one is angry when nature -excuses a defect. The wise man, therefore, being tranquil, and -dealing candidly with mistakes, not an enemy to but an improver of -sinners, will go abroad every day in the following frame of mind:—”Many -men will meet me who are drunkards, lustful, ungrateful, greedy, -and excited by the frenzy of ambition.” He will view all these as -benignly as a physician does his patients. When a man’s ship leaks -freely through its opened seams, does he become angry with the -sailors or the ship itself? No; instead of that, he tries to remedy -it: he shuts out some water, bales out some other, closes all the -holes that he can see, and by ceaseless labour counteracts those -which are out of sight and which let water into the hold; nor does -he relax his efforts because as much water as he pumps out runs in -again. We need a long-breathed struggle against permanent and -prolific evils; not, indeed, to quell them, but merely to prevent -their overpowering us. - -XI. “Anger,” says our opponent, “is useful, because it avoids -contempt, and because it frightens bad men.” Now, in the first -place, if anger is strong in proportion to its threats, it is hateful -for the same reason that it is terrible: and it is more dangerous -to be hated than to be despised. If, again, it is without strength, -it is much more exposed to contempt, and cannot avoid ridicule; for -what is more flat than anger when it breaks out into meaningless -ravings? Moreover, because some things are somewhat terrible, they -are not on that account desirable: nor does wisdom wish it {87} to -be said of the wise man, as it is of a wild beast, that the fear -which he inspires is as a weapon to him. Why, do we not fear fever, -gout, consuming ulcers? and is there, for that reason, any good in -them? nay; on the other hand, they are all despised and thought to -be foul and base, and are for this very reason feared. So, too, -anger is in itself hideous and by no means to be feared; yet it is -feared by many, just as a hideous mask is feared by children. How -can we answer the fact that terror always works back to him who -inspired it, and that no one is feared who is himself at peace? At -this point it is well that you should remember that verse of Laberius, -which, when pronounced in the theatre during the height of the civil -war, caught the fancy of the whole people as though it expressed -the national feeling:— - - “He must fear many, whom so many fear.” - -Thus has nature ordained, that whatever becomes great by causing -fear to others is not free from fear itself. How disturbed lions -are at the faintest noises! How excited those fiercest of beasts -become at strange shadows, voices, or smells! Whatever is a terror -to others, fears for itself. There can be no reason, therefore, for -any wise man to wish to be feared, and no one need think that anger -is anything great because it strikes terror, since even the most -despicable things are feared, as, for example, noxious vermin whose -bite is venomous: and since a string set with feathers stops the -largest herds of wild beasts and guides them into traps, it is no -wonder that from its effect it should be named a “Scarer.”[7] Foolish -creatures are frightened by foolish things: the movement of chariots -and the sight of their wheels turning round drives lions back into -their cage: elephants are frightened at the cries of pigs: and so -also we fear anger just as children fear the dark, or wild {88} -beasts fear red feathers: it has in itself nothing solid or valiant, -but it affects feeble minds. - -XII. “Wickedness,” says our adversary, “must be removed from the -system of nature, if you wish to remove anger: neither of which -things can be done.” In the first place, it is possible for a man -not to be cold, although according to the system of nature it may -be winter-time, nor yet to suffer from heat, although it be summer -according to the almanac. He may be protected against the inclement -time of the year by dwelling in a favoured spot, or he may have so -trained his body to endurance that it feels neither heat nor cold. -Next, reverse this saying:—You must remove anger from your mind -before you can take virtue into the same, because vices and virtues -cannot combine, and none can at the same time be both an angry man -and a good man, any more than he can be both sick and well. “It is -not possible,” says he, “to remove anger altogether from the mind, -nor does human nature admit of it.” Yet there is nothing so hard -and difficult that the mind of man cannot overcome it, and with -which unremitting study will not render him familiar, nor are there -any passions so fierce and independent that they cannot be tamed -by discipline. The mind can carry out whatever orders it gives -itself: some have succeeded in never smiling: some have forbidden -themselves wine, sexual intercourse, or even drink of all kinds. -Some, who are satisfied with short hours of rest, have learned to -watch for long periods without weariness. Men have learned to run -upon the thinnest ropes even when slanting, to carry huge burdens, -scarcely within the compass of human strength, or to dive to enormous -depths and suffer themselves to remain under the sea without any -chance of drawing breath. There are a thousand other instances in -which application has conquered all obstacles, and proved that -nothing which the mind has set itself to endure is difficult. The -men whom I {89} have just mentioned gain either no reward or one -that is unworthy of their unwearied application; for what great -thing does a man gain by applying his intellect to walking upon a -tight rope? or to placing great burdens upon his shoulders? or to -keeping sleep from his eyes? or to reaching the bottom of the sea? -and yet their patient labour brings all these things to pass for a -trifling reward. Shall not we then call in the aid of patience, we -whom such a prize awaits, the unbroken calm of a happy life? How -great a blessing is it to escape from anger, that chief of all -evils, and therewith from frenzy, ferocity, cruelty, and madness, -its attendants? - -XIII. There is no reason why we should seek to defend such a passion -as this or excuse its excesses by declaring it to be either useful -or unavoidable. What vice, indeed, is without its defenders? yet -this is no reason why you should declare anger to be ineradicable. -The evils from which we suffer are curable, and since we were born -with a natural bias towards good, nature herself will help us if -we try to amend our lives. Nor is the path to virtue steep and -rough, as some think it to be: it may be reached on level ground. -This is no untrue tale which I come to tell you: the road to happiness -is easy; do you only enter upon it with good luck and the good help -of the gods themselves. It is much harder to do what you are doing. -What is more restful than a mind at peace, and what more toilsome -than anger? What is more at leisure than clemency, what fuller of -business than cruelty? Modesty keeps holiday while vice is overwhelmed -with work. In fine, the culture of any of the virtues is easy, while -vices require a great expense. Anger ought to be removed from our -minds: even those who say that it ought to be kept low admit this -to some extent: let it be got rid of altogether; there is nothing -to be gained by it. Without it we can more easily and more justly -put an end {90} to crime, punish bad men, and amend their lives. -The wise man will do his duty in all things without the help of any -evil passion, and will use no auxiliaries which require watching -narrowly lest they get beyond his control. - -XIV. Anger, then, must never become a habit with us, but we may -sometimes affect to be angry when we wish to rouse up the dull minds -of those whom we address, just as we rouse up horses who are slow -at starting with goads and firebrands. We must sometimes apply fear -to persons upon whom reason makes no impression: yet to be angry -is of no more use than to grieve or to be afraid. “What? do not -circumstances arise which provoke us to anger?” Yes: but at those -times above all others we ought to choke down our wrath. Nor is it -difficult to conquer our spirit, seeing that athletes, who devote -their whole attention to the basest parts of themselves, nevertheless -are able to endure blows and pain, in order to exhaust the strength -of the striker, and do not strike when anger bids them, but when -opportunity invites them. It is said that Pyrrhus, the most celebrated -trainer for gymnastic contests, used habitually to impress upon his -pupils not to lose their tempers: for anger spoils their science, -and thinks only how it can hurt: so that often reason counsels -patience while anger counsels revenge, and we, who might have -survived our first misfortunes, are exposed to worse ones. Some -have been driven into exile by their impatience of a single -contemptuous word, have been plunged into the deepest miseries -because they would not endure the most trifling wrong in silence, -and have brought upon themselves the yoke of slavery because they -were too proud to give up the least part of their entire liberty. - -XV. “That you may be sure,” says our opponent, “that anger has in -it something noble, pray look at the free nations, such as the -Germans and Scythians, who are especially prone to anger.” The -reason of this is that stout {91} and daring intellects are liable -to anger before they are tamed by discipline; for some passions -engraft themselves upon the better class of dispositions only, just -as good land, even when waste, grows strong brushwood, and the trees -are tall which stand upon a fertile soil. In like manner, dispositions -which are naturally bold produce irritability, and, being hot and -fiery, have no mean or trivial qualities, but their energy is -misdirected, as happens with all those who without training come -to the front by their natural advantages alone, whose minds, unless -they be brought under control, degenerate from a courageous temper -into habits of rashness and reckless daring. “What? are not milder -spirits linked with gentler vices, such as tenderness of heart, -love, and bashfulness?” Yes, and therefore I can often point out -to you a good disposition by its own faults: yet their being the -proofs of a superior nature does not prevent their being vices. -Moreover, all those nations which are free because they are wild, -like lions or wolves, cannot command any more than they can obey: -for the strength of their intellect is not civilized, but fierce -and unmanageable: now, no one is able to rule unless he is also -able to be ruled. Consequently, the empire of the world has almost -always remained in the hands of those nations who enjoy a milder -climate. Those who dwell near the frozen north have uncivilized -tempers— - - “Just on the model of their native skies,” - -as the poet has it. - -XVI. Those animals, urges our opponent, are held to be the most -generous who have large capacity for anger. He is mistaken when he -holds up creatures who act from impulse instead of reason as patterns -for men to follow, because in man reason takes the place of impulse. -Yet even with animals, all do not alike profit by the same thing. -Anger is of use to lions, timidity to stags, boldness {92} to hawks, -flight to doves. What if I declare that it is not even true that -the best animals are the most prone to anger? I may suppose that -wild beasts, who gain their food by rapine, are better the angrier -they are; but I should praise oxen and horses who obey the rein for -their patience. What reason, however, have you for referring mankind -to such wretched models, when you have the universe and God, whom -he alone of animals imitates because he alone comprehends Him? “The -most irritable men,” says he, “are thought to be the most straightforward -of all.” Yes, because they are compared with swindlers and sharpers, -and appear to be simple because they are outspoken. I should not -call such men simple, but heedless. We give this title of “simple” -to all fools, gluttons, spendthrifts, and men whose vices lie on -the surface. - -XVII. “An orator,” says our opponent, “sometimes speaks better, -when he is angry.” Not so, but when he pretends to be angry: for -so also actors bring down the house by their playing, not when they -are really angry, but when they act the angry man well: and in like -manner, in addressing a jury or a popular assembly, or in any other -position in which the minds of others have to be influenced at our -pleasure, we must ourselves pretend to feel anger, fear, or pity -before we can make others feel them, and often the pretence of -passion will do what the passion itself could not have done. “The -mind which does not feel anger,” says he, “is feeble.” True, if it -has nothing stronger than anger to support it. A man ought to be -neither robber nor victim, neither tender-hearted nor cruel. The -former belongs to an over-weak mind, the latter to an over-hard -one. Let the wise man be moderate, and when things have to be done -somewhat briskly, let him call force, not anger, to his aid. - -XVIII. Now that we have discussed the questions propounded concerning -anger, let us pass on to the consideration {93} of its remedies. -These, I imagine, are two-fold: the one class preventing our becoming -angry, the other preventing our doing wrong when we are angry. As -with the body we adopt a certain regimen to keep ourselves in health, -and use different rules to bring back health when lost, so likewise -we must repel anger in one fashion and quench it in another. That -we may avoid it, certain general rules of conduct which apply to -all men’s lives must be impressed upon us. We may divide these into -such as are of use during the education of the young and in after-life. - -Education ought to be carried on with the greatest and most salutary -assiduity: for it is easy to mould minds while they are still tender, -but it is difficult to uproot vices which have grown up with -ourselves. - -XIX. A hot mind is naturally the most prone to anger: for as there -are four elements,[8] consisting of fire, air, earth, and water, -so there are powers corresponding and equivalent to each of these, -namely, hot, cold, dry, and moist. Now the mixture of the elements -is the cause of the diversities of lands and of animals, of bodies -and of character, and our dispositions incline to one or the other -of these according as the strength of each element prevails in us. -Hence it is that we call some regions wet or dry, warm or cold. The -same distinctions apply likewise to animals and mankind; it makes -a great difference how much moisture or heat a man contains; his -character will partake of whichever element has the largest share -in him. A warm temper of mind will make men prone to anger; for -fire is full of movement and vigour; a mixture of {94} coldness -makes men cowards, for cold is sluggish and contracted. Because of -this, some of our Stoics think that anger is excited in our breasts -by the boiling of the blood round the heart: indeed, that place is -assigned to anger for no other reason than because the breast is -the warmest part of the whole body. Those who have more moisture -in them become angry by slow degrees, because they have no heat -ready at hand, but it has to be obtained by movement; wherefore the -anger of women and children is sharp rather than strong, and arises -on lighter provocation. At dry times of life anger is violent and -powerful, yet without increase, and adding little to itself, because -as heat dies away cold takes its place. Old men are testy and full -of complaints, as also are sick people and convalescents, and all -whose store of heat has been consumed by weariness or loss of blood. -Those who are wasted by thirst or hunger are in the same condition, -as also are those whose frame is naturally bloodless and faints -from want of generous diet. Wine kindles anger, because it increases -heat; according to each man’s disposition, some fly into a passion -when they are heavily drunk, some when they are slightly drunk: nor -is there any other reason than this why yellow-haired, ruddy-complexioned -people should be excessively passionate, seeing that they are -naturally of the colour which others put on during anger; for their -blood is hot and easily set in motion. - -XX. But just as nature makes some men prone to anger, so there are -many other causes which have the same power as nature. Some are -brought into this condition by disease or bodily injury, others by -hard work, long watching, nights of anxiety, ardent longings, and -love: and everything else which is hurtful to the body or the spirit -inclines the distempered mind to find fault. All these, however, -are but the beginning and causes of anger. Habit of mind has very -great power, and, if it be harsh, increases the {95} disorder. As -for nature, it is difficult to alter it, nor may we change the -mixture of the elements which was formed once for all at our birth: -yet knowledge will be so far of service, that we should keep wine -out of the reach of hot-tempered men, which Plato thinks ought also -to be forbidden to boys, so that fire be not made fiercer. Neither -should such men be over-fed: for if so, their bodies will swell, -and their minds will swell with them. Such men ought to take exercise, -stopping short, however, of fatigue, in order that their natural -heat may be abated, but not exhausted, and their excess of fiery -spirit may be worked off. Games also will be useful: for moderate -pleasure relieves the mind and brings it to a proper balance. With -those temperaments which incline to moisture, or dryness and -stiffness, there is no danger of anger, but there is fear of greater -vices, such as cowardice, moroseness, despair, and suspiciousness: -such dispositions therefore ought to be softened, comforted, and -restored to cheerfulness: and since we must make use of different -remedies for anger and for sullenness, and these two vices require -not only unlike, but absolutely opposite modes of treatment, let -us always attack that one of them which is gaining the mastery. - -XXI. It is, I assure you, of the greatest service to boys that they -should be soundly brought up, yet to regulate their education is -difficult, because it is our duty to be careful neither to cherish -a habit of anger in them, nor to blunt the edge of their spirit. -This needs careful watching, for both qualities, both those which -are to be encouraged, and those which are to be checked, are fed -by the same things; and even a careful watcher may be deceived by -their likeness. A boy’s spirit is increased by freedom and depressed -by slavery: it rises when praised, and is led to conceive great -expectations of itself: yet this same treatment produces arrogance -and quickness of temper: we must {96} therefore guide him between -these two extremes, using the curb at one time and the spur at -another. He must undergo no servile or degrading treatment; he never -must beg abjectly for anything, nor must he gain anything by begging; -let him rather receive it for his own sake, for his past good -behaviour, or for his promises of future good conduct. In contests -with his comrades we ought not to allow him to become sulky or fly -into a passion: let us see that he be on friendly terms with those -whom he contends with, so that in the struggle itself he may learn -to wish not to hurt his antagonist but to conquer him: whenever he -has gained the day or done something praiseworthy, we should allow -him to enjoy his victory, but not to rush into transports of delight: -for joy leads to exultation, and exultation leads to swaggering and -excessive self-esteem, We ought to allow him some relaxation, yet -not yield him up to laziness and sloth, and we ought to keep him -far beyond the reach of luxury, for nothing makes children more -prone to anger than a soft and fond bringing-up, so that the more -only children are indulged, and the more liberty is given to orphans, -the more they are corrupted. He to whom nothing is ever denied, -will not be able to endure a rebuff, whose anxious mother always -wipes away his tears, whose _paedagogus_[9] is made to pay for his -shortcomings. Do you not observe how a man’s anger becomes more -violent as he rises in station? This shows itself especially in -those who are rich and noble, or in great place, when the favouring -gale has roused all the most empty and trivial passions of their -minds. Prosperity fosters anger, when a man’s proud ears are -surrounded by a mob of flatterers, saying, “That man answer you! -you do not act according to your dignity, you lower yourself.” And -so forth, with all the language which can hardly be resisted even -by healthy and originally well-principled {97} minds. Flattery, -then, must be kept well out of the way of children. Let a child -hear the truth, and sometimes fear it: let him always reverence it. -Let him rise in the presence of his elders. Let him obtain nothing -by flying into a passion: let him be given when he is quiet what -was refused him when he cried for it: let him behold, but not make -use of his father’s wealth: let him be reproved for what he does -wrong. It will be advantageous to furnish boys with even-tempered -teachers and _paedagogi_: what is soft and unformed clings to what -is near, and takes its shape: the habits of young men reproduce -those of their nurses and _paedagogi_. Once, a boy who was brought -up in Plato’s house went home to his parents, and, on seeing his -father shouting with passion, said, “I never saw any one at Plato’s -house act like that.” I doubt not that he learned to imitate his -father sooner than he learned to imitate Plato. Above all, let his -food be scanty, his dress not costly, and of the same fashion as -that of his comrades: if you begin by putting him on a level with -many others, he will not be angry when some one is compared with -him. - -XXII. These precepts, however, apply to our children: in ourselves -the accident of birth and our education no longer admits of either -mistakes or advice; we must deal with what follows. Now we ought -to fight against the first causes of evil: the cause of anger is -the belief that we are injured; this belief, therefore, should not -be lightly entertained. We ought not to fly into a rage even when -the injury appears to be open and distinct: for some false things -bear the semblance of truth. We should always allow some time to -elapse, for time discloses the truth. Let not our ears be easily -lent to calumnious talk: let us know and be on our guard against -this fault of human nature, that we are willing to believe what we -are unwilling to listen to, and that we become angry before we have -formed our opinion. What shall I say? we are influenced {98} not -merely by calumnies but by suspicions, and at the very look and -smile of others we may fly into a rage with innocent persons because -we put the worst construction upon it. We ought, therefore, to plead -the cause of the absent against ourselves, and to keep our anger -in abeyance: for a punishment which has been postponed may yet be -inflicted, but when once inflicted cannot be recalled. - -XXIII. Every one knows the story of the tyrannicide who, being -caught before he had accomplished his task, and being tortured by -Hippias to make him betray his accomplices, named the friends of -the tyrant who stood around, and every one to whom he knew the -tyrant’s safety was especially dear. As the tyrant ordered each man -to be slain as he was named, at last the man, being asked if any -one else remained, said, “You remain alone, for I have left no one -else alive to whom you are dear.” Anger had made the tyrant lend -his assistance to the tyrant-slayer, and cut down his guards with -his own sword. How far more spirited was Alexander, who after reading -his mother’s letter warning him to beware of poison from his physician -Philip, nevertheless drank undismayed the medicine which Philip -gave him! He felt more confidence in his friend: he deserved that -his friend should be innocent, and deserved that his conduct should -make him innocent. I praise Alexander’s doing this all the more -because he was above all men prone to anger; but the rarer moderation -is among kings, the more it deserves to be praised. The great Gaius -Caesar, who proved such a merciful conqueror in the civil war, did -the same thing; he burned a packet of letters addressed to Gnaeus -Pompeius by persons who had been thought to be either neutrals or -on the other side. Though he was never violent in his anger, yet -he preferred to put it out of his power to be angry: he thought -that the kindest way to pardon each of them was not to know what -his offence had been. - -{99} - -XXIV. Readiness to believe what we hear causes very great mischief; -we ought often not even to listen, because in some cases it is -better to be deceived than to suspect deceit. We ought to free our -minds of suspicion and mistrust, those most untrustworthy causes -of anger. “This man’s greeting was far from civil; that one would -not receive my kiss; one cut short a story I had begun to tell; -another did not ask me to dinner; another seemed to view me with -aversion.” Suspicion will never lack grounds: what we want is -straightforwardness, and a kindly interpretation of things. Let us -believe nothing unless it forces itself upon our sight and is -unmistakable, and let us reprove ourselves for being too ready to -believe, as often as our suspicions prove to be groundless: for -this discipline will render us habitually slow to believe what we -hear. - -XXV. Another consequence of this will be, that we shall not be -exasperated by the slightest and most contemptible trifles. It is -mere madness to be put out of temper because a slave is not quick, -because the water we are going to drink is lukewarm, or because our -couch is disarranged or our table carelessly laid. A man must be -in a miserably bad state of health if he shrinks from a gentle -breath of wind; his eyes must be diseased if they are distressed -by the sight of white clothing; he must be broken down with debauchery -if he feels pain at seeing another man work. It is said that there -was one Mindyrides, a citizen of Sybaris, who one day seeing a man -digging and vigorously brandishing a mattock, complained that the -sight made him weary, and forbade the man to work where he could -see him. The same man complained that he had suffered from the -rose-leaves upon which he lay being folded double. When pleasures -have corrupted both the body and the mind, nothing seems endurable, -not indeed because it is hard, but because he who has to bear it -{100} is soft: for why should we be driven to frenzy by any one’s -coughing and sneezing, or by a fly not being driven away with -sufficient care, or by a dog’s hanging about us, or a key dropping -from a careless servant’s hand? Will one whose ears are agonised -by the noise of a bench being dragged along the floor be able to -endure with unruffled mind the rude language of party strife, and -the abuse which speakers in the forum or the senate house heap upon -their opponents? Will he who is angry with his slave for icing his -drink badly, be able to endure hunger, or the thirst of a long march -in summer? Nothing, therefore, nourishes anger more than excessive -and dissatisfied luxury: the mind ought to be hardened by rough -treatment, so as not to feel any blow that is not severe. - -XXVI. We are angry, either with those who can, or with those who -cannot do us an injury. To the latter class belong some inanimate -things, such as a book, which we often throw away when it is written -in letters too small for us to read, or tear up when it is full of -mistakes, or clothes which we destroy because we do not like them. -How foolish to be angry with such things as these, which neither -deserve nor feel our anger! “But of course it is their makers who -really affront us.” I answer that, in the first place, we often -become angry before making this distinction clear in our minds, and -secondly, perhaps even the makers might put forward some reasonable -excuses: one of them, it may be, could not make them any better -than he did, and it is not through any disrespect to you that he -was unskilled in his trade: another may have done his work so without -any intention of insulting you: and, finally, what can be more crazy -than to discharge upon things the ill-feeling which one has accumulated -against persons? Yet as it is the act of a madman to be angry with -inanimate objects, so also is it to be angry with dumb animals, -which can do us no wrong because they are not able to form a {101} -purpose; and we cannot call anything a wrong unless it be done -intentionally. They are, therefore, able to hurt us, just as a sword -or a stone may do so, but they are not able to do us a wrong. Yet -some men think themselves insulted when the same horses which are -docile with one rider are restive with another, as though it were -through their deliberate choice, and not through habit and cleverness -of handling that some horses are more easily managed by some men -than by others. And as it is foolish to be angry with them, so it -is to be angry with children, and with men who have little more -sense than children: for all these sins, before a just judge, -ignorance would be as effective an excuse as innocence. - -XXVII. There are some things which are unable to hurt us, and whose -power is exclusively beneficial and salutary, as, for example, the -immortal gods, who neither wish nor are able to do harm: for their -temperament is naturally gentle and tranquil, and no more likely -to wrong others than to wrong themselves. Foolish people who know -not the truth hold them answerable for storms at sea, excessive -rain, and long winters, whereas all the while these phenomena by -which we suffer or profit take place without any reference whatever -to us: it is not for our sake that the universe causes summer and -winter to succeed one another; these have a law of their own, -according to which their divine functions are performed. We think -too much of ourselves, when we imagine that we are worthy to have -such prodigious revolutions effected for our sake: so, then, none -of these things take place in order to do us an injury, nay, on the -contrary, they all tend to our benefit. I have said that there are -some things which cannot hurt us, and some which would not. To the -latter class belong good men in authority, good parents, teachers, -and judges whose punishments ought to be submitted to by us in the -same spirit in which we {102} undergo the surgeon’s knife, abstinence -from food, and such like things which hurt us for our benefit. -Suppose that we are being punished; let us think not only of what -we suffer, but of what we have done: let us sit in judgement on our -past life. Provided we are willing to tell ourselves the truth, we -shall certainly decide that our crimes deserve a harder measure -than they have received. - -XXVIII. If we desire to be impartial judges of all that takes place, -we must first convince ourselves of this, that no one of us is -faultless: for it is from this that most of our indignation proceeds. -“I have not sinned, I have done no wrong.” Say, rather, you do not -admit that you have done any wrong. We are infuriated at being -reproved, either by reprimand or actual chastisement, although we -are sinning at that very time, by adding insolence and obstinacy -to our wrong-doings. Who is there that can declare himself to have -broken no laws? Even if there be such a man, what a stinted innocence -it is, merely to be innocent by the letter of the law. How much -further do the rules of duty extend than those of the law! how many -things which are not to be found in the statute book, are demanded -by filial feeling, kindness, generosity, equity, and honour? Yet -we are not able to warrant ourselves even to come under that first -narrowest definition of innocence: we have done what was wrong, -thought what was wrong, wished for what was wrong, and encouraged -what was wrong: in some cases we have only remained innocent because -we did not succeed. When we think of this, let us deal more justly -with sinners, and believe that those who scold us are right: in any -case let us not be angry with ourselves (for with whom shall we not -be angry, if we are angry even with our own selves?), and least of -all with the gods: for whatever we suffer befalls us not by any -ordinance of theirs but of the common law of all flesh. “But diseases -and pains attack us.” Well, people who live in a crazy {103} dwelling -must have some way of escape from it. Some one will be said to have -spoken ill of you: think whether you did not first speak ill of -him: think of how many persons you have yourself spoken ill. Let -us not, I say, suppose that others are doing us a wrong, but are -repaying one which we have done them, that some are acting with -good intentions, some under compulsion, some in ignorance, and let -us believe that even he who does so intentionally and knowingly did -not wrong us merely for the sake of wronging us, but was led into -doing so by the attraction of saying something witty, or did whatever -he did, not out of any spite against us, but because he himself -could not succeed unless he pushed us back. We are often offended -by flattery even while it is being lavished upon us: yet whoever -recalls to his mind how often he himself has been the victim of -undeserved suspicion, how often fortune has given his true service -an appearance of wrong-doing, how many persons he has begun by -hating and ended by loving, will be able to keep himself from -becoming angry straightway, especially if he silently says to himself -when each offence is committed: “I have done this very thing myself.” -Where, however, will you find so impartial a judge? The same man -who lusts after everyone’s wife, and thinks that a woman’s belonging -to someone else is a sufficient reason for adoring her, will not -allow any one else to look at his own wife. No man expects such -exact fidelity as a traitor: the perjurer himself takes vengeance -of him who breaks his word: the pettifogging lawyer is most indignant -at an action being brought against him: the man who is reckless of -his own chastity cannot endure any attempt upon that of his slaves. -We have other men’s vices before our eyes, and our own behind our -backs: hence it is that a father, who is worse than his son, blames -the latter for giving extravagant feasts,[10] and disapproves of -{104} the least sign of luxury in another, although he was wont to -set no bounds to it in his own case; hence it is that despots are -angry with homicides, and thefts are punished by those who despoil -temples. A great part of mankind is not angry with sins, but with -sinners. Regard to our own selves[11] will make us more moderate, -if we inquire of ourselves:—have we ever committed any crime of -this sort? have we ever fallen into this kind of error? is it for -our interest that we should condemn this conduct? - -XXIX. The greatest remedy for anger is delay: beg anger to grant -you this at the first, not in order that it may pardon the offence, -but that it may form a right judgment about it: if it delays, it -will come to an end. Do not attempt to quell it all at once, for -its first impulses are fierce; by plucking away its parts we shall -remove the whole. We are made angry by some things which we learn -at second-hand, and by some which we ourselves hear or see. Now, -we ought to be slow to believe what is told us. Many tell lies in -order to deceive us, and many because they are themselves deceived. -Some seek to win our favour by false accusations, and invent wrongs -in order that they may appear angry at our having suffered them. -One man lies out of spite, that he may set trusting friends at -variance; some because they are suspicious,[12] and wish to see -sport, and watch from a safe distance those whom they have set by -the ears. If you were about to give sentence in court about ever -so small a sum of money, you would take nothing as proved without -a witness, and a witness would count for nothing except on his oath. -You would allow both sides to be heard: you would allow them time: -you would not despatch the matter at one sitting, because the oftener -it is handled the more distinctly the truth appears. And do you -condemn your friend off-hand? {105} Are you angry with him before -you hear his story, before you have cross-examined him, before he -can know either who is his accuser or with what he is charged. Why -then, just now, in the case which you just tried, did you hear what -was said on both sides? This very man who has informed against your -friend, will say no more if he be obliged to prove what he says. -“You need not,” says he, “bring me forward as a witness; if I am -brought forward I shall deny what I have said; unless you excuse -me from appearing I shall never tell you anything.” At the same -time he spurs you on and withdraws himself from the strife and -battle. The man who will tell you nothing save in secret hardly -tells you anything at all. What can be more unjust than to believe -in secret, and to be angry openly? - -XXX. Some offences we ourselves witness: in these cases let us -examine the disposition and purpose of the offender. Perhaps he is -a child; let us pardon his youth, he knows not whether he is doing -wrong: or he is a father; he has either rendered such great services, -as to have won the right even to wrong us—or perhaps this very act -which offends us is his chief merit: or a woman; well, she made a -mistake. The man did it because he was ordered to do it. Who but -an unjust person can be angry with what is done under compulsion? -You had hurt him: well, there is no wrong in suffering the pain -which you have been the first to inflict. Suppose that your opponent -is a judge; then you ought to take his opinion rather than your -own: or that he is a king; then, if he punishes the guilty, yield -to him because he is just, and if he punishes the innocent, yield -to him because he is powerful. Suppose that it is a dumb animal or -as stupid as a dumb animal: then, if you are angry with it, you -will make yourself like it. Suppose that it is a disease or a -misfortune; it will take less effect upon you if you bear it quietly: -or that it is a god; then you waste your time by being angry with -him as much {106} as if you prayed him to be angry with some one -else. Is it a good man who has wronged you? do not believe it: is -it a bad one? do not be surprised at this; he will pay to some one -else the penalty which he owes to you—indeed, by his sin he has -already punished himself. - -XXXI. There are, as I have stated, two cases which produce anger: -first, when we appear to have received an injury, about which enough -has been said, and, secondly, when we appear to have been treated -unjustly: this must now be discussed. Men think some things unjust -because they ought not to suffer them, and some because they did -not expect to suffer them: we think what is unexpected is beneath -our deserts. Consequently, we are especially excited at what befalls -us contrary to our hope and expectation: and this is why we are -irritated at the smallest trifles in our own domestic affairs, and -why we call our friends’ carelessness deliberate injury. How is it, -then, asks our opponent, that we are angered by the injuries inflicted -by our enemies? It is because we did not expect those particular -injuries, or, at any rate, not on so extensive a scale. This is -caused by our excessive self-love: we think that we ought to remain -uninjured even by our enemies: every man bears within his breast -the mind of a despot, and is willing to commit excesses, but unwilling -to submit to them. Thus it is either ignorance or arrogance that -makes us angry: ignorance of common facts; for what is there to -wonder at in bad men committing evil deeds? what novelty is there -in your enemy hurting you, your friend quarrelling with you, your -son going wrong, or your servant doing amiss? Fabius was wont to -say that the most shameful excuse a general could make was “I did -not think.” I think it the most shameful excuse that a man can make. -Think of everything, expect everything: even with men of good -character something queer will crop up; human nature produces minds -that are treacherous, ungrateful, greedy, and impious: when you are -considering what any {107} man’s morals may be, think what those -of mankind are. When you are especially enjoying yourself, be -especially on your guard: when everything seems to you to be peaceful, -be sure that mischief is not absent, but only asleep. Always believe -that something will occur to offend you. A pilot never spreads all -his canvas abroad so confidently as not to keep his tackle for -shortening sail ready for use. Think, above all, how base and hateful -is the power of doing mischief, and how unnatural in man, by whose -kindness even fierce animals are rendered tame. See how bulls yield -their necks to the yoke, how elephants[13] allow boys and women to -dance on their backs unhurt, how snakes glide harmlessly over our -bosoms and among our drinking-cups, how within their dens bears and -lions submit to be handled with complacent mouths, and wild beasts -fawn upon their master: let us blush to have exchanged habits with -wild beasts. It is a crime to injure one’s country: so it is, -therefore, to injure any of our countrymen, for he is a part of our -country; if the whole be sacred, the parts must be sacred too. -Therefore it is also a crime to injure any man: for he is your -fellow-citizen in a larger state. What, if the hands were to wish -to hurt the feet? or the eyes to hurt the hands? As all the limbs -act in unison, because it is the interest of the whole body to keep -each one of them safe, so men should spare one another, because -they are born for society. The bond of society, however, cannot -exist unless it guards and loves all its members. We should not -even destroy vipers and water-snakes and other creatures whose teeth -and claws are dangerous, if we were able to tame them as we do other -animals, or to prevent their being a peril to us: neither ought we, -therefore, to hurt a man because he has done wrong, but lest he -should do wrong, and our punishment should always look to the future, -and never to the past, because it is inflicted in a spirit of -precaution, not of anger: for if everyone {108} who has a crooked -and vicious disposition were to be punished, no one would escape -punishment. - -XXXII. “But anger possesses a certain pleasure of its own, and it -is sweet to pay back the pain you have suffered.” Not at all; it -is not honourable to requite injuries by injuries, in the same way -as it is to repay benefits by benefits. In the latter case it is a -shame to be conquered; in the former it is a shame to conquer. -Revenge and retaliation are words which men use and even think to -be righteous, yet they do not greatly differ from wrong-doing, -except in the order in which they are done: he who renders pain for -pain has more excuse for his sin; that is all. Some one who did not -know Marcus Cato struck him in the public bath in his ignorance, -for who would knowingly have done him an injury? Afterwards when -he was apologizing, Cato replied, “I do not remember being struck.” -He thought it better to ignore the insult than to revenge it. You -ask, “Did no harm befall that man for his insolence?” No, but rather -much good; he made the acquaintance of Cato. It is the part of a -great mind to despise wrongs done to it; the most contemptuous form -of revenge is not to deem one’s adversary worth taking vengeance -upon. Many have taken small injuries much more seriously to heart -than they need, by revenging them: that man is great and noble who -like a large wild animal hears unmoved the tiny curs that bark at -him. - -XXXIII. “We are treated,” says our opponent, “with more respect if -we revenge our injuries.” If we make use of revenge merely as a -remedy, let us use it without anger, and not regard revenge as -pleasant, but as useful: yet often it is better to pretend not to -have received an injury than to avenge it. The wrongs of the powerful -must not only be borne, but borne with a cheerful countenance: they -will repeat the wrong if they think they have inflicted it. This -is the worst trait of minds rendered arrogant by {109} prosperity, -they hate those whom they have injured. Every one knows the saying -of the old courtier, who, when some one asked him how he had achieved -the rare distinction of living at court till he reached old age, -replied, “By receiving wrongs and returning thanks for them.” It -is often so far from expedient to avenge our wrongs, that it will -not do even to admit them. Gaius Caesar, offended at the smart -clothes and well-dressed hair of the son of Pastor, a distinguished -Roman knight, sent him to prison. When the father begged that his -son might suffer no harm, Caius, as if reminded by this to put him -to death, ordered him to be executed, yet, in order to mitigate his -brutality to the father, invited him that very day to dinner. Pastor -came with a countenance which betrayed no illwill. Caesar pledged -him in a glass of wine, and set a man to watch him. The wretched -creature went through his part, feeling as though he were drinking -his son’s blood: the emperor sent him some perfume and a garland, -and gave orders to watch whether he used them: he did so. On the -very day on which he had buried, nay, on which he had not even -buried his son, he sat down as one of a hundred guests, and, old -and gouty as he was, drank to an extent which would have been hardly -decent on a child’s birthday; he shed no tear the while; he did not -permit his grief to betray itself by the slightest sign; he dined -just as though his entreaties had gained his son’s life. You ask -me why he did so? he had another son. What did Priam do in the -Iliad? Did he not conceal his wrath and embrace the knees of Achilles? -did he not raise to his lips that death-dealing hand, stained with -the blood of his son, and sup with his slayer? True! but there were -no perfumes and garlands, and his fierce enemy encouraged him with -many soothing words to eat, not to drain huge goblets with a guard -standing over him to see that he did it. Had he only feared for -himself, the father would have treated the {110} tyrant with scorn: -but love for his son quenched his anger: he deserved the emperor’s -permission to leave the banquet and gather up the bones of his son: -but, meanwhile, that kindly and polite youth the emperor would not -even permit him to do this, but tormented the old man with frequent -invitations to drink, advising him thereby to lighten his sorrows. -He, on the other hand, appeared to be in good spirits, and to have -forgotten what had been done that day: he would have lost his second -son had he proved an unacceptable guest to the murderer of his -eldest. - -XXXIV. We must, therefore, refrain from anger, whether he who -provokes us be on a level with ourselves, or above us, or below us. -A contest with one’s equal is of uncertain issue, with one’s superior -is folly, and with one’s inferior is contemptible. It is the part -of a mean and wretched man to turn and bite one’s biter: even mice -and ants show their teeth if you put your hand to them, and all -feeble creatures think that they are hurt if they are touched. It -will make us milder tempered to call to mind any services which he -with whom we are angry may have done us, and to let his deserts -balance his offence. Let us also reflect, how much credit the tale -of our forgiveness will confer upon us, how many men may be made -into valuable friends by forgiveness. One of the lessons which -Sulla’s cruelty teaches us is not to be angry with the children of -our enemies, whether they be public or private; for he drove the -sons of the proscribed into exile. Nothing is more unjust than that -any one should inherit the quarrels of his father. Whenever we are -loth to pardon any one, let us think whether it would be to our -advantage that all men should be inexorable. He who refuses to -pardon, how often has he begged it for himself? how often has he -grovelled at the feet of those whom he spurns from his own? How can -we gain more glory than by turning anger {111} into friendship? -what more faithful allies has the Roman people than those who have -been its most unyielding enemies? where would the empire be to-day, -had not a wise foresight united the conquered and the conquerors? -If any one is angry with you, meet his anger by returning benefits -for it: a quarrel which is only taken up on one side falls to the -ground: it takes two men to fight. But[14] suppose that there is -an angry struggle on both sides, even then, he is the better man -who first gives way; the winner is the real loser. He struck you; -well then, do you fall back: if you strike him in turn you will -give him both an opportunity and an excuse for striking you again: -you will not be able to withdraw yourself from the struggle when -you please. - -XXXV. Does any one wish to strike his enemy so hard, as to leave -his own hand in the wound, and not to be able to recover his balance -after the blow? yet such a weapon is anger: it is scarcely possible -to draw it back. We are careful to choose for ourselves light -weapons, handy and manageable swords: shall we not avoid these -clumsy, unwieldy,[15] and never-to-be-recalled impulses of the mind? -The only swiftness of which men approve is that which, when bidden, -checks itself and proceeds no further, and which can be guided, and -reduced from a run to a walk: we know that the sinews are diseased -when they move against our will. A man must be either aged or weakly -who runs when he wants to walk: let us think that those are the -most powerful and the soundest operations of our minds, which act -under our own control, not at their own caprice. Nothing, however, -will be of so much service as to consider, first, the hideousness, -and, secondly, the danger of anger. No passion bears a more troubled -aspect: it befouls the fairest face, makes fierce the expression -which before was peaceful. From the angry “all grace has fled;” -{112} though their clothing may be fashionable, they will trail it -on the ground and take no heed of their appearance; though their -hair be smoothed down in a comely manner by nature or art, yet it -will bristle up in sympathy with their mind. The veins become -swollen, the breast will be shaken by quick breathing, the man’s -neck will be swelled as he roars forth his frantic talk: then, too, -his limbs will tremble, his hands will be restless, his whole body -will sway hither and thither. What, think you, must be the state -of his mind within him, when its appearance without is so shocking? -how far more dreadful a countenance he bears within his own breast, -how far keener pride, how much more violent rage, which will burst -him unless it finds some vent? Let us paint anger looking like those -who are dripping with the blood of foemen or savage beasts, or those -who are just about to slaughter them—like those monsters of the -nether world fabled by the poet to be girt with serpents and breathing -flame, when they sally forth from hell, most frightful to behold, -in order that they may kindle wars, stir up strife between nations, -and overthrow peace; let us paint her eyes glowing with fire, her -voice hissing, roaring, grating, and making worse sounds if worse -there be, while she brandishes weapons in both hands, for she cares -not to protect herself, gloomy, stained with blood, covered with -scars and livid with her own blows, reeling like a maniac, wrapped -in a thick cloud, dashing hither and thither, spreading desolation -and panic, loathed by every one and by herself above all, willing, -if otherwise she cannot hurt her foe, to overthrow alike earth, -sea, and heaven, harmful and hateful at the same time. Or, if we -are to see her, let her be such as our poets have described her— - - “There with her blood-stained scourge Bellona fights. And - Discord in her riven robe delights,”[16] - -{113} or, if possible, let some even more dreadful aspect be invented -for this dreadful passion. - -XXXVI. Some angry people, as Sextius remarks, have been benefited -by looking at the glass: they have been struck by so great an -alteration in their own appearance: they have been, as it were, -brought into their own presence and have not recognized themselves: -yet how small a part of the real hideousness of anger did that -reflected image in the mirror reproduce? Could the mind be displayed -or made to appear through any substance, we should be confounded -when we beheld how black and stained, how agitated, distorted, and -swollen it looked: even at present it is very ugly when seen through -all the screens of blood, bones, and so forth: what would it be, -were it displayed uncovered? You say, that you do not believe that -any one was ever scared out of anger by a mirror: and why not? -Because when he came to the mirror to change his mind, he had changed -it already: to angry men no face looks fairer than one that is -fierce and savage and such as they wish to look like. We ought -rather to consider, how many men anger itself has injured. Some in -their excessive heat have burst their veins; some by straining their -voices beyond their strength have vomited blood, or have injured -their sight by too violently injecting humours into their eyes, and -have fallen sick when the fit passed off. No way leads more swiftly -to madness: many have, consequently, remained always in the frenzy -of anger, and, having once lost their reason, have never recovered -it. Ajax was driven mad by anger, and driven to suicide by madness. -Men, frantic with rage, call upon heaven to slay their children, -to reduce themselves to poverty, and to ruin their houses, and yet -declare that they are not either angry or insane. Enemies to their -best friends, dangerous to their nearest and dearest, regardless -of the laws save where they injure, swayed by the smallest trifles, -unwilling to lend their ears {114} to the advice or the services -of their friends, they do everything by main force, and are ready -either to fight with their swords or to throw themselves upon them, -for the greatest of all evils, and one which surpasses all vices, -has gained possession of them. Other passions gain a footing in the -mind by slow degrees: anger’s conquest is sudden and complete, and, -moreover, it makes all other passions subservient to itself. It -conquers the warmest love: men have thrust swords through the bodies -of those whom they loved, and have slain those in whose arms they -have lain. Avarice, that sternest and most rigid of passions, is -trampled underfoot by anger, which forces it to squander its carefully -collected wealth and set fire to its house and all its property in -one heap. Why, has not even the ambitious man been known to fling -away the most highly valued ensigns of rank, and to refuse high -office when it was offered to him? There is no passion over which -anger does not bear absolute rule. - - -[1] “_Vehiculorum ridicule Koch_,” says Gertz, justly, “_vitiorum_ -makes excellent sense.”—J. E. B. M. - -[2] The murder of Pompeius, B.C. 48. Achillas and Theodotus acted -under the nominal orders of Ptolemy XII., Cleopatra’s brother, then -about seventeen years of age. - -[3] See “De Clem.” ii. 6, 4, I emended many years ago ένὸς χανόντος -με ΤΕΣΧΗΚεν into ἐ. χ., με ΤΑΚΕΧΗΝεν ἄτερος: “when one has yawned, -the other yawns.”—J. E. B. M. - -[4] The voting-place in the Campus Martius. - -[5] Ovid, Metamorphoses, i., 144, sqq. The same lines are quoted -in the essay on Benefits, v. 15. - -[6] _I.e._, he can plead that he kept the beaten track. - -[7] De Clem. i. 12, 5. - -[8] Compare Shakespeare, “Julius Caesar,” Act v. Sc. 5:— - - “His life was gentle, and the elements So mixed in him, that - nature might stand up And say to all the world, _this was a - man!_” - -See Mr. Aldis Wright’s note upon the passage. - -[9] _Paedagogus_ was a slave who accompanied a boy to school, &c., -to keep him out of mischief; he did not teach him anything. - -[10] _Tempestiva_, beginning before the usual hour. - -[11] Fear of self-condemnation. - -[12] Lipsius conjectures _supprocax_, mischievous. - -[13] I have adopted the transposition of Haase and Koch. - -[14] I adopt Vahlen’s reading. See his Preface, p. viii., ed, Jenae, -1879. - -[15] I read _onerosos_ with Vahlen, See his Preface, p, viii., ed, -Jenae, 1879. - -[16] The lines are from Virgil, Aen. viii. 702, but are inaccurately -quoted. - - - - -{115} - -THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO -NOVATUS. - -OF ANGER. - -Book III. - - -I. We will now, my Novatus, attempt to do that which you so especially -long to do, that is, to drive out anger from our minds, or at all -events to curb it and restrain its impulses. This may sometimes be -done openly and without concealment, when we are only suffering -from a slight attack of this mischief, and at other times it must -be done secretly, when our anger is excessively hot, and when every -obstacle thrown in its way increases it and makes it blaze higher. -It is important to know how great and how fresh its strength may -be, and whether it can be driven forcibly back and suppressed, or -whether we must give way to it until its first storm blow over, -lest it sweep away with it our remedies themselves. We must deal -with each case according to each man’s character: some yield to -entreaties, others are rendered arrogant and masterful by submission: -we may frighten some men out of their anger, while some may be -turned from their purpose by reproaches, some by acknowledging -oneself to be in the wrong, some by shame, and some by delay, a -tardy remedy for a hasty disorder, which we ought only to use when -all others have failed: {116} for other passions admit of having -their case put off, and may be healed at a later time; but the eager -and self-destructive violence of anger does not grow up by slow -degrees, but reaches its full height as soon as it begins. Nor does -it, like other vices, merely disturb men’s minds, but it takes them -away, and torments them till they are incapable of restraining -themselves and eager for the common ruin of all men, nor does it -rage merely against its object, but against every obstacle which -it encounters on its way. The other vices move our minds; anger -hurls them headlong. If we are not able to withstand our passions, -yet at any rate our passions ought to stand firm: but anger grows -more and more powerful, like lightning flashes or hurricanes, or -any other things which cannot stop themselves because they do not -proceed along, but fall from above. Other vices affect our judgment, -anger affects our sanity: others come in mild attacks and grow -unnoticed, but men’s minds plunge abruptly into anger. There is no -passion that is more frantic, more destructive to its own self; it -is arrogant if successful, and frantic if it fails. Even when -defeated it does not grow weary, but if chance places its foe beyond -its reach, it turns its teeth against itself. Its intensity is in -no way regulated by its origin: for it rises to the greatest heights -from the most trivial beginnings. - -II. It passes over no time of life; no race of men is exempt from -it: some nations have been saved from the knowledge of luxury by -the blessing of poverty; some through their active and wandering -habits have escaped from sloth; those whose manners are unpolished -and whose life is rustic know not chicanery and fraud and all the -evils to which the courts of law give birth: but there is no race -which is not excited by anger, which is equally powerful with Greeks -and barbarians, and is just as ruinous among law-abiding folk as -among those whose only law is that of the {117} stronger. Finally, -the other passions seize upon individuals; anger is the only one -which sometimes possesses a whole state. No entire people ever fell -madly in love with a woman, nor did any nation ever set its affections -altogether upon gain and profit. Ambition attacks single individuals; -ungovernable rage is the only passion that affects nations. People -often fly into a passion by troops; men and women, old men and boys, -princes and populace all act alike, and the whole multitude, after -being excited by a very few words, outdoes even its exciter: men -betake themselves straightway to fire and sword, and proclaim a war -against their neighbours or wage one against their countrymen. Whole -houses are burned with the entire families which they contain, and -he who but lately was honoured for his popular eloquence now finds -that his speech moves people to rage. Legions aim their darts at -their commander; the whole populace quarrels with the nobles; the -senate, without waiting for troops to be levied or appointing a -general, hastily chooses leaders, for its anger chases well-born -men through the houses of Rome, and puts them to death with its own -hand. Ambassadors are outraged, the law of nations violated, and -an unnatural madness seizes the state. Without allowing time for -the general excitement to subside, fleets are straightway launched -and laden with a hastily enrolled soldiery. Without organization, -without taking any auspices, the populace rushes into the field -guided only by its own anger, snatches up whatever comes first to -hand by way of arms, and then atones by a great defeat for the -reckless audacity of its anger. This is usually the fate of savage -nations when they plunge into war: as soon as their easily excited -minds are roused by the appearance of wrong having been done them, -they straightway hasten forth, and, guided only by their wounded -feelings, fall like an avalanche upon our legions, without either -discipline, fear, or precaution, and wilfully seeking for danger. -They {118} delight in being struck, in pressing forward to meet the -blow, writhing their bodies along the weapon, and perishing by a -wound which they themselves make. - -III. “No doubt,” you say, “anger is very powerful and ruinous: point -out, therefore, how it may be cured.” Yet, as I stated in my former -books, Aristotle stands forth in defence of anger, and forbids it -to be uprooted, saying that it is the spur of virtue, and that when -it is taken away, our minds become weaponless, and slow to attempt -great exploits. It is therefore essential to prove its unseemliness -and ferocity, and to place distinctly before our eyes how monstrous -a thing it is that one man should rage against another, with what -frantic violence he rushes to destroy alike himself and his foe, -and overthrows those very things whose fall he himself must share. -What, then? can any one call this man sane, who, as though caught -up by a hurricane, does not go but is driven, and is the slave of -a senseless disorder? He does not commit to another the duty of -revenging him, but himself exacts it, raging alike in thought and -deed, butchering those who are dearest to him, and for whose loss -he himself will ere long weep. Will any one give this passion as -an assistant and companion to virtue, although it disturbs calm -reason, without which virtue can do nothing? The strength which a -sick man owes to a paroxysm of disease is neither lasting nor -wholesome, and is strong only to its own destruction. You need not, -therefore, imagine that I am wasting time over a useless task in -defaming anger, as though men had not made up their minds about it, -when there is some one, and he, too, an illustrious philosopher, -who assigns it services to perform, and speaks of it as useful and -supplying energy for battles, for the management of business, and -indeed for everything which requires to be conducted with spirit. -Lest it should delude any one into thinking that on certain occasions -and in certain positions it may be useful, we must show its {119} -unbridled and frenzied madness, we must restore to it its attributes, -the rack, the cord, the dungeon, and the cross, the fires lighted -round men’s buried bodies, the hook[1] that drags both living men -and corpses, the different kinds of fetters, and of punishments, -the mutilations of limbs, the branding of the forehead, the dens -of savage beasts. Anger should be represented as standing among -these her instruments, growling in an ominous and terrible fashion, -herself more shocking than any of the means by which she gives vent -to her fury. - -IV. There may be some doubt about the others, but at any rate no -passion has a worse look. We have described the angry man’s appearance -in our former books, how sharp and keen he looks, at one time pale -as his blood is driven inwards and backwards, at another with all -the heat and fire of his body directed to his face, making it -reddish-coloured as if stained with blood, his eyes now restless -and starting out of his head, now set motionless in one fixed gaze. -Add to this his teeth, which gnash against one another, as though -he wished to eat somebody, with exactly the sound of a wild boar -sharpening his tusks: add also the cracking of his joints, the -involuntary wringing of his hands, the frequent slaps he deals -himself on the chest, his hurried breathing and deep-drawn sighs, -his reeling body, his abrupt broken speech, and his trembling lips, -which sometimes he draws tight as he hisses some curse through them. -By Hercules, no wild beast, neither when tortured by hunger, or -with a weapon struck through its vitals, not even when it gathers -its last breath to bite its slayer, looks so shocking as a man -raging with anger. Listen, if you have leisure, to his words {120} -and threats: how dreadful is the language of his agonized mind! -Would not every man wish to lay aside anger when he sees that it -begins by injuring himself? When men employ anger as the most -powerful of agents, consider it to be a proof of power, and reckon -a speedy revenge among the greatest blessings of great prosperity, -would you not wish me to warn them that he who is the slave of his -own anger is not powerful, nor even free? Would you not wish me to -warn all the more industrious and circumspect of men, that while -other evil passions assail the base, anger gradually obtains dominion -over the minds even of learned and in other respects sensible men? -So true is that, that some declare anger to be a proof of -straight-forwardness, and it is commonly believed that the best-natured -people are prone to it. - -V. You ask me, whither does all this tend? To prove, I answer, that -no one should imagine himself to be safe from anger, seeing that -it rouses up even those who are naturally gentle and quiet to commit -savage and violent acts. As strength of body and assiduous care of -the health avail nothing against a pestilence, which attacks the -strong and weak alike, so also steady and good-humoured people are -just as liable to attacks of anger as those of unsettled character, -and in the case of the former it is both more to be ashamed of and -more to be feared, because it makes a greater alteration in their -habits. Now as the first thing is not to be angry, the second to -lay aside our anger, and the third to be able to heal the anger of -others as well as our own, I will set forth first how we may avoid -falling into anger; next, how we may set ourselves free from it, -and, lastly, how we may restrain an angry man, appease his wrath, -and bring him back to his right mind. We shall succeed in avoiding -anger, if from time to time we lay before our minds all the vices -connected with anger, and estimate it at its real value: it must -be prosecuted {121} before us and convicted: its evils must be -thoroughly investigated and exposed. That we may see what it is, -let it be compared with the worst vices. Avarice scrapes together -and amasses riches for some better man to use: anger spends money; -few can indulge in it for nothing. How many slaves an angry master -drives to run away or to commit suicide! how much more he loses by -his anger than the value of what he originally became angry about! -Anger brings grief to a father, divorce to a husband, hatred to a -magistrate, failure to a candidate for office. It is worse than -luxury, because luxury enjoys its own pleasure, while anger enjoys -another’s pain. It is worse than either spitefulness or envy; for -they wish that some one may become unhappy, while anger wishes to -make him so: they are pleased when evil befalls one by accident, -but anger cannot wait upon Fortune; it desires to injure its victim -personally, and is not satisfied merely with his being injured. -Nothing is more dangerous than jealousy: it is produced by anger. -Nothing is more ruinous than war: it is the outcome of powerful -men’s anger; and even the anger of humble private persons, though -without arms or armies, is nevertheless war. Moreover, even if we -pass over its immediate consequences, such as heavy losses, treacherous -plots, and the constant anxiety produced by strife, anger pays a -penalty at the same moment that it exacts one: it forswears human -feelings. The latter urge us to love, anger urges us to hatred: the -latter bid us do men good, anger bids us do them harm. Add to this -that, although its rage arises from an excessive self-respect and -appears to show high spirit, it really is contemptible and mean: -for a man must be inferior to one by whom he thinks himself despised, -whereas the truly great mind, which takes a true estimate of its -own value, does not revenge an insult because it does not feel it. -As weapons rebound from a hard surface, and solid substances hurt -{122} those who strike them, so also no insult can make a really -great mind sensible of its presence, being weaker than that against -which it is aimed. How far more glorious is it to throw back all -wrongs and insults from oneself, like one wearing armour of proof -against all weapons, for revenge is an admission that we have been -hurt. That cannot be a great mind which is disturbed by injury. He -who has hurt you must be either stronger or weaker than yourself. -If he be weaker, spare him: if he be stronger, spare yourself. - -VI. There is no greater proof of magnanimity than that nothing which -befalls you should be able to move you to anger. The higher region -of the universe, being more excellently ordered and near to the -stars, is never gathered into clouds, driven about by storms, or -whirled round by cyclones: it is free from all disturbance: the -lightnings flash in the region below it. In like manner a lofty -mind, always placid and dwelling in a serene atmosphere, restraining -within itself all the impulses from which anger springs, is modest, -commands respect, and remains calm and collected: none of which -qualities will you find in an angry man: for who, when under the -influence of grief and rage, does not first get rid of bashfulness? -who, when excited and confused and about to attack some one, does -not fling away any habits of shamefacedness he may have possessed? -what angry man attends to the number or routine of his duties? who -uses moderate language? who keeps any part of his body quiet? who -can guide himself when in full career? We shall find much profit -in that sound maxim of Democritus which defines peace of mind to -consist in not labouring much, or too much for our strength, either -in public or private matters. A man’s day, if he is engaged in many -various occupations, never passes so happily that no man or no thing -should give rise to some offence which makes the mind ripe for -anger. Just as when one hurries through the crowded parts of the -city {123} one cannot help jostling many people, and one cannot -help slipping at one place, being hindered at another, and splashed -at another, so when one’s life is spent in disconnected pursuits -and wanderings, one must meet with many troubles and many accusations. -One man deceives our hopes, another delays their fulfilment, another -destroys them: our projects do not proceed according to our intention. -No one is so favoured by Fortune as to find her always on his side -if he tempts her often: and from this it follows that he who sees -several enterprises turn out contrary to his wishes becomes -dissatisfied with both men and things, and on the slightest provocation -flies into a rage with people, with undertakings, with places, with -fortune, or with himself. In order, therefore, that the mind may -be at peace, it ought not to be hurried hither and thither, nor, -as I said before, wearied by labour at great matters, or matters -whose attainment is beyond its strength. It is easy to fit one’s -shoulder to a light burden, and to shift it from one side to the -other without dropping it: but we have difficulty in bearing the -burdens which others’ hands lay upon us, and when overweighted by -them we fling them off upon our neighbours. Even when we do stand -upright under our load, we nevertheless reel beneath a weight which -is beyond our strength. - -VII. Be assured that the same rule applies both to public and private -life: simple and manageable undertakings proceed according to the -pleasure of the person in charge of them, but enormous ones, beyond -his capacity to manage, are not easily undertaken. When he has got -them to administer, they hinder him, and press hard upon him, and -just as he thinks that success is within his grasp, they collapse, -and carry him with them: thus it comes about that a man’s wishes -are often disappointed if he does not apply himself to easy tasks, -yet wishes that the tasks which he undertakes may be easy. Whenever -you would attempt anything, first {124} form an estimate both of -your own powers, of the extent of the matter which you are undertaking, -and of the means by which you are to accomplish it: for if you have -to abandon your work when it is half done, the disappointment will -sour your temper. In such cases, it makes a difference whether one -is of an ardent or of a cold and unenterprising temperament: for -failure will rouse a generous spirit to anger, and will move a -sluggish and dull one to sorrow. Let our undertakings, therefore, -be neither petty nor yet presumptuous and reckless: let our hopes -not range far from home: let us attempt nothing which if we succeed -will make us astonished at our success. - -VIII. Since we know not how to endure an injury, let us take care -not to receive one: we should live with the quietest and easiest-tempered -persons, not with anxious or with sullen ones: for our own habits -are copied from those with whom we associate, and just as some -bodily diseases are communicated by touch, so also the mind transfers -its vices to its neighbours. A drunkard leads even those who reproach -him to grow fond of wine: profligate society will, if permitted, -impair the morals even of robust-minded men: avarice infects those -nearest it with its poison. Virtues do the same thing in the opposite -direction, and improve all those with whom they are brought in -contact: it is as good for one of unsettled principles to associate -with better men than himself as for an invalid to live in a warm -country with a healthy climate. You will understand how much may -be effected this way, if you observe how even wild beasts grow tame -by dwelling among us, and how no animal, however ferocious, continues -to be wild, if it has long been accustomed to human companionship: -all its savageness becomes softened, and amid peaceful scenes is -gradually forgotten. We must add to this, that the man who lives -with quiet people is not only improved by their example, but also -by the fact that he finds no reason for anger and does not practise -his {125} vice: it will, therefore, be his duty to avoid all those -who he knows will excite his anger. You ask, who these are: many -will bring about the same thing by various means; a proud man will -offend you by his disdain, a talkative man by his abuse, an impudent -man by his insults, a spiteful man by his malice, a quarrelsome man -by his wrangling, a braggart and liar by his vain-gloriousness: you -will not endure to be feared by a suspicious man, conquered by an -obstinate one, or scorned by an ultra-refined one: Choose -straightforward, good-natured, steady people, who will not provoke -your wrath, and will bear with it. Those whose dispositions are -yielding, polite and suave, will be of even greater service, provided -they do not flatter, for excessive obsequiousness irritates -bad-tempered men. One of my own friends was a good man indeed, but -too prone to anger, and it was as dangerous to flatter him as to -curse him. Caelius the orator, it is well known, was the worst-tempered -man possible. It is said that once he was dining in his own chamber -with an especially long-suffering client, but had great difficulty -when thrown thus into a man’s society to avoid quarrelling with -him. The other thought it best to agree to whatever he said, and -to play second fiddle, but Caelius could not bear his obsequious -agreement, and exclaimed, “Do contradict me in something, that there -may be two of us!” Yet even he, who was angry at not being angry, -soon recovered his temper, because he had no one to fight with. If, -then, we are conscious of an irascible disposition, let us especially -choose for our friends those who will look and speak as we do: they -will pamper us and lead us into a bad habit of listening to nothing -that does not please us, but it will be good to give our anger -respite and repose. Even those who are naturally crabbed and wild -will yield to caresses: no creature continues either angry or -frightened if you pat him. Whenever a controversy seems likely to -be longer or more keenly disputed than usual, let us check its first -beginnings, before it gathers strength. {126} A dispute nourishes -itself as it proceeds, and takes hold of those who plunge too deeply -into it: it is easier to stand aloof than to extricate oneself from -a struggle. - -IX. Irascible men ought not to meddle with the more serious class -of occupations, or, at any rate, ought to stop short of weariness -in the pursuit of them; their mind ought not to be engaged upon -hard subjects, but handed over to pleasing arts: let it be softened -by reading poetry, and interested by legendary history: let it be -treated with luxury and refinement. Pythagoras used to calm his -troubled spirit by playing upon the lyre: and who does not know -that trumpets and clarions are irritants, just as some airs are -lullabies and soothe the mind? Green is good for wearied eyes, and -some colours are grateful to weak sight, while the brightness of -others is painful to it. In the same way cheerful pursuits soothe -unhealthy minds. We must avoid law courts, pleadings, verdicts, and -everything else that aggravates our fault, and we ought no less to -avoid bodily weariness; for it exhausts all that is quiet and gentle -in us, and rouses bitterness. For this reason those who cannot trust -their digestion, when they are about to transact business of -importance always allay their bile with food, for it is peculiarly -irritated by fatigue, either because it draws the vital heat into -the middle of the body, and injures the blood and stops its circulation -by the clogging of the veins, or else because the worn-out and -weakened body reacts upon the mind: this is certainly the reason -why those who are broken by ill-health or age are more irascible -than other men. Hunger also and thirst should be avoided for the -same reason; they exasperate and irritate men’s minds: it is an old -saying that “a weary man is quarrelsome “: and so also is a hungry -or a thirsty man, or one who is suffering from any cause whatever: -for just as sores pain one at the slightest touch, and afterwards -even at the fear of being touched, so an unsound mind takes offence -at the slightest things, so that even a {127} greeting, a letter, -a speech, or a question, provokes some men to anger. - -X. That which is diseased can never bear to be handled without -complaining: it is best, therefore, to apply remedies to oneself -as soon as we feel that anything is wrong, to allow oneself as -little licence as possible in speech, and to restrain one’s -impetuosity: now it is easy to detect the first growth of our -passions: the symptoms precede the disorder. Just as the signs of -storms and rain come before the storms themselves, so there are -certain forerunners of anger, love, and all the storms which torment -our minds. Those who suffer from epilepsy know that the fit is -coming on if their extremities become cold, their sight fails, their -sinews tremble, their memory deserts them, and their head swims: -they accordingly check the growing disorder by applying the usual -remedies: they try to prevent the loss of their senses by smelling -or tasting some drug; they battle against cold and stiffness of -limbs by hot fomentations; or, if all remedies fail, they retire -apart, and faint where no one sees them fall. It is useful for a -man to understand his disease, and to break its strength before it -becomes developed. Let us see what it is that especially irritates -us. Some men take offence at insulting words, others at deeds: one -wishes his pedigree, another his person, to be treated with respect. -This man wishes to be considered especially fashionable, that man -to be thought especially learned: one cannot bear pride, another -cannot bear obstinacy. One thinks it beneath him to be angry with -his slaves, another is cruel at home, but gentle abroad. One imagines -that he is proposed for office because he is unpopular, another -thinks himself insulted because he is not proposed. People do not -all take offence in the same way; you ought then to know what your -own weak point is, that you may guard it with especial care. - -XI. It is better not to see or to hear everything: many causes of -offence may pass by us, most of which are disregarded {128} by the -man who ignores them. Would you not be irascible? then be not -inquisitive. He who seeks to know what is said about him, who digs -up spiteful tales even if they were told in secret, is himself the -destroyer of his own peace of mind. Some stories may be so construed -as to appear to be insults: wherefore it is best to put some aside, -to laugh at others, and to pardon others. There are many ways in -which anger may be checked; most things may be turned into jest. -It is said that Socrates when he was given a box on the ear, merely -said that it was a pity a man could not tell when he ought to wear -his helmet out walking. It does not so much matter how an injury -is done, as how it is borne; and I do not see how moderation can -be hard to practise, when I know that even despots, though success -and impunity combine to swell their pride, have sometimes restrained -their natural ferocity. At any rate, tradition informs us that once, -when a guest in his cups bitterly reproached Pisistratus, the despot -of Athens, for his cruelty, many of those present offered to lay -hands on the traitor, and one said one thing and one another to -kindle his wrath, he bore it coolly, and replied to those who were -egging him on, that he was no more angry with the man than he should -be with one who ran against him blindfold. - -XII. A large part of mankind manufacture their own grievances either -by entertaining unfounded suspicions or by exaggerating trifles. -Anger often comes to us, but we often go to it. It ought never to -be sent for: even when it falls in our way it ought to be flung -aside. No one says to himself, “I myself have done or might have -done this very thing which I am angry with another for doing.” No -one considers the intention of the doer, but merely the thing done: -yet we ought to think about him, and whether he did it intentionally -or accidentally, under compulsion or under a mistake, whether he -did it out of hatred for us, or to gain something for himself, -whether he did it to please himself {129} or to serve a friend. In -some cases the age, in others the worldly fortunes of the culprit -may render it humane or advantageous to bear with him and put up -with what he has done. Let us put ourselves in the place of him -with whom we are angry: at present an overweening conceit of our -own importance makes us prone to anger, and we are quite willing -to do to others what we cannot endure should be done to ourselves. -No one will postpone his anger: yet delay is the best remedy for -it, because it allows its first glow to subside, and gives time for -the cloud which darkens the mind either to disperse or at any rate -to become less dense. Of these wrongs which drive you frantic, some -will grow lighter after an interval, not of a day, but even of an -hour: some will vanish altogether. Even if you gain nothing by your -adjournment, still what you do after it will appear to be the result -of mature deliberation, not of anger. If you want to find out the -truth about anything, commit the task to time: nothing can be -accurately discerned at a time of disturbance. Plato, when angry -with his slave, could not prevail upon himself to wait, but straightway -ordered him to take off his shirt and present his shoulders to the -blows which he meant to give him with his own hand: then, when he -perceived that he was angry, he stopped the hand which he had raised -in the air, and stood like one in act to strike. Being asked by a -friend who happened to come in, what he was doing, he answered: “I -am making an angry man expiate his crime.” He retained the posture -of one about to give way to passion, as if struck with astonishment -at its being so degrading to a philosopher, forgetting the slave, -because he had found another still more deserving of punishment. -He therefore denied himself the exercise of authority over his own -household, and once, being rather angry at some fault, said, -“Speusippus, will you please to correct that slave with stripes; -for I am in a rage.” He would not strike him, for the very reason -for which another man would have struck him. “I am in a rage,” said -{130} he; “I should beat him more than I ought: I should take more -pleasure than I ought in doing so: let not that slave fall into the -power of one who is not in his own power.” Can any one wish to grant -the power of revenge to an angry man, when Plato himself gave up -his own right to exercise it? While you are angry, you ought not -to be allowed to do anything. “Why?” do you ask? Because when you -are angry there is nothing that you do not wish to be allowed to -do. - -XIII. Fight hard with yourself and if you cannot conquer anger, do -not let it conquer you: you have begun to get the better of it if -it does not show itself, if it is not given vent. Let us conceal -its symptoms, and as far as possible keep it secret and hidden. It -will give us great trouble to do this, for it is eager to burst -forth, to kindle our eyes and to transform our face; but if we allow -it to show itself in our outward appearance, it is our master. Let -it rather be locked in the innermost recesses of our breast, and -be borne by us, not bear us: nay, let us replace all its symptoms -by their opposites; let us make our countenance more composed than -usual, our voice milder, our step slower. Our inward thoughts -gradually become influenced by our outward demeanour. With Socrates -it was a sign of anger when he lowered his voice, and became sparing -of speech; it was evident at such times that he was exercising -restraint over himself. His friends, consequently, used to detect -him acting thus, and convict him of being angry; nor was he displeased -at being charged with concealment of anger; indeed, how could he -help being glad that many men should perceive his anger, yet that -none should feel it? they would however, have felt it had not he -granted to his friends the same right of criticizing his own conduct -which he himself assumed over theirs. How much more needful is it -for us to do this? let us beg all our best friends to give us their -opinion with the greatest freedom at the very time when we can bear -it least, and never to be compliant with us {131} when we are angry. -While we are in our right senses, while we are under our own control, -let us call for help against so powerful an evil, and one which we -regard with such unjust favour. Those who cannot carry their wine -discreetly, and fear to be betrayed into some rash and insolent -act, give their slaves orders to take them away from the banquet -when they are drunk; those who know by experience how unreasonable -they are when sick give orders that no one is to obey them when -they are in ill health. It is best to prepare obstacles beforehand -for vices which are known, and above all things so to tranquilize -our mind that it may bear the most sudden and violent shocks either -without feeling anger, or, if anger be provoked by the extent of -some unexpected wrong, that it may bury it deep, and not betray its -wound. That it is possible to do this will be seen, if I quote a -few of an abundance of examples, from which we may learn both how -much evil there is in anger, when it exercises entire dominion over -men in supreme power, and how completely it can control itself when -overawed by fear. - -XIV. King Cambyses[2] was excessively addicted to wine. Praexaspes -was the only one of his closest friends who advised him to drink -more sparingly, pointing out how shameful a thing drunkenness was -in a king, upon whom all eyes and ears were fixed. Cambyses answered, -“That you may know that I never lose command of myself, I will -presently prove to you that both my eyes and my hands are fit for -service after I have been drinking.” Hereupon he drank more freely -than usual, using larger cups, and when heavy and besotted with -wine ordered his reprover’s son to go beyond the threshold and stand -there with his left hand raised above his head; then he bent his -bow and pierced the youth’s heart, at which he had said that he -aimed. He {132} then had his breast cut open, showed the arrow -sticking exactly into the heart, and, looking at the boy’s father, -asked whether his hand was not steady enough. He replied, that -Apollo himself could not have taken better aim. God confound such -a man, a slave in mind, if not in station! He actually praised an -act which he ought not to have endured to witness. He thought that -the breast of his son being torn assunder, and his heart quivering -with its wound, gave him an opportunity of making a complimentary -speech. He ought to have raised a dispute with him about his success, -and have called for another shot, that the king might be pleased -to prove upon the person of the father that his hand was even -steadier than when he shot the son. What a savage king! what a -worthy mark for all his follower’s arrows! Yet though we curse him -for making his banquet end in cruelty and death, still it was worse -to praise that arrow-shot than to shoot it. We shall see hereafter -how a father ought to bear himself when standing over the corpse -of his son, whose murder he had both caused and witnessed: the -matter which we are now discussing, has been proved, I mean, that -anger can be suppressed. He did not curse the king, he did not so -much as let fall a single inauspicious word, though he felt his own -heart as deeply wounded as that of his son. He may be said to have -done well in choking down his words; for though he might have spoken -as an angry man, yet he could not have expressed what he felt as a -father. He may, I repeat, be thought to have behaved with greater -wisdom on that occasion than when he tried to regulate the drink -of one who was better employed in drinking wine than in drinking -blood, and who granted men peace while his hands were busy with the -winecup. He, therefore, added one more to the number of those who -have shown to their bitter cost how little kings care for their -friends’ good advice. - -{133} - -XV. I have no doubt that Harpagus must have given some such advice -to the king of the Persians and of himself, in anger at which the -king placed Harpagus’s own children before him on the dinner-table -for him to eat, and asked him from time to time, whether he liked -the seasoning. Then, when he saw that he was satiated with his own -misery, he ordered their heads to be brought to him, and asked him -how he liked his entertainment. The wretched man did not lose his -readiness of speech; his face did not change. “Every kind of dinner,” -said he, “is pleasant at the king’s table.” What did he gain by -this obsequiousness? He avoided being invited a second time to -dinner, to eat what was left of them. I do not forbid a father to -blame the act of his king, or to seek for some revenge worthy of -so bloodthirsty a monster, but in the meanwhile I gather from the -tale this fact, that even the anger which arises from unheard of -outrages can be concealed, and forced into using language which is -the very reverse of its meaning. This way of curbing anger is -necessary, at least for those who have chosen this sort of life and -who are admitted to dine at a king’s table; this is how they must -eat and drink, this is how they must answer, and how they must laugh -at their own deaths. Whether life is worth having at such a price, -we shall see hereafter; that is another question. Let us not console -so sorry a crew, or encourage them to submit to the orders of their -butchers; let us point out that however slavish a man’s condition -may be, there is always a path to liberty open to him, unless his -mind be diseased. It is a man’s own fault if he suffers, when by -putting an end to himself he can put an end to his misery. To him -whose king aimed arrows at the breasts of his friends, and to him -whose master gorged fathers with the hearts of their children, I -would say “Madman, why do you groan? for what are you waiting? for -some enemy to avenge you by the destruction of your {134} entire -nation, or for some powerful king to arrive from a distant land? -Wherever you turn your eyes you may see an end to your woes. Do you -see that precipice? down that lies the road to liberty; do you see -that sea? that river? that well? Liberty sits at the bottom of them. -Do you see that tree? stunted, blighted, dried up though it be, yet -liberty hangs from its branches. Do you see your own throat, your -own neck, your own heart? they are so many ways of escape from -slavery. Are these modes which I point out too laborious, and needing -much strength and courage? do you ask what path leads to liberty? -I answer, any vein[3] in your body. - -XVI. As long, however, as we find nothing in our life so unbearable -as to drive us to suicide, let us, in whatever position we may be, -set anger far from us: it is destructive to those who are its slaves. -All its rage turns to its own misery, and authority becomes all the -more irksome the more obstinately it is resisted. It is like a wild -animal whose struggles only pull the noose by which it is caught -tighter; or like birds who, while flurriedly trying to shake -themselves free, smear birdlime on to all their feathers. No yoke -is so grievous as not to hurt him who struggles against it more -than him who yields to it: the only way to alleviate great evils -is to endure them and to submit to do what they compel. This control -of our passions, and especially of this mad and unbridled passion -of anger, is useful to subjects, but still more useful to kings. -All is lost when a man’s position enables him to carry out whatever -anger prompts him to do; nor can power long endure if it be exercised -to the injury of many, for it becomes endangered as soon as common -fear draws together those who bewail themselves separately. Many -kings, therefore, have fallen victims, some to single individuals, -others to entire peoples, {135} who have been forced by general -indignation to make one man the minister of their wrath. Yet many -kings have indulged their anger as though it were a privilege of -royalty, like Darius, who, after the dethronement of the Magian, -was the first ruler of the Persians and of the greater part of the -East: for when he declared war[4] against the Scythians who bordered -on the empire of the East, Oeobazus, an aged noble, begged that one -of his three sons might be left at home to comfort his father, and -that the king might be satisfied with the services of two of them. -Darius promised him more than he asked for, saying that he would -allow all three to remain at home, and flung their dead bodies -before their father’s eyes. He would have been harsh, had he taken -them all to the war with him. How much more good-natured was -Xerxes,[5] who, when Pythias, the father of five sons, begged for -one to be excused from service, permitted him to choose which he -wished for. He then tore the son whom the father had chosen into -two halves, placed one on each side of the road, and, as it were, -purified his army by means of this propitiatory victim. He therefore -had the end which he deserved, being defeated, and his army scattered -far and wide in utter rout, while he in the midst of it walked among -the corpses of his soldiers, seeing on all sides the signs of his -own overthrow. - -XVII. So ferocious in their anger were those kings who had no -learning, no tincture of polite literature: now I will show you -King Alexander (the Great), fresh from the lap of Aristotle, who -with his own hand while at table stabbed Clitus, his dearest friend, -who had been brought up with him, because he did not flatter him -enough, and was too slow in transforming himself from a free man -and a Macedonian into a Persian slave. Indeed he shut up {136} -Lysimachus,[6] who was no less his friend than Clitus, in a cage -with a lion; yet did this make Lysimachus, who escaped by some happy -chance from the lion’s teeth, any gentler when he became a king? -Why, he mutilated his own friend, Telesphorus the Rhodian, cutting -off his nose and ears, and kept him for a long while in a den, like -some new and strange animal, after the hideousness of his hacked -and disfigured face had made him no longer appear to be human, -assisted by starvation and the squalid filth of a body left to -wallow in its own dung! Besides this, his hands and knees, which -the narrowness of his abode forced him to use instead of his feet, -became hard and callous, while his sides were covered with sores -by rubbing against the walls, so that his appearance was no less -shocking than frightful, and his punishment turned him into so -monstrous a creature that he was not even pitied. Yet, however -unlike a man he was who suffered this, even more unlike was he who -inflicted it. - -XVIII. Would to heaven that such savagery had contented itself with -foreign examples, and that barbarity in anger and punishment had -not been imported with other outlandish vices into our Roman manners! -Marcus Marius, to whom the people erected a statue in every street, -to whom they made offerings of incense and wine, had, by the command -of Lucius Sulla, his legs broken, his eyes pulled out, his hands -cut off, and his whole body gradually torn to pieces limb by limb, -as if Sulla killed him as many times as he wounded him. Who was it -who carried out Sulla’s orders? who but Catiline, already practising -his hands in every sort of wickedness? He tore him to pieces before -the tomb of Quintus Catulus, an unwelcome burden to the ashes of -that gentlest of men, above which one who was no doubt a criminal, -yet nevertheless {137} the idol of the people, and who was not -undeserving of love, although men loved him beyond all reason, was -forced to shed his blood drop by drop. Though Marius deserved such -tortures, yet it was worthy of Sulla to order them, and of Catiline -to execute them; but it was unworthy of the State to be stabbed by -the swords of her enemy and her avenger alike. Why do I pry into -ancient history? quite lately Gaius Caesar flogged and tortured -Sextus Papinius, whose father was a consular, Betilienus Bassus, -his own quaestor, and several others, both senators and knights, -on the same day, not to carry out any judicial inquiry, but merely -to amuse himself. Indeed, so impatient was he of any delay in -receiving the pleasure which his monstrous cruelty never delayed -in asking, that when walking with some ladies and senators in his -mother’s gardens, along the walk between the colonnade and the -river, he struck off some of their heads by lamplight. What did he -fear? what public or private danger could one night threaten him -with? how very small a favour it would have been to wait until -morning, and not to kill the Roman people’s senators in his slippers? - -XIX. It is to the purpose that we should know how haughtily his -cruelty was exercised, although some one might suppose that we are -wandering from the subject and embarking on a digression; but this -digression is itself connected with unusual outbursts of anger. He -beat senators with rods; he did it so often that he made men able -to say, “It is the custom.” He tortured them with all the most -dismal engines in the world, with the cord, the boots, the rack, -the fire, and the sight of his own face. Even to this we may answer, -“To tear three senators to pieces with stripes and fire like criminal -slaves was no such great crime for one who had thoughts of butchering -the entire Senate, who was wont to wish that the Roman people had -but one neck, that he might concentrate {138} into one day and one -blow all the wickedness which he divided among so many places and -times. Was there ever anything so unheard-of as an execution in the -night-time? Highway robbery seeks for the shelter of darkness, but -the more public an execution is, the more power it has as an example -and lesson. Here I shall be met by: “This, which you are so surprised -at, was the daily habit of that monster; this was what he lived -for, watched for, sat up at night for.” Certainly one could find -no one else who would have ordered all those whom he condemned to -death to have their mouths closed by a sponge being fastened in -them, that they might not have the power even of uttering a sound. -What dying man was ever forbidden to groan? He feared that the last -agony might find too free a voice, that he might hear what would -displease him. He knew, moreover, that there were countless crimes, -with which none but a dying man would dare to reproach him. When -sponges were not forthcoming, he ordered the wretched men’s clothes -to be torn up, and the rags stuffed into their mouths. What savagery -was this? Let a man draw his last breath: give room for his soul -to escape through: let it not be forced to leave the body through -a wound. It becomes tedious to add to this that in the same night -he sent centurions to the houses of the executed men and made an -end of their fathers also, that is to say, being a compassionate-minded -man, he set them free from sorrow: for it is not my intention to -describe the ferocity of Gaius, but the ferocity of anger, which -does not merely vent its rage upon individuals, but rends in pieces -whole nations, and even lashes cities, rivers, and things which -have no sense of pain. - -XX. Thus, the king of the Persians cut off the noses of a whole -nation in Syria, wherefore the place is called Rhinocolura. Do you -think that he was merciful, because he did not cut their heads off -altogether? no, he was delighted at {139} having invented a new -kind of punishment. Something of the same kind would have befallen -the Aethiopians,[7] who on account of their prodigiously long lives -are called Macrobiotae; for, because they did not receive slavery -with hands uplifted to heaven in thankfulness, and sent an embassy -which used independent, or what kings call insulting language, -Cambyses became wild with rage, and, without any store of provisions, -or any knowledge of the roads, started with all his fighting men -through an arid and trackless waste, where during the first day’s -march the necessaries of life failed, and the country itself furnished -nothing, being barren and uncultivated, and untrodden by the foot -of man. At first the tenderest parts of leaves and shoots of trees -relieved their hunger, then hides softened by fire, and anything -else that their extremity drove them to use as food. When as they -proceeded neither roots nor herbs were to be found in the sand, and -they found a wilderness destitute even of animal life, they chose -each tenth man by lot and made of him a meal which was more cruel -than hunger. Rage still drove the king madly forwards, until after -he had lost one part of his army and eaten another he began to fear -that he also might be called upon to draw the lot for his life; -then at last he gave the order for retreat. Yet all the while his -well-bred hawks were not sacrificed, and the means of feasting were -carried for him on camels, while his soldiers were drawing lots for -who should miserably perish, and who should yet more miserably live. - -XXI. This man was angry with an unknown and inoffensive nation, -which nevertheless was able to feel his wrath; but Cyrus[8] was -angry with a river. When hurrying to besiege Babylon, since in -making war it is above all things important to seize one’s opportunity, -he tried to ford the wide-spread river Gyndes, which it is hardly -safe to {140} attempt even when the river has been dried up by the -summer heat and is at its lowest. Here one of the white horses which -drew the royal chariot was washed away, and his loss moved the king -to such violent rage, that he swore to reduce the river which had -carried off his royal retinue to so low an ebb that even women -should walk across it and trample upon it. He thereupon devoted all -the resources of his army to this object, and remained working until -by cutting one hundred and eighty channels across the bed of the -river he divided it into three hundred and sixty brooks, and left -the bed dry, the waters flowing through other channels. Thus he -lost time, which is very important in great operations, and lost, -also, the soldiers’ courage, which was broken by useless labour, -and the opportunity of falling upon his enemy unprepared, while he -was waging against the river the war which he had declared against -his foes. This frenzy, for what else can you call it, has befallen -Romans also, for G. Caesar destroyed a most beautiful villa at -Herculaneum because his mother was once imprisoned in it, and has -thus made the place notorious by its misfortune; for while it stood, -we used to sail past it without noticing it, but now people inquire -why it is in ruins. - -XXII. These should be regarded as examples to be avoided, and what -I am about to relate, on the contrary, to be followed, being examples -of gentle and lenient conduct in men who both had reasons for anger -and power to avenge themselves. What could have been easier than -for Antigonus to order those two common soldiers to be executed who -leaned against their king’s tent while doing what all men especially -love to do, and run the greatest danger by doing, I mean while they -spoke evil of their king. Antigonus heard all they said, as was -likely, since there was only a piece of cloth between the speakers -and the listener, who gently raised it, and said “Go a little {141} -further off, for fear the king should hear you.” He also on one -night, hearing some of his soldiers invoking everything that was -evil upon their king for having brought them along that road and -into that impassable mud, went to those who were in the greatest -difficulties, and having extricated them without their knowing who -was their helper, said, “Now curse Antigonus, by whose fault you -have fallen into this trouble, but bless the man who has brought -you out of this slough.” This same Antigonus bore the abuse of his -enemies as good-naturedly as that of his countrymen; thus when he -was besieging some Greeks in a little fort, and they, despising -their enemy through their confidence in the strength of their -position, cut many jokes upon the ugliness of Antigonus, at one -time mocking him for his shortness of stature, at another for his -broken nose, he answered, “I rejoice, and expect some good fortune -because I have a Silenus in my camp.” After he had conquered these -witty folk by hunger, his treatment of them was to form regiments -of those who were fit for service, and sell the rest by public -auction; nor would he, said he, have done this had it not been -better that men who had such evil tongues should be under the control -of a master. - -XXIII. This man’s grandson[9] was Alexander, who used to hurl his -lance at his guests, who, of the two friends which I have mentioned -above, exposed one to the rage of a wild beast, and the other to -his own; yet of these two men, he who was exposed to the lion -survived. He did not derive this vice from his grandfather, nor -even from his father; for it was an especial virtue of Philip’s to -endure insults patiently, and was a great safeguard of his kingdom. -Demochares, who was surnamed Parrhesiastes on account of his unbridled -and impudent tongue, came on an embassy to him with other ambassadors -from Athens. After graciously {142} listening to what they had to -say, Philip said to them, “Tell me, what can I do that will please -the Athenians? “Demochares took him up, and answered, “Hang yourself.” -All the bystanders expressed their indignation at so brutal an -answer, but Philip bade them be silent, and let this Thersites -depart safe and sound. “But do you,” said he, “you other ambassadors, -tell the Athenians that those who say such things are much more -arrogant than those who hear them without revenging themselves.” - -The late Emperor Augustus also did and said many memorable things, -which prove that he was not under the dominion of anger. Timagenes, -the historical writer, made some remarks upon him, his wife, and -his whole family: nor did his jests fall to the ground, for nothing -spreads more widely or is more in people’s mouths than reckless -wit. Caesar often warned him to be less audacious in his talk, and -as he continued to offend, forbade him his house. Timagenes after -this passed the later years of his life as the guest of Asinius -Pollio, and was the favourite of the whole city: the closing of -Caesar’s door did not close any other door against him. He read -aloud the history which he wrote after this, but burned the books -which contained the doings of Augustus Caesar. He was at enmity -with Caesar, but yet no one feared to be his friend, no one shrank -from him as though he were blasted by lightning: although he fell -from so high a place, yet some one was found to catch him in his -lap. Caesar, I say, bore this with patience, and was not even -irritated by the historian’s having laid violent hands upon his own -glories and acts: he never complained of the man who afforded his -enemy shelter, but merely said to Asinius Pollio “You are keeping -a wild beast:” then, when the other would have excused his conduct, -he stopped him, and said “Enjoy, my Pollio, enjoy his friendship.” -When Pollio said, “If you order me, Caesar, I will straightway -forbid him my house,” he {143} answered, “Do you think that I am -likely to do this, after having made you friends again?” for formerly -Pollio had been angry with Timagenes, and ceased to be angry with -him for no other reason than that Caesar began to be so. - -XXIV. Let every one, then, say to himself, whenever he is provoked, -“Am I more powerful than Philip? yet he allowed a man to curse him -with impunity. Have I more authority in my own house than the Emperor -Augustus possessed throughout the world? yet he was satisfied with -leaving the society of his maligner. Why should I make my slave -atone by stripes and manacles for having answered me too loudly or -having put on a stubborn look, or muttered something which I did -not catch? Who am I, that it should be a crime to shock my ears? -Many men have forgiven their enemies: shall I not forgive men for -being lazy, careless, and gossipping?” We ought to plead age as an -excuse for children, sex for women, freedom for a stranger, familiarity -for a house-servant. Is this his first offence? think how long he -has been acceptable. Has he often done wrong, and in many other -cases? then let us continue to bear what we have borne so long. Is -he a friend? then he did not intend to do it. Is he an enemy? then -in doing it he did his duty. If he be a sensible man, let us believe -his excuses; if a fool, let us grant him pardon; whatever he may -be, let us say to ourselves on his behalf, that even the wisest of -men are often in fault, that no one is so alert that his carefulness -never betrays itself, that no one is of so ripe a judgment that his -serious mind cannot be goaded by circumstances into some hotheaded -action, that, in fine, no one, however much he may fear to give -offence, can help doing so even while he tries to avoid it. - -XXV. As it is a consolation to a humble man in trouble that the -greatest are subject to reverses of fortune, and a man weeps more -calmly over his dead son in the corner of {144} his hovel if he -sees a piteous[10] funeral proceed out of the palace as well; so -one bears injury or insult more calmly if one remembers that no -power is so great as to be above the reach of harm. Indeed, if even -the wisest do wrong, who cannot plead a good excuse for his faults? -Let us look back upon our own youth, and think how often we then -were too slothful in our duty, too impudent in our speech, too -intemperate in our cups. Is anyone angry? then let us give him -enough time to reflect upon what he has done, and he will correct -his own self. But suppose he ought to pay the penalty of his deeds: -well, that is no reason why we should act as he does. It canot be -doubted that he who regards his tormentor with contempt raises -himself above the common herd and looks down upon them from a loftier -position: it is the property of true magnanimity not to feel the -blows which it may receive. So does a huge wild beast turn slowly -and gaze at yelping curs: so does the wave dash in vain against a -great cliff. The man who is not angry remains unshaken by injury: -he who is angry has been moved by it. He, however, whom I have -described as being placed too high for any mischief to reach him, -holds as it were the highest good in his arms: he can reply, not -only to any man, but to fortune herself: “Do what you will, you are -too feeble to disturb my serenity: this is forbidden by reason, to -whom I have entrusted the guidance of my life: to become angry would -do me more harm than your violence can do me. ‘More harm?’ say you. -Yes, certainly: I know how much injury you have done me, but I -cannot tell to what excesses anger might not carry me.” - -XXVI. You say, “I cannot endure it: injuries are hard to bear.” You -lie; for how can any one not be able to bear injury, if he can bear -to be angry? Besides, what you {145} intend to do is to endure both -injury and anger. Why do you bear with the delirium of a sick man, -or the ravings of a madman, or the impudent blows of a child? -Because, of course, they evidently do not know what they are doing: -if a man be not responsible for his actions, what does it matter -by what malady he became so: the plea of ignorance holds equally -good in every case. “What then?” say you, “shall he not be punished?” -He will be, even supposing that you do not wish it: for the greatest -punishment for having done harm is the sense of having done it, and -no one is more severely punished than he who is given over to the -punishment of remorse. In the next place, we ought to consider the -whole state of mankind, in order to pass a just judgment on all the -occurrences of life: for it is unjust to blame individuals for a -vice which is common to all. The colour of an Aethiop is not -remarkable amongst his own people, nor is any man in Germany ashamed -of red hair rolled into a knot. You cannot call anything peculiar -or disgraceful in a particular man if it is the general characteristic -of his nation. Now, the cases which I have quoted are defended only -by the usage of one out-of-the-way quarter of the world: see now, -how far more deserving of pardon those crimes are which are spread -abroad among all mankind. We all are hasty and careless, we all are -untrustworthy, dissatisfied, and ambitious: nay, why do I try to -hide our common wickedness by a too partial description? we all are -bad. Every one of us therefore will find in his own breast the vice -which he blames in another. Why do you remark how pale this man, -or how lean that man is? there is a general pestilence. Let us -therefore be more gentle one to another: we are bad men, living -among bad men: there is only one thing which can afford us peace, -and that is to agree to forgive one another. “This man has already -injured me,” say you, “and I have not yet injured him.” No, but you -have probably injured some one else, and you will injure {146} him -some day. Do not form your judgment by one hour, or one day: consider -the whole tendency of your mind: even though you have done no evil, -yet you are capable of doing it. - -XXVII. How far better is it to heal an injury than to avenge it? -Revenge takes up much time, and throws itself in the way of many -injuries while it is smarting under one. We all retain our anger -longer than we feel our hurt: how far better it were to take the -opposite course and not meet one mischief by another. Would any one -think himself to be in his perfect mind if he were to return kicks -to a mule or bites to a dog?” These creatures,” you say, “know not -that they are doing wrong.” Then, in the first place, what an unjust -judge you must be if a man has less chance of gaining your forgiveness -than a beast! Secondly, if animals are protected from your anger -by their want of reason, you ought to treat all foolish men in the -like manner: for if a man has that mental darkness which excuses -all the wrong-doings of dumb animals, what difference does it make -if in other respects he be unlike a dumb animal? He has sinned. -Well, is this the first time, or will this be the last time? Why, -you should not believe him even if he said, “Never will I do so -again.” He will sin, and another will sin against him, and all his -life he will wallow in wickedness. Savagery must be met by kindness: -we ought to use, to a man in anger, the argument which is so effective -with one in grief, that is, “Shall you leave off this at some time, -or never? If you will do so at some time, how better is it that you -should abandon anger than that anger should abandon you? Or, will -this excitement never leave you? Do you see to what an unquiet life -you condemn yourself? for what will be the life of one who is always -swelling with rage?” Add to this, that after you have worked yourself -up into a rage, and have from time to time renewed the causes of -your {147} excitement, yet your anger will depart from you of its -own accord, and time will sap its strength: how much better then -is it that it should be overcome by you than by itself? - -XXVIII. If you are angry, you will quarrel first with this man, and -then with that: first with slaves, then with freedmen: first with -parents, then with children: first with acquaintances, then with -strangers: for there are grounds for anger in every case, unless -your mind steps in and intercedes with you: your frenzy will drag -you from one place to another, and from thence to elsewhere, your -madness will constantly meet with newly-occurring irritants, and -will never depart from you. Tell me, miserable man, what time you -will have for loving? O, what good time you are wasting on an evil -thing! How much better it would be to win friends, and disarm -enemies: to serve the state, or to busy oneself with one’s private -affairs, rather than to cast about for what harm you can do to -somebody, what wound you can inflict either upon his social position, -his fortune, or his person, although you cannot succeed in doing -so without a struggle and risk to yourself, even if your antagonist -be inferior to you. Even supposing that he were handed over to you -in chains, and that you were at liberty to torture him as much as -you please, yet even then excessive violence in striking a blow -often causes us to dislocate a joint, or entangles a sinew in the -teeth which it has broken. Anger makes many men cripples, or invalids, -even when it meets with an unresisting victim: and besides this, -no creature is so weak that it can be destroyed without any danger -to its destroyer: sometimes grief, sometimes chance, puts the weakest -on a level with the strongest. What shall we say of the fact that -the greater part of the things which enrage us are insults, not -injuries? It makes a great difference whether a man thwarts my -wishes or merely fails to carry them out, whether he robs me or -does not give me anything: yet we count it all the same whether a -{148} man takes anything from us or refuses to give anything to us, -whether he extinguishes our hope or defers it, whether his object -be to hinder us or to help himself, whether he acts out of love for -some one or out of hatred for us. Some men are bound to oppose us -not only on the ground of justice, but of honour: one is defending -his father, another his brother, another his country, another his -friend: yet we do not forgive men for doing what we should blame -them for not doing; nay, though one can hardly believe it, we often -think well of an act, and ill of the man who did it. But, by Hercules, -a great and just man looks with respect at the bravest of his -enemies, and the most obstinate defender of his freedom and his -country, and wishes that he had such a man for his own countryman -and soldier. - -XXIX. It is shameful to hate him whom you praise: but how much more -shameful is it to hate a man for something for which he deserves -to be pitied? If a prisoner of war, who has suddenly been reduced -to the condition of a slave, still retains some remnants of liberty, -and does not run nimbly to perform foul and toilsome tasks, if, -having grown slothful by long rest, he cannot run fast enough to -keep pace with his master’s horse or carriage, if sleep overpowers -him when weary with many days and nights of watching, if he refuses -to undertake farm work, or does not do it heartily when brought -away from the idleness of city service and put to hard labour, we -ought to make a distinction between whether a man cannot or will -not do it: we should pardon many slaves, if we began to judge them -before we began to be angry with them: as it is, however, we obey -our first impulse, and then, although we may prove to have been -excited about mere trifles, yet we continue to be angry, lest we -should seem to have begun to be angry without cause; and, most -unjust of all, the injustice of our anger makes us persist in it -all the more; for we {149} nurse it and inflame it, as though to -be violently angry proved our anger to be just. - -XXX. How much better is it to observe how trifling, how inoffensive -are the first beginnings of anger? You will see that men are subject -to the same influences as dumb animals: we are put out by trumpery, -futile matters. Bulls are excited by red colour, the asp raises its -head at a shadow, bears or lions are irritated at the shaking of a -rag, and all creatures who are naturally fierce and wild are alarmed -at trifles. The same thing befalls men both of restless and of -sluggish disposition; they are seized by suspicions, sometimes to -such an extent that they call slight benefits injuries: and these -form the most common and certainly the most bitter subject for -anger: for we become angry with our dearest friends for having -bestowed less upon us than we expected, and less than others have -received from them: yet there is a remedy at hand for both these -grievances. Has he favoured our rival more than ourselves? then let -us enjoy what we have without making any comparisons. A man will -never be well off to whom it is a torture to see any one better off -than himself. Have I less than I hoped for? well, perhaps I hoped -for more than I ought. This it is against which we ought to be -especially on our guard: from hence arises the most destructive -anger, sparing nothing, not even the holiest. The Emperor Julius -was not stabbed by so many enemies as by friends whose insatiable -hopes he had not satisfied. He was willing enough to do so, for no -one ever made a more generous use of victory, of whose fruits he -kept nothing for himself save the power of distributing them; but -how could he glut such unconscionable appetites, when each man -coveted as much as any one man could possess? This was why he saw -his fellow-soldiers standing round his chair with drawn swords, -Tillius Cimber, though he had a short time before been the keenest -defender of his party, {150} and others who only became Pompeians -after Pompeius was dead. This it is which has turned the arms of -kings against them, and made their trustiest followers meditate the -death of him for whom and before whom[11] they once would have been -glad to die. - -XXXI. No man is satisfied with his own lot if he fixes his attention -on that of another: and this leads to our being angry even with the -gods, because somebody precedes us, though we forget of how many -we take precedence, and that when a man envies few people, he must -be followed in the background by a huge crowd of people who envy -him. Yet so churlish is human nature, that, however much men may -have received, they think themselves wronged if they are able to -receive still more. “He gave me the praetorship. Yes, but I had -hoped for the consulship. He bestowed the twelve axes upon me: true, -but he did not make me a regular[12] consul. He allowed me to give -my name to the year, but he did not help me to the priesthood. I -have been elected a member of the college: but why only of one? He -has bestowed upon me every honour that the state affords: yes, but -he has added nothing to my private fortune. What he gave me he was -obliged to give to somebody: he brought out nothing from his own -pocket.” Rather than speak thus, thank him for what you have received: -wait for the rest, and be thankful that you are not yet too full -to contain more: there is a pleasure in having something left to -hope for. Are you preferred to every one? then rejoice at holding -the first place in the thoughts of your friend. Or are many others -preferred before you? then think how many more are below you than -there are {151} above you. Do you ask, what is your greatest fault? -It is, that you keep your accounts wrongly: you set a high value -upon what you give, and a low one upon what you receive. - -XXXII. Let different qualities in different people keep us from -quarrelling with them: let us fear to be angry with some, feel -ashamed of being angry with others, and disdain to be angry with -others. We do a fine thing, indeed, when we send a wretched slave -to the workhouse! Why are we in such a hurry to flog him at once, -to break his legs straightway? we shall not lose our boasted power -if we defer its exercise. Let us wait for the time when we ourselves -can give orders: at present we speak under constraint from anger. -When it has passed away we shall see what amount of damage has been -done; for this is what we are especially liable to make mistakes -about: we use the sword, and capital punishment, and we appoint -chains, imprisonment, and starvation to punish a crime which deserves -only flogging with a light scourge. “In what way,” say you, “do you -bid us look at those things by which we think ourselves injured, -that we may see how paltry, pitiful, and childish they are?” Of all -things I would charge you to take to yourself a magnanimous spirit, -and behold how low and sordid all these matters are about which we -squabble and run to and fro till we are out of breath; to any one -who entertains any lofty and magnificent ideas, they are not worthy -of a thought. - -XXXIII. The greatest hullabaloo is about money: this it is which -wearies out the law-courts, sows strife between father and son, -concocts poisons, and gives swords to murderers just as to soldiers: -it is stained with our blood: on account of it husbands and wives -wrangle all night long, crowds press round the bench of magistrates, -kings rage and plunder, and overthrow communities which it has taken -the labour of centuries to build, that they may seek for gold and -{152} silver in the ashes of their cities. Do you like to look at -your money-bags lying in the corner? it is for these that men shout -till their eyes start from their heads, that the law-courts ring -with the din of trials, and that jurymen brought from great distances -sit to decide which man’s covetousness is the more equitable. What -shall we say if it be not even for a bag of money, but for a handful -of coppers or a shilling scored up by a slave that some old man, -soon to die without an heir, bursts with rage? what if it be an -invalid money-lender whose feet are distorted by the gout, and who -can no longer use his hands to count with, who calls for his interest -of one thousandth a month,[13] and by his sureties demands his pence -even during the paroxysms of his disease? If you were to bring to -me all the money from all our mines, which we are at this moment -sinking, if you were to bring to-night all that is concealed in -hoards, where avarice returns money to the earth from whence it -came, and pity that it ever was dug out—all that mass I should not -think worthy to cause a wrinkle on the brow of a good man. What -ridicule those things deserve which bring tears into our eyes! - -XXXIV. Come now, let us enumerate the other causes of anger: they -are food, drink, and the showy apparatus connected with them, words, -insults, disrespectful movements of the body, suspicions, obstinate -cattle, lazy slaves, and spiteful construction put upon other men’s -words, so that even the gift of language to mankind becomes reckoned -among the wrongs of nature. Believe me, the things which cause us -such great heat are trifles, the sort of things that children fight -and squabble over: there is nothing serious, nothing important in -all that we do with such gloomy faces. It is, I repeat, the setting -a great value on trifles that is the cause of your anger and madness. -This {153} man wanted to rob me of my inheritance, that one has -brought a charge against me before persons[14] whom I had long -courted with great expectations, that one has coveted my mistress. -A wish for the same things, which ought to have been a bond of -friendship, becomes a source of quarrels and hatred. A narrow path -causes quarrels among those who pass up and down it; a wide and -broadly spread road may be used by whole tribes without jostling. -Those objects of desire of yours cause strife and disputes among -those who covet the same things, because they are petty, and cannot -be given to one man without being taken away from another. - -XXXV. You are indignant at being answered back by your slave, your -freedman, your wife, or your client: and then you complain of the -state having lost the freedom which you have destroyed in your own -house: then again if he is silent when you question him, you call -it sullen obstinacy. Let him both speak and be silent, and laugh -too. “In the presence of his master?” you ask. Nay, say rather “in -the presence of the house-father.” Why do you shout? why do you -storm? why do you in the middle of dinner call for a whip, because -the slaves are talking, because a crowd as large as a public meeting -is not as silent as the wilderness? You have ears, not merely that -you may listen to musical sounds, softly and sweetly drawn out and -harmonized: you ought to hear laughter and weeping, coaxing and -quarrelling, joy and sorrow, the human voice and the roaring and -barking of animals. Miserable one! why do you shudder at the noise -of a slave, at the rattling of brass or the banging of a door? you -cannot help hearing the thunder, however refined you may be. You -may apply these remarks about your ears with equal truth to your -eyes, which are just as dainty, if they have been badly schooled: -they are shocked at stains and {154} dirt, at silver plate which -is not sufficiently bright, or at a pool whose water is not clear -down to the bottom. Those same eyes which can only endure to see -the most variegated marble, and that which has just been scoured -bright, which will look at no table whose wood is not marked with -a network of veining, and which at home are loth to tread upon -anything that is not more precious than gold, will, when out of -doors, gaze most calmly upon rough and miry paths, will see unmoved -that the greater number of persons that meet them are shabbily -dressed, and that the walls of the houses are rotten, full of cracks, -and uneven. What, then, can be the reason that they are not distressed -out of doors by sights which would shock them in their own home, -unless it be that their temper is placid and long-suffering in one -case, sulky and fault-finding in the other? - -XXXVI. All our senses should be educated into strength: they are -naturally able to endure much, provided that the spirit forbears -to spoil them. The spirit ought to be brought up for examination -daily. It was the custom of Sextius when the day was over, and he -had betaken himself to rest, to inquire of his spirit: “What bad -habit of yours have you cured to-day? what vice have you checked? -in what respect are you better?” Anger will cease, and become more -gentle, if it knows that every day it will have to appear before -the judgment seat. What can be more admirable than this fashion of -discussing the whole of the day’s events? how sweet is the sleep -which follows this self-examination? how calm, how sound, and -careless is it when our spirit has either received praise or -reprimand, and when our secret inquisitor and censor has made his -report about our morals? I make use of this privilege, and daily -plead my cause before myself: when the lamp is taken out of my -sight, and my wife, who knows my habit, has ceased to talk, I pass -the whole day in review before myself, and repeat all that I have -said and done: I conceal nothing {155} from myself, and omit nothing: -for why should I be afraid of any of my shortcomings, when it is -in my power to say, “I pardon you this time: see that you never do -that any more? In that dispute you spoke too contentiously: do not -for the future argue with ignorant people: those who have never -been taught are unwilling to learn. You reprimanded that man with -more freedom than you ought, and consequently you have offended him -instead of amending his ways: in dealing with other cases of the -kind, you should look carefully, not only to the truth of what you -say, but also whether the person to whom you speak can bear to be -told the truth.” A good man delights in receiving advice: all the -worst men are the most impatient of guidance. - -XXXVII. At the dinner-table some jokes and sayings intended to give -you pain have been directed against you: avoid feasting with low -people. Those who are not modest even when sober become much more -recklessly impudent after drinking. You have seen your friend in a -rage with the porter of some lawyer or rich man, because he has -sent him back when about to enter, and you yourself on behalf of -your friend have been in a rage with the meanest of slaves. Would -you then be angry with a chained housedog? Why, even he, after a -long bout of barking, becomes gentle if you offer him food. So draw -back and smile; for the moment your porter fancies himself to be -somebody, because he guards a door which is beset by a crowd of -litigants; for the moment he who sits within is prosperous and -happy, and thinks that a street-door through which it is hard to -gain entrance is the mark of a rich and powerful man; he knows not -that the hardest door of all to open is that of the prison. Be -prepared to submit to much. Is any one surprised at being cold in -winter? at being sick at sea? or at being jostled in the street? -The mind is strong enough to bear those evils for which it is -prepared. When {156} you are not given a sufficiently distinguished -place at table you have begun to be angry with your fellow-guests, -with your host, and with him who is preferred above you. Idiot! -What difference can it make what part of the couch you rest upon? -Can a cushion give you honour or take it away? You have looked -askance at somebody because he has spoken slightingly of your -talents; will you apply this rule to yourself? If so, Ennius, whose -poetry you do not care for, would have hated you. Hortensius, if -you had found fault with his speeches, would have quarrelled with -you, and Cicero, if you had laughed at his poetry, would have been -your enemy. A candidate for office, will you resent men’s votes? - -XXXVIII. Some one has offered you an insult? Not a greater one, -probably, than was offered to the Stoic philosopher Diogenes, in -whose face an insolent young man spat just when he was lecturing -upon anger. He bore it mildly and wisely. “I am not angry,” said -he, “but I am not sure that I ought not to be angry.” Yet how much -better did our Cato behave? When he was pleading, one Lentulus, -whom our fathers remember as a demagogue and passionate man, spat -all the phlegm he could muster upon his forehead. Cato wiped his -face, and said, “Lentulus, I shall declare to all the world that -men are mistaken when they say that you are wanting in cheek.” - -XXXIX. We have now succeeded, my Novatus, in properly regulating -our own minds: they either do not feel anger or are above it: let -us next see how we may soothe the wrath of others, for we do not -only wish to be whole, but to heal. - -You should not attempt to allay the first burst of anger by words: -it is deaf and frantic: we must give it scope; our remedies will -only be effective when it slackens. We do not meddle with men’s -eyes when they are swollen, because we should only irritate their -hard stiffness by {157} touching them, nor do we try to cure other -diseases when at their height: the best treatment in the first stage -of illness is rest. “Of how very little value,” say you, “is your -remedy, if it appeases anger which is subsiding of its own accord?” -In the first place, I answer, it makes it end quicker: in the next, -it prevents a relapse. It can render harmless even the violent -impulse which it dares not soothe: it will put out of the way all -weapons which might be used for revenge: it will pretend to be -angry, in order that its advice may have more weight as coming from -an assistant and comrade in grief. It will invent delays, and -postpone immediate punishment while a greater one is being sought -for: it will use every artifice to give the man a respite from his -frenzy. If his anger be unusually strong, it will inspire him with -some irresistible feeling of shame or of fear: if weak, it will -make use of conversation on amusing or novel subjects, and by playing -upon his curiosity lead him to forget his passion. We are told that -a physician, who was forced to cure the king’s daughter, and could -not without using the knife, conveyed a lancet to her swollen breast -concealed under the sponge with which he was fomenting it. The same -girl, who would have shrunk from the remedy if he had applied it -openly, bore the pain because she did not expect it. Some diseases -can only be cured by deceit. - -XL. To one class of men you will say, “Beware, lest your anger give -pleasure to your foes:” to the other, “Beware lest your greatness -of mind and the reputation it bears among most people for strength -become impaired. I myself, by Hercules, am scandalized at your -treatment and am grieved beyond measure, but we must wait for a -proper opportunity. He shall pay for what he has done; be well -assured of that: when you are able you shall return it to him with -interest.” To reprove a man when he is angry is to add to his anger -by being angry oneself. You {158} should approach him in different -ways and in a compliant fashion, unless perchance you be so great -a personage that you can quash his anger, as the Emperor Augustus -did when he was dining with Vedius Pollio.[15] One of the slaves -had broken a crystal goblet of his: Vedius ordered him to be led -away to die, and that too in no common fashion: he ordered him to -be thrown to feed the muraenae, some of which fish, of great size, -he kept in a tank. Who would not think that he did this out of -luxury? but it was out of cruelty. The boy slipped through the hands -of those who tried to seize him, and flung himself at Caesar’s feet -in order to beg for nothing more than that he might die in some -different way, and not be eaten. Caesar was shocked at this novel -form of cruelty, and ordered him to be let go, and, in his place, -all the crystal ware which he saw before him to be broken, and the -tank to be filled up. This was the proper way for Caesar to reprove -his friend: he made a good use of his power. What are you, that -when at dinner you order men to be put to death, and mangled by an -unheard-of form of torture? Are a man’s bowels to be torn asunder -because your cup is broken? You must think a great deal of yourself, -if even when the emperor is present you order men to be executed. - -XLI. If any one’s power is so great that he can treat anger with -the tone of a superior let him crush it out of existence, but only -if it be of the kind of which I have just spoken, fierce, inhuman, -bloodthirsty, and incurable save by fear of something more powerful -than itself . . . . . . . . let us give the mind that peace which -is given by constant meditation upon wholesome maxims, by good -actions, and by a mind directed to the pursuit of honour alone. Let -us set our own conscience fully at rest, but make no efforts to -gain credit for ourselves: so long as we {159} deserve well, let -us be satisfied, even if we should be ill spoken of. “But the common -herd admires spirited actions, and bold men are held in honour, -while quiet ones are thought to be indolent.” True, at first sight -they may appear to be so: but as soon as the even tenor of their -life proves that this quietude arises not from dullness but from -peace of mind, then that same populace respects and reverences them. -There is, then, nothing useful in that hideous and destructive -passion of anger, but on the contrary, every kind of evil, fire and -sword. Anger tramples self-restraint underfoot, steeps its hands -in slaughter, scatters abroad the limbs of its children: it leaves -no place unsoiled by crime, it has no thoughts of glory, no fears -of disgrace, and when once anger has hardened into hatred, no -amendment is possible. - -XLII. Let us be free from this evil, let us clear our minds of it, -and extirpate root and branch a passion which grows again wherever -the smallest particle of it finds a resting-place. Let us not -moderate anger, but get rid of it altogether: what can moderation -have to do with an evil habit? We shall succeed in doing this, if -only we exert ourselves. Nothing will be of greater service than -to bear in mind that we are mortal: let each man say to himself and -to his neighbour, “Why should we, as though we were born to live -for ever, waste our tiny span of life in declaring anger against -any one? why should days, which we might spend in honourable -enjoyment, be misapplied in grieving and torturing others? Life is -a matter which does not admit of waste, and we have no spare time -to throw away. Why do we rush into the fray? why do we go out of -our way to seek disputes? why do we, forgetful of the weakness of -our nature, undertake mighty feuds, and, frail though we be, summon -up all our strength to cut down other men? Ere long, fever or some -other bodily ailment will make us unable to carry on this warfare -of {160} hatred which we so implacably wage: death will soon part -the most vigorous pair of combatants. Why do we make disturbances -and spend our lives in rioting? fate hangs over our heads, scores -up to our account the days as they pass, and is ever drawing nearer -and nearer. The time which you have marked for the death of another -perhaps includes your own.” - -XLIII. Instead of acting thus, why do you not rather draw together -what there is of your short life, and keep it peaceful for others -and for yourself? why do you not rather make yourself beloved by -every one while you live, and regretted by every one when you die? -Why do you wish to tame that man’s pride, because he takes too lofty -a tone with you? why do you try with all your might to crush that -other who snaps and snarls at you, a low and contemptible wretch, -but spiteful and offensive to his betters? Master, why are you angry -with your slave? Slave, why are you angry with your master? Client, -why are you angry with your patron? Patron, why are you angry with -your client? Wait but a little while. See, here comes death, who -will make you all equals. We often see at a morning performance in -the arena a battle between a bull and a bear, fastened together, -in which the victor, after he has torn the other to pieces, is -himself slain. We do just the same thing: we worry some one who is -connected with us, although the end of both victor and vanquished -is at hand, and that soon. Let us rather pass the little remnant -of our lives in peace and quiet: may no one loathe us when we lie -dead. A quarrel is often brought to an end by a cry of “Fire!” in -the neighbourhood, and the appearance of a wild beast parts the -highwayman from the traveller: men have no leisure to battle with -minor evils when menaced by some overpowering terror. What have we -to do with fighting and ambuscades? do you want anything more than -death to befall {161} him with whom you are angry? well, even though -you sit quiet, he will be sure to die. You waste your pains: you -want to do what is certain to be done. You say, “I do not wish -necessarily to kill him, but to punish him by exile, or public -disgrace, or loss of property.” I can more easily pardon one who -wishes to give his enemy a wound than one who wishes to give him a -blister: for the latter is not only bad, but petty-minded. Whether -you are thinking of extreme or slighter punishments, how very short -is the time during which either your victim is tortured or you enjoy -an evil pleasure in another’s pain? This breath that we hold so -dear will soon leave us: in the meantime, while we draw it, while -we live among human beings, let us practise humanity: let us not -be a terror or a danger to any one. Let us keep our tempers in spite -of losses, wrongs, abuse or sarcasm, and let us endure with magnanimity -our shortlived troubles: while we are considering what is due to -ourselves, as the saying is, and worrying ourselves, death will be -upon us. - - -[1] The hook alluded to was fastened to the neck of condemned -criminals, and by it they were dragged to the Tiber. Also the bodies -of dead gladiators were thus dragged out of the arena. The hook by -which the dead bull is drawn away at a modern Spanish bull-fight -is probably a survival of this custom. - -[2] Hdt. iii, 34, 35, - -[3] Seneca’s own death, by opening his veins, gives a melancholy -interest to this passage. - -[4] Hdt. iv. 84. - -[5] Hdt. vii. 38, 39. - -[6] Plut. Dem. 27. - -[7] Hdt. iii. 17, _sqq._ - -[8] Hdt. i. 189, 190. - -[9] A mistake: Antigonus (Monophthalmus) was one of Alexander’s -generals. - -[10] _Acerbum_ = ἄωρυν; the funeral of one who has been cut off in -the flower of his youth. - -[11] In point of time. - -[12] _Consul ordinarius_, a regular consul, one who administered -in office from the first of January, in opposition to _consul -suffectus_, one chosen in the course of the year in the place of -one who had died. The consul ordinarius gave his name to the year. - -[13] It seems inconceivable that so small an interest, 1 1/5 per -cent, per an., can be meant. - -[14] _Captatis_, Madvig. Adv. II. 394. - -[15] See “On Clemency,” i. 18, 2. - - - - -{162} - -THE SIXTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO -MARCIA. - -OF CONSOLATION. - - -I. Did I not know, Marcia, that you have as little of a woman’s -weakness of mind as of her other vices, and that your life was -regarded as a pattern of antique virtue, I should not have dared -to combat your grief, which is one that many men fondly nurse and -embrace, nor should I have conceived the hope of persuading you to -hold fortune blameless, having to plead for her at such an unfavorable -time, before so partial a judge, and against such an odious charge. -I derive confidence, however, from the proved strength of your mind, -and your virtue, which has been proved by a severe test. All men -know how well you behaved towards your father, whom you loved as -dearly as your children in all respects, save that you did not wish -him to survive you: indeed, for all that I know you may have wished -that also: for great affection ventures to break some of the golden -rules of life. You did all that lay in your power to avert the death -of your father, Aulus Cremutius Cordus;[1] but when it became clear -that, surrounded as he was by the myrmidons of Sejanus, there was -no other way of escape from slavery, you did not {163} indeed approve -of his resolution, but gave up all attempts to oppose it; you shed -tears openly, and choked down your sobs, yet did not screen them -behind a smiling face; and you did all this in the present century, -when not to be unnatural towards one’s parents is considered the -height of filial affection. When the changes of our times gave you -an opportunity, you restored to the use of man that genius of your -father for which he had suffered, and made him in real truth immortal -by publishing as an eternal memorial of him those books which that -bravest of men had written with his own blood. You have done a great -service to Roman literature: a large part of Cordus’s books had -been burned; a great service to posterity, who will receive a true -account of events, which cost its author so dear; and a great service -to himself, whose memory flourishes and ever will flourish, as long -as men set any value upon the facts of Roman history, as long as -any one lives who wishes to review the deeds of our fathers, to -know what a true Roman was like—one who still remained unconquered -when all other necks were broken in to receive the yoke of Sejanus, -one who was free in every thought, feeling, and act. By Hercules, -the state would have sustained a great loss if you had not brought -him forth from the oblivion to which his two splendid qualities, -eloquence and independence, had consigned him: he is now read, is -popular, is received into men’s hands and bosoms, and fears no old -age: but as for those who butchered him, before long men will cease -to speak even of their crimes, the only things by which they are -remembered. This greatness of mind in you has forbidden me to take -into consideration your sex or your face, still clouded by the -sorrow by which so many years ago it was suddenly overcast. See; I -shall do nothing underhand, nor try to steal away your sorrows: I -have reminded you of old hurts, and to prove that your present wound -may be healed, I have {164} shown you the scar of one which was -equally severe. Let others use soft measures and caresses; I have -determined to do battle with your grief, and I will dry those weary -and exhausted eyes, which already, to tell you the truth, are weeping -more from habit than from sorrow. I will effect this cure, if -possible, with your goodwill: if you disapprove of my efforts, or -dislike them, then you must continue to hug and fondle the grief -which you have adopted as the survivor of your son. What, I pray -you, is to be the end of it? All means have been tried in vain: the -consolations of your friends, who are weary of offering them, and -the influence of great men who are related to you: literature, a -taste which your father enjoyed and which you have inherited from -him, now finds your ears closed, and affords you but a futile -consolation, which scarcely engages your thoughts for a moment. -Even time itself, nature’s greatest remedy, which quiets the most -bitter grief, loses its power with you alone. Three years have -already passed, and still your grief has lost none of its first -poignancy, but renews and strengthens itself day by day, and has -now dwelt so long with you that it has acquired a domicile in your -mind, and actually thinks that it would be base to leave it. All -vices sink into our whole being, if we do not crush them before -they gain a footing; and in like manner these sad, pitiable, and -discordant feelings end by feeding upon their own bitterness, until -the unhappy mind takes a sort of morbid delight in grief. I should -have liked, therefore, to have attempted to effect this cure in the -earliest stages of the disorder, before its force was fully developed; -it might have been checked by milder remedies, but now that it has -been confirmed by time it cannot be beaten without a hard struggle. -In like manner, wounds heal easily when the blood is fresh upon -them: they can then be cleared out and brought to the surface, and -admit of being probed by the finger: when disease {165} has turned -them into malignant ulcers, their cure is more difficult. I cannot -now influence so strong a grief by polite and mild measures: it -must be broken down by force. - -II. I am aware that all who wish to give any one advice begin with -precepts, and end with examples: but it is sometimes useful to alter -this fashion, for we must deal differently with different people. -Some are guided by reason, others must be confronted with authority -and the names of celebrated persons, whose brilliancy dazzles their -mind and destroys their power of free judgment. I will place before -your eyes two of the greatest examples belonging to your sex and -your century: one, that of a woman who allowed herself to be entirely -carried away by grief; the other, one who, though afflicted by a -like misfortune, and an even greater loss, yet did not allow her -sorrows to reign over her for a very long time, but quickly restored -her mind to its accustomed frame. Octavia and Livia, the former -Augustus’s sister, the latter his wife, both lost their sons when -they were young men, and when they were certain of succeeding to -the throne. Octavia lost Marcellus, whom both his father-in-law and -his uncle had begun to depend upon, and to place upon his shoulders -the weight of the empire—a young man of keen intelligence and firm -character, frugal and moderate in his desires to an extent which -deserved especial admiration in one so young and so wealthy, strong -to endure labour, averse to indulgence, and able to bear whatever -burden his uncle might choose to lay, or I may say to pile upon his -shoulders. Augustus had well chosen him as a foundation, for he -would not have given way under any weight, however excessive. His -mother never ceased to weep and sob during her whole life, never -endured to listen to wholesome advice, never even allowed her -thoughts to be diverted from her sorrow. She remained during her -whole life just as she was during the funeral, with all the {166} -strength of her mind intently fixed upon one subject. I do not say -that she lacked the courage to shake off her grief, but she refused -to be comforted, thought that it would be a second bereavement to -lose her tears, and would not have any portrait of her darling son, -nor allow any allusion to be made to him. She hated all mothers, -and raged against Livia with especial fury, because it seemed as -though the brilliant prospect once in store for her own child was -now transferred to Livia’s son. Passing all her days in darkened -rooms and alone, not conversing even with her brother, she refused -to accept the poems which were composed in memory of Marcellus, and -all the other honours paid him by literature, and closed her ears -against all consolation. She lived buried and hidden from view, -neglecting her accustomed duties, and actually angry with the -excessive splendour of her brother’s prosperity, in which she shared. -Though surrounded by her children and grandchildren, she would not -lay aside her mourning garb, though by retaining it she seemed to -put a slight upon all her relations, in thinking herself bereaved -in spite of their being alive. - -III. Livia lost her son Drusus, who would have been a great emperor, -and was already a great general: he had marched far into Germany, -and had planted the Roman standards in places where the very existence -of the Romans was hardly known. He died on the march, his very foes -treating him with respect, observing a reciprocal truce, and not -having the heart to wish for what would do them most service. In -addition to his dying thus in his country’s service, great sorrow -for him was expressed by the citizens, the provinces, and the whole -of Italy, through which his corpse was attended by the people of -the free towns and colonies, who poured out to perform the last sad -offices to him, till it reached Rome in a procession which resembled -a triumph. His mother was not permitted to {167} receive his last -kiss and gather the last fond words from his dying lips: she followed -the relics of her Drusus on their long journey, though every one -of the funeral pyres with which all Italy was glowing seemed to -renew her grief, as though she had lost him so many times. When, -however, she at last laid him in the tomb, she left her sorrow there -with him, and grieved no more than was becoming to a Caesar or due -to a son. She did not cease to make frequent mention of the name -of her Drusus, to set up his portrait in all places, both public -and private, and to speak of him and listen while others spoke of -him with the greatest pleasure: she lived with his memory; which -none can embrace and consort with who has made it painful to -himself.[2] Choose, therefore, which of these two examples you think -the more commendable: if you prefer to follow the former, you will -remove yourself from the number of the living; you will shun the -sight both of other people’s children and of your own, and even of -him whose loss you deplore; you will be looked upon by mothers as -an omen of evil; you will refuse to take part in honourable, -permissible pleasures, thinking them unbecoming for one so afflicted; -you will be loth to linger above ground, and will be especially -angry with your age, because it will not straightway bring your -life abruptly to an end. I here put the best construction on what -is really most contemptible and foreign to your character. I mean -that you will show yourself unwilling to live, and unable to die. -If, on the other hand, showing a milder and better regulated spirit, -you try to follow the example of the latter most exalted lady, you -will not be in misery, nor will you wear your life out with suffering. -Plague on it! what madness this is, to punish one’s self because -one is unfortunate, and not to lessen, but to increase one’s ills! -You ought to display, in this {168} matter also, that decent behaviour -and modesty which has characterised all your life: for there is -such a thing as self-restraint in grief also. You will show more -respect for the youth himself, who well deserves that it should -make you glad to speak and think of him, if you make him able to -meet his mother with a cheerful countenance, even as he was wont -to do when alive. - -IV. I will not invite you to practise the sterner kind of maxims, -nor bid you bear the lot of humanity with more than human philosophy; -neither will I attempt to dry a mother’s eyes on the very day of -her son’s burial. I will appear with you before an arbitrator: the -matter upon which we shall join issue is, whether grief ought to -be deep or unceasing. I doubt not that you will prefer the example -of Julia Augusta, who was your intimate friend: she invites you to -follow her method: she, in her first paroxysm, when grief is -especially keen and hard to bear, betook herself for consolation -to Areus, her husband’s teacher in philosophy, and declared that -this did her much good; more good than the thought of the Roman -people, whom she was unwilling to sadden by her mourning; more than -Augustus, who, staggering under the loss of one of his two chief -supporters, ought not to be yet more bowed down by the sorrow of -his relatives; more even than her son Tiberius, whose affection -during that untimely burial of one for whom whole nations wept made -her feel that she had only lost one member of her family. This was, -I imagine, his introduction to and grounding in philosophy of a -woman peculiarly tenacious of her own opinion:—“Even to the present -day, Julia, as far as I can tell—and I was your husband’s constant -companion, and knew not only what all men were allowed to know, but -all the most secret thoughts of your hearts— you have been careful -that no one should find anything to blame in your conduct; not only -in matters of importance, {169} but even in trifles you have taken -pains to do nothing which you could wish common fame, that most -frank judge of the acts of princes, to overlook. Nothing, I think, -is more admirable than that those who are in high places should -pardon many shortcomings in others, and have to ask it for none of -their own. So also in this matter of mourning you ought to act up -to your maxim of doing nothing which you could wish undone, or done -otherwise. - -V. “In the next place, I pray and beseech you not to be self-willed -and beyond the management of your friends. You must be aware that -none of them know how to behave, whether to mention Drusus in your -presence or not, as they neither wish to wrong a noble youth by -forgetting him, nor to hurt you by speaking of him. When we leave -you and assemble together by ourselves, we talk freely about his -sayings and doings, treating them with the respect which they -deserve: in your presence deep silence is observed about him, and -thus you lose that greatest of pleasures, the hearing the praises -of your son, which I doubt not you would be willing to hand down -to all future ages, had you the means of so doing, even at the cost -of your own life. Wherefore endure to listen to, nay, encourage -conversation of which he is the subject, and let your ears be open -to the name and memory of your son. You ought not to consider this -painful, like those who in such a case think that part of their -misfortune consists in listening to consolation. As it is, you have -altogether run into the other extreme, and, forgetting the better -aspects of your lot, look only upon its worse side: you pay no -attention to the pleasure you have had in your son’s society and -your joyful meetings with him, the sweet caresses of his babyhood, -the progress of his education: you fix all your attention upon that -last scene of all: and to this, as though it were not shocking -enough, you add every horror you can. Do not, I implore you, take -a perverse pride in appearing {170} the most unhappy of women: and -reflect also that there is no great credit in behaving bravely in -times of prosperity, when life glides easily with a favouring -current: neither does a calm sea and fair wind display the art of -the pilot: some foul weather is wanted to prove his courage. Like -him, then, do not give way, but rather plant yourself firmly, and -endure whatever burden may fall upon you from above, scared though -you may have been at the first roar of the tempest. There is nothing -that fastens such a reproach[3] on Fortune as resignation.” After -this he points out to her the son who is yet alive: he points out -grandchildren from the lost one. - -VI. It is your trouble, Marcia, which has been dealt with here: it -is beside your couch of mourning that Areus has been sitting: change -the characters, and it is you whom he has been consoling. But, on -the other hand, Marcia, suppose that you have sustained a greater -loss than ever mother did before you: see, I am not soothing you -or making light of your misfortune: if fate can be overcome by -tears, let us bring tears to bear upon it: let every day be passed -in mourning, every night be spent in sorrow instead of sleep: let -your breast be torn by your own hands, your very face attacked by -them, and every kind of cruelty be practised by your grief, if it -will profit you. But if the dead cannot be brought back to life, -however much we may beat our breasts, if destiny remains fixed and -immoveable for ever, not to be changed by any sorrow, however great, -and death does not loose his hold of anything that he once has taken -away, then let our futile grief be brought to an end. Let us, then, -steer our own course, and no longer allow ourselves to be driven -to leeward by the force of our misfortune. He is a sorry pilot who -lets the waves wring his rudder from his grasp, who leaves the sails -to fly loose, and abandons the ship to the storm: but he who {171} -boldly grasps the helm and clings to it until the sea closes over -him, deserves praise even though he be shipwrecked. - -VII. “But,” say you, “sorrow for the loss of one’s own children is -natural.” Who denies it? provided it be reasonable? for we cannot -help feeling a pang, and the stoutest-hearted of us are cast down -not only at the death of those dearest to us, but even when they -leave us on a journey. Nevertheless, the mourning which public -opinion enjoins is more than nature insists upon. Observe how intense -and yet how brief are the sorrows of dumb animals: we hear a cow -lowing for one or two days, nor do mares pursue their wild and -senseless gallops for longer: wild beasts after they have tracked -their lost cubs throughout the forest, and often visited their -plundered dens, quench their rage within a short space of time. -Birds circle round their empty nests with loud and piteous cries, -yet almost immediately resume their ordinary flight in silence; nor -does any creature spend long periods in sorrowing for the loss of -its offspring, except man, who encourages his own grief, the measure -of which depends not upon his sufferings, but upon his will. You -may know that to be utterly broken down by grief is not natural, -by observing that the same bereavement inflicts a deeper wound upon -women than upon men, upon savages than upon civilised and cultivated -persons, upon the unlearned than upon the learned: yet those passions -which derive their force from nature are equally powerful in all -men: therefore it is clear that a passion of varying strength cannot -be a natural one. Fire will burn all people equally, male and female, -of every rank and every age: steel will exhibit its cutting power -on all bodies alike: and why? Because these things derive their -strength from nature, which makes no distinction of persons. Poverty, -grief, and ambition,[4] are {172} felt differently by different -people, according as they are influenced by habit: a rooted prejudice -about the terrors of these things, though they are not really to -be feared, makes a man weak and unable to endure them. - -VIII. Moreover, that which depends upon nature is not weakened by -delay, but grief is gradually effaced by time. However obstinate -it may be, though it be daily renewed and be exasperated by all -attempts to soothe it, yet even this becomes weakened by time, which -is the most efficient means of taming its fierceness. You, Marcia, -have still a mighty sorrow abiding with you, nevertheless it already -appears to have become blunted: it is obstinate and enduring, but -not so acute as it was at first: and this also will be taken from -you piecemeal by succeeding years. Whenever you are engaged in other -pursuits your mind will be relieved from its burden: at present you -keep watch over yourself to prevent this. Yet there is a great -difference between allowing and forcing yourself to grieve. How -much more in accordance with your cultivated taste it would be to -put an end to your mourning instead of looking for the end to come, -and not to wait for the day when your sorrow shall cease against -your will: dismiss it of your own accord. - -IX. “Why then,” you ask, “do we show such persistence in mourning -for our friends, if it be not nature that bids us do so?” It is -because we never expect that any evil will befall ourselves before -it comes, we will not be taught by seeing the misfortunes of others -that they are the common inheritance of all men, but imagine that -the path which we have begun to tread is free from them and less -beset by dangers than that of other people. How many funerals pass -our houses? yet we do not think of death. How many untimely deaths? -we think only of our son’s coming of age, of his service in the -army, or of his succession to his father’s estate. How many rich -men suddenly {173} sink into poverty before our very eyes, without -its ever occurring to our minds that our own wealth is exposed to -exactly the same risks? When, therefore, misfortune befalls us, we -cannot help collapsing all the more completely, because we are -struck as it were unawares: a blow which has long been foreseen -falls much less heavily upon us. Do you wish to know how completely -exposed you are to every stroke of fate, and that the same shafts -which have transfixed others are whirling around yourself? then -imagine that you are mounting without sufficient armour to assault -some city wall or some strong and lofty position manned by a great -host, expect a wound, and suppose that all those stones, arrows, -and darts which fill the upper air are aimed at your body: whenever -any one falls at your side or behind your back, exclaim, “Fortune, -you will not outwit me, or catch me confident and heedless: I know -what you are preparing to do: you have struck down another, but you -aimed at me.” Who ever looks upon his own affairs as though he were -at the point of death? which of us ever dares to think about -banishment, want, or mourning? who, if advised to meditate upon -these subjects, would not reject the idea like an evil omen, and -bid it depart from him and alight on the heads of his enemies, or -even on that of his untimely adviser? “I never thought it would -happen!” How can you think that anything will not happen, when you -know that it may happen to many men, and has happened to many? That -is a noble verse, and worthy of a nobler source than the stage:— - - “What one hath suffered may befall us all.” - -That man has lost his children: you may lose yours. That man has -been convicted: your innocence is in peril. We are deceived and -weakened by this delusion, when we suffer what we never foresaw -that we possibly could suffer: but by looking forward to the coming -of our sorrows we take the sting out of them when they come. - -{174} - -X. My Marcia, all these adventitious circumstances which glitter -around us, such as children, office in the state, wealth, large -halls, vestibules crowded with clients seeking vainly for admittance, -a noble name, a well-born or beautiful wife, and every other thing -which depends entirely upon uncertain and changeful fortune, are -but furniture which is not our own, but entrusted to us on loan: -none of these things are given to us outright: the stage of our -lives is adorned with properties gathered from various sources, and -soon to be returned to their several owners: some of them will be -taken away on the first day, some on the second, and but few will -remain till the end. We have, therefore, no grounds for regarding -ourselves with complacency, as though the things which surround us -were our own: they are only borrowed: we have the use and enjoyment -of them for a time regulated by the lender, who controls his own -gift: it is our duty always to be able to lay our hands upon what -has been lent us with no fixed date for its return, and to restore -it when called upon without a murmur: the most detestable kind of -debtor is he who rails at his creditor. Hence all our relatives, -both those who by the order of their birth we hope will outlive -ourselves, and those who themselves most properly wish to die before -us, ought to be loved by us as persons whom we cannot be sure of -having with us for ever, nor even for long. We ought frequently to -remind ourselves that we must love the things of this life as we -would what is shortly to leave us, or indeed in the very act of -leaving us. Whatever gift Fortune bestows upon a man, let him think -while he enjoys it, that it will prove as fickle as the goddess -from whom it came. Snatch what pleasure you can from your children, -allow your children in their turn to take pleasure in your society, -and drain every pleasure to the dregs without any delay. We cannot -reckon on to-night, nay, I have allowed too long a delay, {175} we -cannot reckon on this hour: we must make haste: the enemy presses -on behind us: soon that society of yours will be broken up, that -pleasant company will be taken by assault and dispersed. Pillage -is the universal law: unhappy creatures, know you not that life is -but a flight? If you grieve for the death of your son, the fault -lies with the time when he was born, for at his birth he was told -that death was his doom: it is the law under which he was born, the -fate which has pursued him ever since he left his mother’s womb. -We have come under the dominion of Fortune, and a harsh and -unconquerable dominion it is: at her caprice we must suffer all -things whether we deserve them or not. She maltreats our bodies -with anger, insult, and cruelty: some she burns, the fire being -sometimes applied as a punishment and sometimes as a remedy: some -she imprisons, allowing it to be done at one time by our enemies, -at another by our countrymen: she tosses others naked on the changeful -seas, and after their struggle with the waves will not even cast -them out upon the sand or the shore, but will entomb them in the -belly of some huge sea-monster: she wears away others to a skeleton -by divers kinds of disease, and keeps them long in suspense between -life and death: she is as capricious in her rewards and punishments -as a fickle, whimsical, and careless mistress is with those of her -slaves. - -XI. Why need we weep over parts of our life? the whole of it calls -for tears: new miseries assail us before we have freed ourselves -from the old ones. You, therefore, who allow them to trouble you -to an unreasonable extent ought especially to restrain yourselves, -and to muster all the powers of the human breast to combat your -fears and your pains. Moreover, what forgetfulness of your own -position and that of mankind is this? You were born a mortal, and -you have given birth to mortals: yourself a weak and fragile body, -liable to all diseases, can you have hoped to {176} produce anything -strong and lasting from such unstable materials? Your son has died: -in other words he has reached that goal towards which those whom -you regard as more fortunate than your offspring are still hastening: -this is the point towards which move at different rates all the -crowds which are squabbling in the law courts, sitting in the -theatres, praying in the temples. Those whom you love and those -whom you despise will both be made equal in the same ashes. This -is the meaning of that command, KNOW THYSELF, which is written on -the shrine of the Pythian oracle. What is man? a potter’s vessel, -to be broken by the slightest shake or toss: it requires no great -storm to rend you asunder: you fall to pieces wherever you strike. -What is man? a weakly and frail body, naked, without any natural -protection, dependent on the help of others, exposed to all the -scorn of Fortune; even when his muscles are well trained he is the -prey and the food of the first wild beast he meets, formed of weak -and unstable substances, fair in outward feature, but unable to -endure cold, heat, or labour, and yet falling to ruin if kept in -sloth and idleness, fearing his very victuals, for he is starved -if he has them not, and bursts if he has too much. He cannot be -kept safe without anxious care, his breath only stays in the body -on sufferance, and has no real hold upon it; he starts at every -sudden danger, every loud and unexpected noise that reaches his -ears. Ever a cause of anxiety to ourselves, diseased and useless -as we are, can we be surprised at the death of a creature which can -be killed by a single hiccup? Is it a great undertaking to put an -end to us? why, smells, tastes, fatigue and want of sleep, food and -drink, and the very necessaries of life, are mortal. Whithersoever -he moves he straightway becomes conscious of his weakness, not being -able to bear all climates, falling sick after drinking strange -water, breathing an air to which he is not accustomed, or {177} -from other causes and reasons of the most trifling kind, frail, -sickly, entering upon his life with weeping: yet nevertheless what -a disturbance this despicable creature makes! what ideas it conceives, -forgetting its lowly condition! It exercises its mind upon matters -which are immortal and eternal, and arranges the affairs of its -grandchildren and great-grandchildren, while death surprises it in -the midst of its far-reaching schemes, and what we call old age is -but the round of a very few years. - -XII. Supposing that your sorrow has any method at all, is it your -own sufferings or those of him who is gone that it has in view? Why -do you grieve over your lost son? is it because you have received -no pleasure from him, or because you would have received more had -he lived longer? If you answer that you have received no pleasure -from him you make your loss more endurable: for men miss less when -lost what has given them no enjoyment or gladness. If, again, you -admit that you have received much pleasure, it is your duty not to -complain of that part which you have lost, but to return thanks for -that which you have enjoyed. His rearing alone ought to have brought -you a sufficient return for your labours, for it can hardly be that -those who take the greatest pains to rear puppies, birds, and such -like paltry objects of amusement derive a certain pleasure from the -sight and touch and fawning caresses of these dumb creatures, and -yet that those who rear children should not find their reward in -doing so. Thus, even though his industry may have gained nothing -for you, his carefulness may have saved nothing for you, his foresight -may have given you no advice, yet you found sufficient reward in -having owned him and loved him. “But,” say you, “it might have -lasted longer.” True, but you have been better dealt with than if -you had never had a son, for, supposing you were given your choice, -which is the better lot, to be happy for a short time or not at -all? {178} It is better to enjoy pleasures which soon leave us than -to enjoy none at all. Which, again, would you choose? to have had -one who was a disgrace to you, and who merely filled the position -and owned the name of your son, or one of such noble character as -your son’s was? a youth who soon grew discreet and dutiful, soon -became a husband and a father, soon became eager for public honours, -and soon obtained the priesthood, winning his way to all these -admirable things with equally admirable speed. It falls to scarcely -any one’s lot to enjoy great prosperity, and also to enjoy it for -a long time: only a dull kind of happiness can last for long and -accompany us to the end of our lives. The immortal gods, who did -not intend to give you a son for long, gave you one who was straightway -what another would have required long training to become. You cannot -even say that you have been specially marked by the gods for -misfortune because you have had no pleasure in your son. Look at -any company of people, whether they be known to you or not: everywhere -you will see some who have endured greater misfortunes than your -own. Great generals and princes have undergone like bereavements: -mythology tells us that the gods themselves are not exempt from -them, its aim, I suppose, being to lighten our sorrow at death by -the thought that even deities are subject to it. Look around, I -repeat, at every one: you cannot mention any house so miserable as -not to find comfort in the fact of another being yet more miserable. -I do not, by Hercules, think so ill of your principles as to suppose -that you would bear your sorrow more lightly were I to show you an -enormous company of mourners: that is a spiteful sort of consolation -which we derive from the number of our fellow-sufferers: nevertheless -I will quote some instances, not indeed in order to teach you that -this often befalls men, for it is absurd to multiply examples of -man’s mortality, but to let you know that there have {179} been -many who have lightened their misfortunes by patient endurance of -them. I will begin with the luckiest man of all. Lucius Sulla lost -his son, yet this did not impair either the spitefulness or the -brilliant valour which he displayed at the expense of his enemies -and his countrymen alike, nor did it make him appear to have assumed -his well-known title untruly that he did so after his son’s death, -fearing neither the hatred of men, by whose sufferings that excessive -prosperity of his was purchased, nor the ill-will of the gods, to -whom it was a reproach that Sulla should be so truly The Fortunate. -What, however, Sulla’s real character was may pass among questions -still undecided: even his enemies will admit that he took up arms -with honour, and laid them aside with honour: his example proves -the point at issue, that an evil which befalls even the most -prosperous cannot be one of the first magnitude. - -XIII. That Greece cannot boast unduly of that father who, being in -the act of offering sacrifice when he heard the news of his son’s -death, merely ordered the flute-player to be silent, and removed -the garland from his head, but accomplished all the rest of the -ceremony in due form, is due to a Roman, Pulvillus the high priest. -When he was in the act of holding the doorpost[5] and dedicating -the Capitol the news of his son’s death was brought to him. He -pretended not to hear it, and pronounced the form of words proper -for the high priest on such an occasion, without his prayer being -interrupted by a single groan, begging that Jupiter would show -himself gracious, at the very instant that he heard his son’s name -mentioned as dead. Do you imagine that this man’s mourning knew no -end, if the first day and the first shook could not drive him, -though a father, away {180} from the public altar of the state, or -cause him to mar the ceremony of dedication by words of ill omen? -Worthy, indeed, of the most exalted priesthood was he who ceased -not to revere the gods even when they were angry. Yet he, after he -had gone home, filled his eyes with tears, said a few words of -lamentation, and performed the rites with which it was then customary -to honour the dead, resumed the expression of countenance which he -had worn in the Capitol. - -Paulus,[6] about the time of his magnificent triumph, in which he -drove Perses in chains before his car, gave two of his sons to be -adopted into other families, and buried those whom he had kept for -himself. What, think you, must those whom he kept have been, when -Scipio was one of those whom he gave away? It was not without emotion -that the Roman people looked upon Paulus’s empty chariot:[7] -nevertheless he made a speech to them, and returned thanks to the -gods for having granted his prayer: for he had prayed that, if any -offering to Nemesis were due in consequence of the stupendous victory -which he had won, it might be paid at his own expense rather than -at that of his country. Do you see how magnanimously he bore his -loss? he even congratulated himself on being left childless, though -who had more to suffer by such a change? he lost at once his -comforters and his helpers. Yet Perses did not have the pleasure -of seeing Paulus look sorrowful. - -XIV. Why should I lead you on through the endless {181} series of -great men and pick out the unhappy ones, as though it were not more -difficult to find happy ones? for how few households have remained -possessed of all their members until the end? what one is there -that has not suffered some loss? Take any one year you please and -name the consuls for it: if you like, that of[8] Lucius Bibulus and -Gaius Caesar; you will see that, though these colleagues were each -other’s bitterest enemies, yet their fortunes agreed. Lucius Bibulus, -a man more remarkable for goodness than for strength of character, -had both his sons murdered at the same time, and even insulted by -the Egyptian soldiery, so that the agent of his bereavement was as -much a subject for tears as the bereavement itself. Nevertheless -Bibulus, who during the whole of his year of office had remained -hidden in his house, to cast reproach upon his colleague Caesar on -the day following that upon which he heard of both his sons’ deaths, -came forth and went through the routine business of his magistracy. -Who could devote less than one day to mourning for two sons? Thus -soon did he end his mourning for his children, although he had -mourned a whole year for his consulship. Gaius Caesar, after having -traversed Britain, and not allowed even the ocean to set bounds to -his successes, heard of the death of his daughter, which hurried -on the crisis of affairs. Already Gnaeus Pompeius stood before his -eyes, a man who would ill endure that any one besides himself should -become a great power in the state, and one who was likely to place -a check upon his advancement, which he had regarded as onerous even -when each gained by the other’s rise: yet within three days’ time -he resumed his duties as general, and conquered his grief as quickly -as he was wont to conquer everything else. - -XV. Why need I remind you of the deaths of the other {182} Caesars, -whom fortune appears to me sometimes to have outraged in order that -even by their deaths they might be useful to mankind, by proving -that not even they, although they were styled “sons of gods,” and -“fathers of gods to come,” could exercise the same power over their -own fortunes which they did over those of others? The Emperor -Augustus lost his children and his grandchildren, and after all the -family of Caesar had perished was obliged to prop his empty house -by adopting a son: yet he bore his losses as bravely as though he -were already personally concerned in the honour of the gods, and -as though it were especially to his interest that no one should -complain of the injustice of Heaven. Tiberius Caesar lost both the -son whom he begot and the son whom he adopted, yet he himself -pronounced a panegyric upon his son from the Rostra, and stood in -full view of the corpse, which merely had a curtain on one side to -prevent the eyes of the high priest resting upon the dead body, and -did not change his countenance, though all the Romans wept: he gave -Sejanus, who stood by his side, a proof of how patiently he could -endure the loss of his relatives. See you not what numbers of most -eminent men there have been, none of whom have been spared by this -blight which prostrates us all: men, too, adorned with every grace -of character, and every distinction that public or private life can -confer. It appears as though this plague moved in a regular orbit, -and spread ruin and desolation among us all without distinction of -persons, all being alike its prey. Bid any number of individuals -tell you the story of their lives: you will find that all have paid -some penalty for being born. - -XVI. I know what you will say, “You quote men as examples: you -forget that it is a woman that you are trying to console.” Yet who -would say that nature has dealt grudgingly with the minds of women, -and stunted their virtues? Believe me, they have the same intellectual -power as men, {183} and the same capacity for honourable and generous -action. If trained to do so, they are just as able to endure sorrow -or labour. Ye good gods, do I say this in that very city in which -Lucretia and Brutus removed the yoke of kings from the necks of the -Romans? We owe liberty to Brutus, but we owe Brutus to Lucretia—in -which Cloelia, for the sublime courage with which she scorned both -the enemy and the river, has been almost reckoned as a man. The -statue of Cloelia, mounted on horseback, in that busiest of -thoroughfares, the Sacred Way, continually reproaches the youth of -the present day, who never mount anything but a cushioned seat in -a carriage, with journeying in such a fashion through that very -city in which we have enrolled even women among our knights. If you -wish me to point out to you examples of women who have bravely -endured the loss of their children, I shall not go far afield to -search for them: in one family I can quote two Cornelias, one the -daughter of Scipio, and the mother of the Gracchi, who made -acknowledgment of the birth of her twelve children by burying them -all: nor was it so hard to do this in the case of the others, whose -birth and death were alike unknown to the public, but she beheld -the murdered and unburied corpses of both Tiberius Gracchus and -Gaius Gracchus, whom even those who will not call them good must -admit were great men. Yet to those who tried to console her and -called her unfortunate, she answered, “I shall never cease to call -myself happy, because I am the mother of the Gracchi.” Cornelia, -the wife of Livius Drusus, lost by the hands of an unknown assassin -a young son of great distinction, who was treading in the footsteps -of the Gracchi, and was murdered in his own house just when he had -so many bills half way through the process of becoming law: -nevertheless she bore the untimely and unavenged death of her son -with as lofty a spirit as he had shown in carrying his laws. Will -you not, Marcia, forgive fortune because she has not refrained {184} -from striking you with the darts with which she launched at the -Scipios, and the mothers and daughters of the Scipios, and with -which she has attacked the Caesars themselves? Life is full of -misfortunes; our path is beset with them: no one can make a long -peace, nay, scarcely an armistice with fortune. You, Marcia, have -borne four children: now they say that no dart which is hurled into -a close column of soldiers can fail to hit one,—ought you then to -wonder at not having been able to lead along such a company without -exciting the ill-will of Fortune, or suffering loss at her hands? -“But,” say you, “Fortune has treated me unfairly, for she not only -has bereaved me of my son, but chose my best beloved to deprive me -of.” Yet you never can say that you have been wronged, if you divide -the stakes equally with an antagonist who is stronger than yourself: -Fortune has left you two daughters, and their children: she has not -even taken away altogether him who you now mourn for, forgetful of -his elder brother: you have two daughters by him, who if you support -them ill will prove great burdens, but if well, great comforts to -you. You ought to prevail upon yourself, when you see them, to let -them remind you of your son, and not of your grief. When a husbandman’s -trees have either been torn up, roots and all, by the wind, or -broken off short by the force of a hurricane, he takes care of what -is left of their stock, straightway plants seeds or cuttings in the -place of those which he has lost, and in a moment—for time is as -swift in repairing losses as in causing them—more flourishing trees -are growing than were there before. Take, then, in the place of -your Metilius these his two daughters, and by their twofold consolation -lighten your single sorrow. True, human nature is so constituted -as to love nothing so much as what it has lost, and our yearning -after those who have been taken from us makes us judge unfairly of -those who are left to us: nevertheless, if you choose to reckon up -how merciful {185} Fortune has been to you even in her anger, you -will feel that you have more than enough to console you. Look at -all your grandchildren, and your two daughters: and say also, -Marcia:—“I should indeed be cast down, if everyone’s fortune followed -his deserts, and if no evil ever befel good men: but as it is I -perceive that no distinction is made, and that the bad and the good -are both harassed alike.” - -XVII. “Still, it is a sad thing to lose a young man whom you have -brought up, just as he was becoming a defence and a pride both to -his mother and to his country.” No one denies that it is sad: but -it is the common lot of mortals. You were born to lose others, to -be lost, to hope, to fear, to destroy your own peace and that of -others, to fear and yet to long for death, and, worst of all, never -to know what your real position is. If you were about to journey -to Syracuse, and some one were to say:—“Learn beforehand all the -discomforts, and all the pleasures of your coming voyage, and then -set sail. The sights which you will enjoy will be as follows: first, -you will see the island itself, now separated from Italy by a narrow -strait, but which, we know, once formed part of the mainland. The -sea suddenly broke through, and - - ‘Sever’d Sicilia from the western shore.’[9] - -Next, as you will be able to sail close to Charybdis, of which the -poets have sung, you will see that greediest of whirlpools, quite -smooth if no south wind be blowing, but whenever there is a gale -from that quarter, sucking down ships into a huge and deep abyss. -You will see the fountain of Arethusa, so famed in song, with its -waters bright and pellucid to the very bottom, and pouring forth -an icy stream which it either finds on the spot or else plunges it -under ground, conveys it thither as a separate river beneath so -many seas, free from any mixture of less pure water, and {186} there -brings it again to the surface. You will see a harbour which is -more sheltered than all the others in the world, whether they be -natural or improved by human art for the protection of shipping; -so safe, that even the most violent storms are powerless to disturb -it. You will see the place where the power of Athens was broken, -where that natural prison, hewn deep among precipices of rock, -received so many thousands of captives: you will see the great city -itself, occupying a wider site than many capitals, an extremely -warm resort in winter, where not a single day passes without sunshine: -but when you have observed all this, you must remember that the -advantages of its winter climate are counterbalanced by a hot and -pestilential summer: that here will be the tyrant Dionysius, the -destroyer of freedom, of justice, and of law, who is greedy of power -even after conversing with Plato, and of life even after he has -been exiled; that he will burn some, flog others, and behead others -for slight offences; that he will exercise his lust upon both sexes -. . . . . You have now heard all that can attract you thither, all -that can deter you from going: now, then, either set sail or remain -at home!” If, after this declaration, anybody were to say that he -wished to go to Syracuse, he could blame no one but himself for -what befel him there, because he would not stumble upon it unknowingly, -but would have gone thither fully aware of what was before him. To -everyone Nature says: “I do not deceive any person. If you choose -to have children, they may be handsome, or they may be deformed; -perhaps they will be born dumb. One of them may perhaps prove the -saviour of his country, or perhaps its betrayer. You need not despair -of their being raised to such honour that for their sake no one -will dare to speak evil of you: yet remember that they may reach -such a pitch of infamy as themselves to become curses to you. There -is nothing to prevent their performing the {187} last offices for -you, and your panegyric being spoken by your children: but hold -yourself prepared nevertheless to place a son as boy, man, or -greybeard, upon the funeral pyre: for years have nothing to do with -the matter, since every sort of funeral in which a parent buries -his child must alike be untimely.[10] If you still choose to rear -children, after I have explained these conditions to you, you render -yourself incapable of blaming the gods, for they never guaranteed -anything to you.” - -XVIII. You may make this simile apply to your whole entrance into -life. I have explained to you what attractions and what drawbacks -there would be if you were thinking of going to Syracuse: now suppose -that I were to come and give you advice when you were going to be -born. “You are about,” I should say, “to enter a city of which both -gods and men are citizens, a city which contains the whole universe, -which is bound by irrevocable and eternal laws, and wherein the -heavenly bodies run their unwearied courses: you will see therein -innumerable twinkling stars, and the sun, whose single light pervades -every place, who by his daily course marks the times of day and -night, and by his yearly course makes a more equal division between -summer and winter. You will see his place taken by night by the -moon, who borrows at her meetings with her brother a gentle and -softer light, and who at one time is invisible, at another hangs -full-faced above the earth, ever waxing and waning, each phase -unlike the last. You will see five stars, moving in the opposite -direction to the others, stemming the whirl of the skies towards -the West: on the slightest motions of these depend the fortunes of -nations, and according as the aspect of the planets is auspicious -or malignant, the greatest empires rise and fall: you will see with -wonder the gathering clouds, the falling showers, the {188} zigzag -lightning, the crashing together of the heavens. When, sated with -the wonders above, you turn your eyes towards the earth, they will -be met by objects of a different yet equally admirable aspect: on -one side a boundless expanse of open plains, on another the towering -peaks of lofty and snow-clad mountains: the downward course of -rivers, some streams running eastward, some westward from the same -source: the woods which wave even on the mountain tops, the vast -forests with all the creatures that dwell therein, and the confused -harmony of the birds: the variously-placed cities, the nations which -natural obstacles keep secluded from the world, some of whom withdraw -themselves to lofty mountains, while others dwell in fear and -trembling on the sloping banks of rivers: the crops which are -assisted by cultivation, and the trees which bear fruit even without -it: the rivers that flow gently through the meadows, the lovely -bays and shores that curve inwards to form harbours: the countless -islands scattered over the main, which break and spangle the seas. -What of the brilliancy of stones and gems, the gold that rolls amid -the sands of rushing streams, the heaven-born fires that burst forth -from the midst of the earth and even front the midst of the sea; -the ocean itself, that binds land to land, dividing the nations by -its threefold indentations, and boiling up with mighty rage? Swimming -upon its waves, making them disturbed and swelling without wind, -you will see animals exceeding the size of any that belong to the -land, some clumsy and requiring others to guide their movements, -some swift and moving faster than the utmost efforts of rowers, -some of them that drink in the waters and blow them out again to -the great perils of those who sail near them: you will see here -ships seeking for unknown lands: you will see that man’s audacity -leaves nothing unattempted, and you will yourself be both a witness -and a sharer in great {189} attempts. You will both learn and teach -the arts by which men’s lives are supplied with necessaries, are -adorned, and are ruled: but in this same place there will be a -thousand pestilences fatal to both body and mind, there will be -wars and highway robberies, poisonings and shipwrecks, extremes of -climate and excesses of body, untimely griefs for our dearest ones, -and death for ourselves, of which we cannot tell whether it will -be easy or by torture at the hands of the executioner. Now consider -and weigh carefully in your own mind which you would choose. If you -wish to enjoy these blessings you must pass through these pains. -Do you answer that you choose to live? ‘Of course.’ Nay, I thought -you would not enter upon that of which the least diminution causes -pain. Live, then, as has been agreed on. You say, “No one has asked -my opinion.” Our parents’ opinion was taken about us, when, knowing -what the conditions of life are, they brought us into it. - -XIX. But, to come to topics of consolation, in the first place -consider if you please to what our remedies must be applied, and -next, in what way. It is regret for the absence of his loved one -which causes a mourner to grieve: yet it is clear that this in -itself is bearable enough; for we do not weep at their being absent -or intending to be absent during their lifetime, although when they -leave our sight we have no more pleasure in them. What tortures us, -therefore, is an idea. Now every evil is just as great as we consider -it to be: we have, therefore, the remedy in our own hands. Let us -suppose that they are on a journey, and let us deceive ourselves: -we have sent them away, or, rather, we have sent them on in advance -to a place whither we shall soon follow them.[11] Besides this, -mourners are wont to suffer from the thought, “I shall {190} have -no one to protect me, no one to avenge me when I am scorned.” To -use a very disreputable but very true mode of consolation, I may -say that in our country the loss of children bestows more influence -than it takes away, and loneliness, which used to bring the aged -to ruin, now makes them so powerful that some old men have pretended -to pick quarrels with their sons, have disowned their own children, -and have made themselves childless by their own act. I know what -you will say: “My own losses do not grieve me:” and indeed a man -does not deserve to be consoled if he is sorry for his son’s death -as he would be for that of a slave, who is capable of seeing anything -in his son beyond his son’s self. What then, Marcia, is it that -grieves you? is it that your son has died, or that he did not live -long? If it be his having died, then you ought always to have -grieved, for you always knew that he would die. Reflect that the -dead suffer no evils, that all those stories which make us dread -the nether world are mere fables, that he who dies need fear no -darkness, no prison, no blazing streams of fire, no river of Lethe, -no judgment seat before which he must appear, and that Death is -such utter freedom that, he need fear no more despots. All that is -a phantasy of the poets, who have terrified us without a cause. -Death is a release from and an end of all pains: beyond it our -sufferings cannot extend: it restores us to the peaceful rest in -which we lay before we were born. If any one pities the dead, he -ought also to pity those who have not been born. Death is neither -a good nor a bad thing, for that alone which is something can be a -good or a bad thing: but that which is nothing, and reduces all -things to nothing, does not hand us over to either fortune, because -good and bad require some material to work upon. Fortune cannot -take hold of that which Nature has let go, nor can a man be unhappy -if he is nothing. Your son has passed beyond the border of the {191} -country where men are forced to labour; he has reached deep and -everlasting peace. He feels no fear of want, no anxiety about his -riches, no stings of lust that tears the heart in guise of pleasure: -he knows no envy of another’s prosperity, he is not crushed by the -weight of his own; even his chaste ears are not wounded by any -ribaldry: he is menaced by no disaster, either to his country or -to himself. He does not hang, full of anxiety, upon the issue of -events, to reap even greater uncertainty as his reward: he has at -last taken up a position from which nothing can dislodge him, where -nothing can make him afraid. - -XX. O how little do men understand their own misery, that they do -not praise and look forward to death as the best discovery of Nature, -whether because it hedges in happiness, or because it drives away -misery: because it puts an end to the sated weariness of old age, -cuts down youth in its bloom while still full of hope of better -things, or calls home childhood before the harsher stages of life -are reached: it is the end of all men, a relief to many, a desire -to some, and it treats none so well as those to whom it comes before -they call for it. Death frees the slave though his master wills it -not, it lightens the captive’s chains: it leads out of prison those -whom headstrong power has forbidden to quit it: it points out to -exiles, whose minds and eyes are ever turned towards their own -country, that it makes no difference under what people’s soil one -lies. When Fortune has unjustly divided the common stock, and has -given over one man to another, though they were born with equal -rights. Death makes them all equal. After Death no one acts any -more at another’s bidding: in death no man suffers any more from -the sense of his low position. It is open to all: it was what your -father, Marcia, longed for: it is this, I say, that renders it no -misery to be born, which enables me to face the threatenings of -misfortune without quailing, and to keep {192} my mind unharmed and -able to command itself. I have a last appeal. I see before me crosses -not all alike, but differently made by different peoples: some hang -a man head downwards, some force a stick upwards through his groin, -some stretch out his arms on a forked gibbet. I see cords, scourges, -and instruments of torture for each limb and each joint: but I see -Death also. There are bloodthirsty enemies, there are overbearing -fellow-countrymen, but where they are there I see Death also. Slavery -is not grievous if a man can gain his freedom by one step as soon -as he becomes tired of thraldom. Life, it is thanks to Death that -I hold thee so dear. Think how great a blessing is a timely death, -how many have been injured by living longer than they ought. If -sickness had carried off that glory and support of the empire, -Gnaeus Pompeius, at Naples, he would have died the undoubted head -of the Roman people, but as it was, a short extension of time cast -him down from his pinnacle of fame: he beheld his legions slaughtered -before his eyes: and what a sad relic of that battle, in which the -Senate formed the first line, was the survival of the general. He -saw his Egyptian butcher, and offered his body, hallowed by so many -victories, to a guardsman’s sword, although even had he been unhurt, -he would have regretted his safety: for what could have been more -infamous than that a Pompeius should owe his life to the clemency -of a king? If Marcus Cicero had fallen at the time when he avoided -those daggers which Catiline aimed equally at him and at his country, -he might have died as the saviour of the commonwealth which he had -set free: if his death had even followed upon that of his daughter, -he might have died happy. He would not then have seen swords drawn -for the slaughter of Roman citizens, the goods of the murdered -divided among the murderers that men might pay from their own purse -the price of their {193} own blood, the public auction of the -consul’s spoil in the civil war, the public letting out of murder -to be done, brigandage, war, pillage, hosts of Catilines. Would it -not have been a good thing for Marcus Cato if the sea had swallowed -him up when he was returning from Cyprus after sequestrating the -king’s hereditary possessions, even if that very money which he was -bringing to pay the soldiers in the civil war had been lost with -him? He certainly would have been able to boast that no one would -dare to do wrong in the presence of Cato: as it was, the extension -of his life for a very few more years forced one who was born for -personal and political freedom to flee from Caesar and to become -Pompeius’s follower. Premature death therefore did him no evil: -indeed, it put an end to the power of any evil to hurt him. - -XXI. “Yet,” say you, “he perished too soon and untimely.” In the -first place, suppose that he had lived to extreme old age: let him -continue alive to the extreme limits of human existence: how much -is it after all? Born for a very brief space of time, we regard -this life as an inn which we are soon to quit that it may be made -ready for the coming guest. Do I speak of our lives, which we know -roll away incredibly fast? Reckon up the centuries of cities: you -will find that even those which boast of their antiquity have not -existed for long. All human works are brief and fleeting; they take -up no part whatever of infinite time. Tried by the standard of the -universe, we regard this earth of ours, with all its cities, nations, -rivers, and sea-board as a mere point: our life occupies less than -a point when compared with all time, the measure of which exceeds -that of the world, for indeed the world is contained many times in -it. Of what importance, then, can it be to lengthen that which, -however much you add to it, will never be much more than nothing? -We can only make our lives long by one expedient, that is, by being -{194} satisfied with their length: you may tell me of long-lived -men, whose length of days has been celebrated by tradition, you may -assign a hundred and ten years apiece to them: yet when you allow -your mind to conceive the idea of eternity, there will be no -difference between the shortest and the longest life, if you compare -the time during which any one has been alive with that during which -he has not been alive. In the next place, when he died his life was -complete: he had lived as long as he needed to live: there was -nothing left for him to accomplish. All men do not grow old at the -same age, nor indeed do all animals: some are wearied out by life -at fourteen years of age, and what is only the first stage of life -with man is their extreme limit of longevity. To each man a varying -length of days has been assigned: no one dies before his time, -because he was not destined to live any longer than he did. Everyone’s -end is fixed, and will always remain where it has been placed: -neither industry nor favour will move it on any further. Believe, -then, that you lost him by advice: he took all that was his own, - - “And reached the goal allotted to his life,” - -so you need not burden yourself with the thought, “He might have -lived longer.” His life has not been cut short, nor does chance -ever cut short our years: every man receives as much as was promised -to him: the Fates go their own way, and neither add anything nor -take away anything from what they have once promised. Prayers and -endeavours are all in vain: each man will have as much life as his -first day placed to his credit: from the time when he first saw the -light he has entered on the path that leads to death, and is drawing -nearer to his doom: those same years which were added to his youth -were subtracted from his life. We all fall into this mistake of -supposing that it is only old men, already in the decline of life, -who are drawing {195} near to death, whereas our first infancy, our -youth, indeed every time of life leads thither. The Fates ply their -own work: they take from us the consciousness of our death, and, -the better to conceal its approaches, death lurks under the very -names we give to life: infancy changes into boyhood, maturity -swallows up the boy, old age the man; these stages themselves, if -you reckon them properly, are so many losses. - -XXII. Do you complain, Marcia, that your son did not live as long -as he might have done? How do you know that it was to his advantage -to live longer? whether his interest was not served by this death? -Whom can you find at the present time whose fortunes are grounded -on such sure foundations that they have nothing to fear in the -future? All human affairs are evanescent and perishable, nor is any -part of our life so frail and liable to accident as that which we -especially enjoy. We ought, therefore, to pray for death when our -fortune is at its best, because so great is the uncertainty and -turmoil in which we live, that we can be sure of nothing but what -is past. Think of your son’s handsome person, which you had guarded -in perfect purity among all the temptations of a voluptuous capital. -Who could have undertaken to keep that clear of all diseases, so -that it might preserve its beauty of form unimpaired even to old -age? Think of the many taints of the mind: for fine dispositions -do not always continue to their life’s end to make good the promise -of their youth, but have often broken down: either extravagance, -all the more shameful for being indulged in late in life, takes -possession of men and makes their well-begun lives end in disgrace, -or they devote their entire thoughts to the eating-house and the -belly, and they become interested in nothing save what they shall -eat and what they shall drink. Add to this conflagrations, falling -houses, shipwrecks, the agonizing operations of surgeons, who cut -{196} pieces of bone out of men’s living bodies, plunge their whole -hands into their entrails, and inflict more than one kind of pain -to effect the cure of shameful diseases. After these comes exile; -your son was not more innocent than Rutilius: imprisonment; he was -not wiser than Socrates: the piercing of one’s breast by a -self-inflicted wound; he was not of holier life than Cato. When you -look at these examples, you will perceive that nature deals very -kindly with those whom she puts speedily in a place of safety because -there awaited them the payment of some such price as this for their -lives. Nothing is so deceptive, nothing is so treacherous as human -life; by Hercules, were it not given to men before they could form -an opinion, no one would take it. Not to be born, therefore, is the -happiest lot of all, and the nearest thing to this, I imagine, is -that we should soon finish our strife here and be restored again -to our former rest. Recall to your mind that time, so painful to -you, during which Sejanus handed over your father as a present to -his client Satrius Secundus: he was angry with him about something -or other which he had said with too great freedom, because he was -not able to keep silence and see Sejanus climbing up to take his -seat upon our necks, which would have been bad enough had he been -placed there by his master. He was decreed the honour of a statue, -to be set up in the theatre of Pompeius, which had been burned down -and was being restored by Caesar. Cordus exclaimed that “Now the -theatre was really destroyed.” What then? should he not burst with -spite at a Sejanus being set up over the ashes of Gnaeus Pompeius, -at a faithless soldier being commemorated within the memorial of a -consummate commander? The inscription was put up:[12] and those -keen-scented {197} hounds whom Sejanus used to feed on human blood, -to make them tame towards himself and fierce to all the world beside, -began to bay around their victim and even to make premature snaps -at him. What was he to do? If he chose to live, he must gain the -consent of Sejanus; if to die, he must gain that of his daughter; -and neither of them could have been persuaded to grant it: he -therefore determined to deceive his daughter, and having taken a -bath in order to weaken himself still further, he retired to his -bed-chamber on the pretence of taking a meal there. After dismissing -his slaves he threw some of the food out of the window, that he -might appear to have eaten it: then he took no supper, making the -excuse that he had already had enough food in his chamber. This he -continued to do on the second and the third day: the fourth betrayed -his condition by his bodily weakness; so, embracing you, “My dearest -daughter,” said he, “from whom I have never throughout your whole -life concealed aught but this, I have begun my journey towards -death, and have already travelled half-way thither. You cannot and -you ought not to call me back.” So saying he ordered all light to -be excluded from the room and shut himself up in the darkness. When -his determination became known there was a general feeling of -pleasure at the prey being snatched out of the jaws of those ravening -wolves. His prosecutors, at the instance of Sejanus, went to the -judgment-seat of the consuls, complained that Cordus was dying, and -begged the consuls to interpose to prevent his doing what they -themselves had driven him to do; so true was it that Cordus appeared -to them to be escaping: an important matter was at stake, namely, -whether the accused should lose the right to die. While this point -was being debated, and the prosecutors were going to attend the -court a second time, he had set himself free from them. Do you see, -Marcia, how suddenly evil days come upon a man? {198} and do you -weep because one of your family could not avoid dying? one of your -family was within a very little of not being allowed to die. - -XXIII. Besides the fact that everything that is future is uncertain, -and the only certainty is that it is more likely to turn out ill -than well, our spirits find the path to the Gods above easiest when -it is soon allowed to leave the society of mankind, because it has -then contracted fewest impurities to weigh it down: if set free -before they become hardened worldlings, before earthly things have -sunk too deep into them, they fly all the more lightly back to the -place from whence they came, and all the more easily wash away the -stains and defilements which they may have contracted. Great minds -never love to linger long in the body: they are eager to burst its -bonds and escape from it, they chafe at the narrowness of their -prison, having been wont to wander through space, and from aloft -in the upper air to look down with contempt upon human affairs. -Hence it is that Plato declares that the wise man’s mind is entirely -given up to death, longs for it, contemplates it, and through his -eagerness for it is always striving after things which lie beyond -this life. Why, Marcia, when you saw him while yet young displaying -the wisdom of age, with a mind that could rise superior to all -sensual enjoyments, faultless and without a blemish, able to win -riches without greediness, public office without ambition, pleasure -without extravagance, did you suppose it would long be your lot to -keep him safe by your side? Whatever has arrived at perfection, is -ripe for dissolution. Consummate virtue flees away and betakes -itself out of our sight, and those things which come to maturity -in the first stage of their being do not wait for the last. The -brighter a fire glows, the sooner it goes out: it lasts longer when -it is made up with bad and slowly burning fuel, and shows a dull -light through a cloud of smoke: its being poorly fed {199} makes -it linger all the longer. So also the more brilliant men’s minds, -the shorter lived they are: for when there is no room for further -growth, the end is near. Fabianus tells us, what our parents -themselves have seen, that there was at Rome a boy of gigantic -stature, exceeding that of a man: but he soon died, and every -sensible person always said that he would soon die, for he could -not live to reach the age which he had assumed before it was due. -So it is: too complete maturity is a proof that destruction is near, -and the end approaches when growth is over. - -XXIV. Begin to reckon his age, not by years, but by virtues: he -lived long enough. He was left as a ward in the care of guardians -up to his fourteenth year, and never passed out of that of his -mother: when he had a household of his own he was loth to leave -yours, and continued to dwell under his mother’s roof, though few -sons can endure to live under their father’s. Though a youth whose -height, beauty, and vigour of body destined him for the army, yet -he refused to serve, that he might not be separated from you. -Consider, Marcia, how seldom mothers who live in separate houses -see their children: consider how they lose and pass in anxiety all -those years during which they have sons in the army, and you will -see that this time, none of which you lost, was of considerable -extent: he never went out of your sight: it was under your eyes -that he applied himself to the cultivation of an admirable intellect -and one which would have rivalled that of his grandfather, had it -not been hindered by shyness, which has concealed many men’s -accomplishments: though a youth of unusual beauty, and living among -such throngs of women who made it their business to seduce men, he -gratified the wishes of none of them, and when the effrontery of -some led them so far as actually to tempt him, he blushed as deeply -at having found favour in their eyes as though he had been guilty. -By this holiness of life he caused himself, while yet quite a {200} -boy, to be thought worthy of the priesthood, which no doubt he owed -to his mother’s influence; but even his mother’s influence would -have had no weight if the candidate for whom it was exerted had -been unfit for the post. Dwell upon these virtues, and nurse your -son as it were in your lap: now he is more at leisure to respond -to your caresses, he has nothing to call him away from you, he will -never be an anxiety or a sorrow to you. You have grieved at the -only grief so good a son could cause you: all else is beyond the -power of fortune to harm, and is full of pleasure, if only you know -how to make use of your son, if you do but know what his most -precious quality was. It is merely the outward semblance of your -son that has perished, his likeness, and that not a very good one; -he himself is immortal, and is now in a far better state, set free -from the burden of all that was not his own, and left simply by -himself: all this apparatus which you see about us of bones and -sinews, this covering of skin, this face, these our servants the -hands, and all the rest of our environment, are but chains and -darkness to the soul: they overwhelm it, choke it, corrupt it, fill -it with false ideas, and keep it at a distance from its own true -sphere: it has to struggle continually against this burden of the -flesh, lest it be dragged down and sunk by it. It ever strives to -rise up again to the place from whence it was sent down on earth: -there eternal rest awaits it, there it will behold what is pure and -clear, in place of what is foul and turbid. - -XXV. You need not, therefore, hasten to the burial-place of your -son: that which lies there is but the worst part of him and that -which gave him most trouble, only bones and ashes, which are no -more parts of him than clothes or other coverings of his body. He -is complete, and without leaving any part of himself behind on earth -has taken wing and gone away altogether: he has tarried a brief -space above us while his soul was being cleansed {201} and purified -from the vices and rust which all mortal lives must contract, and -from thence he will rise to the high heavens and join the souls of -the blessed: a saintly company will welcome him thither,—Scipios -and Catos; and among the rest of those who have held life cheap and -set themselves free, thanks to death, albeit all there are alike -akin, your father, Marcia, will embrace his grandson as he rejoices -in the unwonted light, will teach him the motion of the stars which -are so near to them, and introduce him with joy into all the secrets -of nature, not by guesswork but by real knowledge. Even as a stranger -is grateful to one who shows him the way about an unknown city, so -is a searcher after the causes of what he sees in the heavens to -one of his own family who can explain them to him. He will delight -in gazing deep down upon the earth, for it is a delight to look -from aloft at what one has left below. Bear yourself, therefore, -Marcia, as though you were placed before the eyes of your father -and your son, yet not such as you knew them, but far loftier beings, -placed in a higher sphere. Blush, then, to do any mean or common -action, or to weep for those your relatives who have been changed -for the better. Free to roam through the open, boundless realms of -the everliving universe, they are not hindered in their course by -intervening seas, lofty mountains, impassable valleys, or the -treacherous fiats of the Syrtes: they find a level path everywhere, -are swift and ready of motion, and are permeated in their turn by -the stars and dwell together with them. - -XXVI. Imagine then, Marcia, that your father, whose influence over -you was as great as yours over your son, no longer in that frame -of mind in which he deplored the civil wars, or in which he for -ever proscribed those who would have proscribed him, but in a mood -as much more joyful as his abode now is higher than of old, is -saying, as {202} he looks down from the height of heaven, “My -daughter, why does this sorrow possess you for so long? why do you -live in such ignorance of the truth, as to think that your son has -been unfairly dealt with because he has returned to his ancestors -in his prime, without decay of body or mind, leaving his family -flourishing? Do you not know with what storms Fortune unsettles -everything? how she proves kind and compliant to none save to those -who have the fewest possible dealings with her? Need I remind you -of kings who would have been the happiest of mortals had death -sooner withdrawn them from the ruin which was approaching them? or -of Roman generals, whose greatness, had but a few years been taken -from their lives, would have wanted nothing to render it complete? -or of men of the highest distinction and noblest birth who have -calmly offered their necks to the stroke of a soldier’s sword? Look -at your father and your grandfather: the former fell into the hands -of a foreign murderer: I allowed no man to take any liberties with -me, and by abstinence from food showed that my spirit was as great -as my writings had represented it. Why, then, should that member -of our household who died most happily of all be mourned in it the -longest? We have all assembled together, and, not being plunged in -utter darkness, we see that with you on earth there is nothing to -be wished for, nothing grand or magnificent, but all is mean, sad, -anxious, and hardly receives a fractional part of the clear light -in which we dwell. I need not say that here are no frantic charges -of rival armies, no fleets shattering one another, no parricides, -actual or meditated, no courts where men babble over lawsuits for -days together, here is nothing underhand, all hearts and minds are -open and unveiled, our life is public and known to all, and that -we command a view of all time and of things to come. I used to take -pleasure in compiling the history of what took place in one century -among {203} a few people in the most out-of-the-way corner of the -world: here I enjoy the spectacle of all the centuries, the whole -chain of events from age to age as long as years have been. I may -view kingdoms when they rise and when they fall, and behold the -ruin of cities and the new channels made by the sea. If it will be -any consolation to you in your bereavement to know that it is the -common lot of all, be assured that nothing will continue to stand -in the place in which it now stands, but that time will lay everything -low and bear it away with itself: it will sport, not only with -men—for how small a part are they of the dominion of Fortune? —but -with districts, provinces, quarters of the world: it will efface -entire mountains, and in other places will pile new rocks on high: -it will dry up seas, change the course of rivers, destroy the -intercourse of nation with nation, and break up the communion and -fellowship of the human race: in other regions it will swallow up -cities by opening vast chasms in the earth, will shake them with -earthquakes, will breathe forth pestilence from the nether world, -cover all habitable ground with inundations and destroy every -creature in the flooded world, or burn up all mortals by a huge -conflagration. When the time shall arrive for the world to be brought -to an end, that it may begin its life anew, all the forces of nature -will perish in conflict with one another, the stars will be dashed -together, and all the lights which now gleam in regular order in -various parts of the sky will then blaze in one fire with all their -fuel burning at once. Then we also, the souls of the blest and the -heirs of eternal life, whenever God thinks fit to reconstruct the -universe, when all things are settling down again, we also, being -a small accessory to the universal wreck,[13] shall be changed into -our old elements. Happy is your son, Marcia, in that he already -knows this.” - - -[1] See Merivale’s “History of the Romans under the Empire,” ch. -xlv. - -[2] If it is a pain to dwell upon the thought of lost friends, of -course you do not continually refresh the memory of them by speaking -of them. - -[3] See my note on _invidiam facere alicui_ in Juv. 15.—J. E. B. -Mayor. - -[4] Koch declares that this cannot be the true reading, and suggests -_deminutio_, ‘degradation.’ - -[5] This seems to have been part of the ceremony of dedication. -Pulvillus was dedicating the Temple of Jupiter in the Capitol. See -Livy, ii. 8; Cic. Pro Domo, paragraph cxxi. - -[6] Lucius Aemilius Paullus conquered Perses, the last King of -Macedonia, B.C. 168. - -[7] “For he had four sons, two, as has been already related, adopted -into other families, Scipio and Fabius; and two others, who were -still children, by his second wife, who lived in his own house. Of -these, one died five days before Aemilius’s triumph, at the age of -fourteen, and the other, twelve years old, died three days after -it: so that there was no Roman that did not grieve for him,” -&c.—Plutarch, “Life of Aemilius,” ch. xxxv. - -[8] A. U. C. 695, B.C 59. - -[9] Virg. Ae. III. 418. - -[10] See Mayor’s note on Juv. i., and above, c. 16, §4. - -[11] Lipsius points out that this idea is borrowed from the comic -poet Antiphanes. See Meineke’s “Comic Fragments,” p. 3. - -[12] This I believe to be the meaning of the text, but Koch reasonably -conjectures that the true reading is “editur subscriptio,” “an -indictment was made out against him.” See “On Benefits,” iii. 26. - -[13] _Ruinae_; Koch’s _urinae_ is a misprint. - - - - -{204} - -THE SEVENTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED -TO GALLIO. - -OF A HAPPY LIFE. - - -I. All men, brother Gallio, wish to live happily, but are dull at -perceiving exactly what it is that makes life happy: and so far is -it from being easy to attain to happiness that the more eagerly a -man struggles to reach it the further he departs from it, if he -takes the wrong road; for, since this leads in the opposite direction, -his very swiftness carries him all the further away. We must therefore -first define clearly what it is at which we aim: next we must -consider by what path we may most speedily reach it, for on our -journey itself, provided it be made in the right direction, we shall -learn how much progress we have made each day, and how much nearer -we are to the goal towards which our natural desires urge us. But -as long as we wander at random, not following any guide except the -shouts and discordant clamours of those who invite us to proceed -in different directions, our short life will be wasted in useless -roamings, even if we labour both day and night to get a good -understanding. Let us not therefore decide whither we must tend, -and by what path, without the advice of some experienced person who -has explored the region which we are about to enter, because this -{205} journey is not subject to the same conditions as others; for -in them some distinctly understood track and inquiries made of the -natives make it impossible for us to go wrong, but here the most -beaten and frequented tracks are those which lead us most astray. -Nothing, therefore, is more important than that we should not, like -sheep, follow the flock that has gone before us, and thus proceed -not whither we ought, but whither the rest are going. Now nothing -gets us into greater troubles than our subservience to common rumour, -and our habit of thinking that those things are best which are most -generally received as such, of taking many counterfeits for truly -good things, and of living not by reason but by imitation of others. -This is the cause of those great heaps into which men rush till -they are piled one upon another. In a great crush of people, when -the crowd presses upon itself, no one can fall without drawing some -one else down upon him, and those who go before cause the destruction -of those who follow them. You may observe the same thing in human -life: no one can merely go wrong by himself, but he must become -both the cause and adviser of another’s wrongdoing. It is harmful -to follow the march of those who go before us, and since every one -had rather believe another than form his own opinion, we never pass -a deliberate judgment upon life, but some traditional error always -entangles us and brings us to ruin, and we perish because we follow -other men’s examples: we should be cured of this if we were to -disengage ourselves from the herd; but as it is, the mob is ready -to fight against reason in defence of its own mistake. Consequently -the same thing happens as at elections, where, when the fickle -breeze of popular favour has veered round, those who have been -chosen consuls and praetors are viewed with admiration by the very -men who made them so. That we should all approve and disapprove of -the same things is the end of every {206} decision which is given -according to the voice of the majority. - -II. When we are considering a happy life, you cannot answer me as -though after a division of the House, “This view has most supporters;” -because for that very reason it is the worse of the two: matters -do not stand so well with mankind that the majority should prefer -the better course: the more people do a thing the worse it is likely -to be. Let us therefore inquire, not what is most commonly done, -but what is best for us to do, and what will establish us in the -possession of undying happiness, not what is approved of by the -vulgar, the worst possible exponents of truth. By “the vulgar” I -mean both those who wear woollen cloaks and those who wear crowns;[1] -for I do not regard the colour of the clothes with which they are -covered: I do not trust my eyes to tell me what a man is: I have a -better and more trustworthy light by which I can distinguish what -is true from what is false: let the mind find out what is good for -the mind. If a man ever allows his mind some breathing space and -has leisure for communing with himself, what truths he will confess -to himself, after having been put to the torture by his own self! -He will say, “Whatever I have hitherto done I wish were undone: -when I think over what I have said, I envy dumb people: whatever I -have longed for seems to have been what my enemies would pray might -befall me: good heaven, how far more endurable what I have feared -seems to be than what I have lusted after. I have been at enmity -with many men, and have changed my dislike of them into friendship, -if friendship can exist between bad men: yet I have not yet become -reconciled to myself. I have striven with all my strength to raise -myself above the {207} common herd, and to make myself remarkable -for some talent: what have I effected save to make myself a mark -for the arrows of my enemies, and show those who hate me where to -wound me? Do you see those who praise your eloquence, who covet -your wealth, who court your favour, or who vaunt your power? All -these either are, or, which comes to the same thing, may be your -enemies: the number of those who envy you is as great as that of -those who admire you; why do I not rather seek for some good thing -which I can use and feel, not one which I can show? these good -things which men gaze at in wonder, which they crowd to see, which -one points out to another with speechless admiration, are outwardly -brilliant, but within are miseries to those who possess them.” - -III. Let us seek for some blessing, which does not merely look fine, -but is sound and good throughout alike, and most beautiful in the -parts which are least seen: let us unearth this. It is not far -distant from us; it can be discovered: all that is necessary is to -know whither to stretch out your hand: but, as it is, we behave as -though we were in the dark, and reach out beyond what is nearest -to us, striking as we do so against the very things that we want. -However, that I may not draw you into digressions, I will pass over -the opinions of other philosophers, because it would take a long -time to state and confute them all: take ours. When, however, I say -“ours,” I do not bind myself to any one of the chiefs of the Stoic -school, for I too have a right to form my own opinion. I shall, -therefore, follow the authority of some of them, but shall ask some -others to discriminate their meaning:[2] perhaps, when after having -{208} reported all their opinions, I am asked for my own, I shall -impugn none of my predecessors’ decisions, and shall say, “I will -also add somewhat to them.” Meanwhile I follow nature, which is a -point upon which every one of the Stoic philosophers are agreed: -true wisdom consists in not departing from nature and in moulding -our conduct according to her laws and model. A happy life, therefore, -is one which is in accordance with its own nature, and cannot be -brought about unless in the first place the mind be sound and remain -so without interruption, and next, be bold and vigorous, enduring -all things with most admirable courage, suited to the times in which -it lives, careful of the body and its appurtenances, yet not -troublesomely careful. It must also set due value upon all the -things which adorn our lives, without over-estimating any one of -them, and must be able to enjoy the bounty of Fortune without -becoming her slave. You understand without my mentioning it that -an unbroken calm and freedom ensue, when we have driven away all -those things which either excite us or alarm us: for in the place -of sensual pleasures and those slight perishable matters which are -connected with the basest crimes, we thus gain an immense, unchangeable, -equable joy, together with peace, calmness and greatness of mind, -and kindliness: for all savageness is a sign of weakness. - -IV. Our highest good may also be defined otherwise, that is to say, -the same idea may be expressed in different language. Just as the -same army may at one time be extended more widely, at another -contracted into a smaller compass, and may either be curved towards -the wings by a depression in the line of the centre, or drawn up -in a straight line, while, in whatever figure it be arrayed, its -{209} strength and loyalty remain unchanged; so also our definition -of the highest good may in some cases be expressed diffusely and -at great length, while in others it is put into a short and concise -form. Thus, it will come to the same thing, if I say “The highest -good is a mind which despises the accidents of fortune, and takes -pleasure in virtue”: or, “It is an unconquerable strength of mind, -knowing the world well, gentle in its dealings, showing great -courtesy and consideration for those with whom it is brought into -contact.” Or we may choose to define it by calling that man happy -who knows good and bad only in the form of good or bad minds: who -worships honour, and is satisfied with his own virtue, who is neither -puffed up by good fortune nor cast down by evil fortune, who knows -no other good than that which he is able to bestow upon himself, -whose real pleasure lies in despising pleasures. If you choose to -pursue this digression further, you can put this same idea into -many other forms, without impairing or weakening its meaning: for -what prevents our saying that a happy life consists in a mind which -is free, upright, undaunted, and steadfast, beyond the influence -of fear or desire, which thinks nothing good except honour, and -nothing bad except shame, and regards everything else as a mass of -mean details which can neither add anything to nor take anything -away from the happiness of life, but which come and go without -either increasing or diminishing the highest good? A man of these -principles, whether he will or no, must be accompanied by a continual -cheerfulness, a high happiness, which comes indeed from on high -because he delights in what he has, and desires no greater pleasures -than those which his home affords. Is he not right in allowing these -to turn the scale against petty, ridiculous, and shortlived movements -of his wretched body? on the day on which he becomes proof against -pleasure he also becomes proof against pain. See, on the other hand, -how {210} evil and guilty a slavery the man is forced to serve who -is dominated in turn by pleasures and pains, those most untrustworthy -and passionate of masters. We must, therefore, escape from them -into freedom. This nothing will bestow upon us save contempt of -Fortune: but if we attain to this, then there will dawn upon us -those invaluable blessings, the repose of a mind that is at rest -in a safe haven, its lofty imaginings, its great and steady delight -at casting out errors and learning to know the truth, its courtesy, -and its cheerfulness, in all of which we shall take delight, not -regarding them as good things, but as proceeding from the proper -good of man. - -V. Since I have begun to make my definitions without a too strict -adherence to the letter, a man may be called “happy” who, thanks -to reason, has ceased either to hope or to fear: but rocks also -feel neither fear nor sadness, nor do cattle, yet no one would call -those things happy which cannot comprehend what happiness is. With -them you may class men whose dull nature and want of self-knowledge -reduces them to the level of cattle, mere animals: there is no -difference between the one and the other, because the latter have -no reason, while the former have only a corrupted form of it, crooked -and cunning to their own hurt. For no one can be styled happy who -is beyond the influence of truth: and consequently a happy life is -unchangeable, and is founded upon a true and trustworthy discernment; -for the mind is uncontaminated and freed from all evils only when -it is able to escape not merely from wounds but also from scratches, -when it will always be able to maintain the position which it has -taken up, and defend it even against the angry assaults of Fortune: -for with regard to sensual pleasures, though they were to surround -one on every side, and use every means of assault, trying to win -over the mind by caresses and making trial of every conceivable -stratagem to attract either our entire selves or {211} our separate -parts, yet what mortal that retains any traces of human origin would -wish to be tickled day and night, and, neglecting his mind, to -devote himself to bodily enjoyments? - -VI. “But,” says our adversary, “the mind also will have pleasures -of its own.” Let it have them, then, and let it sit in judgment -over luxury and pleasures; let it indulge itself to the full in all -those matters which give sensual delights: then let it look back -upon what it enjoyed before, and with all those faded sensualities -fresh in its memory let it rejoice and look eagerly forward to those -other pleasures which it experienced long ago, and intends to -experience again, and while the body lies in helpless repletion in -the present, let it send its thoughts onward towards the future, -and take stock of its hopes: all this will make it appear, in my -opinion, yet more wretched, because it is insanity to choose evil -instead of good: now no insane person can be happy, and no one can -be sane if he regards what is injurious as the highest good and -strives to obtain it. The happy man, therefore, is he who can make -a right judgment in all things: he is happy who in his present -circumstances, whatever they may be, is satisfied and on friendly -terms with the conditions of his life. That man is happy, whose -reason recommends to him the whole posture of his affairs. - -VII. Even those very people who declare the highest good to be in -the belly, see what a dishonourable position they have assigned to -it: and therefore they say that pleasure cannot be parted from -virtue, and that no one can either live honourably without living -cheerfully, nor yet live cheerfully without living honourably. I -do not see how these very different matters can have any connexion -with one another. What is there, I pray you, to prevent virtue -existing apart from pleasure? of course the reason is that all good -things derive their origin from virtue, and therefore even those -things which you cherish and seek for {212} come originally from -its roots. Yet, if they were entirely inseparable, we should not -see some things to be pleasant, but not honourable, and others most -honourable indeed, but hard and only to be attained by suffering. -Add to this, that pleasure visits the basest lives, but virtue -cannot co-exist with an evil life; yet some unhappy people are not -without pleasure, nay, it is owing to pleasure itself that they are -unhappy; and this could not take place if pleasure had any connexion -with virtue, whereas virtue is often without pleasure, and never -stands in need of it. Why do you put together two things which are -unlike and even incompatible one with another? virtue is a lofty -quality, sublime, royal, unconquerable, untiring: pleasure is low, -slavish, weakly, perishable; its haunts and homes are the brothel -and the tavern. You will meet virtue in the temple, the market-place, -the senate house, manning the walls, covered with dust, sunburnt, -horny-handed: you will find pleasure skulking out of sight, seeking -for shady nooks at the public baths, hot chambers, and places which -dread the visits of the aedile, soft, effeminate, reeking of wine -and perfumes, pale or perhaps painted and made up with cosmetics. -The highest good is immortal: it knows no ending, and does not admit -of either satiety or regret: for a right-thinking mind never alters -or becomes hateful to itself, nor do the best things ever undergo -any change: but pleasure dies at the very moment when it charms us -most: it has no great scope, and therefore it soon cloys and wearies -us, and fades away as soon as its first impulse is over: indeed, -we cannot depend upon anything whose nature is to change. Consequently -it is not even possible that there should be any solid substance -in that which comes and goes so swiftly, and which perishes by the -very exercise of its own functions, for it arrives at a point at -which it ceases to be, and even while it is beginning always keeps -its end in view. - -{213} - -VIII. What answer are we to make to the reflexion that pleasure -belongs to good and bad men alike, and that bad men take as much -delight in their shame as good men in noble things? This was why -the ancients bade us lead the highest, not the most pleasant life, -in order that pleasure might not be the guide but the companion of -a right-thinking and honourable mind; for it is Nature whom we ought -to make our guide: let our reason watch her, and be advised by her. -To live happily, then, is the same thing as to live according to -Nature: what this may be, I will explain. If we guard the endowments -of the body and the advantages of nature with care and fearlessness, -as things soon to depart and given to us only for a day; if we do -not fall under their dominion, nor allow ourselves to become the -slaves of what is no part of our own being; if we assign to all -bodily pleasures and external delights the same position which is -held by auxiliaries and light-armed troops in a camp; if we make -them our servants, not our masters—then and then only are they of -value to our minds. A man should be unbiassed and not to be conquered -by external things: he ought to admire himself alone, to feel -confidence in his own spirit, and so to order his life as to be -ready alike for good or for bad fortune. Let not his confidence be -without knowledge, nor his knowledge without steadfastness: let him -always abide by what he has once determined, and let there be no -erasure in his doctrines. It will be understood, even though I -append it not, that such a man will be tranquil and composed in his -demeanour, high-minded and courteous in his actions. Let reason be -encouraged by the senses to seek for the truth, and draw its first -principles from thence: indeed it has no other base of operations -or place from which to start in pursuit of truth: it must fall back -upon itself. Even the all-embracing universe and God who is its -guide extends himself forth into outward things, and yet altogether -returns from all sides back to {214} himself. Let our mind do the -same thing: when, following its bodily senses it has by means of -them sent itself forth into the things of the outward world, let -it remain still their master and its own. By this means we shall -obtain a strength and an ability which are united and allied together, -and shall derive from it that reason which never halts between two -opinions, nor is dull in forming its perceptions, beliefs, or -convictions. Such a mind, when it has ranged itself in order, made -its various parts agree together, and, if I may so express myself, -harmonized them, has attained to the highest good: for it has nothing -evil or hazardous remaining, nothing to shake it or make it stumble: -it will do everything under the guidance of its own will, and nothing -unexpected will befal it, but whatever may be done by it will turn -out well, and that, too, readily and easily, without the doer having -recourse to any underhand devices: for slow and hesitating action -are the signs of discord and want of settled purpose. You may, then, -boldly declare that the highest good is singleness of mind: for -where agreement and unity are, there must the virtues be: it is the -vices that are at war one with another. - -IX. “But,” says our adversary, “you yourself only practise virtue -because you hope to obtain some pleasure from it.” In the first -place, even though virtue may afford us pleasure, still we do not -seek after her on that account: for she does not bestow this, but -bestows this to boot, nor is this the end for which she labours, -but her labour wins this also, although it be directed to another -end. As in a tilled-field, when ploughed for corn, some flowers are -found amongst it, and yet, though these posies may charm the eye, -all this labour was not spent in order to produce them—the man who -sowed the field had another object in view, he gained this over and -above it—so pleasure is not the reward or the cause of virtue, but -comes in addition to it; nor do we choose virtue because she gives -us pleasure, but {215} she gives us pleasure also if we choose her. -The highest good lies in the act of choosing her, and in the attitude -of the noblest minds, which when once it has fulfilled its function -and established itself within its own limits has attained to the -highest good, and needs nothing more: for there is nothing outside -of the whole, any more than there is anything beyond the end. You -are mistaken, therefore, when you ask me what it is on account of -which I seek after virtue: for you are seeking for something above -the highest. Do you ask what I seek from virtue? I answer. Herself: -for she has nothing better; she is her own reward. Does this not -appear great enough, when I tell you that the highest good is an -unyielding strength of mind, wisdom, magnanimity, sound judgment, -freedom, harmony, beauty? Do you still ask me for something greater, -of which these may be regarded as the attributes? Why do you talk -of pleasures to me? I am seeking to find what is good for man, not -for his belly; why, cattle and whales have larger ones than he. - -X. “You purposely misunderstand what I say,” says he, “for I too -say that no one can live pleasantly unless he lives honorably also, -and this cannot be the case with dumb animals who measure the extent -of their happiness by that of their food. I loudly and publicly -proclaim that what I call a pleasant life cannot exist without the -addition of virtue.” Yet who does not know that the greatest fools -drink the deepest of those pleasures of yours? or that vice is full -of enjoyments, and that the mind itself suggests to itself many -perverted, vicious forms of pleasure?—in the first place arrogance, -excessive self-esteem, swaggering precedence over other men, a -shortsighted, nay, a blind devotion to his own interests, dissolute -luxury, excessive delight springing from the most trifling and -childish causes, and also talkativeness, pride that takes a pleasure -in insulting others, sloth, and the decay of a dull mind which goes -to sleep over itself. All these are dissipated by virtue, which -plucks a {216} man by the ear, and measures the value of pleasures -before she permits them to be used; nor does she set much store by -those which she allows to pass current, for she merely allows their -use, and her cheerfulness is not due to her use of them, but to her -moderation in using them. “Yet when moderation lessens pleasure, -it impairs the highest good.” You devote yourself to pleasures, I -check them; you indulge in pleasure, I use it; you think that it -is the highest good, I do not even think it to be good: for the -sake of pleasure I do nothing, you do everything. - -XI. When I say that I do nothing for the sake of pleasure, I allude -to that wise man, whom alone you admit to be capable of pleasure: -now I do not call a man wise who is overcome by anything, let alone -by pleasure: yet, if engrossed by pleasure, how will he resist toil, -danger, want, and all the ills which surround and threaten the life -of man? How will he bear the sight of death or of pain? How will -he endure the tumult of the world, and make head against so many -most active foes, if he be conquered by so effeminate an antagonist? -He will do whatever pleasure advises him: well, do you not see how -many things it will advise him to do? “It will not,” says our -adversary, “be able to give him any bad advice, because it is -combined with virtue?” Again, do you not see what a poor kind of -highest good that must be which requires a guardian to ensure its -being good at all? and how is virtue to rule pleasure if she follows -it, seeing that to follow is the duty of a subordinate, to rule -that of a commander? do you put that which commands in the background? -According to your school, virtue has the dignified office of -preliminary taster of pleasures. We shall, however, see whether -virtue still remains virtue among those who treat her with such -contempt, for if she leaves her proper station she can no longer -keep her proper name: in the meanwhile, to keep to the point, I -will show you many men beset by pleasures, {217} men upon whom -Fortune has showered all her gifts, whom you must needs admit to -be bad men. Look at Nomentanus and Apicius, who digest all the good -things, as they call them, of the sea and land, and review upon -their tables the whole animal kingdom. Look at them as they lie on -beds of roses gloating over their banquet, delighting their ears -with music, their eyes with exhibitions, their palates with flavours: -their whole bodies are titillated with soft and soothing applications, -and lest even their nostrils should be idle, the very place in -which, they solemnize[3] the rites of luxury is scented with various -perfumes. You will say that these men live in the midst of pleasures. -Yet they are ill at ease, because they take pleasure in what is not -good. - -XII. “They are ill at ease,” replies he, “because many things arise -which distract their thoughts, and their minds are disquieted by -conflicting opinions.” I admit that this is true: still these very -men, foolish, inconsistent, and certain to feel remorse as they -are, do nevertheless receive great pleasure, and we must allow that -in so doing they are as far from feeling any trouble as they are -from forming a right judgment, and that, as is the case with many -people, they are possessed by a merry madness, and laugh while they -rave. The pleasures of wise men, on the other hand, are mild, -decorous, verging on dulness, kept under restraint and scarcely -noticeable, and are neither invited to come nor received with honour -when they come of their own accord, nor are they welcomed with any -delight by those whom they visit, who mix them up with their lives -and fill up empty spaces with them, like an amusing farce in the -intervals of serious business. Let them no longer, then, join -incongruous matters together, or connect pleasure with {218} virtue, -a mistake whereby they court the worst of men. The reckless profligate, -always in liquor and belching out the fumes of wine, believes that -he lives with virtue, because he knows that he lives with pleasure, -for he hears it said that pleasure cannot exist apart from virtue; -consequently he dubs his vices with the title of wisdom and parades -all that he ought to conceal. So, men are not encouraged by Epicurus -to run riot, but the vicious hide their excesses in the lap of -philosophy, and flock to the schools in which they hear the praises -of pleasure. They do not consider how sober and temperate—for so, -by Hercules, I believe it to be—that “pleasure” of Epicurus is, but -they rush at his mere name, seeking to obtain some protection and -cloak for their vices. They lose, therefore, the one virtue which -their evil life possessed, that of being ashamed of doing wrong: -for they praise what they used to blush at, and boast of their -vices. Thus modesty can never reassert itself, when shameful idleness -is dignified with an honourable name. The reason why that praise -which your school lavishes upon pleasure is so hurtful, is because -the honourable part of its teaching passes unnoticed, but the -degrading part is seen by all. - -XIII. I myself believe, though my Stoic comrades would be unwilling -to hear me say so, that the teaching of Epicurus was upright and -holy, and even, if you examine it narrowly, stern: for this much -talked of pleasure is reduced to a very narrow compass, and he bids -pleasure submit to the same law which we bid virtue do—I mean, to -obey nature. Luxury, however, is not satisfied with what is enough -for nature. What is the consequence? Whoever thinks that happiness -consists in lazy sloth, and alternations of gluttony and profligacy, -requires a good patron for a bad action, and when he has become an -Epicurean, having been led to do so by the attractive name of that -school, he follows, not the pleasure which he there hears {219} -spoken of, but that which he brought thither with him, and, haying -learned to think that his vices coincide with the maxims of that -philosophy, he indulges in them no longer timidly and in dark -corners, but boldly in the face of day. I will not, therefore, like -most of our school, say that the sect of Epicurus is the teacher -of crime, but what I say is: it is ill spoken of, it has a bad -reputation, and yet it does not deserve it. “Who can know this -without having been admitted to its inner mysteries?” Its very -outside gives opportunity for scandal, and encourages men’s baser -desires: it is like a brave man dressed in a woman’s gown: your -chastity is assured, your manhood is safe, your body is submitted -to nothing disgraceful, but your hand holds a drum (like a priest -of Cybele). Choose, then, some honourable superscription for your -school, some writing which shall in itself arouse the mind: that -which at present stands over your door has been invented by the -vices. He who ranges himself on the side of virtue gives thereby a -proof of a noble disposition: he who follows pleasure appears to -be weakly, worn out, degrading his manhood, likely to fall into -infamous vices unless someone discriminates his pleasures for him, -so that he may know which remain within the bounds of natural desire, -which are frantic and boundless, and become all the more insatiable -the more they are satisfied. But come! let virtue lead the way: -then every step will be safe. Too much pleasure is hurtful: but -with virtue we need fear no excess of any kind, because moderation -is contained in virtue herself. That which is injured by its own -extent cannot be a good thing: besides, what better guide can there -be than reason for beings endowed with a reasoning nature? so if -this combination pleases you, if you are willing to proceed to a -happy life thus accompanied, let virtue lead the way, let pleasure -follow and hang about the body like a shadow: it is the part of a -mind incapable of great things to hand {220} over virtue, the highest -of all qualities, as a handmaid to pleasure. - -XIV. Let virtue lead the way and bear the standard: we shall have -pleasure for all that, but we shall be her masters and controllers; -she may win some concessions from us, but will not force us to do -anything. On the contrary, those who have permitted pleasure to -lead the van, have neither one nor the other: for they lose virtue -altogether, and yet they do not possess pleasure, but are possessed -by it, and are either tortured by its absence or choked by its -excess, being wretched if deserted by it, and yet more wretched if -overwhelmed by it, like those who are caught in the shoals of the -Syrtes and at one time are left on dry ground and at another tossed -on the flowing waves. This arises from an exaggerated want of -self-control, and a hidden love of evil: for it is dangerous for -one who seeks after evil instead of good to attain his object. As -we hunt wild beasts with toil and peril, and even when they are -caught find them an anxious possession, for they often tear their -keepers to pieces, even so are great pleasures: they turn out to -be great evils and take their owners prisoner. The more numerous -and the greater they are, the more inferior and the slave of more -masters does that man become whom the vulgar call a happy man. I -may even press this analogy further: as the man who tracks wild -animals to their lairs, and who sets great store on— - - “Seeking with snares the wandering brutes to noose,” - -and - - “Making their hounds the spacious glade surround,” - -that he may follow their tracks, neglects far more desirable things, -and leaves many duties unfulfilled, so he who pursues pleasure -postpones everything to it, disregards that first essential, liberty, -and sacrifices it to his belly; nor does he buy pleasure for himself, -but sells himself to pleasure. - -{221} - -XV. “But what,” asks our adversary, “is there to hinder virtue and -pleasure being combined together, and a highest good being thus -formed, so that honour and pleasure may be the same thing?” Because -nothing except what is honourable can form a part of honour, and -the highest good would lose its purity if it were to see within -itself anything unlike its own better part. Even the joy which -arises from virtue, although it be a good thing, yet is not a part -of absolute good, any more than cheerfulness or peace of mind, which -are indeed good things, but which merely follow the highest good, -and do not contribute to its perfection, although they are generated -by the noblest causes. Whoever on the other hand forms an alliance, -and that, too, a one-sided one, between virtue and pleasure, clogs -whatever strength the one may possess by the weakness of the other, -and sends liberty under the yoke, for liberty can only remain -unconquered as long as she knows nothing more valuable than herself: -for he begins to need the help of Fortune, which is the most utter -slavery: his life becomes anxious, full of suspicion, timorous, -fearful of accidents, waiting in agony for critical moments of time. -You do not afford virtue a solid immoveable base if you bid it stand -on what is unsteady: and what can be so unsteady as dependence on -mere chance, and the vicissitudes of the body and of those things -which act on the body? How can such a man obey God and receive -everything which comes to pass in a cheerful spirit, never complaining -of fate, and putting a good construction upon everything that befalls -him, if he be agitated by the petty pin-pricks of pleasures and -pains? A man cannot be a good protector of his country, a good -avenger of her wrongs, or a good defender of his friends, if he be -inclined to pleasures. Let the highest good, then, rise to that -height from whence no force can dislodge it, whither neither pain -can ascend, nor hope, nor fear, nor anything else that can {222} -impair the authority of the “highest good.” Thither virtue alone -can make her way: by her aid that hill must be climbed: she will -bravely stand her ground and endure whatever may befal her not only -resignedly, but even willingly: she will know that all hard times -come in obedience to natural laws, and like a good soldier she will -bear wounds, count scars, and when transfixed and dying will yet -adore the general for whom she falls: she will bear in mind the old -maxim “Follow God.” On the other hand, he who grumbles and complains -and bemoans himself is nevertheless forcibly obliged to obey orders, -and is dragged away, however much against his will, to carry them -out: yet what madness is it to be dragged rather than to follow? -as great, by Hercules, as it is folly and ignorance of one’s true -position to grieve because one has not got something or because -something has caused us rough treatment, or to be surprised or -indignant at those ills which befall good men as well as bad ones, -I mean diseases, deaths, illnesses, and the other cross accidents -of human life. Let us bear with magnanimity whatever the system of -the universe makes it needful for us to bear: we are all bound by -this oath: “To bear the ills of mortal life, and to submit with a -good grace to what we cannot avoid.” We have been born into a -monarchy: our liberty is to obey God. - -XVI. True happiness, therefore, consists in virtue: and what will -this virtue bid you do? Not to think anything bad or good which is -connected neither with virtue nor with wickedness: and in the next -place, both to endure unmoved the assaults of evil, and, as far as -is right, to form a god out of what is good. What reward does she -promise you for this campaign? an enormous one, and one that raises -you to the level of the gods: you shall be subject to no restraint -and to no want; you shall be free, safe, unhurt; you shall fail in -nothing that you attempt; you shall be debarred from nothing; -everything shall turn out according {223} to your wish; no misfortune -shall befal you; nothing shall happen to you except what you expect -and hope for. “What! does virtue alone suffice to make you happy?” -why, of course, consummate and god-like virtue such as this not -only suffices, but more than suffices: for when a man is placed -beyond the reach of any desire, what can he possibly lack? if all -that he needs is concentred in himself, how can he require anything -from without? He, however, who is only on the road to virtue, -although he may have made great progress along it, nevertheless -needs some favour from fortune while he is still struggling among -mere human interests, while he is untying that knot, and all the -bonds which bind him to mortality. What, then, is the difference -between them? it is that some are tied more or less tightly by these -bonds, and some have even tied themselves with them as well; whereas -he who has made progress towards the upper regions and raised himself -upwards drags a looser chain, and though not yet free, is yet as -good as free. - -XVII. If, therefore, any one of those dogs who yelp at philosophy -were to say, as they are wont to do, “Why, then, do you talk so -much more bravely than you live? why do you check your words in the -presence of your superiors, and consider money to be a necessary -implement? why are you disturbed when you sustain losses, and weep -on hearing of the death of your wife or your friend? why do you pay -regard to common rumour, and feel annoyed by calumnious gossip? why -is your estate more elaborately kept than its natural use requires? -why do you not dine according to your own maxims? why is your -furniture smarter than it need be? why do you drink wine that is -older than yourself? why are your grounds laid out? why do you plant -trees which afford nothing except shade? why does your wife wear -in her ears the price of a rich man’s house? why are your children -at school dressed in costly {224} clothes? why is it a science to -wait upon you at table? why is your silver plate not set down anyhow -or at random, but skilfully disposed in regular order, with a -superintendent to preside over the carving of the viands?” Add to -this, if you like, the questions “Why do you own property beyond -the seas? why do you own more than you know of? it is a shame to -you not to know your slaves by sight: for you must be very neglectful -of them if you only own a few, or very extravagant if you have too -many for your memory to retain.” I will add some reproaches afterwards, -and will bring more accusations against myself than you think of: -for the present I will make you the following answer. “I am not a -wise man, and I will not be one in order to feed your spite: so do -not require me to be on a level with the best of men, but merely -to be better than the worst: I am satisfied, if every day I take -away something from my vices and correct my faults. I have not -arrived at perfect soundness of mind, indeed, I never shall arrive -at it: I compound palliatives rather than remedies for my gout, and -am satisfied if it comes at rarer intervals and does not shoot so -painfully. Compared with your feet, which are lame, I am a racer.” -I make this speech, not on my own behalf, for I am steeped in vices -of every kind, but on behalf of one who has made some progress in -virtue. - -XVIII. “You talk one way,” objects our adversary, “and live another.” -You most spiteful of creatures, you who always show the bitterest -hatred to the best of men, this reproach was flung at Plato, at -Epicurus, at Zeno: for all these declared how they ought to live, -not how they did live. I speak of virtue, not of myself, and when -I blame vices, I blame my own first of all: when I have the power, -I shall live as I ought to do: spite, however deeply steeped in -venom, shall not keep me back from what is best: that poison itself -with which you bespatter others, with which you choke yourselves, -shall not hinder me from continuing {225} to praise that life which -I do not, indeed, lead, but which I know I ought to lead, from -loving virtue and from following after her, albeit a long way behind -her and with halting gait. Am I to expect that evil speaking will -respect anything, seeing that it respected neither Rutilius nor -Cato? Will any one care about being thought too rich by men for -whom Diogenes the Cynic was not poor enough? That most energetic -philosopher fought against all the desires of the body, and was -poorer even than the other Cynics, in that besides haying given up -possessing anything he had also given up asking for anything: yet -they reproached him for not being sufficiently in want: as though -forsooth it were poverty, not virtue, of which he professed knowledge. - -XIX. They say that Diodorus, the Epicurean philosopher, who within -these last few days put an end to his life with his own hand, did -not act according to the precepts of Epicurus, in cutting his throat: -some choose to regard this act as the result of madness, others of -recklessness; he, meanwhile, happy and filled with the consciousness -of his own goodness, has borne testimony to himself by his manner -of departing from life, has commended the repose of a life spent -at anchor in a safe harbour, and has said what you do not like to -hear, because you too ought to do it: - - “I’ve lived, I’ve run the race which Fortune set me.” - -You argue about the life and death of another, and yelp at the name -of men whom some peculiarly noble quality has rendered great, just -as tiny curs do at the approach of strangers: for it is to your -interest that no one should appear to be good, as if virtue in -another were a reproach to all your crimes. You enviously compare -the glories of others with your own dirty actions, and do not -understand how greatly to your disadvantage it is to venture to do -so: for if they who follow after virtue be greedy, lustful, {226} -and fond of power, what must you be, who hate the very name of -virtue? You say that no one acts up to his professions, or lives -according to the standard which he sets up in his discourses: what -wonder, seeing that the words which they speak are brave, gigantic, -and able to weather all the storms which wreck mankind, whereas -they themselves are struggling to tear themselves away from crosses -into which each one of you is driving his own nail. Yet men who are -crucified hang from one single pole, but these who punish themselves -are divided between as many crosses as they have lusts, but yet are -given to evil speaking, and are so magnificent in their contempt -of the vices of others that I should suppose that they had none of -their own, were it not that some criminals when on the gibbet spit -upon the spectators. - -XX. “Philosophers do not carry into effect all that they teach.” -No; but they effect much good by their teaching, by the noble -thoughts which they conceive in their minds: would, indeed, that -they could act up to their talk: what could be happier than they -would be? but in the meanwhile you have no right to despise good -sayings and hearts full of good thoughts. Men deserve praise for -engaging in profitable studies, even though they stop short of -producing any results. Why need we wonder if those who begin to -climb a steep path do not succeed in ascending it very high? yet, -if you be a man, look with respect on those who attempt great things, -even though they fall. It is the act of a generous spirit to -proportion its efforts not to its own strength but to that of human -nature, to entertain lofty aims, and to conceive plans which are -too vast to be carried into execution even by those who are endowed -with gigantic intellects, who appoint for themselves the following -rules: I will look upon death or upon a comedy with the same -expression of countenance: I will submit to labours, however great -they may be, supporting {227} the strength of my body by that of -my mind: I will despise riches when I have them as much as when I -have them not; if they be elsewhere I will not be more gloomy, if -they sparkle around me I will not be more lively than I should -otherwise be: whether Fortune comes or goes I will take no notice -of her: I will view all lands as though they belong to me, and my -own as though they belonged to all mankind: I will so live as to -remember that I was born for others, and will thank Nature on this -account: for in what fashion could she have done better for me? she -has given me alone to all, and all to me alone. Whatever I may -possess, I will neither hoard it greedily nor squander it recklessly. -I will think that I have no possessions so real as those which I -have given away to deserving people: I will not reckon benefits by -their magnitude or number, or by anything except the value set upon -them by the receiver: I never will consider a gift to be a large -one if it be bestowed upon a worthy object. I will do nothing because -of public opinion, but everything because of conscience: whenever -I do anything alone by myself I will believe that the eyes of the -Roman people are upon me while I do it. In eating and drinking my -object shall be to quench the desires of Nature, not to fill and -empty my belly. I will be agreeable with my friends, gentle and -mild to my foes: I will grant pardon before I am asked for it, and -will meet the wishes of honourable men half way: I will bear in -mind that the world is my native city, that its governors are the -gods, and that they stand above and around me, criticizing whatever -I do or say. Whenever either Nature demands my breath again, or -reason bids me dismiss it, I will quit this life, calling all to -witness that I have loved a good conscience, and good pursuits; -that no one’s freedom, my own least of all, has been impaired through -me.” He who sets up these as the rules of his life will soar aloft -and strive to make his way to the gods: of a truth, even though he -fails, yet he {228} - - “Fails in a high emprise.”[4] - -But you, who hate both virtue and those who practise it, do nothing -at which we need be surprised, for sickly lights cannot bear the -sun, nocturnal creatures avoid the brightness of day, and at its -first dawning become bewildered and all betake themselves to their -dens together: creatures that fear the light hide themselves in -crevices. So croak away, and exercise your miserable tongues in -reproaching good men: open wide your jaws, bite hard: you will break -many teeth before you make any impression. - -XXI. “But how is it that this man studies philosophy and nevertheless -lives the life of a rich man? Why does he say that wealth ought to -be despised and yet possess it? that life should be despised, and -yet live? that health should be despised, and yet guard it with the -utmost care, and wish it to be as good as possible? Does he consider -banishment to be an empty name, and say, “What evil is there in -changing one country for another?” and yet, if permitted, does he -not grow old in his native land? does he declare that there is no -difference between a longer and a shorter time, and yet, if he be -not prevented, lengthen out his life and flourish in a green old -age?” His answer is, that these things ought to be despised, not -that he should not possess them, but that he should not possess -them with fear and trembling: he does not drive them away from him, -but when they leave him he follows after them unconcernedly. Where, -indeed, can fortune invest riches more securely than in a place -from whence they can always be recovered without any squabble with -their trustee? Marcus Cato, when he was praising Curius and Coruncanius -and that century in which the possession of a few small silver coins -were an offence which was punished by the Censor, himself owned -four million sesterces; a less fortune no {229} doubt, than that -of Crassus, but larger than of Cato the Censor. If the amounts be -compared, he had outstripped his great-grandfather further than he -himself was outdone by Crassus, and if still greater riches had -fallen to his lot, he would not have spurned them: for the wise man -does not think himself unworthy of any chance presents: he does not -love riches, but he prefers to have them; he does not receive them -into his spirit, but only into his house: nor does he cast away -from him what he already possesses, but keeps them, and is willing -that his virtue should receive a larger subject-matter for its -exercise. - -XXII. Who can doubt, however, that the wise man, if he is rich, has -a wider field for the development of his powers than if he is poor, -seeing that in the latter case the only virtue which he can display -is that of neither being perverted nor crushed by his poverty, -whereas if he has riches, he will have a wide field for the exhibition -of temperance, generosity, laboriousness, methodical arrangement, -and grandeur. The wise man will not despise himself, however short -of stature he may be, but nevertheless he will wish to be tall: -even though he be feeble and one-eyed he may be in good health, yet -he would prefer to have bodily strength, and that too, while he -knows all the while that he has something which is even more powerful: -he will endure illness, and will hope for good health: for some -things, though they may be trifles compared with the sum total, and -though they may be taken away without destroying the chief good, -yet add somewhat to that constant cheerfulness which arises from -virtue. Riches encourage and brighten up such a man just as a sailor -is delighted at a favourable wind that bears him on his way, or as -people feel pleasure at a fine day or at a sunny spot in the cold -weather. What wise man, I mean of our school, whose only good is -virtue, can deny that even these matters which we call neither good -nor bad have in themselves a {230} certain value, and that some of -them are preferable to others? to some of them we show a certain -amount of respect, and to some a great deal. Do not, then, make any -mistake: riches belong to the class of desirable things. “Why then,” -say you, “do you laugh at me, since you place them in the same -position that I do?” Do you wish to know how different the position -is in which we place them? If my riches leave me, they will carry -away with them nothing except themselves: you will be bewildered -and will seem to be left without yourself if they should pass away -from you: with me riches occupy a certain place, but with you they -occupy the highest place of all. In fine, my riches belong to me, -you belong to your riches. - -XXIII. Cease, then, forbidding philosophers to possess money: no -one has condemned wisdom to poverty. The philosopher may own ample -wealth, but will not own wealth that which has been torn from -another, or which is stained with another’s blood: his must be -obtained without wronging any man, and without its being won by -base means; it must be alike honourably come by and honourably -spent, and must be such as spite alone could shake its head at. -Raise it to whatever figure you please, it will still be an honourable -possession, if, while it includes much which every man would like -to call his own, there be nothing which any one can say is his own. -Such a man will not forfeit his right to the favour of Fortune, and -will neither boast of his inheritance nor blush for it if it was -honourably acquired: yet he will have something to boast of, if he -throw his house open, let all his countrymen come among his property, -and say, “If any one recognizes here anything belonging to him, let -him take it.” What a great man, how excellently rich will he be, -if after this speech he possesses as much as he had before! I say, -then, that if he can safely and confidently submit his accounts to -the scrutiny of the people, and no one can find {231} in them any -item upon which he can lay hands, such a man may boldly and -unconcealedly enjoy his riches. The wise man will not allow a single -ill-won penny to cross his threshold: yet he will not refuse or -close his door against great riches, if they are the gift of fortune -and the product of virtue: what reason has he for grudging them -good quarters: let them come and be his guests: he will neither -brag of them nor hide them away: the one is the part of a silly, -the other of a cowardly and paltry spirit, which, as it were, muffles -up a good thing in its lap. Neither will he, as I said before, turn -them out of his house: for what will he say? will he say, “You are -useless,” or “I do not know how to use riches?” As he is capable -of performing a journey upon his own feet, but yet would prefer to -mount a carriage, just so he will be capable of being poor, yet -will wish to be rich; he will own wealth, but will view it as an -uncertain possession which will some day fly away from him. He will -not allow it to be a burden either to himself or to any one else: -he will give it—why do you prick up your ears? why do you open your -pockets?—he will give it either to good men or to those whom it may -make into good men. He will give it after having taken the utmost -pains to choose those who are fittest to receive it, as becomes one -who bears in mind that he ought to give an account of what he spends -as well as of what he receives. He will give for good and commendable -reasons, for a gift ill bestowed counts as a shameful loss: he will -have an easily opened pocket, but not one with a hole in it, so -that much may be taken out of it, yet nothing may fall out of it. - -XXIV. He who believes giving to be an easy matter, is mistaken: it -offers very great difficulties, if we bestow our bounty rationally, -and do not scatter it impulsively and at random. I do this man a -service, I requite a good turn done me by that one: I help this -other, because I pity him: this man, again, I teach to be no fit -object for poverty to {232} hold down or degrade. I shall not give -some men anything, although they are in want, because, even if I -do give to them they will still be in want: I shall proffer my -bounty to some, and shall forcibly thrust it upon others: I cannot -be neglecting my own interests while I am doing this: at no time -do I make more people in my debt than when I am giving things away. -“What?” say you, “do you give that you may receive again?” At any -rate I do not give that I may throw my bounty away: what I give -should be so placed that although I cannot ask for its return, yet -it may be given back to me. A benefit should be invested in the -same manner as a treasure buried deep in the earth, which you would -not dig up unless actually obliged. Why, what opportunities of -conferring benefits the mere house of a rich man affords? for who -considers generous behaviour due only to those who wear the toga? -Nature bids me do good to mankind—what difference does it make -whether they be slaves or freemen, free-born or emancipated, whether -their freedom be legally acquired or betowed by arrangement among -friends? Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity -for a benefit: consequently, money may be distributed even within -one’s own threshold, and a field may be found there for the practice -of freehandedness, which is not so called because it is our duty -towards free men, but because it takes its rise in a free-born mind. -In the case of the wise man, this never falls upon base and unworthy -recipients, and never becomes so exhausted as not, whenever it finds -a worthy object, to flow as if its store was undiminished. You have, -therefore, no grounds for misunderstanding the honourable, brave, -and spirited language which you hear from those who are studying -wisdom: and first of all observe this, that a student of wisdom is -not the same thing as a man who has made himself perfect in wisdom. -The former will say to you, “In my talk I express the most admirable -sentiments, {233} yet I am still weltering amid countless ills. -You must not force me to act up to my rules: at the present time I -am forming myself, moulding my character, and striving to rise -myself to the height of a great example. If I should ever succeed -in carrying out all that I have set myself to accomplish, you may -then demand that my words and deeds should correspond,” But he who -has reached the summit of human perfection will deal otherwise with -you, and will say, “In the first place, you have no business to -allow yourself to sit in judgment upon your betters:” I have already -obtained one proof of my righteousness in having become an object -of dislike to bad men: however, to make you a rational answer, which -I grudge to no man, listen to what I declare, and at what price I -value all things. Riches, I say, are not a good thing; for if they -were, they would make men good: now since that which is found even -among bad men cannot be termed good, I do not allow them to be -called so: nevertheless I admit that they are desirable and useful -and contribute great comforts to our lives. - -XXV. Learn, then, since we both agree that they are desirable, what -my reason is amongst counting them among good things, and in what -respects I should behave differently to you if I possessed them. -Place me as master in the house of a very rich man: place me where -gold and silver plate is used for the commonest purposes; I shall -not think more of myself because of things which even though they -are in my house are yet no part of me. Take me away to the wooden -bridge[5] and put me down there among the beggars: I shall not -despise myself because I am sitting among those who hold out their -hands for alms: for what can the lack of a piece of bread matter -to one {234} who does not lack the power of dying? Well, then? I -prefer the magnificent house to the beggar’s bridge. Place me among -magnificent furniture and all the appliances of luxury: I shall not -think myself any happier because my cloak is soft, because my guests -rest upon purple. Change the scene: I shall be no more miserable -if my weary head rests upon a bundle of hay, if I lie upon a cushion -from the circus, with all the stuffing on the point of coming out -through its patches of threadbare cloth. Well, then? I prefer, as -far as my feelings go, to show myself in public dressed in woollen -and in robes of office, rather than with naked or half-covered -shoulders: I should like every day’s business to turn out just as -I wish it to do, and new congratulations to be constantly following -upon the former ones: yet I will not pride myself upon this: change -all this good fortune for its opposite, let my spirit be distracted -by losses, grief, various kinds of attacks: let no hour pass without -some dispute: I shall not on this account, though beset by the -greatest miseries, call myself the most miserable of beings, nor -shall I curse any particular day, for I have taken care to have no -unlucky days. What, then, is the upshot of all this? it is that I -prefer to have to regulate joys than to stifle sorrows. The great -Socrates would say the same thing to you. “Make me,” he would say, -“the conqueror of all nations: let the voluptuous car of Bacchus -bear me in triumph to Thebes from the rising of the sun: let the -kings of the Persians receive laws from me: yet I shall feel myself -to be a man at the very moment when all around salute me as a God. -Straightway connect this lofty height with a headlong fall into -misfortune: let me be placed upon a foreign chariot that I may grace -the triumph of a proud and savage conqueror: I will follow another’s -car with no more humility than I showed when I stood in my own. -What then? In spite of all this, I had rather be a conqueror than -a captive. I despise the whole {235} dominion of Fortune, but still, -if I were given my choice, I would choose its better parts. I shall -make whatever befals me become a good thing, but I prefer that what -befals me should be comfortable and pleasant and unlikely to cause -me annoyance: for you need not suppose that any virtue exists without -labour, but some virtues need spurs, while others need the curb. -As we have to check our body on a downward path, and to urge it to -climb a steep one; so also the path of some virtues leads down hill, -that of others uphill. Can we doubt that patience, courage, constancy, -and all the other virtues which have to meet strong opposition, and -to trample Fortune under their feet, are climbing, struggling, -winning their way up a steep ascent? Why! is it not equally evident -that generosity, moderation, and gentleness glide easily downhill? -With the latter we must hold in our spirit, lest it run away with -us: with the former we must urge and spur it on. We ought, therefore, -to apply these energetic, combative virtues to poverty, and to -riches those other more thrifty ones which trip lightly along, and -merely support their own weight. This being the distinction between -them, I would rather have to deal with those which I could practise -in comparative quiet, than those of which one can only make trial -through blood and sweat. “Wherefore,” says the sage, “I do not talk -one way and live another: but you do not rightly understand what I -say: the sound of my words alone reaches your ears, you do not try -to find out their meaning.” - -XXVI. “What difference, then, is there between me, who am a fool, -and you, who are a wise man?” “All the difference in the world: for -riches are slaves in the house of a wise man, but masters in that -of a fool. You accustom yourself to them and cling to them as if -somebody had promised that they should be yours for ever, but a -wise man never thinks so much about poverty as when he is surrounded -by riches. No general ever trusts so implicitly in {236} the -maintenance of peace as not to make himself ready for a war, which, -though it may not actually be waged, has nevertheless been declared; -you are rendered over-proud by a fine house, as though it could -never be burned or fall down, and your heads are turned by riches -as though they were beyond the reach of all dangers and were so -great that Fortune has not sufficient strength to swallow them up. -You sit idly playing with your wealth and do not foresee the perils -in store for it, as savages generally do when besieged, for, not -understanding the use of siege artillery, they look on idly at the -labours of the besiegers and do not understand the object of the -machines which they are putting together at a distance: and this -is exactly what happens to you: you go to sleep over your property, -and never reflect how many misfortunes loom menacingly around you -on all sides, and soon will plunder you of costly spoils, but if -one takes away riches from the wise man, one leaves him still in -possession of all that is his: for he lives happy in the present, -and without fear for the future. The great Socrates, or any one -else who had the same superiority to and power to withstand the -things of this life, would say, ‘I have no more fixed principle -than that of not altering the course of my life to suit your -prejudices: you may pour your accustomed talk upon me from all -sides: I shall not think that you are abusing me, but that you are -merely wailing like poor little babies.’” This is what the man will -say who possesses wisdom, whose mind, being free from vices, bids -him reproach others, not because he hates them, but in order to -improve them: and to this he will add, “Your opinion of me affects -me with pain, not for my own sake but for yours, because to hate -perfection and to assail virtue is in itself a resignation of all -hope of doing well. You do me no harm; neither do men harm the gods -when they overthrow their altars: but it is clear that your intention -is an evil one and that you will wish to do harm even {237} where -you are not able. I bear with your prating in the same spirit in -which Jupiter, best and greatest, bears with the idle tales of the -poets, one of whom represents him with wings, another with horns, -another as an adulterer staying out all night, another is dealing -harshly with the gods, another as unjust to men, another as the -seducer of noble youths whom he carries off by force, and those, -too, his own relatives, another as a parricide and the conqueror -of another’s kingdom, and that his father’s. The only result of -such tales is that men feel less shame at committing sin if they -believe the gods to be guilty of such actions. But although this -conduct of yours does not hurt me, yet, for your own sakes, I advise -you, respect virtue: believe those who having long followed her cry -aloud that what they follow is a thing of might, and daily appears -mightier. Reverence her as you would the gods, and reverence her -followers as you would the priests of the gods: and whenever any -mention of sacred writings is made, _favete linguis_, favour us -with silence: this word is not derived, as most people imagine, -from _favour_, but commands silence, that divine service may be -performed without being interrupted by any words of evil omen. It -is much more necessary that you should be ordered to do this, in -order that whenever utterance is made by that oracle, you may listen -to it with attention and in silence. Whenever any one beats a -sistrum,[6] pretending to do so by divine command, any proficient -in grazing his own skin covers his arms and shoulders with blood -from light cuts, any one crawls on his knees howling along the -street, or any old man clad in linen comes forth in daylight with -a lamp and laurel branch and cries out that one of the gods is -angry, you crowd round him and listen to his words, and each increases -the {238} other’s wonderment by declaring him to be divinely inspired. - -XXVII. Behold! from that prison of his, which by entering he cleansed -from shame and rendered more honourable than any senate house, -Socrates addresses you, saying: “What is this madness of yours? -what is this disposition, at war alike with gods and men, which -leads you to calumniate virtue and to outrage holiness with malicious -accusations? Praise good men, if you are able: if not, pass them -by in silence: if indeed you take pleasure in this offensive -abusiveness, fall foul of one another: for when you rave against -Heaven, I do not say that you commit sacrilege, but you waste your -time. I once afforded Aristophanes with the subject of a jest: since -then all the crew of comic poets have made me a mark for their -envenomed wit: my virtue has been made to shine more brightly by -the very blows which have been aimed at it, for it is to its advantage -to be brought before the public and exposed to temptation, nor do -any people understand its greatness more than those who by their -assaults have made trial of its strength. The hardness of flint is -known to none so well as to those who strike it. I offer myself to -all attacks, like some lonely rock in a shallow sea, which the waves -never cease to beat upon from whatever quarter they may come, but -which they cannot thereby move from its place nor yet wear away, -for however many years they may unceasingly dash against it. Bound -upon me, rush upon me, I will overcome you by enduring your onset: -whatever strikes against that which is firm and unconquerable merely -injures itself by its own violence. Wherefore, seek some soft and -yielding object to pierce with your darts. But have you leisure to -peer into other men’s evil deeds and to sit in judgment upon anybody? -to ask how it is that this philosopher has so roomy a house, or -that one so good a dinner? Do you look at other people’s pimples -while you {239} yourselves are covered with countless ulcers? This -is as though one who was eaten up by the mange were to point with -scorn at the moles and warts on the bodies of the handsomest men. -Reproach Plato with having sought for money, reproach Aristotle -with having obtained it, Democritus with having disregarded it, -Epicurus with having spent it: cast Phaedrus and Alcibiades in my -own teeth, you who reach the height of enjoyment whenever you get -an opportunity of imitating our vices! Why do you not rather cast -your eyes around yourselves at the ills which tear you to pieces -on every side, some attacking you from without, some burning in -your own bosoms? However little you know your own place, mankind -has not yet come to such a pass that you can have leisure to wag -your tongues to the reproach of your betters. - -XXVIII. This you do not understand, and you bear a countenance which -does not befit your condition, like many men who sit in the circus -or the theatre without having learned that their home is already -in mourning: but I, looking forward from a lofty standpoint, can -see what storms are either threatening you, and will burst in -torrents upon you somewhat later, or are close upon you and on the -point of sweeping away all that you possess. Why, though you are -hardly aware of it, is there not a whirling hurricane at this moment -spinning round and confusing your minds, making them seek and avoid -the very same things, now raising them aloft and now dashing them -below? . . . . . .” - - -[1] Lipsius’s conjecture, “those who are dressed in white as well -as those who are dressed in coloured clothes,’ alluding to the white -robes of candidates for office, seems reasonable. - -[2] The Latin words are literally “to divide” their vote, that is, -“to separate things of different kinds comprised in a single vote -so that they might be voted for separately.”—Andrews. - -Séneque fait allusion ici à une coutume pratiquée dans les assemblées -du Sénat; et il nous I’explique lui-même ailleurs d’un manière très -claire: “Si quelqu’un dans le Sénat,” dit il, “ouvre un avis, dont -une partie me convienne, je le somme de la detacher du reste, et -j’y adhère.”—_Ep_. 21, La Grange. - -[3] _Parentatur_ seems to mean where an offering is made to luxury— -where they sacrifice to luxury. Perfumes were used at funerals. -Lipsius suggests that these feasts were like funerals because the -guests were carried away from them dead drunk. - -[4] The quotation is from the epitaph on Phaeton.—See _Ovid_, Met. -II, 327. - -[5] The “Pons Sublicius,” or “pile bridge,” was built over the Tiber -by Ancus Martius, one of the early kings of Rome, and was always -kept in repair out of a superstitious feeling. - -[6] _Sistrum_. A metallic rattle used by the Egyptians in celebrating -the rites of Isis, &c.—Andrews. - - - - -{240} - -THE EIGHTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED -TO SERENUS. - -OF LEISURE. - - -I. . . . . why do they with great unanimity recommend vices to us? -even though we attempt nothing else that would do us good, yet -retirement in itself will be beneficial to us: we shall be better -men when taken singly—and if so, what an advantage it will be to -retire into the society of the best of men, and to choose some -example by which we may guide our lives! This cannot be done without -leisure: with leisure we can carry out that which we have once for -all decided to be best, when there is no one to interfere with us -and with the help of the mob pervert our as yet feeble judgment: -with leisure only can life, which we distract by aiming at the most -incompatible objects, flow on in a single gentle stream. Indeed, -the worst of our various ills is that we change our very vices, and -so we have not even the advantage of dealing with a well-known form -of evil: we take pleasure first in one and then in another, and -are, besides, troubled by the fact that our opinions are not only -wrong, but lightly formed; we toss as it were on waves, and clutch -at one thing after another: we let go what we just now sought for, -and {241} strive to recover what we have let go. We oscillate between -desire and remorse, for we depend entirely upon the opinions of -others, and it is that which many people praise and seek after, not -that which deserves to be praised and sought after, which we consider -to be best. Nor do we take any heed of whether our road be good or -bad in itself, but we value it by the number of footprints upon it, -among which there are none of any who have returned. You will say -to me, “Seneca, what are you doing? do you desert your party? I am -sure that our Stoic philosophers say we must be in motion up to the -very end of our life, we will never cease to labour for the general -good; to help individual people, and when stricken in years to -afford assistance even to our enemies. We are the sect that gives -no discharge for any number of years’ service, and in the words of -the most eloquent of poets:— - - ‘We wear the helmet when our locks are grey.’[1] - -We are they who are so far from indulging in any leisure until we -die, that if circumstances permit it, we do not allow ourselves to -be at leisure even when we are dying. Why do you preach the maxims -of Epicurus in the very headquarters of Zeno? nay, if you are ashamed -of your party, why do you not go openly altogether over to the enemy -rather than betray your own side?” I will answer this question -straightway: What more can you wish than that I should imitate my -leaders? What then follows? I shall go whither they lead me, not -whither they send me. - -II. Now I will prove to you that I am not deserting the {242} tenets -of the Stoics: for they themselves have not deserted them: and yet -I should be able to plead a very good excuse even if I did follow, -not their precepts, but their examples. I shall divide what I am -about to say into two parts: first, that a man may from the very -beginning of his life give himself up entirely to the contemplation -of truth; secondly, that a man when he has already completed his -term of service, has the best of rights, that of his shattered -health, to do this, and that he may then apply his mind to other -studies after the manner of the Vestal virgins, who allot different -duties to different years, first learn how to perform the sacred -rites, and when they have learned them teach others. - -III. I will show that this is approved of by the Stoics also, not -that I have laid any commandment upon myself to do nothing contrary -to the teaching of Zeno and Chrysippus, but because the matter -itself allows me to follow the precepts of those men; for if one -always follows the precepts of one man, one ceases to be a debater -and becomes a partizan. Would that all things were already known, -that truth were unveiled and recognized, and that none of our -doctrines required modification! but as it is we have to seek for -truth in the company of the very men who teach it. The two sects -of Epicureans and Stoics differ widely in most respects, and on -this point among the rest, nevertheless, each of them consigns us -to leisure, although by a different road. Epicurus says, “The wise -man will not take part in politics, except upon some special -occasion;” Zeno says, “The wise man will take part in politics, -unless prevented by some special circumstance.” The one makes it -his aim in life to seek for leisure, the other seeks it only when -he has reasons for so doing: but this word “reasons” has a wide -signification. If the state is so rotten as to be past helping, if -evil has entire dominion over it, the wise man will not labour in -vain or waste his strength in unprofitable {243} efforts. Should -he be deficient in influence or bodily strength, if the state refuse -to submit to his guidance, if his health stand in the way, then he -will not attempt a journey for which he is unfit, just as he would -not put to sea in a worn-out ship, or enlist in the army if he were -an invalid. Consequently, one who has not yet suffered either in -health or fortune has the right, before encountering any storms, -to establish himself in safety, and thenceforth to devote himself -to honourable industry and inviolate leisure, and the service of -those virtues which can be practised even by those who pass the -quietest of lives. The duty of a man is to be useful to his fellow-men; -if possible, to be useful to many of them; failing this, to be -useful to a few; failing this, to be useful to his neighbours, and, -failing them, to himself: for when he helps others, he advances the -general interests of mankind. Just as he who makes himself a worse -man does harm not only to himself but to all those to whom he might -have done good if he had made himself a better one, so he who -deserves well of himself does good to others by the very fact that -he is preparing what will be of service to them. - -IV. Let us grasp the fact that there are two republics, one vast -and truly “public,” which contains alike gods and men, in which we -do not take account of this or that nook of land, but make the -boundaries of our state reach as far as the rays of the sun: and -another to which we have been assigned by the accident of birth. -This may be that of the Athenians or Carthaginians, or of any other -city which does not belong to all men but to some especial ones. -Some men serve both of these states, the greater and the lesser, -at the same time; some serve only the lesser, some only the greater. -We can serve the greater commonwealth even when we are at leisure; -indeed I am not sure that we cannot serve it better when we are at -leisure to inquire into what virtue is, and whether it be one or -many: {244} whether it be nature or art that makes men good: whether -that which contains the earth and sea and all that in them is be -one, or whether God has placed therein many bodies of the same -species: whether that out of which all things are made be continuous -and solid, or containing interstices and alternate empty and full -spaces: whether God idly looks on at His handiwork, or directs its -course: whether He is without and around the world, or whether He -pervades its entire surface: whether the world be immortal, or -doomed to decay and belonging to the class of things which are born -only for a time? What service does he who meditates upon these -questions render to God? He prevents these His great works having -no one to witness them. - -V. We have a habit of saying that the highest good is to live -according to nature: now nature has produced us for both purposes, -for contemplation and for action. Let us now prove what we said -before: nay, who will not think this proved if he bethinks himself -how great a passion he has for discovering the unknown? how vehemently -his curiosity is roused by every kind of romantic tale. Some men -make long voyages and undergo the toils of journeying to distant -lands for no reward except that of discovering something hidden and -remote. This is what draws people to public shows, and causes them -to pry into everything that is closed, to puzzle out everything -that is secret, to clear up points of antiquity, and to listen to -tales of the customs of savage nations. Nature has bestowed upon -us an inquiring disposition, and being well aware of her own skill -and beauty, has produced us to be spectators of her vast works, -because she would lose all the fruits of her labour if she were to -exhibit such vast and noble works of such complex construction, so -bright and beautiful in so many ways, to solitude alone. That you -may be sure that she wishes to be gazed upon, not merely looked at, -see what a place she has assigned to us: she has placed us in {245} -the middle of herself and given us a prospect all around. She has -not only set man erect upon his feet, but also with a view to making -it easy for him to watch the heavens, she has raised his head on -high and connected it with a pliant neck, in order that he might -follow the course of the stars from their rising to their setting, -and move his face round with the whole heaven. Moreover, by carrying -six constellations across the sky by day, and six by night, she -displays every part of herself in such a manner that by what she -brings before man’s eyes she renders him eager to see the rest also. -For we have not beheld all things, nor yet the true extent of them, -but our eyesight does but open to itself the right path for research, -and lay the foundation, from which our speculations may pass from -what is obvious to what is less known, and find out something more -ancient than the world itself, from whence those stars came forth: -inquire what was the condition of the universe before each of its -elements were separated from the general mass: on what principle -its confused and blended parts were divided: who assigned their -places to things, whether it was by their own nature that what was -heavy sunk downwards, and what was light flew upwards, or whether -besides the stress and weight of bodies some higher power gave laws -to each of them: whether that greatest proof that the spirit of man -is divine be true, the theory, namely, that some parts and as it -were sparks of the stars have fallen down upon earth and stuck there -in a foreign substance. Our thought bursts through the battlements -of heaven, and is not satisfied with knowing only what is shown to -us: “I investigate,” it says, “that which lies without the world, -whether it be a bottomless abyss, or whether it also is confined -within boundaries of its own: what the appearance of the things -outside may be, whether they be shapeless and vague, extending -equally in every direction, or whether they also are arranged {246} -in a certain kind of order: whether they are connected with this -world of ours, or are widely separated from it and welter about in -empty space: whether they consist of distinct atoms, of which -everything that is and that is to be, is made, or whether their -substance is uninterrupted and all of it capable of change: whether -the elements are naturally opposed to one another, or whether they -are not at variance, but work towards the same end by different -means.” Since man was born for such speculations as these, consider -how short a time he has been given for them, even supposing that -he makes good his claims to the whole of it, allows no part of it -to be wrested from him through good nature, or to slip away from -him through carelessness; though he watches over all his hours with -most miserly care, though he live to the extreme confines of human -existence, and though misfortune take nothing away from what Nature -bestowed upon him, even then man is too mortal for the comprehension -of immortality. I live according to Nature, therefore, if I give -myself entirely up to her, and if I admire and reverence her. Nature, -however, intended me to do both, to practise both contemplation and -action: and I do both, because even contemplation is not devoid of -action. - -VI. “But,” say you, “it makes a difference whether you adopt the -contemplative life for the sake of your own pleasure, demanding -nothing from it save unbroken contemplation without any result: for -such a life is a sweet one and has attractions of its own.” To this -I answer you: It makes just as much difference in what spirit you -lead the life of a public man, whether you are never at rest, and -never set apart any time during which you may turn your eyes away -from the things of earth to those of Heaven. It is by no means -desirable that one should merely strive to accumulate property -without any love of virtue, or do nothing but hard work without any -cultivation of the {247} intellect, for these things ought to be -combined and blended together; and, similarly, virtue placed in -leisure without action is but an incomplete and feeble good thing, -because she never displays what she has learned. Who can deny that -she ought to test her progress in actual work, and not merely think -what ought to be done, but also sometimes use her hands as well as -her head, and bring her conceptions into actual being? But if the -wise man be quite willing to act thus, if it be the things to be -done, not the man to do them that are wanting, will you not then -allow him to live to himself? What is the wise man’s purpose in -devoting himself to leisure? He knows that in leisure as well as -in action he will accomplish something by which he will be of service -to posterity. Our school at any rate declares that Zeno and Chrysippus -have done greater things than they would have done had they been -in command of armies, or filled high offices, or passed laws: which -latter indeed they did pass, though not for one single state, but -for the whole human race. How then can it be unbecoming to a good -man to enjoy a leisure such as this, by whose means he gives laws -to ages to come, and addresses himself not to a few persons but to -all men of all nations, both now and hereafter? To sum up the matter, -I ask you whether Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and Zeno lived in accordance -with their doctrine? I am sure that you will answer that they lived -in the manner in which they taught that men ought to live: yet no -one of them governed a state. “They had not,” you reply, “the amount -of property or social position which as a rule enables people to -take part in public affairs.” Yet for all that they did not live -an idle life: they found the means of making their retirement more -useful to mankind than the perspirings and runnings to and fro of -other men: wherefore these persons are thought to have done great -things, in spite of their having done nothing of a public character. - -{248} - -VII. Morever, there are three kinds of life, and it is a stock -question which of the three is the best: the first is devoted to -pleasure, the second to contemplation, the third to action. First, -let us lay aside all disputatiousness and bitterness of feeling, -which, as we have stated, causes those whose paths in life are -different to hate one another beyond all hope of reconciliation, -and let us see whether all these three do not come to the same -thing, although under different names: for neither he who decides -for pleasure is without contemplation, nor is he who gives himself -up to contemplation without pleasure: nor yet is he, whose life is -devoted to action, without contemplation. “It makes,” you say, “all -the difference in the world, whether a thing is one’s main object -in life, or whether it be merely an appendage to some other object.” -I admit that the difference is considerable, nevertheless the one -does not exist apart from the other: the one man cannot live in -contemplation without action, nor can the other act without -contemplation: and even the third, of whom we all agree in having -a bad opinion, does not approve of passive pleasure, but of that -which he establishes for himself by means of reason: even this -pleasure-seeking sect itself, therefore, practises action also. Of -course it does, since Epicurus himself says that at times he would -abandon pleasure and actually seek for pain, if he became likely -to be surfeited with pleasure, or if he thought that by enduring a -slight pain he might avoid a greater one. With what purpose do I -state this? To prove that all men are fond of contemplation. Some -make it the object of their lives: to us it is an anchorage, but -not a harbour. - -VIII. Add to this that, according to the doctrine of Chrysippus, a -man may live at leisure: I do not say that he ought to endure -leisure, but that he ought to choose it. Our Stoics say that the -wise man would not take part in the government of any state. What -difference does it {249} make by what path the wise man arrives at -leisure, whether it be because the state is wanting to him, or he -is wanting to the state? If the state is to be wanting to all wise -men (and it always will be found wanting by refined thinkers), I -ask you, to what state should the wise man betake himself; to that -of the Athenians, in which Socrates is condemned to death, and from -which Aristotle goes into exile lest he should be condemned to -death? where virtues are borne down by jealousy? You will tell me -that no wise man would join such a state. Shall then the wise man -go to the commonwealth of the Carthaginians, where faction never -ceases to rage, and liberty is the foe of all the best men, where -justice and goodness are held of no account, where enemies are -treated with inhuman cruelty and natives are treated like enemies: -he will flee from this state also. If I were to discuss each one -separately, I should not be able to find one which the wise man -could endure, or which could endure the wise man. Now if such a -state as we have dreamed of cannot be found on earth, it follows -that leisure is necessary for every one, because the one thing which -might be preferred to leisure is nowhere to be found. If any one -says that to sail is the best of things, and then says that we ought -not to sail in a sea in which shipwrecks were common occurrences, -and where sudden storms often arise which drive the pilot back from -his course, I should imagine that this man, while speaking in praise -of sailing, was really forbidding me to unmoor my ship . . . . - - -[1] Virg. “Aen.” ix. 612. Compare Sir Walter Scott, “Lay of the -Last Minstrel,” canto iv.:— - - “And still, in age, he spurned at rest, And still his brows the - helmet pressed. Albeit the blanched locks below Were white as - Dinlay’s spotless snow,” &c. - - - - -{250} - -THE NINTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO -SERENUS. - -OF PEACE OF MIND. - - -I. [_Serenus._] - -When I examine myself, Seneca, some vices appear on the surface, -and so that I can lay my hands upon them, while others are less -distinct and harder to reach, and some are not always present, but -recur at intervals: and these I should call the most troublesome, -being like a roving enemy that assails one when he sees his -opportunity, and who will neither let one stand on one’s guard as -in war, nor yet take one’s rest without fear as in peace. The -position in which I find myself more especially (for why should I -not tell you the truth as I would to a physician), is that of neither -being thoroughly set free from the vices which I fear and hate, nor -yet quite in bondage to them: my state of mind, though not the worst -possible, is a particularly discontented and sulky one: I am neither -ill nor well, It is of no use for you to tell me that all virtues -are weakly at the outset, and that they acquire strength and solidity -by time, for I am well aware that even those which do but help our -outward show, such as grandeur, a reputation for eloquence, and -everything that appeals to others, gain power by time. Both those -which {251} afford us real strength and those which do but trick -us out in a more attractive form, require long years before they -gradually are adapted to us by time. But I fear that custom, which -confirms most things, implants this vice more and more deeply in -me. Long acquaintance with both good and bad people leads one to -esteem them all alike. What this state of weakness really is, when -the mind halts between two opinions without any strong inclination -towards either good or evil, I shall be better able to show you -piecemeal than all at once. I will tell you what befalls me, you -must find out the name of the disease. I have to confess the greatest -possible love of thrift: I do not care for a bed with gorgeous -hangings, nor for clothes brought out of a chest, or pressed under -weights and made glossy by frequent manglings, but for common and -cheap ones, that require no care either to keep them or to put them -on. For food I do not want what needs whole troops of servants to -prepare it and admire it, nor what is ordered many days before and -served up by many hands, but something handy and easily come at, -with nothing far-fetched or costly about it, to be had in every -part of the world, burdensome neither to one’s fortune nor one’s -body, not likely to go out of the body by the same path by which -it came in. I like[1] a rough and unpolished homebred servant, I -like my servant born in my house: I like my country-bred father’s -heavy silver plate stamped with no maker’s name: I do not want a -table that is beauteous with dappled spots, or known to all the -town by the number of fashionable people to whom it has successively -belonged, but one which stands merely for use, and which causes no -guest’s eye to dwell upon it with pleasure or to kindle at it with -envy. While I am well satisfied with this, I am reminded of the -clothes of a certain schoolboy, dressed with no ordinary care and -splendour, of slaves bedecked with gold and a whole regiment {252} -of glittering attendants. I think of houses too, where one treads -on precious stones, and where valuables lie about in every corner, -where the very roof is brilliantly painted, and a whole nation -attends and accompanies an inheritance on the road to ruin. What -shall I say of waters, transparent to the very bottom, which flow -round the guests, and banquets worthy of the theatre in which they -take place? Coming as I do from a long course of dull thrift, I -find myself surrounded by the most brilliant luxury, which echoes -around me on every side: my sight becomes a little dazzled by it: -I can lift up my heart against it more easily than my eyes. When I -return from seeing it I am a sadder, though not a worse man, I -cannot walk amid my own paltry possessions with so lofty a step as -before, and silently there steals over me a feeling of vexation, -and a doubt whether that way of life may not be better than mine. -None of these things alter my principles, yet all of them disturb -me. At one time I would obey the maxims of our school and plunge -into public life, I would obtain office and become consul, not -because the purple robe and lictor’s axes attract me, but in order -that I may be able to be of use to my friends, my relatives, to all -my countrymen, and indeed to all mankind. Ready and determined, I -follow the advice of Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus, all of whom -bid one take part in public affairs, though none of them ever did -so himself: and then, as soon as something disturbs my mind, which -is not used to receiving shocks, as soon as something occurs which -is either disgraceful, such as often occurs in all men’s lives, or -which does not proceed quite easily, or when subjects of very little -importance require me to devote a great deal of time to them, I go -back to my life of leisure, and, just as even tired cattle go faster -when they are going home, I wish to retire and pass my life within -the walls of my house. “No one,” I say, “that will give me no -compensation worth such a loss shall ever {253} rob me of a day. -Let my mind be contained within itself and improve itself: let it -take no part with other men’s affairs, and do nothing which depends -on the approval of others: let me enjoy a tranquillity undisturbed -by either public or private troubles.” But whenever my spirit is -roused by reading some brave words, or some noble example spurs me -into action, I want to rush into the law courts, to place my voice -at one man’s disposal, my services at another’s, and to try to help -him even though I may not succeed, or to quell the pride of some -lawyer who is puffed up by ill-deserved success: but I think, by -Hercules, that in philosophical speculation it is better to view -things as they are, and to speak of them on their own account, and -as for words, to trust to things for them, and to let one’s speech -simply follow whither they lead. “Why do you want to construct a -fabric that will endure for ages? Do you not wish to do this in -order that posterity may talk of you: yet you were born to die, and -a silent death is the least wretched. Write something therefore in -a simple style, merely to pass the time, for your own use, and not -for publication. Less labour is needed when one does not look beyond -the present.” Then again, when the mind is elevated by the greatness -of its thoughts, it becomes ostentatious in its use of words, the -loftier its aspirations, the more loftily it desires to express -them, and its speech rises to the dignity of its subject. At such -times I forget my mild and moderate determination and soar higher -than is my wont, using a language that is not my own. Not to multiply -examples, I am in all things attended by this weakness of a -well-meaning mind, to whose level I fear that I shall be gradually -brought down, or, what is even more worrying, that I may always -hang as though about to fall, and that there may be more the matter -with me than I myself perceive: for we take a friendly view of our -own private affairs, and partiality always obscures our judgment. -{254} I fancy that many men would have arrived at wisdom had they -not believed themselves to have arrived there already, had they not -purposely deceived themselves as to some parts of their character, -and passed by others with their eyes shut: for you have no grounds -for supposing that other people’s flattery is more ruinous to us -than our own. Who dares to tell himself the truth? Who is there, -by however large a troop of caressing courtiers he may be surrounded, -who in spite of them is not his own greatest flatterer? I beg you, -therefore, if you have any remedy by which you could stop this -vacillation of mine, to deem me worthy to owe my peace of mind to -you. I am well aware that these oscillations of mind are not perilous -and that they threaten me with no serious disorder: to express what -I complain of by an exact simile, I am not suffering from a storm, -but from sea-sickness. Take from me, then, this evil, whatever it -may be, and help one who is in distress within sight of land. - -II. [_Seneca._] I have long been silently asking myself, my friend -Serenus, to what I should liken such a condition of mind, and I -find that nothing more closely resembles it than the conduct of -those who, after having recovered from a long and serious illness, -occasionally experience slight touches and twinges, and, although -they have passed through the final stages of the disease, yet have -suspicions that it has not left them, and though in perfect health -yet hold out their pulse to be felt by the physician, and whenever -they feel warm suspect that the fever is returning. Such men, -Serenus, are not unhealthy, but they are not accustomed to being -healthy; just as even a quiet sea or lake nevertheless displays a -certain amount of ripple when its waters are subsiding after a -storm. What you need, therefore, is, not any of those harsher -remedies to which allusion has been made, not that you should in -some cases check yourself, in others be angry with yourself, in -{255} others sternly reproach yourself, but that you should adopt -that which comes last in the list, have confidence in yourself, and -believe that you are proceeding on the right path, without being -led aside by the numerous divergent tracks of wanderers which cross -it in every direction, some of them circling about the right path -itself. What you desire, to be undisturbed, is a great thing, nay, -the greatest thing of all, and one which raises a man almost to the -level of a god. The Greeks call this calm steadiness of mind -_euthymia_, and Democritus’s treatise upon it is excellently written: -I call it peace of mind: for there is no necessity for translating -so exactly as to copy the words of the Greek idiom: the essential -point is to mark the matter under discussion by a name which ought -to have the same meaning as its Greek name, though perhaps not the -same form. What we are seeking, then, is how the mind may always -pursue a steady, unruffled course, may be pleased with itself, and -look with pleasure upon its surroundings, and experience no -interruption of this joy, but abide in a peaceful condition without -being ever either elated or depressed: this will be “peace of mind.” -Let us now consider in a general way how it may be attained: then -you may apply as much as you choose of the universal remedy to your -own case. Meanwhile we must drag to light the entire disease, and -then each one will recognize his own part of it: at the same time -you will understand how much less you suffer by your self-depreciation -than those who are bound by some showy declaration which they have -made, and are oppressed by some grand title of honour, so that shame -rather than their own free will forces them to keep up the pretence. -The same thing applies both to those who suffer from fickleness and -continual changes of purpose, who always are fondest of what they -have given up, and those who merely yawn and dawdle: add to these -those who, like bad sleepers, turn from side to {256} side, and -settle themselves first in one manner and then in another, until -at last they find rest through sheer weariness: in forming the -habits of their lives they often end by adopting some to which they -are not kept by any dislike of change, but in the practice of which -old age, which is slow to alter, has caught them living: add also -those who are by no means fickle, yet who must thank their dulness, -not their consistency for being so, and who go on living not in the -way they wish, but in the way they have begun to live. There are -other special forms of this disease without number, but it has but -one effect, that of making people dissatisfied with themselves. -This arises from a distemperature of mind and from desires which -one is afraid to express or unable to fulfil, when men either dare -not attempt as much as they wish to do, or fail in their efforts -and depend entirely upon hope: such people are always fickle and -changeable, which is a necessary consequence of living in a state -of suspense: they take any way to arrive at their ends, and teach -and force themselves to use both dishonourable and difficult means -to do so, so that when their toil has been in vain they are made -wretched by the disgrace of failure, and do not regret having longed -for what was wrong, but having longed for it in vain. They then -begin to feel sorry for what they have done, and afraid to begin -again, and their mind falls by degrees into a state of endless -vacillation, because they can neither command nor obey their passions, -of hesitation, because their life cannot properly develope itself, -and of decay, as the mind becomes stupefied by disappointments. All -these symptoms become aggravated when their dislike of a laborious -misery has driven them to idleness and to secret studies, which are -unendurable to a mind eager to take part in public affairs, desirous -of action and naturally restless, because, of course, it finds too -few resources within itself: when therefore it loses the amusement -which business itself affords to busy {257} men, it cannot endure -home, loneliness, or the walls of a room, and regards itself with -dislike when left to itself. Hence arises that weariness and -dissatisfaction with oneself, that tossing to and fro of a mind -which can nowhere find rest, that unhappy and unwilling endurance -of enforced leisure. In all cases where one feels ashamed to confess -the real cause of one’s suffering, and where modesty leads one to -drive one’s sufferings inward, the desires pent up in a little space -without any vent choke one another. Hence comes melancholy and -drooping of spirit, and a thousand waverings of the unsteadfast -mind, which is held in suspense by unfulfilled hopes, and saddened -by disappointed ones: hence comes the state of mind of those who -loathe their idleness, complain that they have nothing to do, and -view the progress of others with the bitterest jealousy: for an -unhappy sloth favours the growth of envy, and men who cannot succeed -themselves wish every one else to be ruined. This dislike of other -men’s progress and despair of one’s own produces a mind angered -against fortune, addicted to complaining of the age in which it -lives, to retiring into corners and brooding over its misery, until -it becomes sick and weary of itself: for the human mind is naturally -nimble and apt at movement: it delights in every opportunity of -excitement and forgetfulness of itself, and the worse a man’s -disposition the more he delights in this, because he likes to wear -himself out with busy action, just as some sores long for the hands -that injure them and delight in being touched, and the foul itch -enjoys anything that scratches it. Similarly I assure you that these -minds, over which desires have spread like evil ulcers, take pleasure -in toils and troubles, for there are some things which please our -body while at the same time they give it a certain amount of pain, -such as turning oneself over and changing one’s side before it is -wearied, or cooling oneself in one position after another. It is -like Homer’s Achilles, {258} lying first upon its face, then upon -its back, placing itself in various attitudes, and, as sick people -are wont, enduring none of them for long, and using changes as -though they were remedies. Hence men undertake aimless wanderings, -travel along distant shores, and at one time at sea, at another by -land, try to soothe that fickleness of disposition which always is -dissatisfied with the present. “Now let us make for Campania: now -I am sick of rich cultivation: let us see wild regions, let us -thread the passes of Bruttii and Lucania: yet amid this wilderness -one wants something of beauty to relieve our pampered eyes after -so long dwelling on savage wastes: let us seek Tarentum with its -famous harbour, its mild winter climate, and its district, rich -enough to support even the great hordes of ancient times. Let us -now return to town: our ears have too long missed its shouts and -noise: it would be pleasant also to enjoy the sight of human -bloodshed.” Thus one journey succeeds another, and one sight is -changed for another. As Lucretius says:— - - “Thus every mortal from himself doth flee;” - -but what does he gain by so doing if he does not escape from himself? -he follows himself and weighs himself down by his own most burdensome -companionship. We must understand, therefore, that what we suffer -from is not the fault of the places but of ourselves: we are weak -when there is anything to be endured, and cannot support either -labour or pleasure, either one’s own business or any one else’s for -long. This has driven some men to death, because by frequently -altering their purpose they were always brought back to the same -point, and had left themselves no room for anything new. They had -become sick of life and of the world itself, and as all indulgences -palled upon them they began to ask themselves the question, “How -long are we to go on doing the same thing?” - -{259} - -III. You ask me what I think we had better make use of to help us -to support this ennui. “The best thing,” as Athenodorus says, “is -to occupy oneself with business with the management of affairs of -state and the duties of a citizen: for as some pass the day in -exercising themselves in the sun and in taking care of their bodily -health, and athletes find it most useful to spend the greater part -of their time in feeding up the muscles and strength to whose -cultivation they have devoted their lives; so too for you who are -training your mind to take part in the struggles of political life, -it is far more honourable to be thus at work than to be idle. He -whose object is to be of service to his countrymen and to all -mortals, exercises himself and does good at the same time when he -is engrossed in business and is working to the best of his ability -both in the interests of the public and of private men. But,” -continues he, “because innocence is hardly safe among such furious -ambitions and so many men who turn one aside from the right path, -and it is always sure to meet with more hindrance than help, we -ought to withdraw ourselves from the forum and from public life, -and a great mind even in a private station can find room wherein -to expand freely. Confinement in dens restrains the springs of lions -and wild creatures, but this does not apply to human beings, who -often effect the most important works in retirement. Let a man, -however, withdraw himself only in such a fashion that wherever he -spends his leisure his wish may still be to benefit individual men -and mankind alike, both with his intellect, his voice, and his -advice. The man that does good service to the state is not only he -who brings forward candidates for public office, defends accused -persons, and gives his vote on questions of peace and war, but he -who encourages young men in well-doing, who supplies the present -dearth of good teachers by instilling into their minds the principles -of virtue, who seizes and holds back those who {260} are rushing -wildly in pursuit of riches and luxury, and, if he does nothing -else, at least checks their course—such a man does service to the -public though in a private station. Which does the most good, he -who decides between foreigners and citizens (as praetor peregrinus), -or, as praetor urbanus, pronounces sentence to the suitors in his -court at his assistant’s dictation, or he who shows them what is -meant by justice, filial feeling, endurance, courage, contempt of -death and knowledge of the gods, and how much a man is helped by a -good conscience? If then you transfer to philosophy the time which -you take away from the public service, you will not be a deserter -or have refused to perform your proper task. A soldier is not merely -one who stands in the ranks and defends the right or the left wing -of the army, but he also who guards the gates—a service which, -though less dangerous, is no sinecure—who keeps watch, and takes -charge of the arsenal: though all these are bloodless duties, yet -they count as military service. As soon as you have devoted yourself -to philosophy, you will have overcome all disgust at life: you will -not wish for darkness because you are weary of the light, nor will -you be a trouble to yourself and useless to others: you will acquire -many friends, and all the best men will be attracted towards you: -for virtue, in however obscure a position, cannot be hidden, but -gives signs of its presence: any one who is worthy will trace it -out by its footsteps: but if we give up all society, turn our backs -upon the whole human race, and live communing with ourselves alone, -this solitude without any interesting occupation will lead to a -want of something to do: we shall begin to build up and to pull -down, to dam out the sea, to cause waters to flow through natural -obstacles, and generally to make a bad disposal of the time which -Nature has given us to spend: some of us use it grudgingly, others -wastefully; some of us spend it so that we can show a profit and -loss account, {261} others so that they have no assets remaining: -than which nothing can be more shameful. Often a man who is very -old in years has nothing beyond his age by which he can prove that -he has lived a long time.” - -IV. To me, my dearest Serenus, Athenodorus seems to have yielded -too completely to the times, to have fled too soon: I will not deny -that sometimes one must retire, but one ought to retire slowly, at -a foot’s pace, without losing one’s ensigns or one’s honour as a -soldier: those who make terms with arms in their hands are more -respected by their enemies and more safe in their hands. This is -what I think ought to be done by virtue and by one who practises -virtue: if Fortune get the upper hand and deprive him of the power -of action, let him not straightway turn his back to the enemy, throw -away his arms, and run away seeking for a hiding-place, as if there -were any place whither Fortune could not pursue him, but let him -be more sparing in his acceptance of public office, and after due -deliberation discover some means by which he can be of use to the -state. He is not able to serve in the army: then let him become a -candidate for civic honours: must he live in a private station? -then let him be an advocate: is he condemned to keep silence? then -let him help his countrymen with silent counsel. Is it dangerous -for him even to enter the forum? then let him prove himself a good -comrade, a faithful friend, a sober guest in people’s houses, at -public shows, and at wine-parties. Suppose that he has lost the -status of a citizen; then let him exercise that of a man: our reason -for magnanimously refusing to confine ourselves within the walls -of one city, for having gone forth to enjoy intercourse with all -lands and for professing ourselves to be citizens of the world is -that we may thus obtain a wider theatre on which to display our -virtue. Is the bench of judges closed to you, are you forbidden to -address the people from the hustings, or to be a candidate at -elections? {262} then turn your eyes away from Rome, and see what -a wide extent of territory, what a number of nations present -themselves before you. Thus, it is never possible for so many outlets -to be closed against your ambition that more will not remain open -to it: but see whether the whole prohibition does not arise from -your own fault. You do not choose to direct the affairs of the state -except as consul or prytanis[2] or meddix[3] or sufes:[4] what -should we say if you refused to serve in the army save as general -or military tribune? Even though others may form the first line, -and your lot may have placed you among the veterans of the third, -do your duty there with your voice, encouragement, example, and -spirit: even though a man’s hands be cut off, he may find means to -help his side in a battle, if he stands his ground and cheers on -his comrades. Do something of that sort yourself: if Fortune removes -you from the front rank, stand your ground nevertheless and cheer -on your comrades, and if somebody stops your mouth, stand nevertheless -and help your side in silence. The services of a good citizen are -never thrown away: he does good by being heard and seen, by his -expression, his gestures, his silent determination, and his very -walk. As some remedies benefit us by their smell as well as by their -their taste and touch, so virtue even when concealed and at a -distance sheds usefulness around. Whether she moves at her ease and -enjoys her just rights, or can only appear abroad on sufferance and -is forced to shorten sail to the tempest, whether it be unemployed, -silent, and pent up in a narrow lodging, or openly displayed, in -whatever guise she may appear, she always does good. What? do you -think that the example of one who can rest nobly has no value? It -is by far the best plan, therefore, to mingle {263} leisure with -business, whenever chance impediments or the state of public affairs -forbid one’s leading an active life: for one is never so cut off -from all pursuits as to find no room left for honourable action. - -V. Could you anywhere find a [more] miserable city than that of -Athens when it was being torn to pieces by the thirty tyrants? they -slew thirteen hundred citizens, all the best men, and did not leave -off because they had done so, but their cruelty became stimulated -by exercise. In the city which possessed that most reverend tribunal, -the Court of the Areopagus, which possessed a Senate, and a popular -assembly which was like a Senate, there met daily a wretched crew -of butchers, and the unhappy Senate House was crowded with tyrants. -A state, in which there were so many tyrants that they would have -been enough to form a bodyguard for one, might surely have rested -from the struggle; it seemed impossible for men’s minds even to -conceive hopes of recovering their liberty, nor could they see any -room for a remedy for such a mass of evil: for whence could the -unhappy state obtain all the Harmodiuses it would need to slay so -many tyrants? Yet Socrates was in the midst of the city, and consoled -its mourning Fathers, encouraged those who despaired of the republic, -by his reproaches brought rich men, who feared that their wealth -would be their ruin, to a tardy repentance of their avarice, and -moved about as a great example to those who wished to imitate him, -because he walked a free man in the midst of thirty masters. However, -Athens herself put him to death in prison, and Freedom herself could -not endure the freedom of one who had treated a whole band of tyrants -with scorn: you may know, therefore, that even in an oppressed state -a wise man can find an opportunity for bringing himself to the -front, and that in a prosperous and flourishing one wanton insolence, -jealousy, and a thousand other cowardly vices bear sway. We ought, -{264} therefore, to expand or contract ourselves according as the -state presents itself to us, or as Fortune offers us opportunities: -but in any case we ought to move and not to become frozen still by -fear: nay, he is the best man who, though peril menaces him on every -side and arms and chains beset his path, nevertheless neither impairs -nor conceals his virtue: for to keep oneself safe does not mean to -bury oneself. I think that Curius Dentatus spoke truly when he said -that he would rather be dead than alive: the worst evil of all is -to leave the ranks of the living before one dies: yet it is your -duty, if you happen to live in an age when it is not easy to serve -the state, to devote more time to leisure and to literature. Thus, -just as though you were making a perilous voyage, you may from time -to time put into harbour, and set yourself free from public business -without waiting for it to do so. - -VI. We ought, however, first to examine our own selves, next the -business which we propose to transact, next those for whose sake -or in whose company we transact it. - -It is above all things necessary to form a true estimate of oneself, -because as a rule we think that we can do more than we are able: -one man is led too far through confidence in his eloquence, another -demands more from his estate than it can produce, another burdens -a weakly body with some toilsome duty. Some men are too shamefaced -for the conduct of public affairs, which require an unblushing -front: some men’s obstinate pride renders them unfit for courts: -some cannot control their anger, and break into unguarded language -on the slightest provocation: some cannot rein in their wit or -resist making risky jokes: for all these men leisure is better than -employment: a bold, haughty and impatient nature ought to avoid -anything that may lead it to use a freedom of speech which will -bring it to ruin. Next we must form an estimate of the matter which -we mean to deal with, and compare our strength {265} with the deed -we are about to attempt: for the bearer ought always to be more -powerful than his load: indeed, loads which are too heavy for their -bearer must of necessity crush him: some affairs also are not so -important in themselves as they are prolific and lead to much more -business, which employments, as they involve us in new and various -forms of work, ought to be refused. Neither should you engage in -anything from which you are not free to retreat: apply yourself to -something which you can finish, or at any rate can hope to finish: -you had better not meddle with those operations which grow in -importance, while they are being transacted, and which will not -stop where you intended them to stop. - -VII. In all cases one should be careful in one’s choice of men, and -see whether they be worthy of our bestowing a part of our life upon -them, or whether we shall waste our own time and theirs also: for -some even consider us to be in their debt because of our services -to them. Athenodorus said that “he would not so much as dine with -a man who would not be grateful to him for doing so”: meaning, I -imagine, that much less would he go to dinner with those who -recompense the services of their friends by their table, and regard -courses of dishes as donatives, as if they overate themselves to -do honour to others. Take away from these men their witnesses and -spectators: they will take no pleasure in solitary gluttony. You -must decide whether your disposition is better suited for vigorous -action or for tranquil speculation and contemplation, and you must -adopt whichever the bent of your genius inclines you for. Isocrates -laid hands upon Ephorus and led him away from the forum, thinking -that he would be more usefully employed in compiling chronicles; -for no good is done by forcing one’s mind to engage in uncongenial -work: it is vain to struggle against Nature. Yet nothing delights -the mind so much as faithful and pleasant friendship: what a {266} -blessing it is when there is one whose breast is ready to receive -all your secrets with safety, whose knowledge of your actions you -fear less than your own conscience, whose conversation removes your -anxieties, whose advice assists your plans, whose cheerfulness -dispels your gloom, whose very sight delights you! We should choose -for our friends men who are, as far as possible, free from strong -desires: for vices are contagious, and pass from a man to his -neighbour, and injure those who touch them. As, therefore, in times -of pestilence we have to be careful not to sit near people who are -infected and in whom the disease is raging, because by so doing, -we shall run into danger and catch the plague from their very breath; -so, too, in choosing our friends’ dispositions, we must take care -to select those who are as far as may be unspotted by the world; -for the way to breed disease is to mix what is sound with what is -rotten. Yet I do not advise you to follow after or draw to yourself -no one except a wise man: for where will you find him whom for so -many centuries we have sought in vain? in the place of the best -possible man take him who is least bad. You would hardly find any -time that would have enabled you to make a happier choice than if -you could have sought for a good man from among the Platos and -Xenophons and the rest of the produce of the brood of Socrates, or -if you had been permitted to choose one from the age of Cato: an -age which bore many men worthy to be born in Cato’s time (just as -it also bore many men worse than were ever known before, planners -of the blackest crimes: for it needed both classes in order to make -Cato understood: it wanted both good men, that he might win their -approbation, and bad men, against whom he could prove his strength): -but at the present day, when there is such a dearth of good men, -you must be less squeamish in your choice. Above all, however, avoid -dismal men who grumble at whatever happens, and find something to -complain {267} of in everything. Though he may continue loyal and -friendly towards you, still one’s peace of mind is destroyed by a -comrade whose mind is soured and who meets every incident with a -groan. - -VIII. Let us now pass on to the consideration of property, that -most fertile source of human sorrows: for if you compare all the -other ills from which we suffer—deaths, sicknesses, fears, regrets, -endurance of pains and labours— with those miseries which our money -inflicts upon us, the latter will far outweigh all the others. -Reflect, then, how much less a grief it is never to have had any -money than to have lost it: we shall thus understand that the less -poverty has to lose, the less torment it has with which to afflict -us: for you are mistaken if you suppose that the rich bear their -losses with greater spirit than the poor: a wound causes the same -amount of pain to the greatest and the smallest body. It was a neat -saying of Bion’s, “that it hurts bald men as much as hairy men to -have their hairs pulled out”: you may be assured that the same thing -is true of rich and poor people, that their suffering is equal: for -their money clings to both classes, and cannot be torn away without -their feeling it: yet it is more endurable, as I have said, and -easier not to gain property than to lose it, and therefore you will -find that those upon whom Fortune has never smiled are more cheerful -than those whom she has deserted. Diogenes, a man of infinite spirit, -perceived this, and made it impossible that anything should be taken -from him. Call this security from loss poverty, want, necessity, -or any contemptuous name you please: I shall consider such a man -to be happy, unless you find me another who can lose nothing. If I -am not mistaken, it is a royal attribute among so many misers, -sharpers, and robbers, to be the one man who cannot be injured. If -any one doubts the happiness of Diogenes, he would doubt whether -the position of the immortal gods was one of sufficient happiness. -{268} because they have no farms or gardens, no valuable estates -let to strange tenants, and no large loans in the money market. Are -you not ashamed of yourself, you who gaze upon riches with astonished -admiration? Look upon the universe: you will see the gods quite -bare of property, and possessing nothing though they give everything. -Do you think that this man who has stripped himself of all fortuitous -accessories is a pauper, or one like to the immortal gods? Do you -call Demetrius, Pompeius’s freedman, a happier man, he who was not -ashamed to be richer than Pompeius, who was daily furnished with a -list of the number of his slaves, as a general is with that of his -army, though he had long deserved that all his riches should consist -of a pair of underlings, and a roomier cell than the other slaves? -But Diogenes’s only slave ran away from him, and when he was pointed -out to Diogenes, he did not think him worth fetching back. “It is -a shame,” he said, “that Manes should be able to live without -Diogenes, and that Diogenes should not be able to live without -Manes.” He seems to me to have said, “Fortune, mind your own business: -Diogenes has nothing left that belongs to you. Did my slave run -away? nay, he went away from me as a free man.” A household of -slaves requires food and clothing: the bellies of so many hungry -creatures have to be filled: we must buy raiment for them, we must -watch their most thievish hands, and we must make use of the services -of people who weep and execrate us. How far happier is he who is -indebted to no man for anything except for what he can deprive -himself of with the greatest ease! Since we, however, have not such -strength of mind as this, we ought at any rate to diminish the -extent of our property, in order to be less exposed to the assaults -of fortune: those men whose bodies can be within the shelter of -their armour, are more fitted for war than those whose huge size -everywhere extends beyond {269} it, and exposes them to wounds: the -best amount of property to have is that which is enough to keep us -from poverty, and which yet is not far removed from it. - -IX. We shall be pleased with this measure of wealth if we have -previously taken pleasure in thrift, without which no riches are -sufficient, and with which none are insufficient, especially as the -remedy is always at hand, and poverty itself by calling in the aid -of thrift can convert itself into riches. Let us accustom ourselves -to set aside mere outward show, and to measure things by their uses, -not by their ornamental trappings: let our hunger be tamed by food, -our thirst quenched by drinking, our lust confined within needful -bounds; let us learn to use our limbs, and to arrange our dress and -way of life according to what was approved of by our ancestors, not -in imitation of new-fangled models: let us learn to increase our -continence, to repress luxury, to set bounds to our pride, to assuage -our anger, to look upon poverty without prejudice, to practise -thrift, albeit many are ashamed to do so, to apply cheap remedies -to the wants of nature, to keep all undisciplined hopes and aspirations -as it were under lock and key, and to make it our business to get -our riches from ourselves and not from Fortune. We never can so -thoroughly defeat the vast diversity and malignity of misfortune -with which we are threatened as not to feel the weight of many gusts -if we offer a large spread of canvas to the wind: we must draw our -affairs into a small compass, to make the darts of Fortune of no -avail. For this reason, sometimes slight mishaps have turned into -remedies, and more serious disorders have been healed by slighter -ones. When the mind pays no attention to good advice, and cannot -be brought to its senses by milder measures, why should we not think -that its interests are being served by poverty, disgrace, or financial -ruin being applied to it? one evil is balanced by another. Let us -then teach ourselves to be able to {270} dine without all Rome to -look on, to be the slaves of fewer slaves, to get clothes which -fulfil their original purpose, and to live in a smaller house. The -inner curve is the one to take, not only in running races and in -the contests of the circus, but also in the race of life; even -literary pursuits, the most becoming thing for a gentleman to spend -money upon, are only justifiable as long as they are kept within -bounds. What is the use of possessing numberless books and libraries, -whose titles their owner can hardly read through in a lifetime? A -student is overwhelmed by such a mass, not instructed, and it is -much better to devote yourself to a few writers than to skim through -many. Forty thousand books were burned at Alexandria: some would -have praised this library as a most noble memorial of royal wealth, -like Titus Livius, who says that it was “a splendid result of the -taste and attentive care of the kings.”[5] It had nothing to do -with taste or care, but was a piece of learned luxury, nay, not -even learned, since they amassed it, not for the sake of learning, -but to make a show, like many men who know less about letters than -a slave is expected to know, and who uses his books not to help him -in his studies but to ornament his dining-room. Let a man, then, -obtain as many books as he wants, but none for show. “It is more -respectable,” say you, “to spend one’s money on such books than on -vases of Corinthian brass and paintings.” Not so: everything that -is carried to excess is wrong. What excuses can you find for a man -who is eager to buy bookcases of ivory and citrus wood, to collect -the works of unknown or discredited authors, and who sits yawning -{271} amid so many thousands of books, whose backs and titles please -him more than any other part of them? Thus in the houses of the -laziest of men you will see the works of all the orators and -historians stacked upon book-shelves reaching right up to the -ceiling. At the present day a library has become as necessary an -appendage to a house as a hot and cold bath. I would excuse them -straightway if they really were carried away by an excessive zeal -for literature; but as it is, these costly works of sacred genius, -with all the illustrations that adorn them, are merely bought for -display and to serve as wall-furniture. - -X. Suppose, however, that your life has become full of trouble, and -that without knowing what you were doing you have fallen into some -snare which either public or private Fortune has set for you, and -that you can neither untie it nor break it: then remember that -fettered men suffer much at first from the burdens and clogs upon -their legs: afterwards, when they have made up their minds not to -fret themselves about them, but to endure them, necessity teaches -them to bear them bravely, and habit to bear them easily. In every -station of life you will find amusements, relaxations, and enjoyments; -that is, provided you be willing to make light of evils rather than -to hate them. Knowing to what sorrows we were born, there is nothing -for which Nature more deserves our thanks than for having invented -habit as an alleviation of misfortune, which soon accustoms us to -the severest evils. No one could hold out against misfortune if it -permanently exercised the same force as at its first onset. We are -all chained to Fortune: some men’s chain is loose and made of gold, -that of others is tight and of meaner metal: but what difference -does this make? we are all included in the same captivity, and even -those who have bound us are bound themselves, unless you think that -a chain on the left side is lighter to bear: one man may be bound -by public {272} office, another by wealth: some have to bear the -weight of illustrious, some of humble birth: some are subject to -the commands of others, some only to their own: some are kept in -one place by being banished thither, others by being elected to the -priesthood. All life is slavery: let each man therefore reconcile -himself to his lot, complain of it as little as possible, and lay -hold of whatever good lies within his reach. No condition can be -so wretched that an impartial mind can find no compensations in it. -Small sites, if ingeniously divided, may be made use of for many -different purposes, and arrangement will render ever so narrow a -room habitable. Call good sense to your aid against difficulties: -it is possible to soften what is harsh, to widen what is too narrow, -and to make heavy burdens press less severely upon one who bears -them skilfully. Moreover, we ought not to allow our desires to -wander far afield, but we must make them confine themselves to our -immediate neighbourhood, since they will not endure to be altogether -locked up. We must leave alone things which either cannot come to -pass or can only be effected with difficulty, and follow after such -things as are near at hand and within reach of our hopes, always -remembering that all things are equally unimportant, and that though -they have a different outward appearance, they are all alike empty -within. Neither let us envy those who are in high places: the heights -which look lofty to us are steep and rugged. Again, those whom -unkind fate has placed in critical situations will be safer if they -show as little pride in their proud position as may be, and do all -they are able to bring down their fortunes to the level of other -men’s. There are many who must needs cling to their high pinnacle -of power, because they cannot descend from it save by falling -headlong: yet they assure us that their greatest burden is being -obliged to be burdensome to others, and that they are nailed to -their lofty post rather than raised to it: let {273} them then, by -dispensing justice, clemency, and kindness with an open and liberal -hand, provide themselves with assistance to break their fall, and -looking forward to this maintain their position more hopefully. Yet -nothing sets us free from these alternations of hope and fear so -well as always fixing some limit to our successes, and not allowing -Fortune to choose when to stop our career, but to halt of our own -accord long before we apparently need do so. By acting thus certain -desires will rouse up our spirits, and yet being confined within -bounds, will not lead us to embark on vast and vague enterprises. - -XI. These remarks of mine apply only to imperfect, commonplace, and -unsound natures, not to the wise man, who needs not to walk with -timid and cautious gait: for he has such confidence in himself that -he does not hesitate to go directly in the teeth of Fortune, and -never will give way to her. Nor indeed has he any reason for fearing -her, for he counts not only chattels, property, and high office, -but even his body, his eyes, his hands, and everything whose use -makes life dearer to us, nay, even his very self, to be things whose -possession is uncertain; he lives as though he had borrowed them, -and is ready to return them cheerfully whenever they are claimed. -Yet he does not hold himself cheap, because he knows that he is not -his own, but performs all his duties as carefully and prudently as -a pious and scrupulous man would take care of property left in his -charge as trustee. When he is bidden to give them up, he will not -complain of Fortune, but will say, “I thank you for what I have had -possession of: I have managed your property so as largely to increase -it, but since you order me, I give it back to you and return it -willingly and thankfully. If you still wish me to own anything of -yours, I will keep it for you: if you have other views, I restore -into your hands and make restitution of all my wrought and coined -silver, my house and my {274} household. Should Nature recall what -she previously entrusted us with, let us say to her also: ‘Take -back my spirit, which is better than when you gave it me: I do not -shuffle or hang back. Of my own free will I am ready to return what -you gave me before I could think: take me away,’” What hardship can -there be in returning to the place from whence one came? a man -cannot live well if he knows not how to die well. We must, therefore, -take away from this commodity its original value, and count the -breath of life as a cheap matter. “We dislike gladiators,” says -Cicero, “if they are eager to save their lives by any means whatever: -but we look favourably upon them if they are openly reckless of -them,” You may be sure that the same thing occurs with us: we often -die because we are afraid of death. Fortune, which regards our lives -as a show in the arena for her own enjoyment, says, “Why should I -spare you, base and cowardly creature that you are? you will be -pierced and hacked with all the more wounds because you know not -how to offer your throat to the knife: whereas you, who receive the -stroke without drawing away your neck or putting up your hands to -stop it, shall both live longer and die more quickly,” He who fears -death will never act as becomes a living man: but he who knows that -this fate was laid upon him as soon as he was conceived will live -according to it, and by this strength of mind will gain this further -advantage, that nothing can befal him unexpectedly: for by looking -forward to everything which can happen as though it would happen -to him, he takes the sting out of all evils, which can make no -difference to those who expect it and are prepared to meet it: evil -only comes hard upon those who have lived without giving it a thought -and whose attention has been exclusively directed to happiness. -Disease, captivity, disaster, conflagration, are none of them -unexpected: I always knew with what disorderly company {275} Nature -had associated me. The dead have often been wailed for in my -neighbourhood: the torch and taper have often been borne past my -door before the bier of one who has died before his time: the crash -of falling buildings has often resounded by my side: night has -snatched away many of those with whom I have become intimate in the -forum, the Senate-house, and in society, and has sundered the hands -which were joined in friendship: ought I to be surprised if the -dangers which have always been circling around me at last assail -me? How large a part of mankind never think of storms when about -to set sail? I shall never be ashamed to quote a good saying because -it comes from a bad author. Publilius, who was a more powerful -writer than any of our other playwrights, whether comic or tragic, -whenever he chose to rise above farcical absurdities and speeches -addressed to the gallery, among many other verses too noble even -for tragedy, let alone for comedy, has this one:— - - “What one hath suffered may befall us all.” - -If a man takes this into his inmost heart and looks upon all the -misfortunes of other men, of which there is always a great plenty, -in this spirit, remembering that there is nothing to prevent their -coming upon him also, he will arm himself against them long before -they attack him. It is too late to school the mind to endurance of -peril after peril has come. “I did not think this would happen,” -and “Would you ever have believed that this would have happened?” -say you. But why should it not? Where are the riches after which -want, hunger, and beggary do not follow? what office is there whose -purple robe, augur’s staff, and patrician reins have not as their -accompaniment rags and banishment, the brand of infamy, a thousand -disgraces, and utter reprobation? what kingdom is there for which -ruin, trampling under foot, a tyrant and a {276} butcher are not -ready at hand? nor are these matters divided by long periods of -time, but there is but the space of an hour between sitting on the -throne ourselves and clasping the knees of some one else as suppliants. -Know then that every station of life is transitory, and that what -has ever happened to anybody may happen to you also. You are wealthy: -are you wealthier than Pompeius?[6] Yet when Gaius,[7] his old -relative and new host, opened Caesar’s house to him in order that -he might close his own, he lacked both bread and water: though he -owned so many rivers which both rose and discharged themselves -within his dominions, yet he had to beg for drops of water: he -perished of hunger and thirst in the palace of his relative, while -his heir was contracting for a public funeral for one who was in -want of food. You have filled public offices: were they either as -important, as unlooked for, or as all-embracing as those of Sejanus? -Yet on the day on which the Senate disgraced him, the people tore -him to pieces: the executioner[8] could find no part left large -enough to drag to the Tiber, of one upon whom gods and men had -showered all that could be given to man. You are a king: I will not -bid you go to Croesus for an example, he who while yet alive saw -his funeral pile both lighted and extinguished, being made to outlive -not only his kingdom but even his own death, nor to Jugurtha, whom -the people of Rome beheld as a captive within the year in which -they had feared him. We have seen Ptolemaeus King of Africa, and -Mithridates King of Armenia, under the charge of Gaius’s[9] guards: -the former was sent into exile, the latter chose it in order to -make his {277} exile more honourable. Among such continual topsy-turvy -changes, unless you expect that whatever can happen will happen to -you, you give adversity power against you, a power which can be -destroyed by any one who looks at it beforehand. - -XII. The next point to these will be to take care that we do not -labour for what is vain, or labour in vain: that is to say, neither -to desire what we are not able to obtain, nor yet, having obtained -our desire too late, and after much toil to discover the folly of -our wishes: in other words, that our labour may not be without -result, and that the result may not be unworthy of our labour: for -as a rule sadness arises from one of these two things, either from -want of success or from being ashamed of having succeeded. We must -limit the running to and fro which most men practise, rambling about -houses, theatres, and market-places. They mind other men’s business, -and always seem as though they themselves had something to do. If -you ask one of them as he comes out of his own door, “Whither are -you going?” he will answer, “By Hercules, I do not know: but I shall -see some people and do something.” They wander purposelessly seeking -for something to do, and do, not what they have made up their minds -to do, but what has casually fallen in their way. They move uselessly -and without any plan, just like ants crawling over bushes, which -creep up to the top and then down to the bottom again without gaining -anything. Many men spend their lives in exactly the same fashion, -which one may call a state of restless indolence. You would pity -some of them when you see them running as if their house was on -fire: they actually jostle all whom they meet, and hurry along -themselves and others with them, though all the while they are going -to salute some one who will not return their greeting, or to attend -the funeral of some one whom they did not know: they are going to -hear the verdict on one {278} who often goes to law, or to see the -wedding of one who often gets married: they will follow a man’s -litter, and in some places will even carry it: afterwards returning -home weary with idleness, they swear that they themselves do not -know why they went out, or where they have been, and on the following -day they will wander through the same round again. Let all your -work, therefore, have some purpose, and keep some object in view: -these restless people are not made restless by labour, but are -driven out of their minds by mistaken ideas: for even they do not -put themselves in motion without any hope: they are excited by the -outward appearance of something, and their crazy mind cannot see -its futility. In the same way every one of those who walk out to -swell the crowd in the streets, is led round the city by worthless -and empty reasons; the dawn drives him forth, although he has nothing -to do, and after he has pushed his way into many men’s doors, and -saluted their nomenclators one after the other, and been turned -away from many others, he finds that the most difficult person of -all to find at home is himself. From this evil habit comes that -worst of all vices, talebearing and prying into public and private -secrets, and the knowledge of many things which it is neither safe -to tell nor safe to listen to. - -XIII. It was, I imagine, following out this principle that Democritis -taught that “he who would live at peace must not do much business -either public or private,” referring of course to unnecessary -business: for if there be any necessity for it we ought to transact -not only much but endless business, both public and private; in -cases, however, where no solemn duty invites us to act, we had -better keep ourselves quiet: for he who does many things often puts -himself in Fortune’s power, and it is safest not to tempt her often, -but always to remember her existence, and never to promise oneself -anything on her security. I will set sail unless anything happens -to prevent me, I shall {279} be praetor, if nothing hinders me, my -financial operations will succeed, unless anything goes wrong with -them. This is why we say that nothing befals the wise man which he -did not expect—we do not make him exempt from the chances of human -life, but from its mistakes, nor does everything happen to him as -he wished it would, but as he thought it would: now his first thought -was that his purpose might meet with some resistance, and the pain -of disappointed wishes must affect a man’s mind less severely if -he has not been at all events confident of success. - -XIV. Moreover, we ought to cultivate an easy temper, and not become -over fond of the lot which fate has assigned to us, but transfer -ourselves to whatever other condition chance may lead us to, and -fear no alteration, either in our purposes or our position in life, -provided that we do not become subject to caprice, which of all -vices is the most hostile to repose: for obstinacy, from which -Fortune often wrings some concession, must needs be anxious and -unhappy, but caprice, which can never restrain itself, must be more -so. Both of these qualities, both that of altering nothing, and -that of being dissatisfied with everything, are energies to repose. -The mind ought in all cases to be called away from the contemplation -of external things to that of itself: let it confide in itself, -rejoice in itself, admire its own works; avoid as far as may be -those of others, and devote itself to itself; let it not feel losses, -and put a good construction even upon misfortunes. Zeno, the chief -of our school, when he heard the news of a shipwreck, in which all -his property had been lost, remarked, “Fortune bids me follow -philosophy in lighter marching order.” A tyrant threatened Theodorus -with death, and even with want of burial. “You are able to please -yourself,” he answered, “my half pint of blood is in your power: -for, as for burial, what a fool you must be if you suppose that I -care whether I rot above ground or under it.” Julius {280} Kanus, -a man of peculiar greatness, whom even the fact of his having been -born in this century does not prevent our admiring, had a long -dispute with Gaius, and when as he was going away that Phalaris of -a man said to him, “That you may not delude yourself with any foolish -hopes, I have ordered you to be executed,” he answered, “I thank -you, most excellent prince.” I am not sure what he meant: for many -ways of explaining his conduct occur to me. Did he wish to be -reproachful, and to show him how great his cruelty must be if death -became a kindness? or did he upbraid him with his accustomed insanity? -for even those whose children were put to death, and whose goods -were confiscated, used to thank him: or was it that he willingly -received death, regarding it as freedom? Whatever he meant, it was -a magnanimous answer. Some one may say, “After this Gaius might -have let him live.” Kanus had no fear of this: the good faith with -which Gaius carried out such orders as these was well known. Will -you believe that he passed the ten intervening days before his -execution without the slightest despondency? it is marvellous how -that man spoke and acted, and how peaceful he was. He was playing -at draughts when the centurion in charge of a number of those who -where going to be executed bade him join them: on the summons he -counted his men and said to his companion, “Mind you do not tell a -lie after my death, and say that you won;” then, turning to the -centurion, he said “You will bear me witness that I am one man ahead -of him.” Do you think that Kanus played upon that draught-board? -nay, he played with it. His friends were sad at being about to lose -so great a man: “Why,” asked he, “are you sorrowful? you are enquiring -whether our souls are immortal, but I shall presently know.” Nor -did he up to the very end cease his search after truth, and raised -arguments upon the subject of his own death. His own teacher of -philosophy accompanied him, and they {281} were not far from the -hill on which the daily sacrifice to Caesar our god was offered, -when he said, “What are you thinking of now, Kanus? or what are -your ideas?” “I have decided,” answered Kanus, “at that most -swiftly-passing moment of all to watch whether the spirit will be -conscious of the act of leaving the body.” He promised, too, that -if he made any discoveries, he would come round to his friends and -tell them what the condition of the souls of the departed might be. -Here was peace in the very midst of the storm: here was a soul -worthy of eternal life, which used its own fate as a proof of truth, -which when at the last step of life experimented upon his fleeting -breath, and did not merely continue to learn until he died, but -learned something even from death itself. No man has carried the -life of a philosopher further. I will not hastily leave the subject -of a great man, and one who deserves to be spoken of with respect: -I will hand thee down to all posterity, thou most noble heart, chief -among the many victims of Gaius. - -XV. Yet we gain nothing by getting rid of all personal causes of -sadness, for sometimes we are possessed by hatred of the human race. -When you reflect how rare simplicity is, how unknown innocence, how -seldom faith is kept, unless it be to our advantage, when you -remember such numbers of successful crimes, so many equally hateful -losses and gains of lust, and ambition so impatient even of its own -natural limits that it is willing to purchase distinction by baseness, -the mind seems as it were cast into darkness, and shadows rise -before it as though the virtues were all overthrown and we were no -longer allowed to hope to possess them or benefited by their -possession. We ought therefore to bring ourselves into such a state -of mind that all the vices of the vulgar may not appear hateful to -us, but merely ridiculous, and we should imitate Democritus rather -than Heraclitus. The latter of these, whenever be {282} appeared -in public, used to weep, the former to laugh: the one thought all -human doings to be follies, the other thought them to be miseries. -We must take a higher view of all things, and bear with them more -easily: it better becomes a man to scoff at life than to lament -over it. Add to this that he who laughs at the human race deserves -better of it than he who mourns for it, for the former leaves it -some good hopes of improvement, while the latter stupidly weeps -over what he has given up all hopes of mending. He who after surveying -the universe cannot control his laughter shows, too, a greater mind -than he who cannot restrain his tears, because his mind is only -affected in the slightest possible degree, and he does not think -that any part of all this apparatus is either important, or serious, -or unhappy. As for the several causes which render us happy or -sorrowful, let every one describe them for himself, and learn the -truth of Bion’s saying, “That all the doings of men were very like -what he began with, and that there is nothing in their lives which -is more holy or decent than their conception.” Yet it is better to -accept public morals and human vices calmly without bursting into -either laughter or tears; for to be hurt by the sufferings of others -is to be for ever miserable, while to enjoy the sufferings of others -is an inhuman pleasure, just as it is a useless piece of humanity -to weep and pull a long face because some one is burying his son. -In one’s own misfortunes, also, one ought so to conduct oneself as -to bestow upon them just as much sorrow as reason, not as much as -custom requires: for many shed tears in order to show them, and -whenever no one is looking at them their eyes are dry, but they -think it disgraceful not to weep when every one does so. So deeply -has this evil of being guided by the opinion of others taken root -in us, that even grief, the simplest of all emotions, begins to be -counterfeited. - -{283} - -XVI. There comes now a part of our subject which is wont with good -cause to make one sad and anxious: I mean when good men come to bad -ends; when Socrates is forced to die in prison, Rutilius to live -in exile, Pompeius and Cicero to offer their necks to the swords -of their own followers, when the great Cato, that living image of -virtue, falls upon his sword and rips up both himself and the -republic, one cannot help being grieved that Fortune should bestow -her gifts so unjustly: what, too, can a good man hope to obtain -when he sees the best of men meeting with the worst fates. Well, -but see how each of them endured his fate, and if they endured it -bravely, long in your heart for courage as great as theirs; if they -died in a womanish and cowardly manner, nothing was lost: either -they deserved that you should admire their courage, or else they -did not deserve that you should wish to imitate their cowardice: -for what can be more shameful than that the greatest men should die -so bravely as to make people cowards. Let us praise one who deserves -such constant praises, and say, “The braver you are the happier you -are! You have escaped from all accidents, jealousies, diseases: you -have escaped from prison: the gods have not thought you worthy of -ill-fortune, but have thought that fortune no longer deserved to -have any power over you”: but when any one shrinks back in the hour -of death and looks longingly at life, we must lay hands upon him. -I will never weep for a man who dies cheerfully, nor for one who -dies weeping: the former wipes away my tears, the latter by his -tears makes himself unworthy that any should be shed for him. Shall -I weep for Hercules because he was burned alive, or for Regulus -because he was pierced by so many nails, or for Cato because he -tore open his wounds a second time? All these men discovered how -at the cost of a small portion of time they might obtain immortality, -and by their deaths gained eternal life. - -{284} - -XVII. It also proves a fertile source of troubles if you take pains -to conceal your feelings and never show yourself to any one -undisguised, but, as many men do, live an artificial life, in order -to impose upon others: for the constant watching of himself becomes -a torment to a man, and he dreads being caught doing something at -variance with his usual habits, and, indeed, we never can be at our -ease if we imagine that every one who looks at us is weighing our -real value: for many things occur which strip people of their -disguise, however reluctantly they may part with it, and even if -all this trouble about oneself is successful, still life is neither -happy nor safe when one always has to wear a mask. But what pleasure -there is in that honest straight-forwardness which is its own -ornament, and which conceals no part of its character? Yet even -this life, which hides nothing from any one runs some risk of being -despised; for there are people who disdain whatever they come close -to: but there is no danger of virtue’s becoming contemptible when -she is brought near our eyes, and it is better to be scorned for -one’s simplicity than to bear the burden of unceasing hypocrisy. -Still, we must observe moderation in this matter, for there is a -great difference between living simply and living slovenly. Moreover, -we ought to retire a great deal into ourselves: for association -with persons unlike ourselves upsets all that we had arranged, -rouses the passions which were at rest, and rubs into a sore any -weak or imperfectly healed place in our minds. Nevertheless we ought -to mix up these two things, and to pass our lives alternately in -solitude and among throngs of people; for the former will make us -long for the society of mankind, the latter for that of ourselves, -and the one will counteract the other: solitude will cure us when -we are sick of crowds, and crowds will cure us when we are sick of -solitude. Neither ought we always to keep the mind strained to the -{285} same pitch, but it ought sometimes to be relaxed by amusement. -Socrates did not blush to play with little boys, Cato used to refresh -his mind with wine after he had wearied it with application to -affairs of state, and Scipio would move his triumphal and soldierly -limbs to the sound of music, not with a feeble and halting gait, -as is the fashion now-a-days, when we sway in our very walk with -more than womanly weakness, but dancing as men were wont in the -days of old on sportive and festal occasions, with manly bounds, -thinking it no harm to be seen so doing even by their enemies. Men’s -minds ought to have relaxation: they rise up better and more vigorous -after rest. We must not force crops from rich fields, for an unbroken -course of heavy crops will soon exhaust their fertility, and so -also the liveliness of our minds will be destroyed by unceasing -labour, but they will recover their strength after a short period -of rest and relief: for continuous toil produces a sort of numbness -and sluggishness. Men would not be so eager for this, if play and -amusement did not possess natural attractions for them, although -constant indulgence in them takes away all gravity and all strength -from the mind: for sleep, also, is necessary for our refreshment, -yet if you prolong it for days and nights together it will become -death. There is a great difference between slackening your hold of -a thing and letting it go. The founders of our laws appointed -festivals, in order that men might be publicly encouraged to be -cheerful, and they thought it necessary to vary our labours with -amusements, and, as I said before, some great men have been wont -to give themselves a certain number of holidays in every month, and -some divided every day into play-time and work-time. Thus, I remember -that great orator Asinius Pollio would not attend to any business -after the tenth hour: he would not even read letters after that -time for fear some new {286} trouble should arise, but in those two -hours[10] used to get rid of the weariness which he had contracted -during the whole day. Some rest in the middle of the day, and reserve -some light occupation for the afternoon. Our ancestors, too, forbade -any new motion to be made in the Senate after the tenth hour. -Soldiers divide their watches, and those who have just returned -from active service are allowed to sleep the whole night undisturbed. -We must humour our minds and grant them rest from time to time, -which acts upon them like food, and restores their strength. It -does good also to take walks out of doors, that our spirits may be -raised and refreshed by the open air and fresh breeze: sometimes -we gain strength by driving in a carriage, by travel, by change of -air, or by social meals and a more generous allowance of wine: at -times we ought to drink even to intoxication, not so as to drown, -but merely to dip ourselves in wine: for wine washes away troubles -and dislodges them from the depths of the mind, and acts as a remedy -to sorrow as it does to some diseases. The inventor of wine is -called Liber, not from the licence which he gives to our tongues, -but because he liberates the mind from the bondage of cares, and -emancipates it, animates it, and renders it more daring in all that -it attempts. Yet moderation is wholesome both in freedom and in -wine. It is believed that Solon and Arcesilaus used to drink deep. -Cato is reproached with drunkenness: but whoever casts this in his -teeth will find it easier to turn his reproach into a commendation -than to prove that Cato did anything wrong: however, we ought not -to do it often, for fear the mind should contract evil habits, -though it ought sometimes to be forced into frolic and frankness, -and to cast off dull sobriety for a while. If we believe the Greek -poet, “it is sometimes pleasant to be mad”; again, Plato always -{287} knocked in vain at the door of poetry when he was sober; or, -if we trust Aristotle, no great genius has ever been without a touch -of insanity. The mind cannot use lofty language, above that of the -common herd, unless it be excited. When it has spurned aside the -commonplace environments of custom, and rises sublime, instinct -with sacred fire, then alone can it chant a song too grand for -mortal lips: as long as it continues to dwell within itself it -cannot rise to any pitch of splendour: it must break away from the -beaten track, and lash itself to frenzy, till it gnaws the curb and -rushes away bearing up its rider to heights whither it would fear -to climb when alone. - -I have now, my beloved Serenus, given you an account of what things -can preserve peace of mind, what things can restore it to us, what -can arrest the vices which secretly undermine it: yet be assured, -that none of these is strong enough to enable us to retain so -fleeting a blessing, unless we watch over our vacillating mind with -intense and unremitting care. - - -[1] Cf. Juv. ii. 150. - -[2] The chief magistrate of the Greeks. - -[3] The chief magistrate of the Oscans. - -[4] The chief magistrate of the Carthaginians. - -[5] “Livy himself styled the Alexandrian library _elegantiae regum -curaeque egregium opus_: a liberal encomium, for which he is pertly -criticised by the narrow stoicism of Seneca (Tranq., ch. ix.), whose -wisdom, on this occasion, deviates into nonsense.”—Gibbon, “Decline -and Fall,” ch. li, note. - -[6] Haase reads _Ptolemaeus_. - -[7] Caligula. - -[8] It was the duty of the executioner to fasten a hook to the neck -of condemned criminals, by which they were dragged to the Tiber. - -[9] Caligula. - -[10] The Romans reckoned twelve hours from sunrise to sunset. These -“two hours” were therefore the two last of the day. - - - - -{288} - -THE TENTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO -PAULINUS.[1] - -OF THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE. - - -I. The greater part of mankind, my Paulinus, complains of the -unkindness of Nature, because we are born only for a short space -of time, and that this allotted period of life runs away so swiftly, -nay so hurriedly, that with but few exceptions men’s life comes to -an end just as they are preparing to enjoy it: nor is it only the -common herd and the ignorant vulgar who mourn over this universal -misfortune, as they consider it to be: this reflection has wrung -complaints even from great men. Hence comes that well-known saying -of physicians, that art is long but life is short: hence arose that -quarrel, so unbefitting a sage, which Aristotle picked with Nature, -because she had indulged animals with such length of days that some -of them lived for ten or fifteen centuries, while man, although -born for many and such great exploits, had the term of his existence -cut so much shorter. We do not have a very short time assigned to -us, but we lose a great deal of it: life is long enough to carry -out the most important projects: we {289} have an ample portion, -if we do but arrange the whole of it aright: but when it all runs -to waste through luxury and carelessness, when it is not devoted -to any good purpose, then at the last we are forced to feel that -it is all over, although we never noticed how it glided away. Thus -it is: we do not receive a short life, but we make it a short one, -and we are not poor in days, but wasteful of them. When great and -kinglike riches fall into the hands of a bad master, they are -dispersed straightway, but even a moderate fortune, when bestowed -upon a wise guardian, increases by use: and in like manner our life -has great opportunities for one who knows how to dispose of it to -the best advantage. - -II. Why do we complain of Nature? she has dealt kindly with us. -Life is long enough, if you know how to use it. One man is possessed -by an avarice which nothing can satisfy, another by a laborious -diligence in doing what is totally useless: another is sodden by -wine: another is benumbed by sloth: one man is exhausted by an -ambition which makes him court the good will of others[2]: another, -through his eagerness as a merchant, is led to visit every land and -every sea by the hope of gain: some are plagued by the love of -soldiering, and are always either endangering other men’s lives or -in trembling for their own: some wear away their lives in that -voluntary slavery, the unrequited service of great men: many are -occupied either in laying claim to other men’s fortune or in -complaining of their own: a great number have no settled purpose, -and are tossed from one new scheme to another by a rambling, -inconsistent, dissatisfied, fickle habit of mind: some care for no -object sufficiently to try to attain it, but lie lazily yawning -until their fate comes upon them: so that I cannot {290} doubt the -truth of that verse which the greatest of poets has dressed in the -guise of an oracular response— - - “We live a small part only of our lives.” - -But all duration is time, not life: vices press upon us and surround -us on every side, and do not permit us to regain our feet, or to -raise our eyes and gaze upon truth, but when we are down keep us -prostrate and chained to low desires. Men who are in this condition -are never allowed to come to themselves: if ever by chance they -obtain any rest, they roll to and fro like the deep sea, which -heaves and tosses after a gale, and they never have any respite -from their lusts. Do you suppose that I speak of those whose ills -are notorious? Nay, look at those whose prosperity all men run to -see: they are choked by their own good things. To how many men do -riches prove a heavy burden? how many men’s eloquence and continual -desire to display their own cleverness has cost them their lives?[3] -how many are sallow with constant sensual indulgence? how many have -no freedom left them by the tribe of clients that surges around -them? Look through all these, from the lowest to the highest:—this -man calls his friends to support him, this one is present in court, -this one is the defendant, this one pleads for him, this one is on -the jury: but no one lays claim to his own self, every one wastes -his time over some one else. Investigate those men, whose names are -in every one’s mouth: you will find that they bear just the same -marks: A is devoted to B, and B to C: no one belongs to himself. -Moreover some men are full of most irrational anger: they complain -of the insolence of their chiefs, because they have not granted -them an audience when they wished for it; as if a man had any right -to complain of being so haughtily shut out by another, when he never -has {291} leisure to give his own conscience a hearing. This chief -of yours, whoever he is, though he may look at you in an offensive -manner, still will some day look at you, open his ears to your -words, and give you a seat by his side: but you never design to -look upon yourself, to listen to your own grievances. You ought -not, then, to claim these services from another, especially since -while you yourself were doing so, you did not wish for an interview -with another man, but were not able to obtain one with yourself.[4] - -III. Were all the brightest intellects of all time to employ -themselves on this one subject, they never could sufficiently express -their wonder at this blindness of men’s minds: men will not allow -any one to establish himself upon their estates, and upon the most -trifling dispute about the measuring of boundaries, they betake -themselves to stones and cudgels: yet they allow others to encroach -upon {292} their lives, nay, they themselves actually lead others -in to take possession of them. You cannot find any one who wants -to distribute his money; yet among how many people does every one -distribute his life? men covetously guard their property from waste, -but when it comes to waste of time, they are most prodigal of that -of which it would become them to be sparing. Let us take one of the -elders, and say to him, “We perceive that you have arrived at the -extreme limits of human life: you are in your hundredth year, or -even older. Come now, reckon up your whole life in black and white: -tell us how much of your time has been spent upon your creditors, -how much on your mistress, how much on your king, how much on your -clients, how much in quarrelling with your wife, how much in keeping -your slaves in order, how much in running up and down the city on -business. Add to this the diseases which we bring upon us with our -own hands, and the time which has laid idle without any use having -been made of it; you will see that you have not lived as many years -as you count. Look back in your memory and see how often you have -been consistent in your projects, how many days passed as you -intended them to do when you were at your own disposal, how often -you did not change colour and your spirit did not quail, how much -work you have done in so long a time, how many people have without -your knowledge stolen parts of your life from you, how much you -have lost, how large a part has been taken up by useless grief, -foolish gladness, greedy desire, or polite conversation; how little -of yourself is left to you: you will then perceive that you will -die prematurely.” What, then, is the reason of this? It is that -people live as though they would live for ever: you never remember -your human frailty; you never notice how much of your time has -already gone by: you spend it as though you had an abundant and -overflowing store of it, though all the while that day which you -devote {293} to some man or to some thing is perhaps your last. You -fear everything, like mortals as you are, and yet you desire -everything as if you were immortals. You will hear many men say, -“After my fiftieth year I will give myself up to leisure: my sixtieth -shall be my last year of public office”: and what guarantee have -you that your life will last any longer? who will let all this go -on just as you have arranged it? are you not ashamed to reserve -only the leavings of your life for yourself, and appoint for the -enjoyment of your own right mind only that time which you cannot -devote to any business? How late it is to begin life just when we -have to be leaving it! What a foolish forgetfulness of our mortality, -to put off wholesome counsels until our fiftieth or sixtieth year, -and to choose that our lives shall begin at a point which few of -us ever reach. - -IV. You will find that the most powerful and highly-placed men let -fall phrases in which they long for leisure, praise it, and prefer -it to all the blessings which they enjoy. Sometimes they would fain -descend from their lofty pedestal, if it could be safely done: for -Fortune collapses by its own weight, without any shock or interference -from without. The late Emperor Augustus, upon whom the gods bestowed -more blessings than on any one else, never ceased to pray for rest -and exemption from the troubles of empire: he used to enliven his -labours with this sweet, though unreal consolation, that he would -some day live for himself alone. In a letter which he addressed to -the Senate, after promising that his rest shall not be devoid of -dignity nor discreditable to his former glories, I find the following -words:—”These things, however, it is more honourable to do than to -promise: but my eagerness for that time, so earnestly longed for, -has led me to derive a certain pleasure from speaking about it, -though the reality is still far distant.”[5] He thought leisure so -important, that though {294} he could not actually enjoy it, yet -he did so by anticipation and by thinking about it. He, who saw -everything depending upon himself alone, who swayed the fortunes -of men and of nations, thought that his happiest day would be that -on which he laid aside his greatness. He knew by experience how -much labour was involved in that glory that shone through all lands, -and how much secret anxiety was concealed within it: he had been -forced to assert his rights by war, first with his countrymen, next -with his colleagues, and lastly with his own relations, and had -shed blood both by sea and by land: after marching his troops under -arms through Macedonia, Sicily, Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor, and almost -all the countries of the world, when they were weary with slaughtering -Romans he had directed them against a foreign foe. While he was -pacifying the Alpine regions, and subduing the enemies whom he found -in the midst of the Roman empire, while he was extending its -boundaries beyond the Rhine, the Euphrates, and the Danube, at Rome -itself the swords of Murena, Caepio, Lepidus, Egnatius, and others -were being sharpened to slay him. Scarcely had he escaped from their -plot, when his already failing age was terrified by his daughter -and all the noble youths who were pledged to her cause by adultery -with her by way of oath of fidelity. Then there was Paulus and -Antonius’s mistress, a second time to be {295} feared by Rome: and -when he had cut out these ulcers from his very limbs, others grew -in their place: the empire, like a body overloaded with blood, was -always breaking out somewhere. For this reason he longed for leisure: -all his labours were based upon hopes and thoughts of leisure: this -was the wish of him who could accomplish the wishes of all other -men. - -V. While tossed hither and thither by Catiline and Clodius, Pompeius -and Crassus, by some open enemies and some doubtful friends, while -he struggled with the struggling republic and kept it from going -to ruin, when at last he was banished, being neither able to keep -silence in prosperity nor to endure adversity with patience, how -often must Marcus Cicero have cursed that consulship of his which -he never ceased to praise, and which nevertheless deserved it? What -piteous expressions he uses in a letter to Atticus when Pompeius -the father had been defeated, and his son was recruiting his shattered -forces in Spain? “Do you ask,” writes he, “what I am doing here? I -am living in my Tusculan villa almost as a prisoner.” He adds more -afterwards, wherein he laments his former life, complains of the -present, and despairs of the future. Cicero called himself “half a -prisoner,” but, by Hercules, the wise man never would have come -under so lowly a title: he never would be half a prisoner, but would -always enjoy complete and entire liberty, being free, in his own -power, and greater than all others: for what can be greater than -the man who is greater than Fortune? - -VI. When Livius Drusus, a vigorous and energetic man, brought forward -bills for new laws and radical measures of the Gracchus pattern, -being the centre of a vast mob of all the peoples of Italy, and -seeing no way to solve the question, since he was not allowed to -deal with it as he wished, and yet was not free to throw it up after -having once taken part in it, complained bitterly of his life, which -had been {296} one of unrest from the very cradle, and said, we are -told, that “he was the only person who had never had any holidays -even when he was a boy.” Indeed, while he was still under age and -wearing the praetexta, he had the courage to plead the cause of -accused persons in court, and to make use of his influence so -powerfully that it is well known that in some causes his exertions -gained a verdict. Where would such precocious ambition stop? You -may be sure that one who showed such boldness as a child would end -by becoming a great pest both in public and in private life: it was -too late for him to complain that he had had no holidays, when from -his boyhood he had been a firebrand and a nuisance in the courts. -It is a stock question whether he committed suicide: for he fell -by a sudden wound in the groin, and some doubted whether his death -was caused by his own hand, though none disputed its having happened -most seasonably. It would be superfluous to mention more who, while -others thought them the happiest of men, have themselves borne true -witness to their own feelings, and have loathed all that they have -done for all the years of their lives: yet by these complaints they -have effected no alteration either in others or in themselves: for -after these words have escaped them their feelings revert to their -accustomed frame. By Hercules, that life of you great men, even -though it should last for more than a thousand years, is still a -very short one: those vices of yours would swallow up any extent -of time: no wonder if this our ordinary span, which, though Nature -hurries on, can be enlarged by common sense, soon slips away from -you: for you do not lay hold of it or hold it back, and try to delay -the swiftest of all things, but you let it pass as though it were -a useless thing and you could supply its place. - -VII. Among these I reckon in the first place those who devote their -time to nothing but drinking and debauchery: {297} for no men are -busied more shamefully: the others, although the glory which they -pursue is but a counterfeit, still deserve some credit for their -pursuit of it—though you may tell me of misers, of passionate men, -of men who hate and who even wage war without a cause—yet all such -men sin like men: but the sin of those who are given up to gluttony -and lust is a disgraceful one. Examine all the hours of their lives: -consider how much time they spend in calculation, how much in -plotting, how much in fear, how much in giving and deceiving flattery, -how much in entering into recognizances for themselves or for others, -how much in banquets, which indeed become a serious business, you -will see that they are not allowed any breathing time either by -their pleasures or their pains. Finally, all are agreed that nothing, -neither eloquence nor literature, can be done properly by one who -is occupied with something else; for nothing can take deep root in -a mind which is directed to some other subject, and which rejects -whatever you try to stuff into it. No man knows less about living -than a business man: there is nothing about which it is more difficult -to gain knowledge. Other arts have many folk everywhere who profess -to teach them: some of them can be so thoroughly learned by mere -boys, that they are able to teach them to others: but one’s whole -life must be spent in learning how to live, and, which may perhaps -surprise you more, one’s whole life must be spent in learning how -to die. Many excellent men have freed themselves from all hindrances, -have given up riches, business, and pleasure, and have made it their -duty to the very end of their lives to learn how to live: and yet -the larger portion of them leave this life confessing that they do -not yet know how to live, and still less know how to live as wise -men. Believe me, it requires a great man and one who is superior -to human frailties not to allow any of his time to be filched from -him: {298} and therefore it follows that his life is a very long -one, because he devotes every possible part of it to himself: no -portion lies idle or uncultivated, or in another man’s power; for -he finds nothing worthy of being exchanged for his time, which he -husbands most grudgingly. He, therefore, had time enough: whereas -those who gave up a great part of their lives to the people of -necessity had not enough. Yet you need not suppose that the latter -were not sometimes conscious of their loss: indeed, you will hear -most of those who are troubled with great prosperity every now and -then cry out amid their hosts of clients, their pleadings in court, -and their other honourable troubles, “I am not allowed to live my -own life.” Why is he not allowed? because all those who call upon -you to defend them, take you away from yourself. How many of your -days have been spent by that defendant? by that candidate for office? -by that old woman who is weary with burying her heirs? by that man -who pretends to be ill, in order to excite the greed of those who -hope to inherit his property? by that powerful friend of yours, who -uses you to swell his train, not to be his friend? Balance your -account, and run over all the days of your life; you will see that -only a very few days, and only those which were useless for any -other purpose, have been left to you. He who has obtained the -_fasces_[6] for which he longed, is eager to get rid of them, and -is constantly saying, “When will this year be over?” another exhibits -public games, and once would have given a great deal for the chance -of doing so, but now “when,” says he, “shall I escape from this?” -another is an advocate who is fought for in all the courts, and who -draws immense audiences, who crowd all the forum to a far greater -distance than they can hear him; “When,” says he, “will vacation-time -come?” Every man hurries through his life, and {299} suffers from -a yearning for the future, and a weariness of the present: but he -who disposes of all his time for his own purposes, who arranges all -his days as though he were arranging the plan of his life, neither -wishes for nor fears the morrow: for what new pleasure can any hour -now bestow upon him? he knows it all, and has indulged in it all -even to satiety. Fortune may deal with the rest as she will, his -life is already safe from her: such a man may gain something, but -cannot lose anything: and, indeed, he can only gain anything in the -same way as one who is already glutted and filled can get some extra -food which he takes although he does not want it. You have no -grounds, therefore, for supposing that any one has lived long, -because he has wrinkles or grey hairs: such a man has not lived -long, but has only been long alive. Why! would you think that a man -had voyaged much if a fierce gale had caught him as soon as he left -his port, and he had been driven round and round the same place -continually by a succession of winds blowing from opposite quarters? -such a man has not travelled much, he has only been much tossed -about. - -VIII. I am filled with wonder when I see some men asking others for -their time, and those who are asked for it most willing to give it: -both parties consider the object for which the time is given, but -neither of them thinks of the time itself, as though in asking for -this one asked for nothing, and in giving it one gave nothing: we -play with what is the most precious of all things: yet it escapes -men’s notice, because it is an incorporeal thing, and because it -does not come before our eyes; and therefore it is held very cheap, -nay, hardly any value whatever is put upon it. Men set the greatest -store upon presents or pensions, and hire out their work, their -services, or their care in order to gain them: no one values time: -they give it much more freely, as though it cost nothing. Yet you -will see these {300} same people clasping the knees of their physician -as suppliants when they are sick and in present peril of death, and -if threatened with a capital charge willing to give all that they -possess in order that they may live: so inconsistent are they. -Indeed, if the number of every man’s future years could be laid -before him, as we can lay that of his past years, how anxious those -who found that they had but few years remaining would be to make -the most of them? Yet it is easy to arrange the distribution of a -quantity, however small, if we know how much there is: what you -ought to husband most carefully is that which may run short you -know not when. Yet you have no reason to suppose that they do not -know how dear a thing time is: they are wont to say to those whom -they especially love that they are ready to give them a part of -their own years. They do give them, and know not that they are -giving them; but they give them in such a manner that they themselves -lose them without the others gaining them. They do not, however, -know whence they obtain their supply, and therefore they are able -to endure the waste of what is not seen: yet no one will give you -back your years, no one will restore them to you again: your life -will run its course when once it has begun, and will neither begin -again or efface what it has done. It will make no disturbance, it -will give you no warning of how fast it flies: it will move silently -on: it will not prolong itself at the command of a king, or at the -wish of a nation: as it started on its first day, so it will run: -it will never turn aside, never delay. What follows, then? Why! you -are busy, but life is hurrying on: death will be here some time or -other, and you must attend to him, whether you will or no. - -IX. Can anything be mentioned which is more insane than the ideas -of leisure of those people who boast of their worldly wisdom? They -live laboriously, in order that {301} they may live better; they -fit themselves out for life at the expense of life itself, and cast -their thoughts a long way forwards: yet postponement is the greatest -waste of life: it wrings day after day from us, and takes away the -present by promising something hereafter: there is no such obstacle -to true living as waiting, which loses to-day while it is depending -on the morrow. You dispose of that which is in the hand of Fortune, -and you let go that which is in your own. Whither are you looking, -whither are you stretching forward? everything future is uncertain: -live now straightway. See how the greatest of bards cries to you -and sings in wholesome verse as though inspired with celestial -fire:— - - “The best of wretched mortals’ days is that Which is the first - to fly.” - -Why do you hesitate, says he, why do you stand back? unless you -seize it it will have fled: and even if you do seize it, it will -still fly. Our swiftness in making use of our time ought therefore -to vie with the swiftness of time itself, and we ought to drink of -it as we should of a fast-running torrent which will not be always -running. The poet, too, admirably satirizes our boundless thoughts, -when he says, not “the first age,” but “the first day.” Why are you -careless and slow while time is flying so fast, and why do you -spread out before yourself a vision of long months and years, as -many as your greediness requires? he talks with you about one day, -and that a fast-fleeting one. There can, then, be no doubt that the -best days are those which fly first for wretched, that is, for busy -mortals, whose minds are still in their childhood when old age comes -upon them, and they reach it unprepared and without arms to combat -it. They have never looked forward: they have all of a sudden -stumbled upon old age: they never noticed that it was stealing upon -them day by day. As conversation, or reading, or deep thought -deceives travellers, and they find {302} themselves at their journey’s -end before they knew that it was drawing near, so in this fast and -never-ceasing journey of life, which we make at the same pace whether -we are asleep or awake, busy people never notice that they are -moving till they are at the end of it. - -X. If I chose to divide this proposition into separate steps, -supported by evidence, many things occur to me by which I could -prove that the lives of busy men are the shortest of all. Fabianus, -who was none of your lecture-room philosophers, but one of the true -antique pattern, used to say, “We ought to fight against the passions -by main force, not by skirmishing, and upset their line of battle -by a home charge, not by inflicting trifling wounds: I do not approve -of dallying with sophisms; they must be crushed, not merely scratched.” -Yet, in order that sinners may be confronted with their errors, -they must be taught, and not merely mourned for. Life is divided -into three parts: that which has been, that which is, and that which -is to come: of these three stages, that which we are passing through -is brief, that which we are about to pass is uncertain, and that -which we have passed is certain: this it is over which Fortune has -lost her rights, and which can fall into no other man’s power: and -this is what busy men lose: for they have no leisure to look back -upon the past, and even if they had, they take no pleasure in -remembering what they regret: they are, therefore, unwilling to -turn their minds to the contemplation of ill-spent time, and they -shrink from reviewing a course of action whose faults become glaringly -apparent when handled a second time, although they were snatched -at when we were under the spell of immediate gratification. No one, -unless all his acts have been submitted to the infallible censorship -of his own conscience, willingly turns his thoughts back upon the -past. He who has ambitiously desired, haughtily scorned, passionately -vanquished, treacherously deceived, greedily snatched, or prodigally -{303} wasted much, must needs fear his own memory; yet this is a -holy and consecrated part of our time, beyond the reach of all human -accidents, removed from the dominion of Fortune, and which cannot -be disquieted by want, fear, or attacks of sickness: this can neither -be troubled nor taken away from one: we possess it for ever -undisturbed. Our present consists only of single days, and those, -too, taken one hour at a time: but all the days of past times appear -before us when bidden, and allow themselves to be examined and -lingered over, albeit busy men cannot find time for so doing. It -is the privilege of a tranquil and peaceful mind to review all the -parts of its life: but the minds of busy men are like animals under -the yoke, and cannot bend aside or look back. Consequently, their -life passes away into vacancy, and as you do no good however much -you may pour into a vessel which cannot keep or hold what you put -there, so also it matters not how much time you give men if it can -find no place to settle in, but leaks away through the chinks and -holes of their minds. Present time is very short, so much so that -to some it seems to be no time at all; for it is always in motion, -and runs swiftly away: it ceases to exist before it comes, and can -no more brook delay than can the universe or the host of heaven, -whose unresting movement never lets them pause on their way. Busy -men, therefore, possess present time, alone, that being so short -that they cannot grasp it, and when they are occupied with many -things they lose even this. - -XI. In a word, do you want to know for how short a time they live? -see how they desire to live long: broken-down old men beg in their -prayers for the addition of a few more years: they pretend to be -younger than they are: they delude themselves with their own lies, -and are as willing to cheat themselves as if they could cheat Fate -at the same time: when at last some weakness reminds them that they -{304} are mortal, they die as it were in terror: they may rather -be said to be dragged out of this life than to depart from it. They -loudly exclaim that they have been fools and have not lived their -lives, and declare that if they only survive this sickness they -will spend the rest of their lives at leisure: at such times they -reflect how uselessly they have laboured to provide themselves with -what they have never enjoyed, and how all their toil has gone for -nothing: but those whose life is spent without any engrossing -business may well find it ample: no part of it is made over to -others, or scattered here and there; no part is entrusted to Fortune, -is lost by neglect, is spent in ostentatious giving, or is useless: -all of it is, so to speak, invested at good interest. A very small -amount of it, therefore, is abundantly sufficient, and so, when his -last day arrives, the wise man will not hang back, but will walk -with a steady step to meet death. - -XII. Perhaps you will ask me whom I mean by “busy men”? you need -not think that I allude only to those who are hunted out of the -courts of justice with dogs at the close of the proceedings, those -whom you see either honourably jostled by a crowd of their own -clients or contemptuously hustled in visits of ceremony by strangers, -who call them away from home to hang about their patron’s doors, -or who make use of the praetor’s sales by auction to acquire infamous -gains which some day will prove their own ruin. Some men’s leisure -is busy: in their country house or on their couch, in complete -solitude, even though they have retired from all men’s society, -they still continue to worry themselves: we ought not to say that -such men’s life is one of leisure, but their very business is sloth. -Would you call a man idle who expends anxious finicking care in the -arrangement of his Corinthian bronzes, valuable only through the -mania of a few connoisseurs? and who passes the greater part of his -days among plates of rusty metal? who sits in the palaestra (shame, -that our very vices {305} should be foreign) watching boys wrestling? -who distributes his gangs of fettered slaves into pairs according -to their age and colour? who keeps athletes of the latest fashion? -Why, do you call those men idle, who pass many hours at the barber’s -while the growth of the past night is being plucked out by the -roots, holding councils over each several hair, while the scattered -locks are arranged in order and those which fall back are forced -forward on to the forehead? How angry they become if the shaver is -a little careless, as though he were shearing a _man_! what a white -heat they work themselves into if some of their mane is cut away, -if some part of it is ill-arranged, if all their ringlets do not -lie in regular order! who of them would not rather that the state -were overthrown than that his hair should be ruffled? who does not -care more for the appearance of his head than for his health? who -would not prefer ornament to honour? Do you call these men idle, -who make a business of the comb and looking-glass? what of those -who devote their lives to composing, hearing, and learning songs, -who twist their voices, intended by Nature to sound best and simplest -when used straightforwardly, through all the turns of futile melodies: -whose fingers are always beating time to some music on which they -are inwardly meditating; who, when invited to serious and even sad -business may be heard humming an air to themselves?—such people are -not at leisure, but are busy about trifles. As for their banquets, -by Hercules, I cannot reckon them among their unoccupied times when -I see with what anxious care they set out their plate, how laboriously -they arrange the girdles of their waiters’ tunics, how breathlessly -they watch to see how the cook dishes up the wild boar, with what -speed, when the signal is given, the slave-boys run to perform their -duties, how skilfully birds are carved into pieces of the right -size, how painstakingly wretched youths wipe up the spittings of -drunken men. By these means men seek credit for taste {306} and -grandeur, and their vices follow them so far into their privacy -that they can neither eat nor drink without a view to effect. Nor -should I count those men idle who have themselves carried hither -and thither in sedans and litters, and who look forward to their -regular hour for taking this exercise as though they were not allowed -to omit it: men who are reminded by some one else when to bathe, -when to swim, when to dine: they actually reach such a pitch of -languid effeminacy as not to be able to find out for themselves -whether they are hungry. I have heard one of these luxurious folk—if -indeed, we ought to give the name of luxury to unlearning the life -and habits of a man—when he was carried in men’s arms out of the -bath and placed in his chair, say inquiringly, “Am I seated?” Do -you suppose that such a man as this, who did not know when he was -seated, could know whether he was alive, whether he could see, -whether he was at leisure? I can hardly say whether I pity him more -if he really did not know or if he pretended not to know this. Such -people do really become unconscious of much, but they behave as -though they were unconscious of much more: they delight in some -failings because they consider them to be proofs of happiness: it -seems the part of an utterly low and contemptible man to know what -he is doing. After this, do you suppose that playwrights draw largely -upon their imaginations in their burlesques upon luxury: by Hercules, -they omit more than they invent; in this age, inventive in this -alone, such a number of incredible vices have been produced, that -already you are able to reproach the playwrights with omitting to -notice them. To think that there should be any one who had so far -lost his senses through luxury as to take some one else’s opinion -as to whether he was sitting or not? This man certainly is not at -leisure: you must bestow a different title on him: he is sick, or -rather dead: he only is at leisure who feels that he is at leisure: -but this creature is {307} only half alive, if he wants some one -to tell him what position his body is in. How can such a man be -able to dispose of any time? - -XIII. It would take long to describe the various individuals who -have wasted their lives over playing at draughts, playing at ball, -or toasting their bodies in the sun: men are not at leisure if their -pleasures partake of the character of business, for no one will -doubt that those persons are laborious triflers who devote themselves -to the study of futile literary questions, of whom there is already -a great number in Rome also. It used to be a peculiarly Greek disease -of the mind to investigate how many rowers Ulysses had, whether the -Iliad or the Odyssey was written first, and furthermore, whether -they were written by the same author, with other matters of the -same stamp, which neither please your inner consciousness if you -keep them to yourself, nor make you seem more learned, but only -more troublesome, if you publish them abroad. See, already this -vain longing to learn what is useless has taken hold of the Romans: -the other day I heard somebody telling who was the first Roman -general who did this or that: Duillius was the first who won a -sea-fight, Curius Dentatus was the first who drove elephants in his -triumph: moreover, these stories, though they add nothing to real -glory, do nevertheless deal with the great deeds of our countrymen: -such knowledge is not profitable, yet it claims our attention as a -fascinating kind of folly. I will even pardon those who want to -know who first persuaded the Romans to go on board ship. It was -Claudius, who for this reason was surnamed Caudex, because any piece -of carpentry formed of many planks was called _caudex_ by the ancient -Romans, for which reason public records are called _Codices_, and -by old custom the ships which ply on the Tiber with provisions are -called _codicariae_. Let us also allow that it is to the point to -tell how Valerius Corvinus was the first {308} to conquer Messana, -and first of the family of the Valerii transferred the name of the -captured city to his own, and was called Messana, and how the people -gradually corrupted the pronunciation and called him Messalla: or -would you let any one find interest in Lucius Sulla having been the -first to let lions loose in the circus, they having been previously -exhibited in chains, and hurlers of darts having been sent by King -Bocchus to kill them? This may be permitted to their curiosity: but -can it serve any useful purpose to know that Pompeius was the first -to exhibit eighteen elephants in the circus, who were matched in a -mimic battle with some convicts? The leading man in the state, and -one who, according to tradition, was noted among the ancient leaders -of the state for his transcendent goodness of heart, thought it a -notable kind of show to kill men in a manner hitherto unheard of. -Do they fight to the death? that is not cruel enough: are they torn -to pieces? that is not cruel enough: let them be crushed flat by -animals of enormous bulk. It would be much better that such a thing -should be forgotten, for fear that hereafter some potentate might -hear of it and envy its refined barbarity. O, how doth excessive -prosperity blind our intellects! at the moment at which he was -casting so many troops of wretches to be trampled on by outlandish -beasts, when he was proclaiming war between such different creatures, -when he was shedding so much blood before the eyes of the Roman -people, whose blood he himself was soon to shed even more freely, -he thought himself the master of the whole world; yet he afterwards, -deceived by the treachery of the Alexandrians, had to offer himself -to the dagger of the vilest of slaves, and then at last discovered -what an empty boast was his surname of “The Great.” But to return -to the point from which I have digressed, I will prove that even -on this very subject some people expend useless pains. The same -author tells us that {309} Metellus, when he triumphed after having -conquered the Carthaginians in Sicily, was the only Roman who ever -had a hundred and twenty captured elephants led before his car: and -that Sulla was the last Roman who extended the pomoerium,[7] which -it was not the custom of the ancients to extend on account of the -conquest of provincial, but only of Italian territory. Is it more -useful to know this, than to know that the Mount Aventine, according -to him, is outside of the pomoerium, for one of two reasons, either -because it was thither that the plebeians seceded, or because when -Remus took his auspices on that place the birds which he saw were -not propitious: and other stories without number of the like sort, -which are either actual falsehoods or much the same as falsehoods? -for even if you allow that these authors speak in all good faith, -if they pledge themselves for the truth of what they write, still, -whose mistakes will be made fewer by such stories? whose passions -will be restrained? whom will they make more brave, more just, or -more gentlemanly? My friend Fabianus used to say that he was not -sure that it was not better not to apply oneself to any studies at -all than to become interested in these. - -XIV. The only persons who are really at leisure are those who devote -themselves to philosophy: and they alone really live: for they do -not merely enjoy their own lifetime, but they annex every century -to their own: all the years which have passed before them belong -to them. Unless we are the most ungrateful creatures in the world, -we shall regard these noblest of men, the founders of divine schools -of thought, as having been born for us, and having prepared life -for us: we are led by the labour of others to behold most beautiful -things which have been brought out of darkness into light; we are -not shut out from any period, we can make our way into every subject, -{310} and, if only we can summon up sufficient strength of mind to -overstep the narrow limit of human weakness, we have a vast extent -of time wherein to disport ourselves: we may argue with Socrates, -doubt with Carneades, repose with Epicurus, overcome human nature -with the Stoics, out-herod it with the Cynics. Since Nature allows -us to commune with every age, why do we not abstract ourselves from -our own petty fleeting span of time, and give ourselves up with our -whole mind to what is vast, what is eternal, what we share with -better men than ourselves? Those who gad about in a round of calls, -who worry themselves and others, after they have indulged their -madness to the full, and crossed every patron’s threshold daily, -leaving no open door unentered, after they have hawked about their -interested greetings in houses of the most various character,—after -all, how few people are they able to see out of so vast a city, -divided among so many different ruling passions: how many will be -moved by sloth, self-indulgence, or rudeness to deny them admittance: -how many, after they have long plagued them, will run past them -with feigned hurry? how many will avoid coming out through their -entrance-hall with its crowds of clients, and will escape by some -concealed backdoor? as though it were not ruder to deceive their -visitor than to deny him admittance!—how many, half asleep and -stupid with yesterday’s debauch, can hardly be brought to return -the greeting of the wretched man who has broken his own rest in -order to wait on that of another, even after his name has been -whispered to them for the thousandth time, save by a most offensive -yawn of his half-opened lips. We may truly say that those men are -pursuing the true path of duty, who wish every day to consort on -the most familiar terms with Zeno, Pythagoras, Democritus, and the -rest of those high priests of virtue, with Aristotle and with -Theophrastus. None of these men will be “engaged,” {311} none of -these will fail to send you away after visiting him in a happier -frame of mind and on better terms with yourself, none of them will -let you leave him empty-handed: yet their society may be enjoyed -by all men, and by night as well as by day. - -XV. None of these men will force you to die, but all of them will -teach you how to die: none of these will waste your time, but will -add his own to it. The talk of these men is not dangerous, their -friendship will not lead you to the scaffold, their society will -not ruin you in expenses: you may take from them whatsoever you -will; they will not prevent your taking the deepest draughts of -their wisdom that you please. What blessedness, what a fair old age -awaits the man who takes these for his patrons! he will have friends -with whom he may discuss all matters, great and small, whose advice -he may ask daily about himself, from whom he will hear truth without -insult, praise without flattery, and according to whose likeness -he may model his own character. We are wont to say that we are not -able to choose who our parents should be, but that they were assigned -to us by chance; yet we may be born just as we please: there are -several families of the noblest intellects: choose which you would -like to belong to: by your adoption you will not receive their name -only, but also their property, which is not intended to be guarded -in a mean and miserly spirit: the more persons you divide it among -the larger it becomes. These will open to you the path which leads -to eternity, and will raise you to a height from whence none shall -cast you down. By this means alone can you prolong your mortal life, -nay, even turn it into an immortal one. High office, monuments, all -that ambition records in decrees or piles up in stone, soon passes -away: lapse of time casts down and ruins everything; but those -things on which Philosophy has set its seal are beyond the reach -of injury: no age will discard them or {312} lessen their force, -each succeeding century will add somewhat to the respect in which -they are held: for we look upon what is near us with jealous eyes, -but we admire what is further off with less prejudice. The wise -man’s life, therefore, includes much: he is not hedged in by the -same limits which confine others: he alone is exempt from the laws -by which mankind is governed: all ages serve him like a god. If any -time be past, he recals it by his memory; if it be present, he uses -it; if it be future, he anticipates it: his life is a long one -because he concentrates all times into it. - -XVI. Those men lead the shortest and unhappiest lives who forget -the past, neglect the present, and dread the future: when they reach -the end of it the poor wretches learn too late that they were busied -all the while that they were doing nothing. You need not think, -because sometimes they call for death, that their lives are long: -their folly torments them with vague passions which lead them into -the very things of which they are afraid: they often, therefore, -wish for death because they live in fear. Neither is it, as you -might think, a proof of the length of their lives that they often -find the days long, that they often complain how slowly the hours -pass until the appointed time arrives for dinner: for whenever they -are left without their usual business, they fret helplessly in their -idleness, and know not how to arrange or to spin it out. They betake -themselves, therefore, to some business, and all the intervening -time is irksome to them; they would wish, by Hercules, to skip over -it, just as they wish to skip over the intervening days before a -gladiatorial contest or some other time appointed for a public -spectacle or private indulgence: all postponement of what they wish -for is grievous to them. Yet the very time which they enjoy is brief -and soon past, and is made much briefer by their own fault: for -they run from one pleasure to another, and are not able to devote -{313} themselves consistently to one passion: their days are not -long, but odious to them: on the other hand, how short they find -the nights which they spend with courtezans or over wine? Hence -arises that folly of the poets who encourage the errors of mankind -by their myths, and declare that Jupiter to gratify his voluptuous -desires doubled the length of the night. Is it not adding fuel to -our vices to name the gods as their authors, and to offer our -distempers free scope by giving them deity for an example? How can -the nights for which men pay so dear fail to appear of the shortest? -they lose the day in looking forward to the night, and lose the -night through fear of the dawn. - -XVII. Such men’s very pleasures are restless and disturbed by various -alarms, and at the most joyous moment of all there rises the anxious -thought: “How long will this last?” This frame of mind has led kings -to weep over their power, and they have not been so much delighted -at the grandeur of their position, as they have been terrified by -the end to which it must some day come. That most arrogant Persian -king,[8] when his army stretched over vast plains and could not be -counted but only measured, burst into tears at the thought that in -less than a hundred years none of all those warriors would be alive: -yet their death was brought upon them by the very man who wept over -it, who was about to destroy some of them by sea, some on land, -some in battle, and some in flight, and who would in a very short -space of time put an end to those about whose hundredth year he -showed such solicitude. Why need we wonder at their very joys being -mixed with fear? they do not rest upon any solid grounds, but are -disturbed by the same emptiness from which they spring. What must -we suppose to be the misery of such times as even they acknowledge -to be wretched, when even the joys by which they elevate themselves -and raise themselves above their fellows are of {314} a mixed -character. All the greatest blessings are enjoyed with fear, and -no thing is so untrustworthy as extreme prosperity: we require fresh -strokes of good fortune to enable us to keep that which we are -enjoying, and even those of our prayers which are answered require -fresh prayers. Everything for which we are dependent on chance is -uncertain: the higher it rises, the more opportunities it has of -falling. Moreover, no one takes any pleasure in what is about to -fall into ruin: very wretched, therefore, as well as very short -must be the lives of those who work very hard to gain what they -must work even harder to keep: they obtain what they wish with -infinite labour, and they hold what they have obtained with fear -and trembling. Meanwhile they take no account of time, of which -they will never have a fresh and larger supply: they substitute new -occupations for old ones, one hope leads to another, one ambition -to another: they do not seek for an end to their wretchedness, but -they change its subject. Do our own preferments trouble us? nay, -those of other men occupy more of our time. Have we ceased from our -labours in canvassing? then we begin others in voting. Have we got -rid of the trouble of accusation? then we begin that of judging. -Has a man ceased to be a judge? then he becomes an examiner. Has -he grown old in the salaried management of other people’s property? -then he becomes occupied with his own. Marius is discharged from -military service; he becomes consul many times: Quintius is eager -to reach the end of his dictatorship; he will be called a second -time from the plough: Scipio marched against the Carthaginians -before he was of years sufficient for so great an undertaking; after -he has conquered Hannibal, conquered Antiochus, been the glory of -his own consulship and the surety for that of his brother, he might, -had he wished it, have been set on the same pedestal with Jupiter; -but civil factions will vex the saviour of the state, and he who -when {315} a young man disdained to receive divine honours, will -take pride as an old man in obstinately remaining in exile. We shall -never lack causes of anxiety, either pleasurable or painful: our -life will be pushed along from one business to another: leisure -will always be wished for, and never enjoyed. - -XVIII. Whefore, my dearest Paulinus, tear yourself away from the -common herd, and since you have seen more rough weather than one -would think from your age, betake yourself at length to a more -peaceful haven: reflect what waves you have sailed through, what -storms you have endured in private life, and brought upon yourself -in public. Your courage has been sufficiently displayed by many -toilsome and wearisome proofs; try how it will deal with leisure: -the greater, certainly the better part of your life, has been given -to your country; take now some part of your time for yourself as -well. I do not urge you to practise a dull or lazy sloth, or to -drown all your fiery spirit in the pleasures which are dear to the -herd: that is not rest: you can find greater works than all those -which you have hitherto so manfully carried out, upon which you may -employ yourself in retirement and security. You manage the revenues -of the entire world, as unselfishly as though they belonged to -another, as laboriously as if they were your own, as scrupulously -as though they belonged to the public: you win love in an office -in which it is hard to avoid incurring hatred; yet, believe me, it -is better to understand your own mind than to understand the -corn-market. Take away that keen intellect of yours, so well capable -of grappling with the greatest subjects, from a post which may be -dignified, but which is hardly fitted to render life happy, and -reflect that you did not study from childhood all the branches of -a liberal education merely in order that many thousand tons of corn -might safely be entrusted to your charge: you have {316} given us -promise of something greater and nobler than this. There will never -be any want of strict economists or of laborious workers: slow-going -beasts of burden are better suited for carrying loads than well-bred -horses, whose generous swiftness no one would encumber with a heavy -pack. Think, moreover, how full of risk is the great task which you -have undertaken: you have to deal with the human stomach: a hungry -people will not endure reason, will not be appeased by justice, and -will not hearken to any prayers. Only just a few days ago, when G. -Caesar perished, grieving for nothing so much (if those in the other -world can feel grief) as that the Roman people did not die with -him, there was said to be only enough corn for seven or eight days’ -consumption: while he was making bridges with ships[9] and playing -with the resources of the empire, want of provisions, the worst -evil that can befall even a besieged city, was at hand: his imitation -of a crazy outlandish and misproud king very nearly ended in ruin, -famine, and the general revolution which follows famine. What must -then have been the feelings of those who had the charge of supplying -the city with corn, who were in danger of stoning, of fire and -sword, of Gaius himself? With consummate art they concealed the -vast internal evil by which the state was menaced, and were quite -right in so doing; for some diseases must be cured without the -patient’s knowledge: many have died through discovering what was -the matter with them. - -XIX. Betake yourself to these quieter, safer, larger fields of -action: do you think that there can be any comparison between seeing -that corn is deposited in the public {317} granary without being -stolen by the fraud or spoilt by the carelessness of the importer, -that it does not suffer from damp or overheating, and that it -measures and weighs as much as it ought, and beginning the study -of sacred and divine knowledge, which will teach you of what elements -the gods are formed, what are their pleasures, their position, their -form? to what changes your soul has to look forward? where Nature -will place us when we are dismissed from our bodies? what that -principle is which holds all the heaviest particles of our universe -in the middle, suspends the lighter ones above, puts fire highest -of all, and causes the stars to rise in their courses, with many -other matters, full of marvels? Will you not[10] cease to grovel -on earth and turn your mind’s eye on these themes? nay, while your -blood still flows swiftly, before your knees grow feeble, you ought -to take the better path. In this course of life there await you -many good things, such as love and practice of the virtues, -forgetfulness of passions, knowledge of how to live and die, deep -repose. The position of all busy men is unhappy, but most unhappy -of all is that of those who do not even labour at their own affairs, -but have to regulate their rest by another man’s sleep, their walk -by another man’s pace, and whose very love and hate, the freest -things in the world, are at another’s bidding. If such men wish to -know how short their lives are, let them think how small a fraction -of them is their own. - -XX. When, therefore, you see a man often wear the purple robes of -office, and hear his name often repeated in the forum, do not envy -him: he gains these things by losing so much of his life. Men throw -away all their years in order to have one year named after them as -consul: some lose their lives during the early part of the struggle, -and never reach the height to which they aspired: {318} some after -having submitted to a thousand indignities in order to reach the -crowning dignity, have the miserable reflexion that the only result -of their labours will be the inscription on their tombstone. Some, -while telling off extreme old age, like youth, for new aspirations, -have found it fail from sheer weakness amid great and presumptuous -enterprises. It is a shameful ending, when a man’s breath deserts -him in a court of justice, while, although well stricken in years, -he is still striving to gain the sympathies of an ignorant audience -for some obscure litigant: it is base to perish in the midst of -one’s business, wearied with living sooner than with working; -shameful, too, to die in the act of receiving payments, amid the -laughter of one’s long-expectant heir. I cannot pass over an an -instance which occurs to me: Turannius was an old man of the most -painstaking exactitude, who after entering upon his ninetieth year, -when he had by G. Caesar’s own act been relieved of his duties as -collector of the revenue, ordered himself to be laid out on his bed -and mourned for as though he were dead. The whole house mourned for -the leisure of its old master, and did not lay aside its mourning -until his work was restored to him. Can men find such pleasure in -dying in harness? Yet many are of the same mind: they retain their -wish for labour longer than their capacity for it, and fight against -their bodily weakness; they think old age an evil for no other -reason than because it lays them on the shelf. The law does not -enrol a soldier after his fiftieth year, or require a senator’s -attendance after his sixtieth: but men have more difficulty in -obtaining their own consent than that of the law to a life of -leisure. Meanwhile, while they are plundering and being plundered, -while one is disturbing another’s repose, and all are being made -wretched alike, life remains without profit, without pleasure, -without any intellectual progress: no one keeps death well before -his eyes, no one refrains from far-reaching {319} hopes. Some even -arrange things which lie beyond their own lives, such as huge -sepulchral buildings, the dedication of public works, and exhibitions -to be given at their funeral-pyre, and ostentatious processions: -but, by Hercules, the funerals of such men ought to be conducted -by the light of torches and wax tapers,[11] as though they had lived -but a few days. - - -[1] “On croit que ce Paulin étoit frère de Pauline, épouse de -Sénéque.” —La Grange. - -[2] “L’un se consume en projets d’ambition, dont le succès depend -du suffrage de l’autrui.”—La Grange. - -[3] “Combien d’orateurs qui s’épuisent de sang et de forces pour -faire montrer de leur génie!”—La Grange. - -[4] “Pour vous, jamais vous ne daignâtes vous regarder seulement, -ou vous entendre. Ne faites pas non plus valoir votre condescendance -a écouter les autres. Lorsque vous vous y prêtez, ce n’est pas que -vous aimiez a vous communiquer aux autres; c’est que vous craignez -de vous trouver avec vous-même.”—La Grange. - - “It is a folly therefore beyond Sence, When great men will not - give us Audience To count them proud; how dare we call it pride - When we the same have to ourselves deny’d. - - Yet they how great, how proud so e’re, have bin Sometimes so - courteous as to call thee in. And hear thee speak; but thou - could’st nere afford Thyself the leisure of a look or word. - - Thou should’st not then herein another blame, Because when thou - thyself do’st do the same. Thou would’st not be with others, - but we see Plainly thou can’st not with thine own self be.” - -“L. ANNAEUS SENECA, the Philosopher, his book of the Shortness of -Life, translated into an English Poem. Imprinted at London, by -William Goldbird, for the Author, mdclxiii.” - -[5] “Dans une lettre qu’il envoya au Sénat apres avoir promis que -son repos n’aura rièn indigne de la gloire de ses premières années, -il ajoute: Mais l’execution y mettra un prix, que ne peuvent y -mettre les promesses. J’obeis cependant a la vive passion que j’ai, -de me voir a ce temps si désiré; et puisque l’heureuse situation -d’affaires m’en tient encore éloigné, j’ai voulu du moins me -satisfaire en partie, par la douceur que je trouve à vous en -parler.”—La Grange. - - “Such words I find. But these things rather ought Be done, then - said; yet so far hath the thought Of that wish’d time prevail’d, - that though the glad Fruition of the thing be not yet had. Yet - I,” &c. - -[6] Fasces, the rods carried by the _lictors_ as symbols of office. -See Smith’s “Diet, of Antiquities,” _s.v._ - -[7] See Smith’s “Dict. of Antiquities.” - -[8] Xerxes. - -[9] “Sénéque parle ici du pont que Caligula fit construire sur le -golphe de Baies, l’an de Rome 791, 40 de J. C. . . . . rassembla -et fit entrer dans la construction de son pont tous les vaisseaux -qui se trouverent dans les ports d’Italie et des contrées voisines. -Il n’excepta pas même ceux qui etoient destinés a y apporter des -grains étrangers,” &c.—LaGrange. - -[10] For _vis tu_ see Juv. v., vis tu consuetis, &c. Mayor’s note. - -[11] As those of children were. - - - - -{320} - -THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED -TO HIS MOTHER, HELVIA. - -OF CONSOLATION. - - -I. My best of mothers, I have often felt eager to console you, and -have as often checked that impulse. Many things urged me to make -the attempt: in the first place, I thought that if, though I might -not be able to restrain your tears, yet that if I could even wipe -them away, I should set myself free from all my own sorrows: then -I was quite sure that I should rouse you from your grief with more -authority if I had first shaken it off myself. I feared, too, lest -Fortune, though overcome by me, might nevertheless overcome some -one of my family. Then I endeavoured to crawl and bind up your -wounds in the best way I could, holding my hand over my own wound; -but then again other considerations occurred to me which held me -back: I knew that I must not oppose your grief during its first -transports, lest my very attempts at consolation might irritate it, -and add fuel to it: for in diseases, also, there is nothing more -hurtful than medicine applied too soon. I waited, therefore, until -it exhausted itself by its own violence, and being weakened by time, -so that it was able to bear remedies, would allow itself to be -handled and {321} touched. Beside this, while turning over all the -works which the greatest geniuses have composed, for the purpose -of soothing and pacifying grief, I could not find any instance of -one who had offered consolation to his relatives, while he himself -was being sorrowed over by them. Thus, the subject being a new one, -I hesitated and feared that instead of consoling, I might embitter -your grief. Then there was the thought that a man who had only just -raised his head after burying his child, and who wished to console -his friends, would require to use new phrases not taken from our -common every-day words of comfort: but every sorrow of more than -usual magnitude must needs prevent one’s choosing one’s words, -seeing that it often prevents one’s using one’s very voice. However -this may be, I will make the attempt, not trusting in my own genius, -but because my consolation will be most powerful since it is I who -offer it. You never would deny me anything, and I hope, though all -grief is obstinate, that you will surely not refuse me this request, -that you will allow me to set bounds to your sorrow. - -II. See how far I have presumed upon your indulgence: I have no -doubts about my having more power over you than your grief, than -which nothing has more power over the unhappy. In order, therefore, -to avoid encountering it straightway, I will at first take its part -and offer it every encouragement: I will rip up and bring to light -again wounds already scarred. Some one may say, “What sort of -consolation is this, for a man to rake up buried evils, and to bring -all its sorrows before a mind which scarcely can bear the sight of -one?” but let him reflect that diseases which are so malignant that -they do but gather strength from ordinary remedies, may often be -cured by the opposite treatment: I will, therefore, display before -your grief all its woes and miseries: this will be to effect a cure, -not by soothing measures, but by cautery and {322} the knife. What -shall I gain by this? I shall make the mind that could overcome so -many sorrows, ashamed to bewail one wound more in a body so full -of scars. Let those whose feeble minds have been enervated by a -long period of happiness, weep and lament for many days, and faint -away on receiving the slightest blow: but those whose years have -all been passed amid catastrophes should bear the severest losses -with brave and unyielding patience. Continual misfortune has this -one advantage, that it ends by rendering callous those whom it is -always scourging. Ill fortune has given you no respite, and has not -left even your birthday free from the bitterest grief: you lost -your mother as soon as you were born, nay, while you were being -born, and you came into life, as it were, an outcast: you grew up -under a step-mother, whom you made into a mother by all the obedience -and respect which even a real daughter could have bestowed upon -her: and even a good step-mother costs every one dear. You lost -your most affectionate uncle, a brave and excellent man, just when -you were awaiting his return: and, lest Fortune should weaken its -blows by dividing them, within a month you lost your beloved husband, -by whom you had become the mother of three children. This sorrowful -news was brought you while you were already in mourning, while all -your children were absent, so that all your misfortunes seemed to -have been purposely brought upon you at a time when your grief could -nowhere find any repose. I pass over all the dangers and alarms -which you have endured without any respite: it was but the other -day that you received the bones of three of your grandchildren in -the bosom from which you had sent them forth: less than twenty days -after you had buried my child, who perished in your arms and amid -your kisses, you heard that I had been exiled: you wanted only this -drop in your cup, to have to weep for those who still lived. - -{323} - -III. The last wound is, I admit, the severest that you have ever -yet sustained: it has not merely torn the skin, but has pierced you -to the very heart: yet as recruits cry aloud when only slightly -wounded, and shudder more at the hands of the surgeon than at the -sword, while veterans even when transfixed allow their hurts to be -dressed without a groan, and as patiently as if they were in some -one else’s body, so now you ought to offer yourself courageously -to be healed. Lay aside lamentations and wailings, and all the usual -noisy manifestations of female sorrow: you have gained nothing by -so many misfortunes, if you have not learned how to suffer. Now, -do I seem not to have spared you? nay, I have not passed over any -of your sorrows, but have placed them all together in a mass before -you. - -IV. I have done this by way of a heroic remedy: for I have determined -to conquer this grief of yours, not merely to limit it; and I shall -conquer it, I believe, if in the first place I can prove that I am -not suffering enough to entitle me to be called unhappy, let alone -to justify me in rendering my family unhappy: and, secondly, if I -can deal with your case and prove that even your misfortune, which -comes upon you entirely through me, is not a severe one. - -The point to which I shall first address myself is that of which -your motherly love longs to hear, I mean, that I am not suffering: -if I can, I will make it clear to you that the events by which you -think that I am overwhelmed, are not unendurable: if you cannot -believe this, I at any rate shall be all the more pleased with -myself for being happy under circumstances which could make most -men miserable. You need not believe what others say about me: that -you may not be puzzled by any uncertainty as to what to think, I -distinctly tell you that I am not miserable: I will add, for your -greater comfort, that it is not possible for me to be made miserable. - -V. We are born to a comfortable position enough, if we {324} do not -afterwards lose it: the aim of Nature has been to enable us to live -well without needing a vast apparatus to enable us to do so: every -man is able by himself to make himself happy. External circumstances -have very little importance either for good or for evil: the wise -man is neither elated by prosperity nor depressed by adversity; for -he has always endeavoured to depend chiefly upon himself and to -derive all his joys from himself. Do I, then, call myself a wise -man? far from it: for were I able to profess myself wise, I should -not only say that I was not unhappy, but should avow myself to be -the most fortunate of men, and to be raised almost to the level of -a god: as it is, I have applied myself to the society of wise men, -which suffices to lighten all sorrows, and, not being as yet able -to rely upon my own strength, I have betaken myself for refuge to -the camp of others, of those, namely, who can easily defend both -themselves and their friends. They have ordered me always to stand -as it were on guard, and to mark the attacks and charges of Fortune -long before she delivers them; she is only terrible to those whom -she catches unawares; he who is always looking out for her assault, -easily sustains it: for so also an invasion of the enemy overthrows -those by whom it is unexpected, but those who have prepared themselves -for the coming war before it broke out, stand in their ranks fully -equipped and repel with ease the first, which is always the most -furious onset. I never have trusted in Fortune, even when she seemed -most peaceful. I have accepted all the gifts of wealth, high office, -and influence, which she has so bountifully bestowed upon me, in -such a manner that she can take them back again without disturbing -me: I have kept a great distance between them and myself: and -therefore she has taken them, not painfully torn them away from me. -No man loses anything by the frowns of Fortune unless he has been -deceived by her smiles: those who have {325} enjoyed her bounty as -though it were their own heritage for ever, and who have chosen to -take precedence of others because of it, lie in abject sorrow when -her unreal and fleeting delights forsake their empty childish minds, -that know nothing about solid pleasure: but he who has not been -puffed up by success, does not collapse after failure: he possesses -a mind of tried constancy, superior to the influences of either -state; for even in the midst of prosperity he has experimented upon -his powers of enduring adversity. Consequently I have always believed -that there was no real good in any of those things which all men -desire: I then found that they were empty, and merely painted over -with artificial and deceitful dyes, without containing anything -within which corresponds to their outside: I now find nothing so -harsh and fearful as the common opinion of mankind threatened me -with in this which is known as adversity: the word itself, owing -to the prevalent belief and ideas current about it, strikes somewhat -unpleasantly upon one’s ears, and thrills the hearers as something -dismal and accursed, for so hath the vulgar decreed that it should -be: but a great many of the decrees of the vulgar are reversed by -the wise. - -VI. Setting aside, then, the verdict of the majority, who are carried -away by the first appearance of things and the usual opinion about -them, let us consider what is meant by exile: clearly a changing -from one place to another. That I may not seem to be narrowing its -force, and taking away its worst parts, I must add, that this -changing of place is accompanied by poverty, disgrace, and contempt. -Against these I will combat later on: meanwhile I wish to consider -what there is unpleasant in the mere act of changing one’s place -of abode. - -”It is unbearable,” men say, “to lose one’s native land.” Look, I -pray you, on these vast crowds, for whom all the countless roofs -of Rome can scarcely find shelter: the {326} greater part of those -crowds have lost their native land: they have flocked hither from -their country towns and colonies, and in fine from all parts of the -world. Some have been brought by ambition, some by the exigencies -of public office, some by being entrusted with embassies, some by -luxury which seeks a convenient spot, rich in vices, for its exercise, -some by their wish for a liberal education, others by a wish to see -the public shows. Some have been led hither by friendship, some by -industry, which finds here a wide field for the display of its -powers. Some have brought their beauty for sale, some their eloquence: -people of every kind assemble themselves together in Rome, which -sets a high price both upon virtues and vices. Bid them all to be -summoned to answer to their names, and ask each one from what home -he has come: you will find that the greater part of them have left -their own abodes, and journeyed to a city which, though great and -beauteous beyond all others, is nevertheless not their own. Then -leave this city, which may be said to be the common property of all -men, and visit all other towns: there is not one of them which does -not contain a large proportion of aliens. Pass away from those whose -delightful situation and convenient position attracts many settlers: -examine wildernesses and the most rugged islands, Sciathus and -Seriphus, Gyarus and Corsica: you will find no place of exile where -some one does not dwell for his own pleasure. What can be found -barer or more precipitous on every side than this rock? what more -barren in respect of food? what more uncouth in its inhabitants? -more mountainous in its configuration? or more rigorous in its -climate? yet even here there are more strangers than natives. So -far, therefore, is the mere change of place from being irksome, -that even this place has allured some away from their country. I -find some writers who declare that mankind has a natural itch for -change of abode and alteration of {327} domicile: for the mind of -man is wandering and unquiet; it never stands still, but spreads -itself abroad and sends forth its thoughts into all regions, known -or unknown; being nomadic, impatient of repose, and loving novelty -beyond everything else. You need not be suprised at this, if you -reflect upon its original source: it is not formed from the same -elements as the heavy and earthly body, but from heavenly spirit: -now heavenly things are by their nature always in motion, speeding -along and flying with the greatest swiftness. Look at the luminaries -which light the world: none of them stands still. The sun is -perpetually in motion, and passes from one quarter to another, and -although he revolves with the entire heaven, yet nevertheless he -has a motion in the contrary direction to that of the universe -itself, and passes through all the constellations without remaining -in any: his wandering is incessant, and he never ceases to move -from place to place. All things continually revolve and are for -ever changing; they pass from one position to another in accordance -with natural and unalterable laws: after they have completed a -certain circuit in a fixed space of time, they begin again the path -which they had previously trodden. Be not surprised, then, if the -human mind, which is formed from the same seeds as the heavenly -bodies, delights in change and wandering, since the divine nature -itself either takes pleasure in constant and exceeding swift motion -or perhaps even preserves its existence thereby. - -VII. Come now, turn from divine to human affairs: you will see that -whole tribes and nations have changed their abodes. What is the -meaning of Greek cities in the midst of barbarous districts? or of -the Macedonian language existing among the Indians and the Persians? -Scythia and all that region which swarms with wild and uncivilized -tribes boasts nevertheless Achaean cities along the shores of the -Black Sea. Neither the rigours of eternal winter, {328} nor the -character of men as savage as their climate, has prevented people -migrating thither. There is a mass of Athenians in Asia Minor. -Miletus has sent out into various parts of the world citizens enough -to populate seventy-five cities. That whole coast of Italy which -is washed by the Lower Sea is a part of what once was “Greater -Greece.” Asia claims the Tuscans as her own: there are Tyrians -living in Africa, Carthaginians in Spain; Greeks have pushed in -among the Gauls, and Gauls among the Greeks. The Pyrenees have -proved no barrier to the Germans: human caprice makes its way through -pathless and unknown regions: men drag along with them their children, -their wives, and their aged and worn-out parents. Some have been -tossed hither and thither by long wanderings, until they have become -too wearied to choose an abode, but have settled in whatever place -was nearest to them: others have made themselves masters of foreign -countries by force of arms: some nations while making for parts -unknown have been swallowed up by the sea: some have established -themselves in the place in which they were originally stranded by -utter destitution. Nor have all men had the same reasons for leaving -their country and for seeking for a new one: some have escaped from -their cities when destroyed by hostile armies, and having lost their -own lands have been thrust upon those of others: some have been -cast out by domestic quarrels: some have been driven forth in -consequence of an excess of population, in order to relieve the -pressure at home: some have been forced to leave by pestilence, or -frequent earthquakes, or some unbearable defects of a barren soil: -some have been seduced by the fame of a fertile and over-praised -clime. Different people have been led away from their homes by -different causes; but in all cases it is clear that nothing remains -in the same place in which it was born: the movement of the human -race is perpetual: in this vast world some changes {329} take place -daily. The foundations of new cities are laid, new names of nations -arise, while the former ones die out, or become absorbed by more -powerful ones. And yet what else are all these general migrations -but the banishments of whole peoples? Why should I lead you through -all these details? what is the use of mentioning Antenor the founder -of Padua, or Evander who established his kingdom of Arcadian settlers -on the banks of the Tiber? or Diomedes and the other heroes, both -victors and vanquished, whom the Trojan war scattered over lands -which were not their own? It is a fact that the Roman Empire itself -traces its origin back to an exile as its founder, who, fleeing -from his country after its conquest, with what few relics he had -saved from the wreck, had been brought to Italy by hard necessity -and fear of his conqueror, which bade him seek distant lands. Since -then, how many colonies has this people sent forth into every -province? wherever the Roman conquers, there he dwells. These -migrations always found people eager to take part in them, and -veteran soldiers desert their native hearths and follow the flag -of the colonists across the sea. The matter does not need illustrations -by any more examples: yet I will add one more which I have before -my eyes: this very island[1] has often changed its inhabitants. Not -to mention more ancient events, which have become obscure from their -antiquity, the Greeks who inhabit Marseilles at the present day, -when they left Phocaea, first settled here, and it is doubtful what -drove them hence, whether it was the rigour of the climate, the -sight of the more powerful land of Italy, or the want of harbours -on the coast: for the fact of their having placed themselves in the -midst of what were then the most savage and uncouth tribes of Gaul -proves that they were not driven hence by the ferocity of the -natives. Subsequently {330} the Ligurians came over into this same -island, and also the Spaniards,[2] which is proved by the resemblance -of their customs: for they wear the same head-coverings and the -same sort of shoes as the Cantabrians, and some of their words are -the same: for by association with Greeks and Ligurians they have -entirely lost their native speech. Hither since then have been -brought two Roman colonies, one by Marius, the other by Sulla: so -often has the population of this barren and thorny rock been changed. -In fine, you will scarcely find any land which is still in the hands -of its original inhabitants: all peoples have become confused and -intermingled: one has come after another: one has wished for what -another scorned: some have been driven out of the land which they -took from another. Thus fate has decreed that nothing should ever -enjoy an uninterrupted course of good fortune. - -VIII. Varro, that most learned of all the Romans, thought that for -the mere change of place, apart from the other evils attendant on -exile, we may find a sufficient remedy in the thought that wherever -we go we always have the same Nature to deal with. Marcus Brutus -thought that there was sufficient comfort in the thought that those -who go into exile are permitted to carry their virtues thither with -them. Though one might think that neither of these alone were able -to console an exile, yet it must be confessed that when combined -they have great power: for how very little it is that we lose! -whithersoever we betake ourselves two most excellent things will -accompany us, namely, a common Nature and our own especial virtue. -Believe me, this is the work of whoever was the Creator of the -universe, whether he be an all-powerful deity, an incorporeal mind -which effects vast works, a divine spirit by which all things from -the greatest to the smallest are equally pervaded, or {331} fate -and an unalterable connected sequence of events, this, I say, is -its work, that nothing above the very lowest can ever fall into the -power of another: all that is best for a man’s enjoyment lies beyond -human power, and can neither be bestowed or taken away: this world, -the greatest and the most beautiful of Nature’s productions, and -its noblest part, a mind which can behold and admire it, are our -own property, and will remain with us as long as we ourselves endure. -Let us therefore briskly and cheerfully hasten with undaunted steps -whithersoever circumstances call us: let us wander over whatever -countries we please; no place of banishment can be found in the -whole world in which man cannot find a home. I can raise my eyes -from the earth to the sky in one place as well as in another; the -heavenly bodies are everywhere equally near to mankind: accordingly, -as long as my eyes are not deprived of that spectacle of which they -never can have their fill, as long as I am allowed to gaze on the -sun and moon, to dwell upon the other stars, to speculate upon their -risings and settings, their periods, and the reasons why they move -faster or slower, to see so many stars glittering throughout the -night, some fixed, some not moving in a wide orbit but revolving -in their own proper track, some suddenly diverging from it, some -dazzling our eyes by a fiery blaze as though they were falling, or -flying along drawing after them a long trail of brilliant light: -while I am permitted to commune with these, and to hold intercourse, -as far as a human being may, with all the company of heaven, while -I can raise my spirit aloft to view its kindred sparks above, what -does it matter upon what soil I tread? - -IX. “But this country does not produce beautiful or fruit-bearing -trees; it is not watered by the courses of large or navigable rivers; -it bears nothing which other nations would covet, since its produce -barely suffices to support its inhabitants: no precious marbles are -quarried here, no veins {332} of gold and silver are dug out.” What -of that! It must be a narrow mind that takes pleasure in things of -the earth: it ought to be turned away from them to the contemplation -of those which can be seen everywhere, which are equally brilliant -everywhere: we ought to reflect, also, that these vulgar matters -by a mistaken perversion of ideas prevent really good things reaching -us: the further men stretch out their porticos, the higher they -raise their towers, the more widely they extend their streets, the -deeper they sink their retreats from the heats of summer, the more -ponderous the roofs with which they cover their banqueting halls, -the more there will be to obstruct their view of heaven. Fortune -has cast you into a country in which there is no lodging more -splendid than a cottage: you must indeed have a poor spirit, and -one which seeks low sources of consolation, if you endure this -bravely because you have seen the cottage of Romulus: say, rather, -“Should that lowly barn be entered by the virtues, it will straightway -become more beautiful than any temple, because within it will be -seen justice, self-restraint, prudence, love, a right division of -all duties, a knowledge of all things on earth and in heaven. No -place can be narrow, if it contains such a company of the greatest -virtues; no exile can be irksome in which one can be attended by -these companions. Brutus, in the book which he wrote upon virtue, -says that he saw Marcellus in exile at Mytilene, living as happily -as it is permitted to man to live, and never keener in his pursuit -of literature than at that time. He consequently adds the reflexion: -‘I seemed rather to be going into exile myself when I had to return -without him, than to be leaving him in exile.’ O how much more -fortunate was Marcellus at that time, when Brutus praised him for -his exile, than when Rome praised him for his consulship! what a -man that must have been who made any one think himself exiled because -he was leaving him in exile! what a man that {333} must have been -who attracted the admiration of one whom even his friend Cato -admired! Brutus goes on to say:— ‘Gaius Caesar sailed past Mytilene -without landing, because he could not bear to see a fallen man.’ -The Senate did indeed obtain his recall by public petition, being -so anxious and sorrowful the while, that you would have thought -that they all were of Brutus’s mind that day, and were not pleading -the cause of Marcellus, but their own, that they might not be sent -into exile by being deprived of him: yet he gained far greater glory -on the day when Brutus could not bear to leave him in exile, and -Caesar could not bear to see him: for each of them bore witness to -his worth: Brutus grieved, and Caesar blushed at going home without -Marcellus. Can you doubt that so great a man as Marcellus frequently -encouraged himself to endure his exile patiently in some such terms -as these: “The loss of your country is no misery to you: you have -so steeped yourself in philosophic lore, as to know that all the -world is the wise man’s country? What! was not this very man who -banished you absent from his country for ten successive years? he -was, no doubt, engaged in the extension of the empire, but for all -that he was absent from his country. Now see how his presence is -required in Africa, which threatens to re-kindle the war, in Spain -which is nursing up again the strength of the broken and shattered -opposite faction, in treacherous Egypt, in fine, in all the parts -of the world, for all are watching their opportunity to seize the -empire at a disadvantage. Which will he go to meet first? which -part of the universal conspiracy will he first oppose? His victory -will drag him through every country in the world. Let nations look -up to him and worship him: do thou live satisfied with the admiration -of Brutus.” - -X. Marcellus, then, nobly endured his exile, and his change of place -made no change in his mind, even though it was accompanied by -poverty, in which every man who {334} has not fallen into the madness -of avarice and luxury, which upset all our ideas, sees no harm. -Indeed, how very little is required to keep a man alive? and who, -that has any virtue whatever, will find this fail him? As for myself, -I do not feel that I have lost my wealth, but my occupation: the -wants of the body are few: it wants protection from the cold, and -the means of allaying hunger and thirst: all desires beyond these -are vices, not necessities. There is no need for prying into all -the depths of the sea, for loading one’s stomach with heaps of -slaughtered animals, or for tearing up shell-fish[3] from the unknown -shore of the furthest sea: may the gods and goddesses bring ruin -upon those whose luxury transcends the bounds of an empire which -is already perilously wide. They want to have their ostentatious -kitchens supplied with game from the other side of the Phasis, and -though Rome has not yet obtained satisfaction from the Parthians, -they are not ashamed to obtain birds from them: they bring together -from all regions everything, known or unknown, to tempt their -fastidious palate: food, which their stomach, worn out with delicacies, -can scarcely retain, is brought from the most distant ocean: they -vomit that they may eat, and eat that they may vomit, and do not -even deign to digest the banquets which they ransack the globe to -obtain. If a man despises these things, what harm can poverty do -him? If he desires them, then poverty even does him good, for he -is cured in spite of himself, and though he will not receive remedies -even upon compulsion, yet while he is unable to fulfil his wishes -he is as though he had them not. Gaius Caesar, whom in my opinion -Nature produced in order to show what unlimited vice would be capable -of when combined with unlimited power, dined one day at a cost of -ten millions of sesterces: and though in this he had the {335} -assistance of the intelligence of all his subjects, yet he could -hardly find how to make one dinner out of the tribute-money of three -provinces. How unhappy are they whose appetite can only be aroused -by costly food! and the costliness of food depends not upon its -delightful flavour and sweetness of taste, but upon its rarity and -the difficulty of procuring it: otherwise, if they chose to return -to their sound senses, what need would they have of so many arts -which minister to the stomach? of so great a commerce? of such -ravaging of forests? of such ransacking of the depths of the sea? -Food is to be found everywhere, and has been placed by Nature in -every part the world, but they pass it by as though they were blind, -and wander through all countries, cross the seas, and excite at a -great cost the hunger which they might allay at a small one. One -would like to say: Why do you launch ships? why do you arm your -hands for battle both with men and wild beasts? why do you run so -riotously hither and thither? why do you amass fortune after fortune? -Are you unwilling to remember how small our bodies are? is it not -frenzy and the wildest insanity to wish for so much when you can -contain so little? Though you may increase your income, and extend -the boundaries of your property, yet you never can enlarge your own -bodies: when your business transactions have turned out well, when -you have made a successful campaign, when you have collected the -food for which you have hunted through all lands, you will have no -place in which to bestow all these superfluities. Why do you strive -to obtain so much? Do you think that our ancestors, whose virtue -supports our vices even to the present day, were unhappy, though -they dressed their food with their own hands, though the earth was -their bed, though their roofs did not yet glitter with gold, nor -their temples with precious stones? and so they used then to swear -with scrupulous honesty by earthenware {336} gods; those who called -these gods to witness would go back to the enemy for certain death -rather than break their word.[4] Do you suppose that our dictator -who granted an audience to the ambassadors of the Samnites, while -he roasted the commonest food before the fire himself with that -very hand with which he had so often smitten the enemy, and with -which he had placed his laurel wreath upon the lap of Capitolian -Jove, enjoyed life less than the Apicius who lived in our own days, -whose habits tainted the entire century, who set himself up as a -professor of gastronomy in that very city from which philosophers -once were banished as corrupters of youth? It is worth while to -know his end. After he had spent a hundred millions of sesterces -on his kitchen, and had wasted on each single banquet a sum equal -to so many presents from the reigning emperors, and the vast revenue -which he drew from the Capitol, being overburdened with debt, he -then for the first time was forced to examine his accounts: he -calculated that he would have ten millions left of his fortune, -and, as though he would live a life of mere starvation on ten -millions, put an end to his life by poison. How great must the -luxury of that man have been, to whom ten millions signified want? -Can you think after this that the amount of money necessary to make -a fortune depends upon its actual extent rather than on the mind -of the owner? Here was a man who shuddered at the thought of a -fortune of ten million sesterces, and escaped by poison from a -prospect which other men pray for. Yet, for a mind so diseased, -that last draught of his was the most wholesome: he was really -eating and drinking poisons when he was not only enjoying, but -boasting of his enormous banquets, when he was flaunting his vices, -when he was causing his country to follow his example, when he was -inviting youths to imitate him, albeit youth is quick {337} to learn -evil, without being provided with a model to copy. This is what -befalls those who do not use their wealth according to reason, which -has fixed limits, but according to vicious fashion, whose caprices -are boundless and immeasurable. Nothing is sufficient for covetous -desire, but Nature can be satisfied even with scant measure. The -poverty of an exile, therefore, causes no inconvenience, for no -place of exile is so barren as not to produce what is abundantly -sufficient to support a man. - -XI. Next, need an exile regret his former dress and house? If he -only wishes for these things because of their use to him, he will -want neither roof nor garment, for it takes as little to cover the -body as it does to feed it: Nature has annexed no difficult conditions -to anything which man is obliged to do. If, however, he sighs for -a purple robe steeped in floods of dye, interwoven with threads of -gold and with many coloured artistic embroideries, then his poverty -is his own fault, not that of Fortune: even though you restored to -him all that he has lost, you would do him no good; for he would -have more unsatisfied ambitions, if restored, than he had unsatisfied -wants when he was an exile. If he longs for furniture glittering -with silver vases, plate which boasts the signature of antique -artists, bronze which the mania of a small clique has rendered -costly, slaves enough to crowd however large a house, purposely -overfed horses, and precious stones of all countries: whatever -collections he may make of these, he never will satisfy his insatiable -appetite, any more than any amount of liquor will quench a thirst -which arises not from the need of drink but from the burning heat -within a man; for this is not thirst but disease. Nor does this -take place only with regard to money and food, but every want which -is caused by vice and not by necessity is of this nature: however -much you supply it with you do not quench it but intensify it. He -who restrains himself within the limits prescribed by {338} nature, -will not feel poverty; he who exceeds them will always be poor, -however great his wealth may be. Even a place of exile suffices to -provide one with necessaries; whole kingdoms do not suffice to -provide one with superfluities. It is the mind which makes men rich: -this it is that accompanies them into exile, and in the most savage -wildernesses, after having found sufficient sustenance for the body, -enjoys its own overflowing resources: the mind has no more connexion -with money than the immortal gods have with those things which are -so highly valued by untutored intellects, sunk in the bondage of -the flesh. Gems, gold, silver, and vast polished round tables are -but earthly dross, which cannot be loved by a pure mind that is -mindful of whence it came, is unblemished by sin, and which, when -released from the body, will straightway soar aloft to the highest -heaven: meanwhile, as far as it is permitted by the hindrances of -its mortal limbs and this heavy clog of the body by which it is -surrounded, it examines divine things with swift and airy thought. -From this it follows that no free-born man, who is akin to the gods, -and fit for any world and any age, can ever be in exile: for his -thoughts are directed to all the heavens and to all times past and -future: this trumpery body, the prison and fetter of the spirit, -may be tossed to this place or to that; upon it tortures, robberies, -and diseases may work their will: but the spirit itself is holy and -eternal, and upon it no one can lay hands. - -XII. That you may not suppose that I merely use the maxims of the -philosophers to disparage the evils of poverty, which no one finds -terrible, unless he thinks it so; consider in the first place how -many more poor people there are than rich, and yet you will not -find that they are sadder or more anxious than the rich: nay, I am -not sure that they are not happier, because they have fewer things -to distract their minds. From these poor men, who often are not -{339} unhappy at their poverty, let us pass to the rich. How many -occasions there are on which they are just like poor men! When they -are on a journey their baggage is cut down, whenever they are obliged -to travel fast their train of attendants is dismissed. When they -are serving in the army, how small a part of their property can -they have with them, since camp discipline forbids superfluities! -Nor is it only temporary exigences or desert places that put them -on the same level as poor men: they have some days on which they -become sick of their riches, dine reclining on the ground, put away -all their gold and silver plate, and use earthenware. Madmen! they -are always afraid of this for which they sometimes wish. O how dense -a stupidity, how great an ignorance of the truth they show when -they flee from this thing and yet amuse themselves by playing with -it! Whenever I look back to the great examples of antiquity, I feel -ashamed to seek consolation for my poverty, now that luxury has -advanced so far in the present age, that the allowance of an exile -is larger than the inheritance of the princes of old. It is well -known that Homer had one slave, that Plato had three, and that Zeno, -who first taught the stern and masculine doctrine of the Stoics, -had none: yet could any one say that they lived wretchedly without -himself being thought a most pitiable wretch by all men? Menenius -Agrippa, by whose mediation the patricians and plebeians were -reconciled, was buried by public subscription. Attilius Regulus, -while he was engaged in scattering the Carthaginians in Africa, -wrote to the Senate that his hired servant had left him, and that -consequently his farm was deserted: whereupon it was decreed that -as long as Regulus was absent, it should be cultivated at the expense -of the state. Was it not worth his while to have no slave, if thereby -he obtained the Roman people for his farm-bailiff? Scipio’s daughters -received their dowries from the Treasury, because {340} their father -had left them none: by Hercules, it was right for the Roman people -to pay tribute to Scipio for once, since he had exacted it for ever -from Carthage. O how happy were those girls’ husbands, who had the -Roman people for their father-in-law. Can you think that those whose -daughters dance in the ballet, and marry with a settlement of a -million sesterces, are happier than Scipio, whose children received -their dowry of old-fashioned brass money from their guardian the -Senate? Can any one despise poverty, when she has such a noble -descent to boast of? can an exile be angry at any privation, when -Scipio could not afford a portion for his daughters, Regulus could -not afford a hired labourer, Menenius could not afford a funeral? -when all these men’s wants were supplied in a manner which rendered -them a source of additional honour? Poverty, when such men as these -plead its cause, is not only harmless, but positively attractive. - -XIII. To this one may answer: “Why do you thus ingeniously divide -what can indeed be endured if taken singly, but which all together -are overwhelming? Change of place can be borne if nothing more than -one’s place be changed: poverty can be borne if it be without -disgrace, which is enough to cow our spirits by itself.” If any one -were to endeavour to frighten me with the number of my misfortunes, -I should answer him as follows: If you have enough strength to -resist any one part of your ill-fortune, you will have enough to -resist it all. If virtue has once hardened your mind, it renders -it impervious to blows from any quarter: if avarice, that greatest -pest of the human race, has left it, you will not be troubled by -ambition: if you regard the end of your days not as a punishment, -but as an ordinance of nature, no fear of anything else will dare -to enter the breast which has cast out the fear of death. If you -consider sexual passion to have been bestowed on mankind not for -the sake of pleasure, but for {341} the continuance of the race, -all other desires will pass harmlessly by one who is safe even from -this secret plague, implanted in our very bosoms. Reason does not -conquers vices one by one, but all together: if reason is defeated, -it is utterly defeated once for all. Do you suppose that any wise -man, who relies entirely upon himself, who has set himself free -from the ideas of the common herd, can be wrought upon by disgrace? -A disgraceful death is worse even than disgrace: yet Socrates bore -the same expression of countenance with which he had rebuked thirty -tyrants, when he entered the prison and thereby took away the -infamous character of the place; for the place which contained -Socrates could not be regarded as a prison. Was any one ever so -blind to the truth as to suppose that Marcus Cato was disgraced by -his double defeat in his candidature for the praetorship and the -consulship? that disgrace fell on the praetorship and consulship -which Cato honoured by his candidature. No one is despised by others -unless he be previously despised by himself: a grovelling and abject -mind may fall an easy prey to such contempt: but he who stands up -against the most cruel misfortunes, and overcomes those evils by -which others would have been crushed—such a man, I say, turns his -misfortunes into badges of honour, because we are so constituted -as to admire nothing so much as a man who bears adversity bravely. -At Athens, when Aristides was being led to execution, every one who -met him cast down his eyes and groaned, as though not merely a just -man but justice herself was being put to death. Yet one man was -found who spat in his face: he might have been disturbed at this, -since he knew it could only be a foul-mouthed fellow that would -have the heart to do so; he, however, wiped his face, and with a -smile asked the magistrate who accompanied him to warn that man not -to open his mouth so rudely again. To act thus was to treat contumely -itself {342} with contempt. I know that some say that there is -nothing more terrible than disgrace, and that they would prefer -death. To such men I answer that even exile is often accompanied -by no disgrace whatever: if a great man falls, he remains a great -man after his fall, you can no more suppose that he is disgraced -than when people tread upon the walls of a ruined temple, which the -pious treat with as much respect as when they were standing. - -XIV. Since, then, my dearest mother, you have no reason for endless -weeping on my account, it follows that your tears must flow on your -own: there are two causes for this, either your having lost my -protection, or your not being able to bear the mere fact of separation. -The first of these I shall only touch upon lightly, for I know that -your heart loves nothing belonging to your children except themselves. -Let other mothers look to that, who make use of their sons’ authority -with a woman’s passion, who are ambitious through their sons because -they cannot bear office themselves, who spend their sons’ inheritance, -and yet are eager to inherit it, and who weary their sons by lending -their eloquence to others: you have always rejoiced exceedingly in -the successes of your sons, and have made no use of them whatever: -you have always set bounds to our generosity, although you set none -to your own: you, while a minor under the power of the head of the -family, still used to make presents to your wealthy sons: you managed -our inheritances with as much care as if you were working for your -own, yet refrained from touching them as scrupulously as if they -belonged to strangers: you have spared to use our influence, as -though you enjoyed other means of your own, and you have taken no -part in the public offices to which we have been elected beyond -rejoicing in our success and paying our expenses: your indulgence -has never been tainted by any thought of profit, and you cannot -regret the loss of your son for a reason which never had any weight -with you before his exile. - -{343} - -XV. All my powers of consolation must be directed to the other -point, the true source of your maternal grief. You say, “I am -deprived of the embraces of my darling son, I cannot enjoy the -pleasure of seeing him and of hearing him talk. Where is he at whose -sight I used to smooth my troubled brow, in whose keeping I used -to deposit all my cares? Where is his conversation, of which I never -could have enough? his studies, in which I used to take part with -more than a woman’s eagerness, with more than a mother’s familiarity? -Where are our meetings? the boyish delight which he always showed -at the sight of his mother?” To all this you add the actual places -of our merrymakings and conversation, and, what must needs have -more power to move you than anything else, the traces of our late -social life, for Fortune treated you with the additional cruelty -of allowing you to depart on the very third day before my ruin, -without a trace of anxiety, and not fearing anything of the kind. -It was well that we had been separated by a vast distance: it was -well that an absence of some years had prepared you to bear this -blow: you came home, not to take any pleasure in your son, but to -get rid of the habit of longing for him. Had you been absent long -before, you would have borne it more bravely, as the very length -of your absence would have moderated your longing to see me: had -you never gone away, you would at any rate have gained one last -advantage in seeing your son for two days longer: as it was, cruel -Fate so arranged it that you were not present with me during my -good fortune, and yet have not become accustomed to my absence. But -the harder these things are to bear, the more virtue you must summon -to your aid, and the more bravely you must struggle as it were with -an enemy whom you know well, and whom you have already often -conquered. This blood did not flow from a body previously unhurt: -you have been struck through the scar of an old wound. - -{344} - -XVI. You have no grounds for excusing yourself on the ground of -being a woman, who has a sort of right to weep without restraint, -though not without limit. For this reason our ancestors allotted a -space of ten months’ mourning for women who had lost their husbands, -thus settling the violence of a woman’s grief by a public ordinance. -They did not forbid them to mourn, but they set limits to their -grief: for while it is a foolish weakness to give way to endless -grief when you lose one of those dearest to you, yet it shows an -unnatural hardness of heart to express no grief at all: the best -middle course between affection and hard common sense is both to -feel regret and to restrain it. You need not look at certain women -whose sorrow, when once begun, has been ended only by death: you -know some who after the loss of their sons have never laid aside -the garb of mourning: you are constitutionally stronger than these, -and from you more is required. You cannot avail yourself of the -excuse of being a woman, for you have no womanish vices. Unchastity, -the greatest evil of the age, has never classed you with the majority -of women; you have not been tempted either by gems or by pearls; -riches have not allured you into thinking them the greatest blessing -that man can own; respectably brought up as you were in an old-fashioned -and strict household, you have never been led astray by that imitation -of others which is so full of danger even to virtuous women. You -have never been ashamed of your fruitfulness as though it were a -reproach to your youth: you never concealed the signs of pregnancy -as though it were an unbecoming burden, nor did you ever destroy -your expected child within your womb after the fashion of many other -women, whose attractions are to be found in their beauty alone. You -never defiled your face with paints or cosmetics: you never liked -clothes which showed the figure as plainly as though it were naked: -your sole ornament has been a consummate {345} loveliness which no -time can impair, your greatest glory has been your modesty. You -cannot, therefore, plead your womanhood as an excuse for your grief, -because your virtues have raised you above it: you ought to be as -superior to womanish tears as you are to womanish vices. Even women -would not allow you to pine away after receiving this blow, but -would bid you quickly and calmly go through the necessary amount -of mourning, and then to arise and shake it off: I mean, if you are -willing to take as your models those women whose eminent virtue has -given them a place among even great men. Misfortune reduced the -number of Cornelia’s children from twelve to two: if you count the -number of their deaths, Cornelia had lost ten: if you weigh them, -she had lost the Gracchi: nevertheless, when her friends were weeping -around her and using too bitter imprecations against her fate, she -forbade them to blame fortune for having deprived[5] her of her -sons the Gracchi. Such ought to have been the mother of him who, -when speaking in the Forum, said, “Would you speak evil of the -mother who bore me?” The mother’s speech seems to me to show a far -greater spirit: the son set a high value on the birth of the Gracchi; -the mother set an equal value on their deaths. Rutilia followed her -son Cotta into exile, and was so passionately attached to him that -she could bear exile better than absence from him; nor did she -return home before her son did so: after he had been restored, and -had been raised to honour in the republic, she bore his death as -bravely as she had borne his exile. No one saw any traces of tears -upon her cheeks after she had buried her son: she displayed her -courage when he was banished, her wisdom when he died: she allowed -no {346} considerations either to interfere with her affection, or -to force her to protract a useless and foolish mourning. These are -the women with whom I wish you to be numbered: you have the best -reasons for restraining and suppressing your sorrow as they did, -because you have always imitated their lives. - -XVII. I am aware that this is a matter which is not in our power, -and that none of the passions, least of all that which arises from -grief, are obedient to our wishes; indeed, it is overbearing and -obstinate, and stubbornly rejects all remedies: we sometimes wish -to crush it, and to swallow our emotion, but, nevertheless, tears -flow over our carefully arranged and made-up countenance. Sometimes -we occupy our minds with public spectacles and shows of gladiators; -but during the very sights by which it is amused, the mind is wrung -by slight touches of sorrow. It is better, therefore, to conquer -it than to cheat it; for a grief which has been deceived and driven -away either by pleasure or by business rises again, and its period -of rest does but give it strength for a more terrible attack; but -a grief which has been conquered by reason is appeased for ever. I -shall not, then, give you the advice which so many, I know, adopt, -that you should distract your thoughts by a long journey, or amuse -them by a beautiful one; that you should spend much of your time -in the careful examination of accounts, and the management of your -estate, and that you should keep constantly engaging in new -enterprises: all these things avail but little, and do not cure, -but merely obstruct our sorrow. I had rather it should be brought -to an end than that it should be cheated: and, therefore, I would -fain lead you to the study of philosophy, the true place of refuge -for all those who are flying from the cruelty of Fortune: this will -heal your wounds and take away all your sadness: to this you would -now have to apply yourself, even though you {347} had never done -so before; but as far as my father’s old-fashioned strictness -permitted, you have gained a superficial, though not a thorough -knowledge of all liberal studies. Would that my father, most excellent -man that he was, had been less devoted to the customs of our -ancestors, and had been willing to have you thoroughly instructed -in the elements of philosophy, instead of receiving a mere smattering -of it! I should not now need to be providing you with the means of -struggling against Fortune, but you would offer them to me: but he -did not allow you to pursue your studies far, because some women -use literature to teach them luxury instead of wisdom. Still, thanks -to your keen intellectual appetite, you learned more than one could -have expected in the time: you laid the foundations of all good -learning: now return to them: they will render you safe, they will -console you, and charm you. If once they have thoroughly entered -into your mind, grief, anxiety, the distress of vain suffering will -never gain admittance thither: your breast will not be open to any -of these; against all other vices it has long been closed. Philosophy -is your most trustworthy guardian, and it alone can save you from -the attacks of Fortune. - -XVIII. Since, however, you require something to lean upon until you -can reach that haven of rest which philosophy offers to you, I wish -in the meantime to point out to you the consolations which you have. -Look at my two brothers—while they are safe, you have no grounds -for complaint against Fortune; you can derive pleasure from the -virtues of each of them, different as they are; the one has gained -high office by attention to business, the other has philosophically -despised it. Rejoice in the great place of one of your sons, in the -peaceful retirement of the other, in the filial affection of both. -I know my brothers’ most secret motives: the one adorns his high -office in order to confer lustre upon you, the {348} other has -withdrawn from the world into his life of quiet and contemplation, -that he may have full enjoyment of your society. Fortune has consulted -both your safety and your pleasure in her disposal of your two sons: -you may be protected by the authority of the one, and delighted by -the literary leisure of the other. They will vie with one another -in dutiful affection to you, and the loss of one son will be supplied -by the love of two others. I can confidently promise that you will -find nothing wanting in your sons except their number. Now, then, -turn your eyes from them to your grandchildren; to Marcus, that -most engaging child, whose sight no sorrow can withstand. No grief -can be so great or so fresh in any one’s bosom as not to be charmed -away by his presence. Where are the tears which his joyousness could -not dry? whose heart is so nipped by sorrow that his animation would -not cause it to dilate? who would not be rendered mirthful by his -playfulness? who would not be attracted and made to forget his -gloomy thoughts by that prattle to which no one can ever be weary -of listening? I pray the gods that he may survive us: may all the -cruelty of fate exhaust itself on me and go no further; may all the -sorrow destined for my mother and my grandmother fall upon me; but -let all the rest flourish as they do now: I shall make no complaints -about my childlessness or my exile, if only my sacrifice may be -received as a sufficient atonement, and my family suffer nothing -more. Hold in your bosom Novatilla, who soon will present you with -great-grandchildren, she whom I had so entirely adopted and made -my own, that, now that she has lost me, she seems like an orphan, -even though her father is alive. Love her for my sake as well as -for her own: Fortune has lately deprived her of her mother: your -affection will be able to prevent her really feeling the loss of -the mother whom she mourns. Take this opportunity of forming and -strengthening her principles; nothing sinks {349} so deeply into -the mind as the teaching which we receive in our earliest years; -let her become accustomed to hearing your discourses; let her -character be moulded according to your pleasure: she will gain much -even if you give her nothing more than your example. This continually -recurring duty will be a remedy in itself: for when your mind is -full of maternal sorrow, nothing can distract it from its grief -except either philosophic argument or honourable work. I should -count your father among your greatest consolations, were he not -absent: as it is, judge from your affection for me what his affection -is for you, and then you will see how much more just it is that you -should be preserved for him than that you should be sacrificed to -me. Whenever your keenest paroxysms of grief assail you and bid you -give way to them, think of your father. By giving him so many -grandchildren and great-grandchildren you have made yourself no -longer his only daughter; but you alone can crown his prosperous -life by a happy end: as long as he is alive it is impiety for you -to regret having been born. - -XIX. I have hitherto said nothing of your chief source of consolation, -your sister, that most faithful heart which shares all your sorrows -as fully as your own, and who feels for all of us like a mother. -With her you have mingled your tears, on her bosom you have tasted -your first repose: she always feels for your troubles, and when I -am in the case she does not grieve for you alone. It was in her -arms that I was carried into Rome: by her affectionate and motherly -nursing I regained my strength after a long period of sickness: she -enlarged her influence to obtain the office of quaestor for me, and -her fondness for me made her conquer a shyness which at other times -made her shrink from speaking to, or loudly greeting her friends. -Neither her retired mode of life, nor her country-bred modesty, at -a time when so many women display such boldness of manner, her -placidity, nor her habits of solitary seclusion {350} prevented her -from becoming actually ambitious on my account. Here, my dearest -mother, is a source from which you may gain true consolation: join -yourself, as far as you are able, to her, bind yourself to her by -the closest embraces. Those who are in sorrow are wont to flee from -those who are dearest to them, and to seek liberty for the indulgence -of their grief: do you let her share your every thought: if you -wish to nurse your grief, she will be your companion, if you wish -to lay it aside she will bring it to an end. If, however, I rightly -understand the wisdom of that most perfect woman, she will not -suffer you to waste your life in unprofitable mourning, and will -tell you what happened in her own instance, which I myself witnessed. -During a sea-voyage she lost a beloved husband, my uncle, whom she -married when a maiden; she endured at the same time grief for him -and fear for herself, and at last, though shipwrecked, nevertheless -rescued his body from the vanquished tempest. How many noble deeds -are unknown to fame! If only she had had the simple-minded ancients -to admire her virtues, how many brilliant intellects would have -vied with one another in singing the praises of a wife who forgot -the weakness of her sex, forgot the perils of the sea, which terrify -even the boldest, exposed herself to death in order to lay him in -the earth, and who was so eager to give him decent burial that she -cared nothing about whether she shared it or no. All the poets have -made the wife[6] famous who gave herself to death instead of her -husband: my aunt did more when she risked her life in order to give -her husband a tomb: it shows greater love to endure the same peril -for a less important end. After this, no one need wonder that for -sixteen years, during which her husband governed the province of -Egypt, she was never beheld in public, never admitted any of the -natives to her house, never {351} begged any favour of her husband, -and never allowed anyone to beg one of her. Thus it came to pass -that a gossiping province, ingenious in inventing scandal about its -rulers, in which even the blameless often incurred disgrace, respected -her as a singular example of uprightness,[7] never made free with -her name,—a remarkable piece of self-restraint among a people who -will risk everything rather than forego a jest,—and that at the -present time it hopes for another governor’s wife like her, although -it has no reasonable expectation of ever seeing one. It would have -been greatly to her credit if the province had approved her conduct -for a space of sixteen years: it was much more creditable to her -that it knew not of her existence. I do not remind you of this in -order to celebrate her praises, for to take such scanty notice of -them is to curtail them, but in order that you may understand the -magnanimity of a woman who has not yielded either to ambition or -to avarice, those twin attendants and scourges of authority, who, -when her ship was disabled and her own death was impending, was not -restrained by fear from keeping fast hold of her husband’s dead -body, and who sought not how to escape from the wreck, but how to -carry him out of it with her. You must now show a virtue equal to -hers, recall your mind from grief, and take care that no one may -think that you are sorry that you have borne a son. - -XX. However, since it is necessary, whatever you do, that your -thoughts should sometimes revert to me, and that I should now be -present to your mind more often than your other children, not because -they are less dear to you, but because it is natural to lay one’s -hands more often upon a place that pains one; learn how you are to -think of me: I am as joyous and cheerful as in my best days: indeed -these {352} days are my best, because my mind is relieved from all -pressure of business and is at leisure to attend to its own affairs, -and at one time amuses itself with lighter studies, at another -eagerly presses its inquiries into its own nature and that of the -universe: first it considers the countries of the world and their -position: then the character of the sea which flows between them, -and the alternate ebbings and flowings of its tides; next it -investigates all the terrors which hang between heaven and earth, -the region which is torn asunder by thunderings, lightnings, gusts -of wind, vapour, showers of snow and hail. Finally, having traversed -every one of the realms below, it soars to the highest heaven, -enjoys the noblest of all spectacles, that of things divine, and, -remembering itself to be eternal, reviews all that has been and all -that will be for ever and ever. - - -[1] Corsica. - -[2] Seneca himself was of Spanish extraction. - -[3] Qu., oysters from Britain. - -[4] The allusion is evidently to Regulus. - -[5] I think Madvig’s _ademisset_ spoils the sense. _Dedisset_ means: -“when you bid me mourn the loss of the Gracchi you bid me blame -fortune for having given me such sons.” “’Tis better to have loved -and lost than to have never loved at all.”—J. E. B. M. - -[6] Alcestis. - -[7] The context shows that _sanctitas_ is opposed to “rapacity,” -“taking bribes,” like the Celaeno of Juv. viii.—J. E. B. M. - - - - -{353} - -THE TWELFTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED -TO POLYBIUS. - -OF CONSOLATION. - - -I. .... compared with ours is firm and lasting; but if you transfer -it to the domain of Nature, which destroys everything and calls -everything back to the place from whence it came, it is transitory. -What, indeed, have mortal hands made that is not mortal? The seven -wonders of the world, and any even greater wonders which the ambition -of later ages has constructed, will be seen some day levelled with -the ground. So it is: nothing lasts for ever, few things even last -for long: all are susceptible of decay in one way or another. The -ways in which things come to an end are manifold, but yet everything -that has a beginning has an end also. Some threaten the world with -death, and, though you may think the thought to be impious, this -entire universe, containing gods and men and all their works will -some day be swept away and plunged a second time into its original -darkness and chaos. Weep, if you can, after this, over the loss of -any individual life! Can we mourn the ashes of Carthage, Numantia, -Corinth, or any city that has fallen from a high estate, when we -know that the world must perish, albeit it has no place {354} into -which it can fall. Weep, if you can, because Fate has not spared -you, she who some day will dare to work so great a wickedness! Who -can be so haughtily and peevishly arrogant as to expect that this -law of nature by which everything is brought to an end will be set -aside in his own case, and that his own house will be exempted from -the ruin which menaces the whole world itself? It is, therefore, a -great consolation to reflect that what has happened to us has -happened to every one before us and will happen to every one after -us. In my opinion, nature has made her cruellest acts affect all -men alike, in order that the universality of their lot might console -them for its hardship. - -II. It will also be no small assistance to you to reflect that grief -can do no good either to him whom you have lost or to yourself, and -you would not wish to protract what is useless: for if we could -gain anything by sorrow, I should not refuse to bestow upon your -misfortunes whatever tears my own have left at my disposal: I would -force some drops to flow from these eyes, exhausted as they are -with weeping over my own domestic afflictions, were it likely to -be of any service to you. Why do you hesitate? let us lament together, -and I will even make this quarrel my own:—“Fortune, whom every one -thinks most unjust, you seemed hitherto to have restrained yourself -from attacking one who by your favour had become the object of such -universal respect that—rare distinction for any one—his prosperity -had excited no jealousy: but now, behold! you have dealt him the -cruellest wound which, while Caesar lives, he could receive, and -after reconnoitring him from all sides you have discovered that on -this point alone he was exposed to your strokes. What else indeed -could you have done to him? should you take away his wealth? he -never was its slave: now he has even as far as possible put it away -from him, and the chief thing that he has gained by his unrivalled -facilities {355} for amassing money has been to despise it. Should -you take away his friends? you knew that he was of so loveable a -disposition that he could easily gain others to replace those whom -he might lose: for of all the powerful officers of the Imperial -household he seems to me to be the only one whom all men wish to -have for their friend without considering how advantageous his -friendship would be. Should you take away his reputation? it is so -firmly established, that even you could not shake it. Should you -take away his health? you knew that his mind was so grounded on -philosophical studies, in whose schools he was born as well as bred, -that it would rise superior to any sufferings of the body. Should -you take away his breath? how small an injury would that be to him? -fame promised his genius one of the longest of lives: he himself -has taken care that his better part should remain alive, and has -guarded himself against death by the composition of his admirable -works of eloquence: as long as literature shall be held in any -honour, as long as the vigour of the Latin or the grace of the Greek -language shall endure, he will flourish together with their greatest -writers, with whose genius he has measured, or, if his modesty will -not let me say this, has connected his own. This, then, was the -only means you could devise of doing him a great injury. The better -a man is, the more frequently he is wont to suffer from your -indiscriminate rage, you who are to be feared even when you are -bestowing benefits upon one. How little it would have cost you to -avert this blow from one upon whom your favours seemed to be conferred -according to some regular plan, and not to be flung at random in -your wonted fashion!” - -III. Let us add, if you please, to these grounds of complaint the -disposition of the youth himself, cut off in the midst of its first -growth. He was worthy to be your brother: you most certainly did -not deserve to be given {356} any pain through your brother, even -though he had been unworthy. All men alike bear witness to his -merits: he is regretted for your sake, and is praised for his own. -He had no qualities which you would not be glad to recognize. You -would indeed have been good to a worse brother, but to him your -fraternal love was given all the more freely because in him it found -so fitting a field for its exercise. No one ever was made to feel -his influence by receiving wrongs at his hands, he never used the -fact of your being his brother to threaten any one: he had moulded -his character after the pattern of your modesty, and reflected how -great a glory and how great a burden you were to your family: the -burden he was able to sustain; but, O pitiless Fate, always unjust -to virtue—before your brother could taste the happiness of his -position, he was called away. I am well aware that I express my -feelings inadequately; for nothing is harder than to find words -which adequately represent great grief: still, let us again lament -for him, if it be of any use to do so:—“What did you mean, Fortune, -by being so unjust and so savage? did you so soon repent you of -your favour? What cruelty it was to fall upon brothers, to break -up so loving a circle by so deadly an attack; why did you bring -mourning into a house so plenteously stocked with admirable youths, -in which no brother came short of the high standard of the rest, -and without any cause pluck one of them away? So, then, scrupulous -innocency of life, old-fashioned frugality, the power of amassing -vast wealth wielded with the greatest self-denial, a true and -imperishable love of literature, a mind free from the least spot -of sin, all avail nothing: Polybius is in mourning, and, warned by -the fate of one brother what he may have to dread for the rest, he -fears for the very persons who soothe his grief. O shame! Polybius -is in mourning, and mourns even though he still enjoys the favour -of Caesar. No doubt, Fortune, what you aimed at in {357} your -impotent rage was to prove that no one could be protected from your -attacks, not even by Caesar himself.” - -IV. We might go on blaming fate much longer, but we cannot alter -it: it stands harsh and inexorable: no one can move it by reproaches, -by tears, or by justice. Fate never spares any one, never makes -allowances to any one. Let us, then, refrain from unprofitable -tears: for our grief will carry us away to join him sooner than it -will bring him back to us: and if it tortures us without helping -us, we ought to lay it aside as soon as possible, and restore the -tone of our minds after their indulgence in that vain solace and -the bitter luxury of woe: for unless reason puts an end to our -tears, fortune will not do so. Look around, I pray you, upon all -mortals: everywhere there is ample and constant reason for weeping: -one man is driven to daily labour by toilsome poverty, another is -tormented by never-resting ambition, another fears the very riches -that he once wished for, and suffers from the granting of his own -prayer: one man is made wretched by loneliness, another by labour, -another by the crowds which always besiege his antechamber. This -man mourns because he has children, that one because he has lost -them. Tears will fail us sooner than causes for shedding them. Do -you not see what sort of a life it must be that Nature has promised -to us men when she makes us weep as soon as we are born? We begin -life in this fashion, and all the chain of years that follow it is -in harmony with it. Thus we pass our lives, and consequently we -ought to be sparing in doing what we have to do so often, and when -we look back upon the mass of sorrows that hangs over us, we ought, -if not to end our tears, at any rate to reserve them. There is -nothing that we ought to husband more carefully than this, which -we are so often obliged to expend. - -V. It will also be no small assistance to you to consider that there -is no one to whom your grief is more offensive {358} than he upon -whom it is nominally bestowed: he either does not wish you to suffer -or does not understand why you suffer. There is, therefore, no -reason for a service which is useless if it is not felt by him who -is the object of it, and which is displeasing to him if it is. I -can boldly affirm that there is no one in the whole world who derives -any pleasure from your tears. What then? do you suppose that your -brother has a feeling against you which no one else has, that he -wishes you to be injured by your self-torture, that he desires to -separate you from the business of your life, that is, from philosophy -and from Caesar? that is not likely: for he always gave way to you -as a brother, respected you as a parent, courted you as a superior. -He wishes to be fondly remembered by you, but not to be a source -of agony to you. Why, then, should you insist upon pining away with -a grief which, if the dead have any feelings, your brother wishes -to bring to an end? If it were any other brother about whose affection -there could be any question, I should put all this vaguely, and -say, “If your brother wishes you to be tortured with endless mourning, -he does not deserve such affection: if he does not wish it, dismiss -the grief which affects you both: an unnatural brother ought not, -a good brother would not wish to be so mourned for,” but with one -whose brotherly love has been so clearly proved, we may be quite -sure that nothing could hurt him more than that you should be hurt -by his loss, that it should agonize you, that your eyes, most -undeserving as they are of such a fate, should be by the same cause -continually filled and drained of never-ceasing tears. - -Nothing however will restrain your loving nature from these useless -tears so effectually as the reflexion that you ought to show your -brothers an example by bearing this outrage of fortune bravely. You -ought to imitate great generals in times of disaster, when they are -careful to affect {359} a cheerful demeanour, and conceal misfortunes -by a counterfeited joyousness, lest, if the soldiers saw their -leader cast down, they should themselves become dispirited. This -must now be done by you also. Put on a countenance that does not -reflect your feelings, and if you possibly can, cast out conceal -it within you and hide it away so that it may not be seen, and take -care that your brothers, who will think everything honourable that -they see you doing, imitate you in this and take courage from the -sight of your looks. It is your duty to be both their comfort and -their consoler; but you will have no power to check their grief if -you humour your own. - -VI. It may also keep you from excessive grief if you remind yourself -that nothing which you do can be done in secret: all men agree in -regarding you as an important personage, and you must keep up this -character: you are encompassed by all that mass of offerers of -consolation who all are peering into your mind to learn how much -strength it has to resist grief, and whether you merely know how -to avail yourself cunningly of prosperity, or whether you can also -bear adversity with a manly spirit: the expression of your very -eyes is watched. Those who are able to conceal their feelings may -indulge them more freely; but you are not free to have any secresy: -your fortune has set you in so brilliant a position, that nothing -which you do can be hid: all men will know how you have borne this -wound of yours, whether you laid down your arms at the first shock -or whether you stood your ground. Long ago the love of Caesar raised -you, and your own literary pursuits brought you, to the highest -rank in the state: nothing vulgar, nothing mean befits you: yet -what can be meaner or more womanish than to make oneself a victim -to grief? Although your sorrow is as great as that of your brothers, -yet you may not indulge it as much as they: the ideas which the -public have formed about your philosophic {360} learning and your -character make many things impossible for you. Men demand much, and -expect much from you: you ought not to have drawn all eyes upon -yourself, if you wished to be allowed to act as you pleased: as it -is, you must make good that of which you have given promise. All -those, who praise the works of your genius, who make copies of them, -who need your genius if they do not need your fortune, are as guards -set over your mind: you cannot, therefore, ever do anything unworthy -of the character of a thorough philosopher and sage, without many -men feeling sorry that they ever admired you. You may not weep -beyond reason: nor is this the only thing that you may not do: you -may not so much as remain asleep after daybreak, or retreat from -the noisy troubles of public business to the peaceful repose of the -country, or refresh yourself with a pleasure tour when wearied by -constant attendance to the duties of your toilsome post, or amuse -yourself with beholding various shows, or even arrange your day -according to your own wish. Many things are forbidden to you which -are permitted to the poorest beggars that lie about in holes and -corners. A great fortune is a great slavery; you may not do anything -according to your wish: you must give audiences to all those thousands -of people, you must take charge of all those petitions: you must -cheer yourself up, in order that all this mass of business which -flows hither from every part of the world may be offered in due -order for the consideration of our excellent emperor. I repeat, you -yourself are forbidden to weep, that you may be able to listen to -so many weeping petitioners: your own tears must be dried, in order -that the tears of those who are in peril and who desire to obtain -the gracious pardon of the kindest-hearted of Caesars may be dried. - -VII. These reflexions will serve you as partial remedies for your -grief, but if you wish to forget it altogether, remember Caesar: -think with what loyalty, with what {361} industry you are bound to -requite the favours which he has shown you: you will then see that -you can no more sink beneath your burden than could he of whom the -myths tells us, he whose shoulders upheld the world. Even Caesar, -who may do all things, may not do many things for this very reason: -his watchfulness protects all men’s sleep, his labour guarantees -their leisure, his toil ensures their pleasures, his work preserves -their holidays. On the day on which Caesar devoted his services to -the universe, he lost them for himself, and like the planets which -ever unrestingly pursue their course, he can never halt or attend -to any affair of his own. After a certain fashion this prohibition -is imposed upon you also; you may not consider your own interests, -or devote yourself to your own studies: while Caesar owns the world, -you cannot allow either joy or grief, or anything else to occupy -any part of you: you owe your entire self to Caesar. Add to this -that, since you have always declared that Caesar was dearer to you -than your own life, you have no right to complain of misfortune as -long as Caesar is alive: while he is safe all your friends are -alive, you have lost nothing, your eyes ought not only to be dry, -but glad. In him is your all, he stands in the place of all else -to you: you are not grateful enough for your present happy state -(which God forbid that one of your most wise and loyal disposition -should be) if you permit yourself to weep at all while Caesar is -safe. - -VIII. I will now point out to you yet another remedy, of a more -domestic, though not of a more efficacious character. Your sorrow -is most to be feared when you have retired to your own home: for -as long as your divinity is before your eyes, it can find no means -of access to you, but Caesar will possess your entire being; when -you have left his presence, grief, as though it then had an opportunity -of attack, will lie in ambush for you in your loneliness, and creep -by degrees over your mind as it rests from its labours. {362} You -ought not, therefore, to allow any moment to be unoccupied by -literary pursuits: at such times let literature repay to you the -debt which your long and faithful love has laid upon it, let it -claim you for its high priest and worshipper: at such times let -Homer[1] and Virgil be much in your company, those poets to whom -the human race owes as much as every one owes to you, and they -especially, because you have made them known to a wider circle than -that for which they wrote. All time which you entrust to their -keeping will be safe. At such times, as far as you are able, compile -an account of your Caesar’s acts, that they may be read by all -future ages in a panegyric written by one of his own household: for -he himself will afford you both the noblest subject and the noblest -example for putting together and composing a history. I dare not -go so far as to advise you to write in your usual elegant style a -version of Aesop’s fables, a work which no Roman intellect has -hitherto attempted. It is hard, no doubt, for a mind which has -received so rude a shock to betake itself so quickly to these -livelier pursuits: but if it is able to pass from more serious -studies to these lighter ones, you must regard it as a proof that -it has recovered its strength, and is itself again. In the former -case, although it may suffer and hang back, still it will be led -on by the serious nature of the subject under consideration to take -an interest in it: but, unless it has thoroughly recovered, it will -not endure to treat of subjects which must be written of in a -cheerful spirit. You ought, therefore, first to exercise your mind -upon grave studies, and then to enliven it with gayer ones. - -{363} - -IX. It will also be a great solace to you if you often ask yourself: -“Am I grieving on my own account or on that of him who is gone? if -on my own, I have no right to boast of my affectionate sensibility; -grief is only excusable as long as it is honourable; but when it -is only caused by personal interests, it no longer springs from -tenderness: nothing can be less becoming to a good man than to make -a calculation about his grief for his brother. If I grieve on his -account, I must necessarily take one of the two following views: -if the dead retain no feeling whatever, my brother has escaped from -all the troubles of life, has been restored to the place which he -occupied before his birth, and, being free from every kind of ill, -can neither fear, nor desire, nor suffer: what madness then for me -never to cease grieving for one who will never grieve again? If the -dead have any feeling, then my brother is now like one who has been -let out of a prison in which he has long been confined, who at last -is free and his own master, and who enjoys himself, amuses himself -with viewing the works of Nature, and looks down from above the -earth upon all human things, while he looks at things divine, whose -meaning he has long sought in vain, from a much nearer standpoint. -Why then am I wasting away with grief for one who is either in bliss -or non-existent? it would be envy to weep for one who is in bliss, -it would be madness to weep for one who has no existence whatever.” -Are you affected by the thought that he appears to have been deprived -of great blessings just at the moment when they came crowding upon -him? after thinking how much he has lost, call to mind how much -more he has ceased to fear: anger will never more wring his heart, -disease will not crush him, suspicion will not disquiet him, the -gnawing pain of envy which we feel at the successes of others will -not attend him, terror will not make him wretched, the fickleness -of fortune who quickly transfers her favours from one man {364} to -another will not alarm him. If you reckon it up properly, he has -been spared more than he has lost. He will not enjoy wealth, or -your influence at Court, or his own: he will not receive benefits, -and will not confer them: do you imagine him to be unhappy, because -he has lost these things, or happy because he does not miss them? -Believe me, he who does not need good fortune is happier than he -on whom it attends: all those good things which charm us by the -attractive but unreal pleasures which they afford, such as money, -high office, influence, and many other things which dazzle the -stupid greed of mankind, require hard labour to keep, are regarded -by others with bitter jealousy, and are more of a menace than an -advantage to those who are bedecked and encumbered by them. They -are slippery and uncertain; one never can enjoy them in comfort; -for, even setting aside anxiety about the future, the present -management of great prosperity is an uneasy task. If we are to -believe some profound seekers after truth, life is all torment: we -are flung, as it were, into this deep and rough sea, whose tides -ebb and flow, at one time raising us aloft by sudden accessions of -fortune, at another bringing down low by still greater losses, and -for ever tossing us about, never letting us rest on firm ground. -We roll and plunge upon the waves, and sometimes strike against one -another, sometimes are shipwrecked, always are in terror. For those -who sail upon this stormy sea, exposed as it is to every gale, there -is no harbour save death. Do not, then, grudge your brother his -rest: he has at last become free, safe, and immortal: he leaves -surviving him Caesar and all his family, yourself, and his and your -brothers. He left Fortune before she had ceased to regard him with -favour, while she stood still by him, offering him gifts with a -full hand. He now ranges free and joyous through the boundless -heavens; he has left this poor and low-lying region, and has soared -{365} upwards to that place, whatever it may be, which receives in -its happy bosom the souls which have been set free from the chains -of matter: he now roams there at liberty, and enjoys with the keenest -delight all the blessings of Nature. You are mistaken! your brother -has not lost the light of day, but has obtained a more enduring -light: whither he has gone, we all alike must go: why then do we -weep for his fate? He has not left us, but has gone on before us. -Believe me, there is great happiness in a happy death. We cannot -be sure of anything even for one whole day: since the truth is so -dark and hard to come at, who can tell whether death came to your -brother out of malice or out of kindness? - -X. One who is as just in all things as you are, must find comfort -in the thought that no wrong has been done you by the loss of so -noble a brother, but that you have received a benefit by having -been permitted for so long a time to enjoy his affection. He who -will not allow his benefactor to choose his own way of bestowing a -gift upon him, is unjust: he who does not reckon what he receives -as gain, and yet reckons what he gives back again as loss, is greedy: -he who says that he has been wronged, because his pleasure has come -to an end, is ungrateful: he who thinks that we gain nothing from -good things beyond the present enjoyment of them, is a fool, because -he finds no pleasure in past joys, and does not regard those which -are gone as his most certain possessions, since he need not fear -that they will come to an end. A man limits his pleasures too -narrowly if he believes that he enjoys those things only which he -touches and sees, if he counts the having enjoyed them for nothing: -for all pleasure quickly leaves us, seeing that it flows away, flits -across our lives, and is gone almost before it has come. We ought, -therefore, to make our mind travel back over past time, to bring -back whatever we once took pleasure in, and frequently to ruminate -over it {366} in our thoughts: the remembrance of pleasures is truer -and more trustworthy than their reality. Regard it, then, among -your greatest blessings that you have had an excellent brother: you -need not think for how much longer you might have had him, but for -how long you did have him. Nature gave him to you, as she gives -others to other brothers, not as an absolute property, but as a -loan: afterwards when she thought proper she took him back again, -and followed her own rules of action, instead of waiting until you -had indulged your love to satiety. If any one were to be indignant -at having to repay a loan of money, especially if he had been allowed -to use it without having to pay any interest, would he not be thought -an unreasonable man? Nature gave your brother his life, just as she -gave you yours: exercising her lawful rights, she has chosen to ask -one of you to repay her loan before the other: she cannot be blamed -for this, for you knew the conditions on which you received it: you -must blame the greedy hopes of mortal men’s minds, which every now -and then forget what Nature is, and never remember their own lot -unless reminded of it. Rejoice, then, that you have had so good a -brother, and be grateful for having had the use and enjoyment of -him, though it was for a shorter time than you wished. Reflect that -what you have had of him was most delightful, that your having lost -him is an accident common to mankind. There is nothing more -inconsistent than that a man should grieve that so good a brother -was not long enough with him, and should not rejoice that he -nevertheless has been with him. - -XI. “But,” you say, “he was taken away unexpectedly.” Every man is -deceived by his own willingness to believe what he wishes, and he -chooses to forget that those whom he loves are mortal: yet Nature -gives us clear proofs that she will not suspend her laws in favour -of any one: the funeral processions of our friends and of strangers -alike {367} pass daily before our eyes, yet we take no notice of -them, and when an event happens which our whole life warns us will -some day happen, we call it sudden. This is not, therefore, the -injustice of fate, but the perversity and insatiable universal -greediness of the human mind, which is indignant at having to leave -a place to which it was only admitted on sufferance. How far more -righteous was he who, on hearing of the death of his son, made a -speech worthy of a great man, saying: “When I begat him, I knew -that he would die some day.” Indeed, you need not be surprised at -the son of such a man being able to die bravely. He did not receive -the tidings of his son’s death as news: for what is there new in a -man’s dying, when his whole life is merely a journey towards death? -“When I begat him, I knew that he would die some day,” said he: and -then he added, what showed even more wisdom and courage, “It was -for this that I brought him up.” It is for this that we have all -been brought up: every one who is brought into life is intended to -die. Let us enjoy what is given to us, and give it back when it is -asked for: the Fates lay their hands on some men at some times, and -on other men at other times, but they will never pass any one by -altogether. Our mind ought always to be on the alert, and while it -ought never to fear what is certain to happen, it ought always to -be ready for what may happen at any time. Why need I tell you of -generals and the children of generals, of men ennobled by many -consulships and triumphs, who have succumbed to pitiless fate? whole -kingdoms together with their kings, whole nations with all their -component tribes, have all submitted to their doom. All men, nay, -all things look forward to an end of their days: yet all do not -come to the same end: one man loses his life in the midst of his -career, another at the very beginning of it, another seems hardly -able to free himself from it when worn out with extreme old age, -and eager to {368} be released: we are all going to the same place, -but we all go thither at different times, I know not whether it is -more foolish not to know the law of mortality, or more presumptuous -to refuse to obey it. Come, take into your hands the poems[2] of -whichever you please of those two authors upon whom your genius has -expended so much labour, whom you have so well paraphrased, that -although the structure of the verse be removed, its charm nevertheless -is preserved; for you have transferred them from one language to -another so well as to effect the most difficult matter of all, that -of making all the beauties of the original reappear in a foreign -speech: among their works you will find no volume which will not -offer you numberless instances of the vicissitudes of human life, -of the uncertainty of events, and of tears shed for various reasons. -Read with what fire you have thundered out their swelling phrases: -you will feel ashamed of suddenly failing and falling short of the -elevation of their magnificent language. Do not commit the fault -of making every one, who according to his ability admires your -writings, ask how so frail a mind can have formed such stable and -well-connected ideas. - -XII. Turn yourself away from these thoughts which torment you, and -look rather at those numerous and powerful sources of consolation -which you possess: look at your excellent brothers, look at your -wife and your son. It is to guarantee the safety of all these that -Fortune[3] has struck you in this quarter: you have many left in -whom you can take comfort. Guard yourself from the shame of letting -all men think that a single grief has more power with you than these -many consolations. You see all of them cast down into the same -despondency as yourself, and you know that they cannot help you, -nay, that on the other hand they look to {369} you to encourage -them: wherefore, the less learning and the less intellect they -possess, the more vigorously you ought to withstand the evil which -has fallen upon you all. The very fact of one’s grief being shared -by many persons acts as a consolation, because if it be distributed -among such a number the share of it which falls upon you must be -small. I shall never cease to recall your thoughts to Caesar. While -he governs the earth, and shows how far better the empire may be -maintained by kindnesses than by arms, while he presides over the -affairs of mankind, there is no danger of your feeling that you -have lost anything: in this fact alone you will find ample help and -ample consolation; raise yourself up, and fix your eyes upon Caesar -whenever tears rise to them; they will become dry on beholding that -greatest and most brilliant light; his splendour will attract them -and firmly attach them to himself, so that they are able to see -nothing else. He whom you behold both by day and by night, from -whom your mind never deviates to meaner matters, must occupy your -thoughts and be your defence against Fortune; indeed, so kind and -gracious as he is towards all his followers that he has already, I -doubt not, laid many healing balms upon this wound of yours, and -furnished you with many antidotes for your sorrow. Why, even had -he done nothing of the kind, is not the mere sight and thought of -Caesar in itself your greatest consolation? May the gods and goddesses -long spare him to the earth: may he rival the deeds of the Emperor -Augustus, and surpass him in length of days! as long as he remains -among mortals, may he never be reminded that any of his house are -mortal: may he train up his son by long and faithful service to be -the ruler of the Roman people, and see him share his father’s power -before he succeeds to it: may the day on which his kindred shall -claim him for heaven be far distant, and may our grandchildren alone -be alive to see it. - -{370} - -XIII. Fortune, refrain your hands from him, and show your power -over him only in doing him good: allow him to heal the long sickness -from which mankind has suffered; to replace and restore whatever -has been shattered by the frenzy of our late sovereign: may this -star, which has shed its rays upon a world overthrown and cast into -darkness, ever shine brightly: may he give peace to Germany, open -Britain to us, and lead through the city triumphs, both over the -nations whom his fathers conquered, and over new ones. Of these his -clemency, the first of his many virtues, gives me hopes of being a -spectator: for he has not so utterly cast me down that he will never -raise me up again; nay, he has not cast me down at all; rather he -has supported me when I was struck by evil fortune and was tottering, -and has gently used his godlike hand to break my headlong fall: he -pleaded with the Senate on my behalf, and not only gave me my life -but even begged it for me. He will see to my cause: let him judge -my cause to be such as he would desire; let his justice pronounce -it good or his clemency so regard it: his kindness to me will be -equal in either case, whether he knows me to be innocent or chooses -that I should be thought so. Meanwhile it is a great comfort to me -for my own miseries to behold his pardons travelling throughout the -world: even from the corner in which I am confined his mercy has -unearthed and restored to light many exiles who had been buried and -forgotten here for long years, and I have no fear that I alone shall -be passed over by it. He best knows the time at which he ought to -show favour to each man: I will use my utmost efforts to prevent -his having to blush when he comes to me. O how blessed is your -clemency, Caesar, which makes exiles live more peacefully during -your reign than princes did in that of Gaius! We do not tremble or -expect the fatal stroke every hour, nor are we terrified whenever -a ship comes in sight: you have set bounds to the cruelty of Fortune -towards {371} us, and have given us present peace and hopes of a -happier future. You may indeed be sure that those thunderbolts alone -are just which are worshipped even by those who are struck by them. - -XIV. Thus this prince, who is the universal consoler of all men, -has, unless I am altogether mistaken, already revived your spirit -and applied more powerful remedies to so severe a wound than I can: -he has already strengthened you in every way: his singularly retentive -memory has already furnished you with all the examples which will -produce tranquillity: his practised eloquence has already displayed -before you all the precepts of sages. No one therefore could console -you as well as he: when he speaks his words have greater weight, -as though they were the utterances of an oracle: his divine authority -will crush all the strength of your grief. Think, then, that he -speaks to you as follows:—“Fortune has not chosen you as the only -man in the world to receive so severe a blow: there is no house in -all the earth, and never has been one, that has not something to -mourn for: I will pass over examples taken from the common herd, -which, while they are of less importance, are also endless in number, -and I will direct your attention to the Calendar and the State -Chronicles. Do you see all these images which fill the hall of the -Caesars? there is not one of these men who was not especially -afflicted by domestic sorrows: no one of those men who shine there -as the ornament of the ages was not either tortured by grief for -some of his family or most bitterly mourned for by those whom he -left behind. Why need I remind you of Scipio Africanus, who heard -the news of his brother’s death when he was himself in exile? he -who saved his brother from prison could not save him from his fate. -Yet all men saw how impatient Africanus’s brotherly affection was -even of equal law: on the same day on which Scipio Africanus rescued -his brother from the {372} hands of the apparitor, he, although not -holding any office, protested against the action of the tribune of -the people. He mourned for his brother as magnanimously as he had -defended him. Why need I remind you of Scipio Aemilianus,[4] who -almost at one and the same time beheld his father’s triumph and the -funeral of his two brothers? yet, although a stripling and hardly -more than a boy, he bore the sudden bereavement which befel his -family at the very time of Paulus’s triumph with all the courage -which beseemed one who was born that Rome might not be without a -Scipio and that she might be without a Carthage. - -XV. Why should I speak of the intimacy of the two Luculli, which -was broken only by their death? or of the Pompeii? whom the cruelty -of Fortune did not even allow to perish by the same catastrophe; -for Sextus Pompeius in the first place survived his sister,[5] by -whose death the firmly knit bond of peace in the Roman empire was -broken, and he also survived his noble brother, whom Fortune had -raised so high in order that she might cast him down from as great -a height as she had already cast down his father; yet after this -great misfortune Sextus Pompeius was able not only to endure his -grief but even to make war. Innumerable instances occur to me of -brothers who were separated by death: indeed on the other hand we -see very few pairs of brothers growing old together: however, I -shall content myself with examples from my own family. No one can -be so devoid of feeling or of reason as to complain of Fortune’s -having thrown him into mourning when he learns that she has coveted -the tears of the Caesars themselves. The Emperor Augustus lost his -darling sister Octavia, and though Nature destined him for heaven, -yet she did not relax her laws to spare him from mourning while on -earth: nay, he suffered every kind of bereavement, {373} losing his -sister’s son,[6] who was intended to be his heir. In fine, not to -mention his sorrows in detail, he lost his son-in-law, his children, -and his grandchildren, and, while he remained among men, no mortal -was more often reminded that he was a man. Yet his mind, which was -able to bear all things, bore all these heavy sorrows, and the -blessed Augustus was the conqueror, not only of foreign nations, -but also of his own sorrows. Gaius Caesar,[7] the grandson of the -blessed Augustus, my maternal great uncle, in the first years of -manhood, when Prince of the Roman Youth, as he was preparing for -the Parthian war, lost his darling brother Lucius[8] who was also -‘Prince of the Roman Youth,’ and suffered more thereby in his mind -than he did afterwards in his body, though he bore both afflictions -with the greatest piety and fortitude. Tiberius Caesar, my paternal -uncle, lost his younger brother Drusus Germanicus,[9] my father, -when he was opening out the innermost fastnesses of Germany, and -bringing the fiercest tribes under the dominion of the Roman empire; -he embraced him and received his last kiss, but he nevertheless -restrained not only his own grief but that of others, and when the -whole army, not merely sorrowful but heartbroken, claimed the corpse -of their Drusus for themselves, he made them grieve only as it -became Romans to grieve, {374} and taught them that they must observe -military discipline not only in fighting but also in mourning. He -could not have checked the tears of others had he not first repressed -his own. - -XVI. “Marcus Antonius, my grandfather, who was second to none save -his conqueror, received the news of his brother’s execution at the -very time when the state was at his disposal, and when, as a member -of the triumvirate, he saw no one in the world superior to himself -in power, nay, when, with the exception of his two colleagues, every -man was subordinate to himself. O wanton Fortune, what sport you -make for yourself out of human sorrows! At the very time when Marcus -Antonius was enthroned with power of life and death over his -countrymen, Marcus Antonius’s brother was being led to his death: -yet Antonius bore this cruel wound with the same greatness of mind -with which he had endured all his other crosses; and he mourned for -his brother by offering the blood of twenty legions to his manes. -However, to pass by all other instances, not to speak of the other -deaths which have occurred in my own house. Fortune has twice -assailed me through the death of a brother; she has twice learned -that she could wound me but could not overthrow me. I lost my brother -Germanicus, whom I loved in a manner which any one will understand -if he thinks how affectionate brothers love one another; yet I so -restrained my passion of grief as neither to leave undone anything -which a good brother could be called upon to do, nor yet to do -anything which a sovereign could be blamed for doing.” - -Think, then, that our common parent quotes these instances to you, -and that he points out to you how nothing is respected or held -inviolable by Fortune, who actually dares to send out funeral -processions from the very house in which she will have to look for -gods: so let no one be surprised at her committing any act of cruelty -{375} or injustice; for how could she show any humanity or moderation -in her dealings with private families, when her pitiless fury has -so often hung the very throne[10] itself with black? She will not -change her habits even though reproached, not by my voice alone, -but by that of the entire nation: she will hold on her course in -spite of all prayers and complaints. Such has Fortune always been, -and such she ever will be in connexion with human affairs: she has -never shrunk from attacking anything, and she will never let anything -alone: she will rage everywhere terribly, as she has always been -wont to do: she will dare to enter for evil purposes into those -houses whose entrance lies through the temples of the gods, and -will hang signs of mourning upon laurelled door-posts. However, if -she has not yet determined to destroy the human race: if she still -looks with favour upon the Roman nation, may our public and private -prayers prevail upon her to regard as sacred from her violence this -prince, whom all men think to be sacred, who has been granted them -by heaven to give them rest after their misfortunes: let her learn -clemency from him, and let the mildest of all sovereigns teach her -mildness. - -XVII. You ought, therefore, to fix your eyes upon all the persons -whom I have just mentioned, who have either been deified or were -nearly related to those who have been deified, and when Fortune -lays her hands upon you to bear it calmly, seeing that she does not -even respect those by whose names we swear. It is your duty to -imitate their constancy in enduring and triumphing over suffering, -as far as it is permitted to a mere man to follow in the footsteps -of the immortals. Albeit in all other matters rank and birth make -great distinctions between men, yet virtue is open to all; she -despises no one provided he thinks himself {376} worthy to possess -her. Surely you cannot do better than follow the example of those -who, though they might have been angry at not being exempt from -this evil, nevertheless have decided to regard this, the only thing -which brings them down to the level of other men, not as a wrong -done to themselves, but as the law of our mortal nature, and to -bear what befals them without undue bitterness and wrath, and yet -in no base or cowardly spirit: for it is not human not to feel our -sorrows, while it is unmanly not to bear them. When I glance through -the roll of all the Caesars whom fate has bereaved of sisters or -brothers, I cannot pass over that one who is unworthy to figure on -the list of Caesars, whom Nature produced to be the ruin and the -shame of the human race, who utterly wrecked and destroyed the state -which is now recovering under the gentle rule of the most benign -of princes. On losing his sister Drusilla, Gaius Caesar, a man who -could neither mourn nor rejoice as becomes a prince, shrank from -seeing and speaking to his countrymen, was not present at his -sister’s funeral, did not pay her the conventional tribute of -respect, but tried to forget the sorrows caused by this most -distressing death by playing at dice in his Alban villa, and by -sitting on the judgment-seat, and the like customary engagements. -What a disgrace to the Empire! a Roman emperor solaced himself by -gambling for his grief at the loss of his sister! This same Gaius, -with frantic levity, at one time let his beard and hair grow long, -at another wandered aimlessly along the coast of Italy and Sicily. -He never clearly made up his mind whether he wished his sister to -be mourned for or to be worshipped, and during all the time that -he was raising temples and shrines[11] in her honour he punished -those who did not manifest sufficient {377} sorrow with the most -cruel tortures:[12] for his mind was so ill-balanced, that he was -as much cast down by adversity as he was unbecomingly elated and -puffed up by success. Far be it from every Roman to follow such an -example, either to divert his mind from his grief by unreasonable -amusements, to stimulate it by unseemly squalor and neglect, or to -be so inhuman as to console himself by taking pleasure in the -sufferings of others. - -XVIII. You, however, need change none of your ordinary habits, since -you have taught yourself to love those studies which, while they -are pre-eminently fitted for perfecting our happiness, at the same -time teach us how we may bear misfortune most lightly, and which -are at the same time a man’s greatest honour and greatest comfort. -Now, therefore, immerse yourself even more deeply in your studies, -now surround your mind with them like fortifications, so that grief -may not find any place at which it can gain entrance. At the same -time, prolong the remembrance of your brother by inserting some -memoir of him among your other writings: for that is the only sort -of monument that can be erected by man which no storm can injure, -no time destroy. The others, which consist of piles of stone, masses -of marble, or huge mounds of earth heaped on high, cannot preserve -his memory for long, because they themselves perish; but the memorials -which genius raises are everlasting. Lavish these upon your brother, -embalm him in these: you will do better to immortalise him by an -everlasting work of genius than to mourn over him with useless -grief. As for Fortune herself, although I cannot just now {378} -plead her cause before you, because all that she has given us is -now hateful to you, because she has taken something away from you, -yet I will plead her cause as soon as time shall have rendered you -a more impartial judge of her action: indeed she has bestowed much -upon you to make amends for the injury which she has done you, and -she will give more hereafter by way of atonement for it: and, after -all, it was she herself who gave you this brother whom she has taken -away. Forbear, then, to display your abilities against your own -self, or to take part with your grief against yourself: your -eloquence, can, no doubt, make trifles appear great, and, conversely, -can disparage and depreciate great things until they seem the merest -trifles; but let it reserve those powers and use them on some other -subject, and at the present time devote its entire strength to the -task of consoling you. Yet see whether even this task be not -unnecessary. Nature demands from us a certain amount of grief, our -imagination adds some more to it; but I will never forbid you to -mourn at all. I know, indeed, that there are some men, whose wisdom -is of a harsh rather than a brave character, who say that the wise -man never would mourn. It seems to me that they never can have been -in the position of mourners, for otherwise their misfortune would -have shaken all their haughty philosophy out of them, and, however -much against their will, would have forced them to confess their -sorrow. Reason will have done enough if she does but cut off from -our grief all that is superfluous and useless: as for her not -allowing us to grieve at all, that we ought neither to expect nor -to wish for. Let her rather restrain us within the bounds of a -chastened grief, which partakes neither of indifference nor of -madness, and let her keep our minds in that attitude which becomes -affection without excitement: let your tears flow, but let them -some day cease to flow: groan as deeply as you will, but let your -{379} groans cease some day: regulate your conduct so that both -philosophers and brothers may approve of it. Make yourself feel -pleasure in often thinking about your brother, talk constantly about -him, and keep him ever present in your memory; which you cannot -succeed in doing unless you make the remembrance of him pleasant -rather than sad: for it is but natural that the mind should shrink -from a subject which it cannot contemplate without sadness. Think -of his retiring disposition, of his abilities for business, his -diligence in carrying it out, his loyalty to his word. Tell other -men of all his sayings and doings, and remind your own self of them: -think how good he was and how great you hoped he might become: for -what success is there which you might not safely have wagered that -such a brother would win? - -I have thrown together these reflexions in the best way that I -could, for my mind is dimmed and stupefied with the tedium of my -long exile: if, therefore, you should find them unworthy of the -consideration of a person of your intelligence, or unable to console -you in your grief, remember how impossible it is for one who is -full of his own sorrows to find time to minister to those of others, -and how hard it is to express oneself in the Latin language, when -all around one hears nothing but a rude foreign jargon, which even -barbarians of the more civilised sort regard with disgust. - - -[1] “The Latins had four versions of Homer (Fabric, tom. i. 1. ii. -ch. 3, p. 297), yet, in spite of the phraises of Seneca, Consol, -ch. 26 (viii.), they appear to have been more successful in imitating -than in translating the Greek poets.”—Gibbon’s “Decline and Fall,” -ch. 41, ad init., note. Polybius had made a prose translation of -Homer, and a prose paraphrase of Virgil. - -[2] See note _ante_, ch. viii. - -[3] “Fortune hath parted stakes with thee, in taking away thy -brother, and leaving thee all the rest in securitie and safetie.”—Lodge. - -[4] See “On Benefits,” v. 16. - -[5] Scipio Africanus minor, the son of Paulus Aemilius. - -[6] Marcellus. See “Virgil’s well-known lines, Aen. VI., 869, _sqq_., -and “Consolatio ad Marciam,” 2. - -[7] G. Caesar, d. at Limyra, a.d. 4. - -[8] Lucius Caesar, d. at Marseilles, A.D. 2. - -[9] Drusus died by a fall from his horse, B.C. 9. “A monument was -erected in his honour at Moguntiacum (Mayence), and games and -military spectacles were exhibited there on the anniversary of his -death. An altar had already been raised in his honour on the banks -of the Lippe.” Tac. Ann. ii. 7. “The soldiers began now to regard -themselves as a distinct people, with rites and heroes of their -own. Augustus required them to surrender the body of their beloved -chief as a matter of discipline.” Merivale, ch. 36. - -[10] _Pulvinaria_. See note, ch. xvii. - -[11] _Pulvinaria_. This word properly means “a couch made of cushions, -and spread over with a splendid covering, for the gods or persons -who received divine honours.” - -[12] Merivale, following Suetonius and Dion Cassius, says: “He -declared that if any man dared to mourn for his sister’s death, he -should be punished, for she had become a goddess: if any one ventured -to rejoice at her deification, he should be punished also, for she -was dead.” The passage in the text, he remarks, gives a less -extravagant turn to the story. - - - - -{380} - -THE FIRST BOOK OF THE DIALOGUE OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO -NERO CAESAR. - -ON CLEMENCY. - - -I. I have determined to write a book upon clemency, Nero Caesar, -in order that I may as it were serve as a mirror to you, and let -you see yourself arriving at the greatest of all pleasures. For -although the true enjoyment of good deeds consists in the performance -of them, and virtues have no adequate reward beyond themselves, -still it is worth your while to consider and investigate a good -conscience from every point of view, and afterwards to cast your -eyes upon this enormous mass of mankind— quarrelsome, factious, and -passionate as they are; likely, if they could throw off the yoke -of your government, to take pleasure alike in the ruin of themselves -and of one another —and thus to commune with yourself:—“Have I of -all mankind been chosen and thought fit to perform the office of a -god upon earth? I am the arbiter of life and death to mankind: it -rests with me to decide what lot and position in life each man -possesses: fortune makes use of my mouth to announce what she bestows -on each man: cities and nations are moved to joy by my words: no -region {381} anywhere can flourish without my favour and good will: -all these thousands of swords now restrained by my authority, would -be drawn at a sign from me: it rests with me to decide which tribes -shall be utterly exterminated, which shall be moved into other -lands, which shall receive and which shall be deprived of liberty, -what kings shall be reduced to slavery and whose heads shall be -crowned, what cities shall be destroyed and what new ones shall be -founded. In this position of enormous power I am not tempted to -punish men unjustly by anger, by youthful impulse, by the recklessness -and insolence of men, which often overcomes the patience even of -the best regulated minds, not even that terrible vanity, so common -among great sovereigns, of displaying my power by inspiring terror. -My sword is sheathed, nay, fixed in its sheath: I am sparing of the -blood even of the lowest of my subjects: a man who has nothing else -to recommend him, will nevertheless find favour in my eyes because -he is a man. I keep harshness concealed, but I have clemency always -at hand: I watch myself as carefully as though I had to give an -account of my actions to those laws which I have brought out of -darkness and neglect into the light of day. I have been moved to -compassion by the youth of one culprit, and the age of another: I -have spared one man because of his great place, another on account -of his insignificance: when I could find no reason for showing -mercy, I have had mercy upon myself. I am prepared this day, should -the gods demand it, to render to them an account of the human race.” -You, Caesar, can boldly say that everything which has come into -your charge has been kept safe, and that the state has neither -openly nor secretly suffered any loss at your hands. You have coveted -a glory which is most rare, and which has been obtained by no emperor -before you, that of innocence. Your remarkable goodness is not -thrown away, nor is it ungratefully or spitefully undervalued. Men -feel {382} gratitude towards you: no one person ever was so dear -to another as you are to the people of Rome, whose great and enduring -benefit you are. You have, however, taken upon yourself a mighty -burden: no one any longer speaks of the good times of the late -Emperor Augustus, or the first years of the reign of Tiberius, or -proposes for your imitation any model outside yourself: yours is a -pattern reign. This would have been difficult had your goodness of -heart not been innate, but merely adopted for a time; for no one -can wear a mask for long, and fictitious qualities soon give place -to true ones. Those which are founded upon truth, and which, so to -speak, grow out of a solid basis, only become greater and better -as time goes on. The Roman people were in a state of great hazard -as long as it was uncertain how your generous[1] disposition would -turn out; now, however, the prayers of the community are sure of -an answer, for there is no fear that you should suddenly forget -your own character. Indeed, excess of happiness makes men greedy, -and our desires are never so moderate as to be bounded by what they -have obtained: great successes become the stepping-stones to greater -ones, and those who have obtained more than they hoped, entertain -even more extravagant hopes than before; yet by all your countrymen -we hear it admitted that they are now happy, and moreover, that -nothing can be added to the blessings that they enjoy, except that -they should be eternal. Many circumstances force this admission -from them, although it is the one which men are least willing to -make: we enjoy a profound and prosperous peace, the power of the -law has been openly asserted in the sight of all men, and raised -beyond the reach of any violent interference: the form of our -government is so happy, as to contain all the essentials of liberty -except the power of destroying itself. It is {383} nevertheless -your clemency which is most especially admired by the high and low -alike: every man enjoys or hopes to enjoy the other blessings of -your rule according to the measure of his own personal good fortune, -whereas from your clemency all hope alike: no one has so much -confidence in his own innocence, as not to feel glad that in your -presence stands a clemency which is ready to make allowance for -human errors. - -II. I know, however, that there are some who imagine that clemency -only saves the life of every villain, because clemency is useless -except after conviction, and alone of all the virtues has no function -among the innocent. But in the first place, although a physician -is only useful to the sick, yet he is held in honour among the -healthy also; and so clemency, though she be invoked by those who -deserve punishment, is respected by innocent people as well. Next, -she can exist also in the person of the innocent, because sometimes -misfortune takes the place of crime; indeed, clemency not only -succours the innocent, but often the virtuous, since in the course -of time it happens that men are punished for actions which deserve -praise. Besides this, there is a large part of mankind which might -return to virtue if the hope of pardon were not denied them. Yet -it is not right to pardon indiscriminately; for when no distinction -is made between good and bad men, disorder follows, and all vices -break forth; we must therefore take care to distinguish those -characters which admit of reform from those which are hopelessly -depraved. Neither ought we to show an indiscriminate and general, -nor yet an exclusive clemency; for to pardon every one is as great -cruelty as to pardon none; we must take a middle course; but as it -is difficult to find the true mean, let us be careful, if we depart -from it, to do so upon the side of humanity. - -III. But these matters will be treated of better in their own place. -I will now divide this whole subject into {384} three parts. The -first will be of gentleness of temper:[2] the second will be that -which explains the nature and disposition of clemency; for since -there are certain vices which have the semblance of virtue, they -cannot be separated unless you stamp upon them the marks which -distinguish them from one another: in the third place we shall -inquire how the mind may be led to practise this virtue, how it may -strengthen it, and by habit make it its own. - -That clemency, which is the most humane of virtues, is that which -best befits a man, is necessarily an axiom, not only among our own -sect, which regards man as a social animal, born for the good of -the whole community, but even among those philosophers who give him -up entirely to pleasure, and whose words and actions have no other -aim than their own personal advantage. If man, as they argue, seeks -for quiet and repose, what virtue is there which is more agreeable -to his nature than clemency, which loves peace and restrains him -from violence? Now clemency becomes no one more than a king or a -prince; for great power is glorious and admirable only when it is -beneficent; since to be powerful only for mischief is the power of -a pestilence. That man’s greatness alone rests upon a secure -foundation, whom all men know to be as much on their side as he is -above them, of whose watchful care for the safety of each and all -of them they receive daily proofs, at whose approach they do not -fly in terror, as though some evil and dangerous animal had sprung -out from its den, but flock to him as they would to the bright and -health-giving sunshine. They are perfectly ready to fling themselves -upon the swords of conspirators in his defence, to offer their -bodies if his only path to safety must be formed of corpses: they -protect his sleep by nightly watches, they {385} surround him and -defend him on every side, and expose themselves to the dangers which -menace him. It is not without good reason that nations and cities -thus agree in sacrificing their lives and property for the defence -and the love of their king whenever their leader’s safety demands -it; men do not hold themselves cheap, nor are they insane when so -many thousands are put to the sword for the sake of one man, and -when by so many deaths they save the life of one man alone, who not -unfrequently is old and feeble. Just as the entire body is commanded -by the mind, and although the body be so much larger and more -beautiful while the mind is impalpable and hidden, and we are not -certain as to where it is concealed, yet the hands, feet, and eyes -work for it, the skin protects it; at its bidding we either lie -still or move restlessly about; when it gives the word, if it be -an avaricious master, we scour the sea in search of gain, or if it -be ambitious we straightway place our right hand in the flames like -Mucius, or leap into the pit like Curtius, so likewise this enormous -multitude which surrounds one man is directed by his will, is guided -by his intellect, and would break and hurl itself into ruin by its -own strength, if it were not upheld by his wisdom. - -IV. Men therefore love their own safety, when they draw up vast -legions in battle on behalf of one man, when they rush to the front, -and expose their breasts to wounds, for fear that their leader’s -standards should be driven back. He is the bond which fastens the -commonwealth together, he is the breath of life to all those -thousands, who by themselves would become merely an encumbrance and -a source of plunder if that directing mind were withdrawn:— - - Bees have but one mind, till their king doth die, But when he - dies, disorderly they fly. - -Such a misfortune will be the end of the peace of Rome, it will -wreck the prosperity of this great people; the nation {386} will -be free from this danger as long as it knows how to endure the -reins: should it ever break them, or refuse to have them replaced -if they were to fall off by accident, then this mighty whole, this -complex fabric of government will fly asunder into many fragments, -and the last day of Rome’s empire will be that upon which it forgets -how to obey. For this reason we need not wonder that princes, kings, -and all other protectors of a state, whatever their titles may be, -should be loved beyond the circle of their immediate relatives; for -since right-thinking men prefer the interests of the state to their -own, it follows that he who bears the burden of state affairs must -be dearer to them than their own friends. Indeed, the emperor long -ago identified himself so thoroughly with the state, that neither -of them could be separated without injury to both, because the one -requires power, while the other requires a head. - -V. My argument seems to have wandered somewhat far from the subject, -but, by Hercules, it really is very much to the point. For if, as -we may infer from what has been said, you are the soul of the state, -and the state is your body, you will perceive, I imagine, how -necessary clemency is; for when you appear to spare another, you -are really sparing yourself. You ought therefore to spare even -blameworthy citizens, just as you spare weakly limbs; and when -blood-letting becomes necessary, you must hold your hand, lest you -should cut deeper than you need. Clemency therefore, as I said -before, naturally befits all mankind, but more especially rulers, -because in their case there is more for it to save, and it is -displayed upon a greater scale. Cruelty in a private man can do but -very little harm; but the ferocity of princes is war. Although there -is a harmony between all the virtues, and no one is better or more -honourable than another, yet some virtues befit some persons better -than {387} others. Magnanimity befits all mortal men, even the -humblest of all; for what can be greater or braver than to resist -ill fortune? Yet this virtue of magnanimity occupies a wider room -in prosperity, and shows to greater advantage on the judgment seat -than on the floor of the court. On the other hand, clemency renders -every house into which it is admitted happy and peaceful; but though -it is more rare, it is on that account even more admirable in a -palace. What can be more remarkable than that he whose anger might -be indulged without fear of the consequences, whose decision, even -though a harsh one, would be approved even by those who were to -suffer by it, whom no one can interrupt, and of whom indeed, should -he become violently enraged, no one would dare to beg for mercy, -should apply a check to himself and use his power in a better and -calmer spirit, reflecting: “Any one may break the law to kill a -man, no one but I can break it to save him”? A great position -requires a great mind, for unless the mind raises itself to and -even above the level of its station, it will degrade its station -and draw it down to the earth; now it is the property of a great -mind to be calm and tranquil and to look down upon outrages and -insults with contempt. It is a womanish thing to rage with passion; -it is the part of wild beasts, and that, too, not of the most noble -ones, to bite and worry the fallen. Elephants and lions pass by -those whom they have struck down; inveteracy is the quality of -ignoble animals. Fierce and implacable rage does not befit a king, -because he does not preserve his superiority over the man to whose -level he descends by indulging in rage; but if he grants their lives -and honours to those who are in jeopardy and who deserve to lose -them, he does what can only be done by an absolute ruler; for life -may be torn away even from those who are above us in station, but -can never be granted save to those who are below us. To save men’s -lives {388} is the privilege of the loftiest station, which never -deserves admiration so much as when it is able to act like the gods, -by whose kindness good and bad men alike are brought into the world. -Thus a prince, imitating the mind of a god, ought to look with -pleasure on some of his countrymen because they are useful and good -men, while he ought to allow others to remain to fill up the roll; -he ought to be pleased with the existence of the former, and to -endure that of the latter. - -VI. Look at this city of Rome, in which the widest streets become -choked whenever anything stops the crowds which unceasingly pour -through them like raging torrents, in which the people streaming -to three theatres demand the roads at the same time, in which the -produce of the entire world is consumed, and reflect what a desolate -waste it would become if only those were left in it whom a strict -judge would acquit. How few magistrates are there who ought not to -be condemned by the very same laws which they administer? How few -prosecutors are themselves faultless? I imagine, also, that few men -are less willing to grant pardon, than those who have often had to -beg it for themselves. We have all of us sinned, some more deeply -than others, some of set purpose, some either by chance impulse or -led away by the wickedness of others; some of us have not stood -bravely enough by our good resolutions, and have lost our innocence, -although unwillingly and after a struggle; nor have we only sinned, -but to the very end of our lives we shall continue to sin. Even if -there be any one who has so thoroughly cleansed his mind that nothing -can hereafter throw him into disorder or deceive him, yet even he -has reached this state of innocence through sin. - -VII. Since I have made mention of the gods, I shall state the best -model on which a prince may mould his life to be, that he deal with -his countrymen as he would that {389} the gods may deal with himself. -Is it then desirable that the gods should show no mercy upon sins -and mistakes, and that they should harshly pursue us to our ruin? -In that case what king will be safe? Whose limbs will not be torn -asunder and collected by the soothsayers? If, on the other hand, -the gods are placable and kind, and do not at once avenge the crimes -of the powerful with thunderbolts, is it not far more just that a -man set in authority over other men should exercise his power in a -spirit of clemency and should consider whether the condition of the -world is more beauteous and pleasant to the eyes on a fine calm -day, or when everything is shaken with frequent thunder-claps and -when lightning flashes on all sides! Yet the appearance of a peaceful -and constitutional reign is the same as that of the calm and brilliant -sky. A cruel reign is disordered and hidden in darkness, and while -all shake with terror at the sudden explosions, not even he who -caused all this disturbance escapes unharmed. It is easier to find -excuses for private men who obstinately claim their rights; possibly -they may have been injured, and their rage may spring from their -wrongs; besides this, they fear to be despised, and not to return -the injuries which they have received looks like weakness rather -than clemency; but one who can easily avenge himself, if he neglects -to do so, is certain to gain praise for goodness of heart. Those -who are born in a humble station may with greater freedom exercise -violence, go to law, engage in quarrels, and indulge their angry -passions; even blows count for little between two equals; but in -the case of a king, even loud clamour and unmeasured talk are -unbecoming. - -VIII. You think it a serious matter to take away from kings the -right of free speech which the humblest enjoy. “This,” you say, “is -to be a subject, not a king.” What, do you not find that we have -the command, you the subjection? {390} Your position is quite -different to that of those who lie hid in the crowd which they never -leave, whose very virtues cannot be manifested without a long -struggle, and whose vices are shrouded in obscurity; rumour catches -up your acts and sayings, and therefore no persons ought to be more -careful of their reputation than those who are certain to have a -great one, whatsoever one they may have deserved. How many things -there are that you may not do which, thanks to you, we may do! I -am able to walk alone without fear in any part of Rome whatever, -although no companion accompanies me, though there is no guard at -my house no sword by my side. You must live armed in the peace which -you maintain.[3] You cannot stray away from your position; it besets -you, and follows you with mighty pomp wherever you go. This slavery -of not being able to sink one’s rank belongs to the highest position -of all; yet it is a burden which you share with the gods. They too -are held fast in heaven, and it is no more possible for them to -come down than it is safe[4] for you; you are chained to your lofty -pinnacle. Of our movements few persons are aware; we can go forth -and return home and change our dress without its being publicly -known; but you are no more able to hide yourself than the sun. A -strong light is all around you, the eyes of all are turned towards -it. Do you think you are leaving your house? nay, you are dawning -upon the world. You cannot speak without all nations everywhere -hearing your voice; you cannot be angry, without making everything -tremble, because you can strike no one without shaking all around -him. Just as thunderbolts when they fall endanger few men but terrify -all, so the chastisement inflicted by great potentates terrify more -widely than they injure, and that for good reasons; for in the case -of one whose power is absolute, men do not think of what he has -done, so much as of what he may do. Add to this that {391} private -men endure wrongs more tamely, because they have already endured -others; the safety of kings on the other hand is more surely founded -on kindness, because frequent punishment may crush the hatred of a -few, but excites that of all. A king ought to wish to pardon while -he has still grounds for being severe; if he acts otherwise, just -as lopped trees sprout forth again with numberless boughs, and many -kinds of crops are cut down in order that they may grow more thickly, -so a cruel king increases the number of his enemies by destroying -them; for the parents and children of those who are put to death, -and their relatives and friends, step into the place of each victim. - -IX. I wish to prove the truth of this by an example drawn from your -own family. The late Emperor Augustus was a mild prince, if in -estimating his character one reckons from the era of his reign; yet -he appealed to arms while the state was shared among the triumvirate. -When he was just of your age, at the end of his twenty-second year, -he had already hidden daggers under the clothes of his friends, he -had already conspired to assassinate Marcus Antonius, the consul, -he had already taken part in the proscription. But when he had -passed his sixtieth[5] year, and was staying in {392} Gaul, -intelligence was brought to him that Lucius Cinna, a dull man, was -plotting against him: the plot was betrayed by one of the conspirators, -who told him where, when, and in what manner Cinna meant to attack -him. Augustus determined to consult his own safety against this -man, and ordered a council of his own friends to be summoned. He -passed a disturbed night, reflecting that he would be obliged to -condemn to death a youth of noble birth, who was guilty of no crime -save this one, and who was the grandson of Gnaeus Pompeius. He, who -had sat at dinner and heard M. Antonius[6] read aloud his edict for -the proscription, could not now bear to put one single man to death. -With groans he kept at intervals making various inconsistent -exclamations:—“What! shall I allow my assassin to walk about at his -ease while I am racked by fears? Shall the man not be punished who -has plotted not merely to slay but actually to sacrifice at the -altar” (for the conspirators intended to attack him when he was -sacrificing), “now when there is peace by land and sea, that life -which so many civil wars have sought in vain, which has passed -unharmed through so many battles of fleets and armies?” - -Then, after an interval of silence, he would say to himself in a -far louder, angrier tone than he had used to Cinna, “Why do you -live, if it be to so many men’s advantage that you should die? Is -there no end to these executions? to this bloodshed? I am a figure -set up for nobly-born youths to sharpen their swords on. Is life -worth having, if so many must perish to prevent my losing it?” At -last his wife Livia interrupted him, saying: “Will you take a woman’s -{393} advice? Do as the physicians do, who, when the usual remedies -fail, try their opposites. Hitherto you have gained nothing by harsh -measures: Salvidienus has been followed by Lepidus, Lepidus by -Muraena, Muraena by Caepio, and Caepio by Egnatius, not to mention -others of whom one feels ashamed of their having dared to attempt -so great a deed. Now try what effect clemency will have: pardon -Lucius Cinna. He has been detected, he cannot now do you any harm, -and he can do your reputation much good.” Delighted at finding some -one to support his own view of the case, he thanked his wife, -straightway ordered his friends, whose counsel he had asked for, -to be told that he did not require their advice, and summoned Cinna -alone. After ordering a second seat to be placed for Cinna, he sent -every one else out of the room, and said:—“The first request which -I have to make of you is, that you will not interrupt me while I -am speaking to you: that you will not cry out in the middle of my -address to you: you shall be allowed time to speak freely in answer -to me. Cinna, when I found you in the enemy’s camp, you who had not -become but were actually born my enemy, I saved your life, and -restored to you the whole of your father’s estate. You are now so -prosperous and so rich, that many of the victorious party envy you, -the vanquished one: when you were a candidate for the priesthood I -passed over many others whose parents had served with me in the -wars, and gave it to you: and now, after I have deserved so well -of you, you have made up your mind to kill me.” When at this word -the man exclaimed that he was far from being so insane, Augustus -replied, “You do not keep your promise, Cinna; it was agreed upon -between us that you should not interrupt me. I repeat, you are -preparing to kill me.” He then proceeded to tell him of the place, -the names of his accomplices, the day, the way in which they had -arranged to do the deed, and which of them was to give the fatal -stab. {394} When he saw Cinna’s eyes fixed upon the ground, and -that he was silent, no longer because of the agreement, but from -consciousness of his guilt, he said, “What is your intention in -doing this? is it that you yourself may be emperor? The Roman people -must indeed be in a bad way if nothing but my life prevents your -ruling over them. You cannot even maintain the dignity of your own -house: you have recently been defeated in a legal encounter by the -superior influence of a freedman: and so you can find no easier -task than to call your friends to rally round you against Caesar. -Come, now, if you think that I alone stand in the way of your -ambition; will Paulus and Fabius Maximus, will the Cossi and the -Servilii and all that band of nobles, whose names are no empty -pretence, but whose ancestry really renders them illustrious—will -they endure that you should rule over them?” Not to fill up the -greater part of this book by repeating the whole of his speech—for -he is known to have spoken for more than two hours, lengthening out -this punishment, which was the only one which he intended to -inflict—he said at last: “Cinna, I grant you your life for the -second time: when I gave it you before you were an open enemy, you -are now a secret plotter and parricide.[7] From this day forth let -us be friends: let us try which of us is the more sincere, I in -giving you your life, or you in owing your life to me.” After this -he of his own accord bestowed the consulship upon him, complaining -of his not venturing to offer himself as a candidate for that office, -and found him ever afterwards his most grateful and loyal adherent. -Cinna made the emperor his sole heir, and no one ever again formed -any plot against him. - -X. Your great-great-grandfather spared the vanquished: for whom -could he have ruled over, had he not spared them? He recruited -Sallustius, the Cocoeii, the Deillii, and the whole {395} inner -circle of his court from the camp of his opponents. Soon afterwards -his clemency gave him a Domitius, a Messala, an Asinius, a Cicero, -and all the flower of the state. For what a long time he waited for -Lepidus to die: for years he allowed him to retain all the insignia -of royalty, and did not allow the office of pontifex maximus to be -conferred upon himself until after Lepidus’s death; for he wished -it to be called a honourable office rather than a spoil stripped -from a vanquished foe. It was this clemency which made him end his -days in safety and security: this it was which rendered him popular -and beloved, although he had laid his hands on the neck of the -Romans when they were still unused to bearing the yoke: this gives -him even at the present day a reputation such as hardly any prince -has enjoyed during his own lifetime. We believe him to be a god, -and not merely because we are bidden to do so. We declare that -Augustus was a good emperor, and that he was well worthy to bear -his parent’s name, for no other reason than because he did not even -show cruelty in avenging personal insults, which most princes feel -more keenly than actual injuries; because he smiled at scandalous -jests against himself, because it was evident that he himself -suffered when he punished others, because he was so far from putting -to death even those whom he had convicted of intriguing with his -daughter, that when they were banished he gave them passports to -enable them to travel more safely. When you know that there will -be many who will take your quarrel upon themselves, and will try -to gain your favour by the murder of your enemies, you do indeed -pardon them if you not only grant them their lives but ensure that -they shall not lose them. - -XI. Such was Augustus when an old man, or when growing old: in his -youth he was hasty and passionate, and did many things upon which -he looked back with regret. No one will venture to compare the rule -of the {396} blessed Augustus to the mildness of your own, even if -your youth be compared with his more than ripe old age: he was -gentle and placable, but it was after he had dyed the sea at Actium -with Roman blood; after he had wrecked both the enemy’s fleet and -his own at Sicily; after the holocaust of Perusia and the proscriptions. -But I do not call it clemency to be wearied of cruelty; true clemency, -Caesar, is that which you display, which has not begun from remorse -at its past ferocity, on which there is no stain, which has never -shed the blood of your countrymen: this, when combined with unlimited -power, shows the truest self-control and all-embracing love of the -human race as of one’s self, not corrupted by any low desires, any -extravagant ideas, or any of the bad examples of former emperors -into trying, by actual experiment, how great a tyranny you would -be allowed to exercise over his countrymen, but inclining rather -to blunting your sword of empire. You, Caesar, have granted us the -boon of keeping our state free from bloodshed, and that of which -you boast, that you have not caused one single drop of blood to -flow in any part of the world, is all the more magnanimous and -marvellous because no one ever had the power of the sword placed -in his hands at an earlier age. Clemency, then, makes princes safer -as well as more respected, and is a glory to empires besides being -their most trustworthy means of preservation. Why have legitimate -sovereigns grown old on the throne, and bequeathed their power to -their children and grandchildren, while the sway of despotic usurpers -is both hateful and shortlived l? What is the difference between -the tyrant and the king—for their outward symbols of authority and -their powers are the same—except it be that tyrants take delight -in cruelty, whereas kings are only cruel for good reasons and because -they cannot help it.[8] - -{397} - -XII. “What, then,” say you, “do not kings also put men to death?” -They do, but only when that measure is recommended by the public -advantage: tyrants enjoy cruelty. A tyrant differs from a king in -deeds, not in title: for the elder Dionysius deserves to be preferred -before many kings, and what can prevent our styling Lucius Sulla a -tyrant, since he only left off slaying because he had no more enemies -to slay? Although he laid down his dictatorship and resumed the -garb of a private citizen, yet what tyrant ever drank human blood -as greedily as he, who ordered seven thousand Roman citizens to be -butchered, and who, on hearing the shrieks of so many thousands -being put to the sword as he sat in the temple of Bellona, said to -the terror-stricken Senate, “Let us attend to our business, Conscript -Fathers; it is only a few disturbers of the public peace who are -being put to death by my orders.” In saying this he did not lie: -they really seemed few to Sulla. But we shall speak of Sulla -presently, when we consider how we ought to feel anger against our -enemies, at any rate when our own countrymen, members of the same -community as ourselves, have been torn away from it and assumed the -name of enemies: in the meanwhile, as I was saying, clemency is -what makes the great distinction between kings and tyrants. Though -each of them may be equally fenced around by armed soldiers, -nevertheless the one uses his troops to safeguard the peace of his -kingdom, the other uses them to quell great hatred by great terror: -and yet he does not look with any confidence upon those to whose -hands he entrusts himself. He is driven in opposite directions by -conflicting passions: for since he is hated because he is feared, -he wishes to be feared because he is {398} hated: and he acts up -to the spirit of that odious verse, which has cast so many headlong -from their thrones— - - “Why, let them hate me, if they fear me too!”— - -not knowing how frantic men become when their hatred becomes -excessive: for a moderate amount of fear restrains men, but a -constant and keen apprehension of the worst tortures rouses up even -the most grovelling spirits to deeds of reckless courage, and causes -them to hesitate at nothing. Just so a string stuck full of feathers[9] -will prevent wild beasts escaping: but should a horseman begin to -shoot at them from another quarter, they will attempt to escape -over the very thing that scared them, and will trample the cause -of their alarm underfoot. No courage is so great as that which is -born of utter desperation. In order to keep people down by terror, -you must grant them a certain amount of security, and let them see -that they have far more to hope for than to fear: for otherwise, -if a man is in equal peril whether he sits still or takes action, -he will feel actual pleasure in risking his life, and will fling -it away as lightly as though it were not his own. - -XIII. A calm and peaceful king trusts his guards, because he makes -use of them to ensure the common safety of all his subjects, and -his soldiers, who see that the security of the state depends upon -their labours, cheerfully undergo the severest toil and glory in -being the protectors of the father of their country: whereas your -harsh and murderous tyrant must needs be disliked even by his own -janissaries. No man can expect willing and loyal service from those -whom he uses like the rack and the axe, as instruments of torture -and death, to whom he casts men as he would cast them to wild beasts. -No prisoner at the bar is so full of agony and anxiety as a tyrant; -for while he dreads both gods and men because they have witnessed, -{399} and will avenge his crimes, he has at the same time so far -committed himself to this course of action that he is not able to -alter it. This is perhaps the very worst quality of cruelty: a man -must go on exercising it, and it is impossible for him to retrace -his steps and start in a better path; for crimes must be safeguarded -by fresh crimes. Yet who can be more unhappy than he who is actually -compelled to be a villain? How greatly he ought to be pitied: I -mean, by himself, for it would be impious for others to pity a man -who has made use of his power to murder and ravage, who has rendered -himself mistrusted by every one at home and abroad, who fears the -very soldiers to whom he flees for safety, who dare not rely upon -the loyalty of his friends or the affection of his children: who, -whenever he considers what he has done, and what he is about to do, -and calls to mind all the crimes and torturings with which his -conscience is burdened, must often fear death, and yet must often -wish for it, for he must be even more hateful to himself than he -is to his subjects. On the other hand, he who takes an interest in -the entire state, who watches over every department of it with more -or less care, who attends to all the business of the state as well -as if it were his own, who is naturally inclined to mild measures, -and shows, even when it is to his advantage to punish, how unwilling -he is to make use of harsh remedies; who has no angry or savage -feelings, but wields his authority calmly and beneficially, being -anxious that even his subordinate officers shall be popular with -his countrymen, who thinks his happiness complete if he can make -the nation share his prosperity, who is courteous in language, whose -presence is easy of access, who looks obligingly upon his subjects, -who is disposed to grant all their reasonable wishes, and does not -treat their unreasonable wishes with harshness—such a prince is -loved, protected, and worshipped by his whole empire. Men talk of -such a one in private in the same {400} words which they use in -public: they are eager to bring up families under his reign, and -they put an end to the childlessness which public misery had -previously rendered general: every one feels that he will indeed -deserve that his children should be grateful to him for having -brought them into so happy an age. Such a prince is rendered safe -by his own beneficence; he has no need of guards, their arms serve -him merely as decorations. - -XIV. What, then, is his duty? It is that of good parents, who -sometimes scold their children goodnaturedly, sometimes threaten -them, and sometimes even flog them. No man in his senses disinherits -his son for his first offence: he does not pass this extreme sentence -upon him unless his patience has been worn out by many grievous -wrongs, unless he fears that his son will do something worse than -that which he punishes him for having done; before doing this he -makes many attempts to lead his son’s mind into the right way while -it is still hesitating between good and evil and has only taken its -first steps in depravity; it is only when its case is hopeless that -he adopts this extreme measure. No one demands that people should -be executed until after he has failed to reform them. This which -is the duty of a parent, is also that of the prince whom with no -unmeaning flattery we call “The Father of our Country.” Other names -are given as titles of honour: we have styled some men “The Great,” -“The Fortunate,” or “The August,” and have thus satisfied their -passion for grandeur by bestowing upon them all the dignity that -we could: but when we style a man “The Father of his Country” we -give him to understand that we have entrusted him with a father’s -power over us, which is of the mildest character, for a father takes -thought for his children and subordinates his own interests to -theirs. It is long before a father will cut off a member of his own -body: even after he has cut it off he longs to replace it, and in -cutting it off he laments {401} and hesitates much and long: for -he who condemns quickly is not far from being willing to condemn; -and he who inflicts too great punishment comes very near to punishing -unjustly. - -XV. Within my own recollection the people stabbed in the forum with -their writing-styles a Roman knight named Tricho, because he had -flogged his son to death: even the authority of Augustus Caesar -could hardly save him from the angry clutches of both fathers and -sons: but every one admired Tarius, who, on discovering that his -son meditated parricide, tried him, convicted him, and was then -satisfied with punishing him by exile, and that, too, to that -pleasant place of exile, Marseilles, where he made him the same -yearly allowance which he had done while he was innocent: the result -of this generosity was that even in a city where every villain finds -some one to defend him, no one doubted that he was justly condemned, -since even the father who was unable to hate him, nevertheless had -condemned him. In this very same instance I will give you an example -of a good prince, which you may compare with a good father. Tarius, -when about to sit in judgement on his son, invited Augustus Caesar -to assist in trying him: Augustus came into his private house, sat -beside the father, took part in another man’s family council, and -did not say, “Nay, let him rather come to my house,” because if he -had done so, the trial would have been conducted by Caesar and not -by the father. When the cause had been heard, after all that the -young man pleaded in his own defence and all that was alleged against -him had been thoroughly discussed, the emperor begged that each man -would write his sentence (instead of pronouncing it aloud), in order -that they might not all follow Caesar in giving sentence: then, -before the tablets were opened, he declared that if Tarius, who was -a rich man, made him his heir, he would not accept the bequest. One -might say “It showed a paltry mind in him {402} to fear that people -would think that he condemned the son in order to enable himself -to inherit the estate.” I am of a contrary opinion—any one of us -ought to have sufficient trust in the consciousness of his own -integrity to defend him against calumny, but princes must take great -pains to avoid even the appearance of evil. He swore that he would -not accept the property. On that day Tarius lost two heirs to his -estate, but Caesar gained the liberty of forming an unbiassed -judgement: and when he had proved that his severity was disinterested, -a point of which a prince should never lose sight, he gave sentence -that the son should be banished to whatever place the father might -choose. He did not sentence him to the sack and the snakes, or to -prison, because he thought, not of who it was upon whom he was -passing sentence, but of who it was with whom he was sitting in -judgement: he said that a father ought to be satisfied with the -mildest form of punishment for his stripling son, who had been -seduced into a crime which he had attempted so faintheartedly as -to be almost innocent of it, and that he ought to be removed from -Rome and out of his father’s sight. - -XVI. How worthy was he to be invited by fathers to join their family -councils: how worthy to be made co-heir with innocent children! -This is the sort of clemency which befits a prince; wherever he -goes, let him make every one more charitable. In the king’s sight, -no one ought to be so despicable that he should not notice whether -he lives or dies: be his character what it may, he is a part of the -empire. Let us take examples for great kingdoms from smaller ones. -There are many forms of royalty: a prince reigns over his subjects, -a father over his children, a teacher over his scholars, a tribune -or centurion over his soldiers. Would not he, who constantly punished -his children by beating them for the most trifling faults, be thought -the worst of fathers? Which is worthier to impart {403} a liberal -education: he who flays his scholars alive if their memory be weak, -or if their eyes do not run quickly along the lines as they read, -or he who prefers to improve and instruct them by kindly warnings -and moral influence? If a tribune or a centurion is harsh, he will -make men deserters, and one cannot blame them for desertion. It is -never right to rule a human being more harshly and cruelly than we -rule dumb animals; yet a skilled horse-breaker will not scare a -horse by frequent blows, because he will become timid and vicious -if you do not soothe him with pats and caresses. So also a huntsman, -both when he is teaching puppies to follow the tracks of wild -animals, and when he uses dogs already trained to drive them from -their lairs and hunt them, does not often threaten to beat them, -for, if he does, he will break their spirit, and make them stupid -and currish with fear; though, on the other hand, he will not allow -them to roam and range about unrestrained. The same is the case -with those who drive the slower draught cattle, which, though brutal -treatment and wretchedness is their lot from their birth, still, -by excessive cruelty may be made to refuse to draw. - -XVII. No creature is more self-willed, requires more careful -management, or ought to be treated with greater indulgence than -man. What, indeed, can be more foolish than that we should blush -to show anger against dogs or beasts of burden, and yet wish one -man to be most abominably ill-treated by another? We are not angry -with diseases, but apply remedies to them: but this also is a disease -of the mind, and requires soothing medicine and a physician who is -anything but angry with his patient. It is the part of a bad physician -to despair of effecting a cure: he, to whom the care of all men’s -well-being is entrusted, ought to act like a good physician, and -not be in a hurry to give up hope or to declare that the symptoms -are mortal: he should wrestle with vices, withstand them, reproach -{404} some with their distemper, and deceive others by a soothing -mode of treatment, because he will cure his patient more quickly -and more thoroughly if the medicines which he administers escape -his notice: a prince should take care not only of the recovery of -his people, but also that their scars should be honourable. Cruel -punishments do a king no honour: for who doubts that he is able to -inflict them? but, on the other hand, it does him great honour to -restrain his powers, to save many from the wrath of others, and -sacrifice no one to his own. - -XVIII. It is creditable to a man to keep within reasonable bounds -in his treatment of his slaves. Even in the case of a human chattel -one ought to consider, not how much one can torture him with impunity, -but how far such treatment is permitted by natural goodness and -justice, which prompts us to act kindly towards even prisoners of -war and slaves bought for a price (how much more towards free-born, -respectable gentlemen?), and not to treat them with scornful brutality -as human chattels, but as persons somewhat below ourselves in -station, who have been placed under our protection rather than -assigned to us as servants. Slaves are allowed to run and take -sanctuary at the statue of a god, though the laws allows a slave -to be ill-treated to any extent, there are nevertheless some things -which the common laws of life forbid us to do to a human being. Who -does not hate Vedius Pollio[10] more even than his own slaves did, -because he used to fatten his lampreys with human blood, and ordered -those who had offended him in any way to be cast into his fish-pond, -or rather snake-pond? That {405} man deserved to die a thousand -deaths, both for throwing his slaves to be devoured by the lampreys -which he himself meant to eat, and for keeping lampreys that he -might feed them in such a fashion. Cruel masters are pointed at -with disgust in all parts of the city, and are hated and loathed; -the wrong-doings of kings are enacted on a wider theatre: their -shame and unpopularity endures for ages: yet how far better it would -have been never to have been born than to be numbered among those -who have been born to do their country harm! - -XIX. Nothing can be imagined which is more becoming to a sovereign -than clemency, by whatever title and right he may be set over his -fellow citizens. The greater his power, the more beautiful and -admirable he will confess his clemency to be: for there is no reason -why power should do any harm, if only it be wielded in accordance -with the laws of nature. Nature herself has conceived the idea of -a king, as you may learn from various animals, and especially from -bees, among whom the king’s cell is the roomiest, and is placed in -the most central and safest part of the hive; moreover, he does no -work, but employs himself in keeping the others up to their work. -If the king be lost, the entire swarm disperses: they never endure -to have more than one king at a time, and find out which is the -better by making them fight with one another: moreover the king is -distinguished by his statelier appearance, being both larger and -more brilliantly coloured than the other bees. The most remarkable -distinction, however, is the following: bees are very fierce, and -for their size are the most pugnacious of creatures, and leave their -stings in the wounds which they make, but the king himself has no -sting: nature does not wish him to be savage or to seek revenge at -so dear a rate, and so has deprived him of his weapon and disarmed -his rage. She has offered him as a pattern to great sovereigns: for -she is wont to practise {406} herself in small matters, and to -scatter abroad tiny models of the hugest structures. We ought to -be ashamed of not learning a lesson in behaviour from these small -creatures, for a man, who has so much more power of doing harm than -they, ought to show a correspondingly greater amount of self-control. -Would that human beings were subject to the same law, and that their -anger destroyed itself together with its instrument, so that they -could only inflict a wound once, and would not make use of the -strength of others to carry out their hatreds: for their fury would -soon grow faint if it carried its own punishment with it, and could -only give rein to its violence at the risk of death. Even as it is, -however, no one can exercise it with safety, for he must needs feel -as much fear as he hopes to cause, he must watch every one’s -movements, and even when his enemies are not laying violent hands -upon him he must bear in mind that they are plotting to do so, and -he cannot have a single moment free from alarm. Would any one endure -to live such a life as this, when he might enjoy the privileges of -his high station to the general joy of all men, without injuring -any one, and for that very reason have no one to fear? for it is a -mistake to suppose that the king can be safe in a state where nothing -is safe from the king: he can only purchase a life without anxiety -for himself by guaranteeing the same for his subjects. He need not -pile up lofty citadels, escarp steep hills, cut away the sides of -mountains, and fence himself about with many lines of walls and -towers: clemency will render a king safe even upon an open plain. -The one fortification which cannot be stormed is the love of his -countrymen. What can be more glorious than a life which every one -spontaneously and without official pressure hopes may last long? -to excite men’s fears, not their hopes, if one’s health gives way -a little? to know that no one holds anything so dear that he would -not be glad to give it in exchange for the health of his sovereign? -“O, may {407} no evil befall him!” they would cry: “he must live -for his own sake, not only for ours: his constant proofs of goodness -have made him belong to the state instead of the state belonging -to him.” Who would dare to plot any danger to such a king? Who would -not rather, if he could, keep misfortune far from one under whom -justice, peace, decency, security and merit flourish, under whom -the state grows rich with an abundance of all good things, and looks -upon its ruler in the same spirit of adoration and respect with -which we should look upon the immortal gods, if they allowed us to -behold them as we behold him? Why! does not that man come very close -to the gods who acts in a god-like manner, and who is beneficent, -open-handed, and powerful for good? Your aim and your pride ought -to lie in being thought the best, as well as the greatest of mankind. - -XX. A prince generally inflicts punishment for one of two reasons: -he wishes either to assert his own rights or those of another. I -will first discuss the case in which he is personally concerned, -for it is more difficult for him to act with moderation when he -acts under the impulse of actual pain than when he merely does so -for the sake of the example. It is unnecessary in this place to -remind him to be slow to believe what he hears, to ferret out the -truth, to show favour to innocence, and to bear in mind that to -prove it is as much the business of the judge as that of the prisoner; -for these considerations are connected with justice, not with -clemency: what we are now encouraging him to do is not to lose -control over his feelings when he receives an unmistakeable injury, -and to forego punishing it if he possibly can do so with safety, -if not, to moderate the severity of the punishment, and to show -himself far more unwilling to forgive wrongs done to others than -those done to himself: for, just as the truly generous man is not -he who gives away what belongs to others, but he who deprives himself -of what he gives to another, so also I should not call a prince -clement {408} who looked goodnaturedly upon a wrong done to someone -else, but one who is unmoved even by the sting of a personal injury, -who understands how magnanimous it is for one whose power is unlimited -to allow himself to be wronged, and that there is no more noble -spectacle than that of a sovereign who has received an injury without -avenging it. - -XXI. Vengeance effects two purposes: it either affords compensation -to the person to whom the wrong was done, or it ensures him against -molestation for the future. A prince is too rich to need compensation, -and his power is too evident for him to require to gain a reputation -for power by causing any one to suffer. I mean, when he is attacked -and injured by his inferiors, for if he sees those who once were -his equals in a position of inferiority to himself he is sufficiently -avenged. A king may be killed by a slave, or a serpent, or an arrow: -but no one can be saved except by some one who is greater than him -whom he saves. He, therefore, who has the power of giving and of -taking away life ought to use such a great gift of heaven in a -spirited manner. Above all, if he once obtains this power over those -who he knows were once on a level with himself, he has completed -his revenge, and done all that he need to towards the punishment -of his adversary: for he who owes his life to another must have -lost it, and he who has been cast down from on high and lies at his -enemy’s feet with his kingdom and his life depending upon the -pleasure of another, adds to the glory of his preserver if he be -allowed to live, and increases his reputation much more by remaining -unhurt than if he were put out of the way. In the former case he -remains as an everlasting testimony to the valour of his conqueror; -whereas if led in the procession of a triumph he would have soon -passed out of sight.[11] If, however, his kingdom also may be safely -left in his hands {409} and he himself replaced upon the throne -from which he has fallen, such a measure confers an immense increase -of lustre on him who scorned to take anything from a conquered king -beyond the glory of having conquered him. To do this is to triumph -even over one’s own victory, and to declare that one has found -nothing among the vanquished which it was worth the victor’s while -to take. As for his countrymen, strangers, and persons of mean -condition, he ought to treat them with all the less severity because -it costs so much less to overcome them. Some you would be glad to -spare, against some you would disdain to assert your rights, and -would forbear to touch them as you would to touch little insects -which defile your hands when you crush them: but in the case of men -upon whom all eyes are fixed, whether they be spared or condemned, -you should seize the opportunity of making your clemency widely -known. - -XXII. Let us now pass on to the consideration of wrongs done to -others, in avenging which the law has aimed at three ends, which -the prince will do well to aim at also: they are, either that it -may correct him whom it punishes, or that his punishment may render -other men better, or that, by bad men being put out of the way, the -rest may live without fear. You will more easily correct the men -themselves by a slight punishment, for he who has some part of his -fortune remaining untouched will behave less recklessly; on the -other hand, no one cares about respectability after he has lost it: -it is a species of impunity to have nothing left for punishment to -take away. It is conducive, however, to good morals in a state, -that punishment should seldom be inflicted: for where there is a -multitude of sinners men become familiar with sin, shame is less -felt when shared with a number of fellow-criminals, and severe -sentences, if frequently pronounced, lose the influence which -constitutes their chief power as remedial measures. A good king -establishes a good standard of morals for his {410} kingdom and -drives away vices if he is long-suffering with them, not that he -should seem to encourage them, but to be very unwilling and to -suffer much when he is forced to chastise them. Clemency in a -sovereign even makes men ashamed to do wrong: for punishment seems -far more grievous when inflicted by a merciful man. - -XXIII. Besides this, you will find that sins which are frequently -punished are frequently committed. Your father sewed up more -parricides in sacks during five years, than we hear of in all -previous centuries. As long as the greatest of crimes remained -without any special law, children were much more timid about -committing it. Our wise ancestors, deeply skilled in human nature, -preferred to pass over this as being a wickedness too great for -belief, and beyond the audacity of the worst criminal, rather than -teach men that it might be done by appointing a penalty for doing -it: parricides, consequently, were unknown until a law was made -against them, and the penalty showed them the way to the crime. -Filial affection soon perished, for since that time we have seen -more men punished by the sack than by the cross. Where men are -seldom punished innocence becomes the rule, and is encouraged as a -public benefit. If a state thinks itself innocent, it will be -innocent: it will be all the more angry with those who corrupt the -general simplicity of manners if it sees that they are few in number. -Believe me, it is a dangerous thing to show a state how great a -majority of bad men it contains. - -XXIV. A proposal was once made in the Senate to distinguish slaves -from free men by their dress: it was then discovered how dangerous -it would be for our slaves to be able to count our numbers. Be -assured that the same thing would be the case if no one’s offence -is pardoned: it will quickly be discovered how far the number of -bad men exceeds that of the good. Many executions are as disgraceful -to a sovereign as many funerals are to a physician: {411} one who -governs less strictly is better obeyed. The human mind is naturally -self-willed, kicks against the goad, and sets its face against -authority; it will follow more readily than it can be led. As -well-bred and high-spirited horses are best managed with a loose -rein, so mercy gives men’s minds a spontaneous bias towards innocence, -and the public think that it is worth observing. Mercy, therefore, -does more good than severity. - -XXV, Cruelty is far from being a human vice, and is unworthy of -man’s gentle mind: it is mere bestial madness to take pleasure in -blood and wounds, to cast off humanity and transform oneself into -a wild beast of the forest. Pray, Alexander, what is the difference -between your throwing Lysimachus into a lion’s den and tearing his -flesh with your own teeth? it is you that have the lion’s maw, and -the lion’s fierceness. How pleased you would be if you had claws -instead of nails, and jaws that were capable of devouring men! We -do not expect of you that your hand, the sure murderer of your best -friends, should restore health to any one; or that your proud spirit, -that inexhaustible source of evil to all nations, should be satisfied -with anything short of blood and slaughter: we rather call it mercy -that your friend should have a human being chosen to be his butcher. -The reason why cruelty is the most hateful of all vices is that it -goes first beyond the ordinary limits, and then beyond those of -humanity; that it devises new kinds of punishments, calls ingenuity -to aid it in inventing devices for varying and lengthening men’s -torture, and takes delight in their sufferings: this accursed disease -of the mind reaches its highest pitch of madness when cruelty itself -turns into pleasure, and the act of killing a man becomes enjoyment. -Such a ruler is soon cast down from his throne; his life is attempted -by poison one day and by the sword the next; he is exposed to as -many dangers as there are men to whom he is dangerous, and he {412} -is sometimes destroyed by the plots of individuals, and at others -by a general insurrection. Whole communities are not roused to -action by unimportant outrages on private persons; but cruelty which -takes a wider range, and from which no one is safe, becomes a mark -for all men’s weapons. Very small snakes escape our notice, and the -whole country does not combine to destroy them; but when one of -them exceeds the usual size and grows into a monster, when it poisons -fountains with its spittle, scorches herbage with its breath, and -spreads ruin wherever it crawls, we shoot at it with military -engines. Trifling evils may cheat us and elude our observation, but -we gird up our loins to attack great ones. One sick person does not -so much as disquiet the house in which he lies; but when frequent -deaths show that a plague is raging, there is a general outcry, men -take to flight and shake their fists angrily at the very gods -themselves. If a fire breaks out under one single roof, the family -and the neighbours pour water upon it; but a wide conflagration -which has consumed many houses must be smothered under the ruins -of a whole quarter of a city. - -XXVI. The cruelty even of private men has sometimes been revenged -by their slaves in spite of the certainty that they will be crucified: -whole kingdoms and nations when oppressed by tyrants or threatened -by them, have attempted their destruction. Sometimes their own -guards have risen in revolt, and have used against their master all -the deceit, disloyalty, and ferocity which they have learned from -him. What, indeed, can he expect from those whom he has taught to -be wicked? A bad man will not long be obedient, and will not do -only as much evil as he is ordered. But even if the tyrant may be -cruel with safety, how miserable his kingdom must be: it must look -like a city taken by storm, like some frightful scene of general -panic. Everywhere sorrow, anxiety, disorder; men dread even their -own pleasures; they cannot even dine with one another in safety -{413} when they have to keep watch over their tongues even when in -their cups, nor can they safely attend the public shows when informers -are ready to find grounds for their impeachment in their behaviour -there. Although the spectacles be provided at an enormous expense, -with royal magnificence and with world-famous artists, yet who cares -for amusement when he is in prison? Ye gods! what a miserable life -it is to slaughter and to rage, to delight in the clanking of chains, -and to cut off one’s countrymen’s heads, to cause blood to flow -freely wherever one goes, to terrify people, and make them flee -away out of one’s sight! It is what would happen if bears or lions -were our masters, if serpents and all the most venomous creatures -were given power over us. Even these animals, devoid of reason as -they are, and accused by us of cruel ferocity, spare their own kind, -and wild beasts themselves respect their own likeness: but the fury -of tyrants does not even stop short at their own relations, and -they treat friends and strangers alike, only becoming more violent -the more they indulge their passions. By insensible degrees he -proceeds from the slaughter of individuals to the ruin of nations, -and thinks it a sign of power to set roofs on fire and to plough -up the sites of ancient cities: he considers it unworthy of an -emperor to order only one or two people to be put to death, and -thinks that his cruelty is unduly restrained if whole troops of -wretches are not sent to execution together. True happiness, on the -other hand; consists in saving many men’s lives, in calling them -back from the very gates of death, and in being so merciful as to -deserve a civic crown.[12] No decoration is more worthy or more -becoming to a prince’s rank than that crown “for saving the lives -of fellow-citizens”: not trophies torn from a vanquished enemy, not -{414} chariots wet with their savage owner’s blood, not spoils -captured in war. This power which saves men’s lives by crowds and -by nations, is godlike: the power of extensive and indiscrimate -massacre is the power of downfall and conflagration. - - -[1] _Nobilis_. - -[2] The text is corrupt. I have followed Gertz’s conjectural -emendation, _mansuefactionis_, but I believe that Lipsius is right -in thinking that a great deal more than one word has been lost here. - -[3] _Pace_. - -[4] Tutum. - -[5] Gertz reads _sexagesimum_, his sixtieth year, which he calls -“the not very audacious conjecture of Wesseling,” and adds that he -does so because of the words at the beginning of chap. xi. and the -authority of Dion Cassius. The ordinary reading is _quadragesimum_, -“his fortieth year,” and this is the date to which Cinna’s conspiracy -is referred to by Merivale, “History of the Romans under the Empire,” -vol. iv. ch, 37. “A plot,” he says, “was formed for his destruction, -at the head of which was Cornelius Cinna, described as a son of -Faustus Sulla by a daughter of the Great Pompeius.” The story of -Cinna’s conspiracy is told by Seneca, de Clem, i, 9, and Dion iv. -14, foll. They agree in the main fact; but Seneca is our authority -for the details of the interview between Augustus and his enemy, -while Dion has doubtless invented his long conversation between the -emperor and Livia. Seneca, however, calls the conspirator Lucius, -and places the event in the fortieth year of Augustus (A.D. 731), -the scene in Gaul: Dion, on the other, gives the names of Gnaeus, -and supposes the circumstances to have occured twenty-six years -later, and at Rome. It may be observed that a son of Faustus Sulla -must have been at least fifty at this latter date, nor do we know -why he should bear the name of Cinna, though an adoption is not -impossible. - -[6] See Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar,” Act IV, Sc. 1. - -[7] In allusion to the title of “Father of his country,” bestowed -by the Senate upon Augustus. See Merivale, ch. 33. - -[8] This whole comparison, which reads so meaninglessly both in -Latin and in English, is borrowed from the eternal declamations of -Plutarch and the Greek philosophers about βασιλεῖς and τύραννοι. -See Plutarch, Lives of Philopoemen and Aratus, Plato, Gorgias and -Politicus; Arnold, “Appendix to Thucydides,” vol. i., and “Dictionary -of Antiquities,” _s.v._ - -[9] De lra, ii. 11. - -[10] Vedius Pollio had a villa on the mountain now called Punta di -Posilippo, which projects into the sea between Naples and Puteoli, -which he left to Augustus, and which was afterwards possessed by -the Emperor Trajan. He was a freedman by birth, and remarkable for -nothing except his riches and his cruelty. Cf. Dion Cassius, liv. -23; Pliny, H. N. ix. 23; and Seneca, “On Anger,” iii. 40, 2. - -[11] The conquered princes who were led through Rome in triumphs -were as a rule put to death when the procession was over. - -[12] The “civic” crown of oak-leaves was bestowed on him who had -saved the life of a fellow-citizen in war. It was bestowed upon -Augustus, and after him upon the other emperors, as preservers of -the state. - - - - -{415} - -THE SECOND BOOK OF THE DIALOGUE OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO -NERO CAESAR. - -ON CLEMENCY. - - -I. I have been especially led to write about clemency, Nero Caesar, -by a saying of yours, which I remember having heard with admiration -and which I afterwards told to others: a noble saying, showing a -great mind and great gentleness, which suddenly burst from you -without premeditation, and was not meant to reach any ears but your -own, and which displayed the conflict which was raging between your -natural goodness and your imperial duties. Your prefect Burrus, an -excellent man who was born to be the servant of such an emperor as -you are, was about to order two brigands to be executed, and was -pressing you to write their names and the grounds on which they -were to be put to death: this had often been put off, and he was -insisting that it should then be done. When he reluctantly produced -the document and put it into your equally reluctant hands, you -exclaimed: “Would that I had never learned my letters!” O what a -speech, how worthy to be heard by all nations, both those who dwell -within the Roman Empire, those who enjoy a debatable independence -upon its borders, and those who either in will or in deed fight -against it! It is a speech which ought to be spoken {416} before a -meeting of all mankind, whose words all kings and princes ought to -swear to obey: a speech worthy of the days of human innocence, and -worthy to bring back that golden age. Now in truth we ought all to -agree to love righteousness and goodness; covetousness, which is -the root of all evil, ought to be driven away, piety and virtue, -good faith and modesty ought to resume their interrupted reign, and -the vices which have so long and so shamefully ruled us ought at -last to give way to an age of happiness and purity. - -II. To a great extent, Caesar, we may hope and expect that this -will come to pass. Let your own goodness of heart be gradually -spread and diffused throughout the whole body of the empire, and -all parts of it will mould themselves into your likeness. Good -health proceeds from the head into all the members of the body: -they are all either brisk and erect, or languid and drooping, -according as their guiding spirit blooms or withers. Both Romans -and allies will prove worthy of this goodness of yours, and good -morals will return to all the world: your hands will everywhere -find less to do. Allow me to dwell somewhat upon this saying of -yours, not because it is a pleasant subject for your ears (indeed, -this is not my way; I would rather offend by telling the truth than -curry favour by flattery). What, then, is my reason? Besides wishing -that you should be as familiar as possible with your own good deeds -and good words, in order that what is now untutored impulse may -grow into matured decision, I remember that many great but odious -sayings have become part of human life and are familiar in men’s -mouths, such as that celebrated “Let them hate me, provided that -they fear me,” which is like that Greek verse, έμοῦ θανόντος γαῖα -μιχθήτω πνρί, in which a man bids the earth perish in flame after -he is dead, and others of the like sort. I know not how it is, but -certainly human ingenuity seems to have found it {417} easier to -find emphatic and ardent expression for monstrous and cynical -sentiments: I have never hitherto heard any spirited saying from a -good and gentle person. What, then, is the upshot of all this? It -is that, albeit seldom and against your will, and after much -hesitation, you sometimes nevertheless must write that which made -you hate your letters, but that you ought to do so with great -hesitation and after many postponements, even as you now do. - -III. But lest the plausible word “mercy” should sometimes deceive -us and lead us into the opposite extreme, let us consider what mercy -is, what its qualities are, and within what limits it is confined. - -Mercy is “a restraining of the mind from vengeance when it is in -its power to avenge itself,” or it is “gentleness shown by a powerful -man in fixing the punishment of a weaker one.” It is safer to have -more than one definition, since one may not include the whole -subject, and may, so to speak, lose its cause: mercy, therefore, -may likewise be termed a tendency towards mildness in inflicting -punishment. It is possible to discover certain inconsistencies in -the definition which comes nearer the truth than all the rest, which -is to call mercy “self-restraint, which remits some part of a fine -which it deserves to receive and which is due to it.” To this it -will be objected that no virtue ever gives any man less than his -due. However, all men understand mercy to consist in coming short -of the penalty which might with justice be inflicted. - -IV. The unlearned think that its opposite is strictness: but no -virtue is the opposite of another virtue. What, then, is the opposite -of mercy? Cruelty: which is nothing more than obstinacy in exacting -punishments. “But,” say you, “some men do not exact punishments, -and nevertheless are cruel, such as those who kill the strangers -whom they meet, not in order to rob them, but for killing’s sake, -and men who are not satisfied with killing, but kill {418} with -savage tortures, like the famous Busiris,[1] and Procrustes, and -pirates who flog their captives and burn them alive.” This appears -to be cruelty: but as it is not the result of vengeance (for it has -received no wrong), and is not excited by any offence (for no crime -has preceded it), it does not come within our definition, which was -limited to “extravagance in exacting the penalties of wrongdoing.” -We may say that this is not cruelty, but ferocity, which finds -pleasure in savagery: or we may call it madness; for madness is of -various kinds, and there is no truer madness than that which takes -to slaughtering and mutilating human beings. I shall, therefore, -call those persons cruel who have a reason for punishing but who -punish without moderation, like Phalaris, who is not said to have -tortured innocent men, but to have tortured criminals with inhuman -and incredible barbarity. We may avoid hairsplitting by defining -cruelty to be “a tendency of the mind towards harsh measures.” Mercy -repels cruelty and bids it be far from her: with strictness she is -on terms of amity. - -At this point it is useful to inquire into what pity is; for many -praise it as a virtue, and say that a good man is full of pity. -This also is a disease of the mind. Both of these stand close to -mercy and to strictness, and both ought to be avoided, lest under -the name of strictness we be led into cruelty, and under the name -of mercy into pity. It is less dangerous to make the latter mistake, -but both lead us equally far away from the truth. - -V. Just as the gods are worshipped by religion, but are dishonoured -by superstition, so all good men will show mercy and mildness, but -will avoid pity, which is a vice incident to weak minds which cannot -endure the sight of another’s sufferings. It is, therefore, most -commonly {419} found in the worst people; there are old women and -girls[2] who are affected by the tears of the greatest criminals, -and who, if they could, would let them out of prison. Pity considers -a man’s misfortunes and does not consider to what they are due: -mercy is combined with reason. I know that the doctrine of the -Stoics is unpopular among the ignorant as being excessively severe -and not at all likely to give kings and princes good advice; it is -blamed because it declares that the wise man knows not how to feel -pity or to grant pardon. These doctrines, if taken separately, are -indeed odious, for they appear to give men no hope of repairing -their mistakes but exact a penalty for every slip. If this were -true, how can it be true wisdom to bid us put off human feeling, -and to exclude us from mutual help, that surest haven of refuge -against the attacks of Fortune? But no school of philosophy is more -gentle and benignant, none is more full of love towards man or more -anxious to promote the happiness of all, seeing that its maxims -are, to be of service and assistance to others, and to consult the -interests of each and all, not of itself alone. Pity is a disorder -of the mind caused by the sight of other men’s miseries, or it is -a sadness caused by the evils with which it believes others to be -undeservedly afflicted: but the wise man cannot be affected by any -disorder: his mind is calm, and nothing can possibly happen to -ruffle it. Moreover, nothing becomes a man more than magnanimity: -but magnanimity cannot coexist with sorrow. Sorrow overwhelms men’s -minds, casts them down, contracts them: now this cannot happen to -the wise man even in his greatest misfortunes, but he will beat -back the rage of Fortune and triumph over it: he will {420} always -retain the same calm, undisturbed expression of countenance, which -he never could do were he accessible to sorrow. - -VI. Add to this, that the wise man provides for the future and -always has a distinct plan of action ready: yet nothing clear and -true can flow from a disturbed source. Sorrow is awkward at reviewing -the position of affairs, at devising useful expedients, avoiding -dangerous courses, and weighing the merits of fair and just ones: -therefore the wise man will not feel pity, because this cannot -happen to a man unless his mind is disturbed. He will do willingly -and highmindedly all that those who feel pity are wont to do; he -will dry the tears of others, but will not mingle his own with them; -he will stretch out his hand to the shipwrecked mariner, will offer -hospitality to the exile, and alms to the needy—not in the offensive -way in which most of those who wish to be thought tender-hearted -fling their bounty to those whom they assist and shrink from their -touch, but as one man would give another something out of the common -stock—he will restore children to their weeping mothers, will loose -the chains of the captive, release the gladiator from his bondage, -and even bury the carcase of the criminal, but he will perform all -this with a calm mind and unaltered expression of countenance. Thus -the wise man will not pity men, but will help them and be of service -to them, seeing that he is born to be a help to all men and a public -benefit, of which he will bestow a share upon every one. He will -even grant a proportional part of his bounty to those sufferers who -deserve blame and correction; but he will much more willingly help -those whose troubles and adversities are caused by misfortune. -Whenever he is able he will interpose between Fortune and her -victims: for what better employment can he find for his wealth or -his strength than in setting up again what chance has overthrown? -He will not show or feel any {421} disgust at a man’s having withered -legs, or a flabby wrinkled skin, or supporting his aged body upon -a staff; but he will do good to those who deserve it, and will, -like a god, look benignantly upon all who are in trouble. Pity -borders upon misery: it is partly composed of it and partly derived -from it. You know that eyes must be weak, if they fill with rheum -at the sight of another’s blearedness, just as it is not real -merriment but hysteria which makes people laugh because others -laugh, and yawn whenever others open their jaws: pity is a defect -in the mind of people who are extraordinarily affected by suffering, -and he who requires a wise man to exhibit it is not far from requiring -him to lament and groan when strangers are buried. - -VII. But why should he not pardon?[3] Let us decide by exact -definition this other slippery matter, the true nature of pardon, -and we shall then perceive that the wise man ought not to grant it. -Pardon is the remitting of a deserved punishment. The reasons why -the wise man ought not to grant this remission are given at length -by those of whom this question is specially asked: I will briefly -say, as though it were no concern of mine to decide this point, “A -man grants pardon to one whom he ought to punish: now the wise man -does nothing which he ought not to do, and omits to [do] nothing -which he ought to do: he does not, therefore, remit any punishment -which he ought to exact. But the wise man will bestow upon you in -a more honourable way that which you wish to obtain by pardon, for -he will make allowances for you, will consult your interests, and -will correct your bad habits: he will act just as though he were -pardoning you, but nevertheless he will not pardon you, because he -who pardons admits that in so doing he has neglected a part of {422} -his duty. He will only punish some people by reprimanding them, and -will inflict no further penalty if he considers that they are of -an age which admits of reformation: some people who are undeniably -implicated in an odious charge he will acquit, because they were -deceived into committing, or were not sober when they committed the -offence with which they are charged: he will let his enemies depart -unharmed, sometimes even with words of commendation, if they have -taken up arms to defend their honour, their covenants with others, -their freedom, or on any other honourable ground. All these doings -come under the head of mercy, not of pardon. Mercy is free to come -to what decision it pleases: she gives her decision, not under any -statute, but according to equity and goodness: she may acquit the -defendant, or impose what damages she pleases. She does not do any -of these things as though she were doing less than justice requires, -but as though the justest possible course were that which she adopts. -On the other hand, to pardon is not to punish a man whom you have -decided ought to be punished; pardon is the remission of a punishment -which ought to be inflicted. The first advantage which mercy has -over it is that she does not tell those whom she lets off that they -ought to have suffered: she is more complete, more honourable than -pardon.” - -In my opinion, this is a mere dispute about words, and we are agreed -about the thing itself. The wise man will remit many penalties, and -will save many who are wicked, but whose wickedness is not incurable. -He will act like good husbandmen, who do not cultivate only straight -and tall trees, but also apply props to straighten those which have -been rendered crooked by various causes; they trim some, lest the -luxuriance of their boughs should hinder their upward growth, they -nurse those which have been {423} weakened by being planted in an -unsuitable position, and they give air to those which are overshadowed -by the foliage of others. The wise man will see the several treatments -suitable to several dispositions, and how what is crooked may be -straightened. . . . - - -[1] A king of Egypt, who sacrificed strangers, and was himself slain -by Hercules. - -[2] “Three or four wenches where I stood, cried ‘Alas, good soul!—’ -and forgave him with all their hearts: but there’s no heed to be -taken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have -done no less.”—“Julius Caesar,” act i. sc. 2. - -[3] See above, chap. v. - - -THE END. - - - - -{425} - -INDEX. - - -A - -Alexander the Great, 78, 98, 135, 141, 411. - -Alexandria, Library of, 270. - -Anger, 48; signs of, 49; results of, 50; definitions of, 50_n_; -animals not subject to, 52; not natural, 54; should be resisted at -the beginning, 57; examples of its results, 60; not necessary against -enemies, 60; nor useful, 63; not necessary for punishment, 68; -contrasted with reason, 69; creates vain-glory, but not magnanimity, -73; cannot act without the approval of the mind, 77; contrasted -with ferocity, 80; the wise man will never be angry, 81; anger and -fear, 87; anger ought to be done away with, 88; must never become -a habit, 90; remedies for, 93; some men more prone to, than others, -93; influence of education, 95; and of prosperity, 96; cause of, -97; effect of trifles, 99; delay the best remedy, 104; anger caused -by ignorance or arrogance, 106; or by desire for revenge, 108; its -hideousness and danger, 111; its power, 114; contrasted with other -vices and passions, 116; how to avoid it, 120; examples of anger -indulged in, Cambyses, 131, 139; Astyages, 133; Darius, 135; Xerxes, -135; Alexander, 135; Lysimachus, 136; Caligula, 137, 139; Rhinocolura, -138; Cyrus, 139; examples of anger controlled, Antigonus, 140; -Philip, 141; Augustus, 142; how injuries ought to be bourne, 144; -better to heal than to avenge them, 146; the evils of anger, 147; -its trifling beginnings, 149; money, 151; other causes, 152; value -of self-examination, 154; how to soothe the anger of others, 156; -Augustus and Vedius, 158; anger should be got rid of altogether, -159. - -Animals, anger in, 49, 52. - -Antigonus (monophthalmus), 141. - -Antisthenes, 45. - -Antonius, M., 374, 391. - -Aristides, 341. - -Aristotle, 51_n_, 52, 58, 68, 118, 135, 287, 288. - -Apicius, the glutton, 217, 336. - -Asinius Pollio, 142, 285. - -Astyages, King of Persia, 133. - -Augustus. _See_ Caesar. - -{426} - -Avarice, conquered by anger, 114. - -Athenodorus, quoted, 259, 265. - -B - -Bees, 405. - -Bibulus, L., 181. - -Bion, quoted, 267, 282. - -Books, should be bought to read, not for show, 270. - -Brutus, L. Junius, 183. - -Brutus, M. Junius, 330. - -Burrus, prefect of Nero, 415. - -C - -Caelius (Antipater), 125. - -Caesar, Augustus, 142, 158, 165, 182, 293, 372, 391, 393, 401. - -Caesar, Claudius, 360, 369, 370. - -Caesar, Gaius (Caligula), 44, 74, 109, 137, 140, 276, 280, 316, -334, 376. - -Caesar, Gaius, grandson of Augustus, 373. - -Caesar, Gaius Julius, 98, 149, 181, 333. - -Caesar, Germanicus, brother of Claudius, 374. - -Caesar, Lucius, grandson of Augustus, 373. - -Caesar, Nero, 382, 396, 415. - -Caesar, Tiberius, 11, 182, 373. - -Caligula. _See_ Caesar, Gaius. - -Calmness, a sign of wisdom, 27. - -Cambyses, 131, 139. - -Cato, M., 5, 7, 10, 23, 31, 40, 108, 156, 192, 196, 228, 285, 286, -341. - -Chaerea, 44. - -Chrysippus, 242, 247, 248, 252. - -Cicero, 192, 274, 295. - -Cimber, Tillius, 149. - -Cinna, L., 392. - -Claudius Caudex, 307, - -Cleanthes, 247, 252. - -Clemency, 380; becomes no one more than a king, 384, 386; clemency -of Augustus, 391; and of Nero, 396; distinguishes between kings and -tyrants, 397; makes a king beloved, 399; Tarius, 401; clemency -towards slaves, 404; the king-bee, 405; clemency in inflicting -punishment, 407; makes men ashamed to do wrong, 410; clemency of -Nero, 415; definitions of Mercy, 417; of cruelty, 417; of pity, -418; of pardon, 421. - -Clitus, killed by Alexander, 135. - -Cloelia, 183. - -Comfort, excess of, 13. - -Consolation, 162, 320, 353. - -Contempt, 36. - -Cordus, A. Cremutius, 162, 196, 197. - -Cornelia, wife of L. Drusus, 183. - -Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, 183, 345. - -Corvinus, M. Valerius, 307. - -Cotta, C. Aurelius, 345. - -Courage, aims high, 18; born of desperation, 398. - -Cruelty, caused by anger, 80; cannot be left off, if once begun, -399; inhumanity of, 411; shown in kings, 411; and in private men, -412; the opposite of mercy, 417. - -Cyrus (the elder), 139. - -D - -Darius, 135. - -Death, quickness of, 21; not an evil, 23; a release from pain, 190. -191. - -{427} - -Delay, a remedy for anger, 104, 115, 129; and for grief, 172. - -Demetrius the Cynic, quoted, 7, 16. - -Demetrius Poliorcetes, 28. - -Demochares (Parrhesiastes), 141 142. - -Democritus, 18, 85, 122, 255, 278. - -Dentatus, Curius, 264, 307. - -Desperation, breeds courage, 398. - -Diodorus, the Epicurean, 255. - -Diogenes, the Cynic, 225, 267, 268, - -Diogenes, the Stoic, 156, - -Dionysius, of Syracuse, 186, 397, - -Drusilla, 376. - -Drusus, Livius, 183, 295. - -Drusus, N. Claudius, senior, 373. - -Drusus, N. Claudius, 166, 169. - -Duillius, C. 307. - -E - -Education, should be carefully regulated, 95. - -Epicurus, and Epicureans, 41, 42, 218, 219, 242, 248. - -Exile, 325. - -F - -Fabianus (Papirius), quoted, 302, 309. - -Fabius (Cunctator), 61, 106. - -Fabricius, 7, 8. - -Fear, felt by those who inspire it, 87; in moderation restrains -men, 398. - -Ferocity, contrasted with anger, 80; and with cruelty, 418. - -Firmness, the, of a wise man, 22, _sqq_. - -Friendship, 265. - -G - -Good, the highest, definition of, 208. 212, 215, 221, 244. - -Gracchi, the, 183, 345. - -Grief, examples of, 165; extreme grief unnatural, 171; cured by -time, 172; counterfeited, 282; should be countered by reason, 346; -its unprofitableness, 357; cannot co-exist with magnanimity, 419. - -H - -Hannibal, 61, 78, 80. - -Happiness, 204; how to gain it, 206; definitions of, 208; in connexion -with pleasure, 211; consists in virtue, 222; excess makes men greedy, -382. - -Harpagus, 133. - -Heraclitus, 85. - -Hieronymus, quoted, 71. - -Hippias, 98. - -I - -Injury, cannot touch a wise man, 25, 32, 41, 42; distinguished from -insult, 27, 35; can be endured, 144. - -Insult, distinguished from injury, 27, 35; how received by Diogenes -and Cato, 156. - -Irascibility, contrasted with anger, 53, 71. - -J - -Julia Augusta (title of Livia), 168. - -K - -Kanus, Julius, 280, 281. - -{428} - -L - -Laberius, quoted, 87. - -Lacedaemonians, the, 13. - -Leisure, advantages of, 240, _sqq_. - -Life, shortness of, 160, 161, 175, 193, 288; its misery, 175; three -kinds of, 248; divided into three parts, 302. - -Livia, wife of Augustus (afterwards Julia Augusta), 165, 168, 392. - -Livius, T., quoted, 74, 270. - -Love, conquered by anger, 114. - -Lucretia. 183. - -Lucretius, quoted, 258. - -Luxury, 218, 306. - -Lysimachus, 136, 411. - -M - -Maecenas, 9. - -Magnanimity, repels insult, 36; not caused by anger, 73, 122; does -not feel blows, 144; befits all men, 387; cannot co-exist with -sorrow, 419. - -Marcellus, M. Claudius, 332. - -Marcellus, M. Claudius, son of Octavia, 165, 373. - -Mercy, inclines men to innocence, 411; definitions of, 417; -distinguished from pardon, 422. - -Metellus, L. Caecilius, 309. - -Mindyrides, the Sybarite, 99. - -Misfortunes, how regarded by the wise man, 3; are to the advantage -of those to whom they happen, 6; are the test of brave men, 11, 12, -17; generally come unexpectedly, 173; attack all alike, 178; -alleviated by habit, 271, 322. - -Money, evils of, 151. _See_ Riches. - -Mucius, 7. - -N - -Nero. _See_ Caesar. - -Nomentanus, 217. - -O - -Octavia, sister of Augustus, 165, 372. - -Oeobazus, 135. - -Ovid, quoted, 18, 52, 84, 228. - -P - -Pardon, definition of, 421. - -Pastor, 109. - -Paulus, L. Aemilius, 180. - -Peace of mind, definition of, 122, 255; how to attain it, etc., -255, _sqq_. - -Peripatetics, the, 50_n_. - -Phaethon, 18. - -Phalaris, 418. - -Philip, of Macedon, 141, 142. - -Philip, physician of Alexander, 98 - -Pisistratus, 128. - -Piso, Gnaeus, 70. - -Pity, definition of, 418, 419; borders on misery, 421. - -Plato, 55, 72, 95, 97, 129, 198 286. - -Pleasure, has no connexion with virtue, 211, 212; belongs to good -and bad alike, 213; not the aim of virtue, 214; pleasures of bad -men, 216; and of the wise, 217; the Epicurean doctrine, 218; all -pleasure is short-lived, 365. - -Pollio, Asinius, 142, 285. - -Pollio, Vedius, 158, 402. - -Pompeius, 78_n_, 98, 150, 181, 192, 276, 308. - -Pompeius, Sextus, 372. - -Posidonius, his definition of anger, 50_n_. - -{429} - -Poverty, 333; no inconvenience to an exile, 337. - -Praexaspes, 131. - -Predestination, 194. - -Property, 267. _See_ Riches. - -Prosperity, 4, 10; fosters anger, 96. - -Providence, 1, _sqq_. - -Publilius, quoted, 275. - -Pulvillus, 179. - -Punishment, why inflicted, 407; should not be frequent, 410. - -Pythagoras, 126. - -Pythias, 135. - -R - -Rage, does not befit kings, 317. - -Reason, only strong apart from the passions, 56; its power, 69; -contrasted with anger, 70; cannot overcome some habits, 80. - -Regulus, 7, 9, 339. - -Relaxation, necessity for, 285. - -Revenge, a cause of anger, 108, 146; has two effects, 408. - -Rhinocolura, why so called, 138. - -Riches, how regarded by the wise man, 229; and by the fool, 235; -better never to possess, than to lose, 267. - -Rutilia, mother of C. Cotta, 345. - -Rutilius, 7, 8, 196. - -S - -Scipio Africanus, 61, 371. - -Scipio Africanus Minor, 61, 180, 285, 339, 372. - -Sejanus, 162, 182, 196, 197, 276. - -Self-examination, value of, 154, 206, 264. - -Self-love, 106. - -Sextius, Q., a Stoic, 113, 154. - -Socrates, 7, 9, 31, 45, 65, 128, 130, 196, 234, 236, 238, 262, 285, -341. - -Sorrow. _See_ Grief. - -Stilbo, 28. - -Stoics and Stoicism, 22, 23, 41, 42, 50_n_, 94, 207, 218, 241, 242, -248, 419. - -Sulkiness, a form of irascibility, 53. - -Sulla, L., 8, 73, 78, 110, 179, 309, 397. - -Suspicion, a cause of anger, 99. - -T - -Tarius, 401. - -Telesphorus, the Rhodian, 136. - -Theodorus, (Cyrenaicus), 279. - -Theophrastus, quoted, 62, 64. - -Thrift, advantage of, 269. - -Tillius Cimber, 149. - -Timagenes, 142. - -Trifles, anger caused by, 99, 100, 106, 149, 152. - -Triumphus, 11. - -Turannius, 318. - -Tyrant, compared with king, 396, 397. - -V - -Valerius, Asiaticus, 44. - -Valour, greedy of danger, 11. - -Varro, M. Terentius, 330. - -Vatinius, 43. - -Vedius Pollio, 158, 402. - -Vengeance, 408. _See_ Revenge. - -Virgil, quoted, 112, 185, 241. - -Virtue, not given by fortune, 28; its natural function to rejoice, -81; is infectious, 124; has no connexion with pleasure, 211, 212; -and does not aim at it, 214, 215; is a sure guide, 219; brings true -happiness, 222; should be reverenced, {430} 237; cannot be hidden, -260, 262. - -Volesus, cruelty of, 81. - -W - -Weakness of mind, a cause of anger, 62. - -Wine, 286. - -X - -Xanthippe, wife of Socrates, 45. - -Xerxes, 26, 135, 313. - -Z - -Zeno, 68, 242, 247, 252, 279. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR DIALOGUES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<table style='min-width:0; padding:0; margin-left:0; border-collapse:collapse'> - <tr><td>Title:</td><td>Minor Dialogues</td></tr> - <tr><td></td><td>Together with the Dialogue On Clemency</td></tr> -</table> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Lucius Seneca</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Aubrey Stewart</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 16, 2021 [eBook #64576]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Michael Budiansky</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR DIALOGUES ***</div> - -<div> - -<p class="center huge break-before">L. ANNAEUS SENECA</p> - -<h1>MINOR DIALOGUES<br /> - <small>TOGETHER WITH THE DIALOGUE</small><br /> - ON CLEMENCY</h1> - -<br /> - -<p class="center"><i>TRANSLATED BY</i><br /> - <span class="xlarge">AUBREY STEWART, M.A.</span><br /> - <small>LATE FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE</small></p> - -<br /> -<br /> - -<p class="center">LONDON — GEORGE BELL -AND SONS, YORK STREET<br /> - COVENT GARDEN<br /> - 1889</p> - -<br /> - -<p class="center">CHISWICK PRESS :—C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, -<br /> -CHANCERY LANE</p> - -<br /> - -<h2>PREFACE.</h2> - -<p>I can say little by way of preface to Seneca’s “Minor -Dialogues” -which I have not already expressed in my preface to “De Beneficiis,” -except that the “Minor Dialogues” seem to me to be composed in -a gloomier key than either the “De Beneficiis” or “De -Clementia,” -and probably were written at a time when the author had already -begun to experience the ingratitude of his imperial pupil. Some -of the Dialogues are dated from Corsica, Seneca’s place of exile, -which he seems to have found peculiarly uncomfortable, although -he remarks that there are people who live there from choice. -Nevertheless, mournful as they are in tone, these Dialogues have -a certain value, because they teach us what was meant by Stoic -philosophy in the time of the Twelve Caesars. I have only to -add that the value of my work has been materially enhanced by -the kindness of the Rev. Professor J. E. B. Mayor, who has been -good enough to read and correct almost all the proof sheets of -this volume.</p> - -<p class="right-justify indent-right nomargin">AUBREY STEWART.</p> -<p class="indent-left nomargin"><i>London,</i> 1889.</p> - -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<table class="sc" summary="Table of Contents"> - <tr> - <th> </th> - <th> </th> - <th class="pn">PAGE</th> - </tr> - - <tr><td colspan="2"> Of Providence </td><td class="pn"> <a href="#p1">1</a> - </td></tr> - - <tr><td colspan="2"> On the Firmness of the Wise Man </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p22">22</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td> Of Anger. </td><td> I. </td><td class="pn"> <a href="#p48">48</a> - </td></tr> - - <tr><td> " </td><td> II. </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p76">76</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td> " </td><td> III. </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p115">115</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td colspan="2"> Of Consolation. To Marcia </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p162">162</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td colspan="2"> Of a Happy Life </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p204">204</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td colspan="2"> Of Leisure </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p240">240</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td colspan="2"> Of Peace of Mind </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p250">250</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td colspan="2"> Of the Shortness of Life </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p288">288</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td> Of Consolation. </td><td> To Helvia </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p320">320</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td> " </td><td> To Polybius </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p353">353</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td> Of Clemency. </td><td> I. </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p380">380</a> </td></tr> - - <tr><td> " </td><td> II. </td><td class="pn"> - <a href="#p415">415</a> </td></tr> -</table> - -<h2>THE FIRST BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p1">1</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO LUCILIUS.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">“WHY, WHEN A PROVIDENCE EXISTS, ANY MISFORTUNES -BEFALL -GOOD MEN;” OR, “OF PROVIDENCE”</span></h2> - -<p>I. You have asked me, Lucilius, why, if the world be ruled by -providence, so many evils befall good men? The answer to this -would be more conveniently given in the course of this work, -after we have proved that providence governs the universe, and -that God is amongst us: but, since you wish me to deal with one -point apart from the whole, and to answer one replication before -the main action has been decided, I will do what is not difficult, -and plead the cause of the gods. At the present time it is superfluous -to point out that it is not without some guardian that so great -a work maintains its position, that the assemblage and movements -of the stars do not depend upon accidental impulses, or that -objects whose motion is regulated by chance often fall into confusion -and soon stumble, whereas this swift and safe movement goes on, -governed by eternal law, bearing with it so many things both -on sea and land, so many most brilliant lights shining in order -in the skies; that this regularity does not belong to matter -moving at random, and that particles brought together by chance -could not <span class="pagenum" id="p2">2</span>arrange themselves with such art -as to make the heaviest -weight, that of the earth, remain unmoved, and behold the flight -of the heavens as they hasten round it, to make the seas pour -into the valleys and so temper the climate of the land, without -any sensible increase from the rivers which flow into them, or -to cause huge growths to proceed from minute seeds. Even those -phenomena which appear to be confused and irregular, I mean showers -of rain and clouds, the rush of lightning from the heavens, fire -that pours from the riven peaks of mountains, quakings of the -trembling earth, and everything else which is produced on earth -by the unquiet element in the universe, do not come to pass without -reason, though they do so suddenly: but they also have their -causes, as also have those things which excite our wonder by -the strangeness of their position, such as warm springs amidst -the waves of the sea, and new islands that spring up in the wide -ocean. Moreover, any one who has watched how the shore is laid -bare by the retreat of the sea into itself, and how within a -short time it is again covered, will believe that it is in obedience -to some hidden law of change that the waves are at one time contracted -and driven inwards, at another burst forth and regain their bed -with a strong current, since all the while they wax in regular -proportion, and come up at their appointed day and hour greater -or less, according as the moon, at whose pleasure the ocean flows, -draws them. Let these matters be set aside for discussion at -their own proper season, but I, since you do not doubt the existence -of providence but complain of it, will on that account more readily -reconcile you to gods who are most excellent to excellent men: -for indeed the nature of things does not ever permit good to -be injured by good. Between good men and the gods there is a -friendship which is brought about by virtue— friendship do I -say? nay, rather relationship and likeness, since the good man -differs from a god in time alone, <span class="pagenum" id="p3">3</span>being -his pupil and rival and -true offspring, whom his glorious parent trains more severely -than other men, insisting sternly on virtuous conduct, just as -strict fathers do. When therefore you see men who are good and -acceptable to the gods toiling, sweating, painfully struggling -upwards, while bad men run riot and are steeped in pleasures, -reflect that modesty pleases us in our sons, and forwardness -in our house-born slave-boys; that the former are held in check -by a somewhat stern rule, whereas the boldness of the latter -is encouraged. Be thou sure that God acts in like manner: He -does not pet the good man: He tries him, hardens him, and fits -him for Himself.</p> - -<p>II. Why do many things turn out badly for good men? Why, no evil -can befall a good man: contraries cannot combine. Just as so -many rivers, so many showers of rain from the clouds, such a -number of medicinal springs, do not alter the taste of the sea, -indeed, do not so much as soften it, so the pressure of adversity -does not affect the mind of a brave man; for the mind of a brave -man maintains its balance and throws its own complexion over -all that takes place, because it is more powerful than any external -circumstances. I do not say that he does not feel them, but he -conquers them, and on occasion calmly and tranquilly rises superior -to their attacks, holding all misfortunes to be trials of his -own firmness. Yet who is there who, provided he be a man and -have honourable ambition, does not long for due employment, and -is not eager to do his duty in spite of danger? Is there any -hard-working man to whom idleness is not a punishment? We see -athletes, who study only their bodily strength, engage in contests -with the strongest of men, and insist that those who train them -for the arena should put out their whole strength when practising -with them: they endure blows and maltreatment, and, if they cannot -find any single person who is their match, they engage with several -at once: their <span class="pagenum" id="p4">4</span>strength and courage droop -without an antagonist: -they can only prove how great and how mighty it is by proving -how much they can endure. You should know that good men ought -to act in like manner, so as not to fear troubles and difficulties, -nor to lament their hard fate, to take in good part whatever -befalls them, and force it to become a blessing to them. It does -not matter what you bear, but how you bear it. Do you not see -how differently fathers and mothers indulge their children? how -the former urge them to begin their tasks betimes, will not suffer -them to be idle even on holidays, and exercise them till they -perspire, and sometimes till they shed tears—while their mothers -want to cuddle them in their laps, and keep them out of the sun, -and never wish them to be vexed, or to cry, or to work. God bears -a fatherly mind towards good men, and loves them in a manly spirit. -“Let them,” says He, “be exercised by labours, sufferings, and -losses, that so they may gather true strength.” Those who are -surfeited with ease break down not only with labour, but with -mere motion and by their own weight. Unbroken prosperity cannot -bear a single blow; but he who has waged an unceasing strife -with his misfortunes has gained a thicker skin by his sufferings, -yields to no disaster, and even though he fall yet fights on -his knee. Do you wonder that God, who so loves the good, who -would have them attain the highest goodness and pre-eminence, -should appoint fortune to be their adversary? I should not be -surprised if the gods sometimes experience a wish to behold great -men struggling with some misfortune. We sometimes are delighted -when a youth of steady courage receives on his spear the wild -beast that attacks him; or when he meets the charge of a lion -without flinching; and the more eminent the man is who acts -thus,<a href="#fn-1.1" name="fnref-1.1" id="fnref-1.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> -the more -<span class="pagenum" id="p5">5</span>attractive is the sight: yet these are not -matters which can -attract the attention of the gods, but are mere pastime and diversions -of human frivolity. Behold a sight worthy to be viewed by a god -interested in his own work, behold a -pair<a href="#fn-1.2" name="fnref-1.2" id="fnref-1.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> worthy -of a god, -a brave man matched with evil fortune, especially if he himself -has given the challenge. I say, I do not know what nobler spectacle -Jupiter could find on earth, should he turn his eyes thither, -than that of Cato, after his party had more than once been defeated, -still standing upright amid the ruins of the commonwealth. Quoth -he, “What though all be fallen into one man’s power, though the -land be guarded by his legions, the sea by his fleets, though -Caesar’s soldiers beset the city gate? Cato has a way out of -it: with one hand he will open a wide path to freedom; his sword, -which he has borne unstained by disgrace and innocent of crime -even in a civil war, will still perform good and noble deeds; -it will give to Cato that freedom which it could not give to -his country. Begin, my soul, the work which thou so long hast -contemplated, snatch thyself away from the world of man. Already -Petreius and Juba have met and fallen, each slain by the other’s -hand—a brave and noble compact with fate, yet not one befitting -my greatness: it is as disgraceful for Cato to beg his death -of any one as it would be for him to beg his life.”</p> - -<p>It is clear to me that the gods must have looked on with great -joy, while that man, his own most ruthless avenger, took thought -for the safety of others and arranged the escape of those who -departed, while even on his last night he pursued his studies, -while he drove the sword into his sacred breast, while he tore -forth his vitals and laid his hand upon that most holy life which -was unworthy to be defiled by steel. This, I am inclined to think, -was the reason that -<span class="pagenum" id="p6">6</span>his wound was not well-aimed and mortal: -the gods were not satisfied -with seeing Cato die once: his courage was kept in action and -recalled to the stage, that it might display itself in a more -difficult part: for it needs a greater mind to return a second -time to death. How could they fail to view their pupil with interest -when leaving his life by such a noble and memorable departure? -Men are raised to the level of the gods by a death which is admired -even by those who fear them.</p> - -<p>III. However, as my argument proceeds, I shall prove that what -appear to be evils are not so; for the present I say this, that -what you call hard measure, misfortunes, and things against which -we ought to pray, are really to the advantage, firstly, of those -to whom they happen, and secondly, of all mankind, for whom the -gods care more than for individuals; and next, that these evils -befall them with their own good will, and that men deserve to -endure misfortunes, if they are unwilling to receive them. To -this I shall add, that misfortunes proceed thus by destiny, and -that they befall good men by the same law which makes them good. -After this, I shall prevail upon you never to pity any good man; -for though he may be called unhappy, he cannot be so.</p> - -<p>Of all these propositions that which I have stated first appears -the most difficult to prove. I mean, that the things which we -dread and shudder at are to the advantage of those to whom they -happen. “Is it,” say you, “to their advantage to be driven -into -exile, to be brought to want, to carry out to burial their children -and wife, to be publicly disgraced, to lose their health?” Yes! -if you are surprised at these being to any man’s advantage, you -will also be surprised at any man being benefited by the knife -and cautery, or by hunger and thirst as well. Yet if you consider -that some men, in order to be cured, have their bones scraped, -and pieces of them extracted, that their veins are pulled out -<span class="pagenum" id="p7">7</span>and that some have limbs cut off, which -could not remain in their -place without ruin to the whole body, you will allow me to prove -to you this also, that some misfortunes are for the good of those -to whom they happen, just as much, by Hercules, as some things -which are praised and sought after are harmful to those who enjoy -them like indigestions and drunkenness and other matters which -kill us through pleasure. Among many grand sayings of our Demetrius -is this, which I have but just heard, and which still rings and -thrills in my ears: “No one,” said he, “seems to me more -unhappy -than the man whom no misfortune has ever befallen.” He never -has had an opportunity of testing himself; though everything -has happened to him according to his wish, nay, even before he -has formed a wish, yet the gods have judged him unfavourably; -he has never been deemed worthy to conquer ill fortune, which -avoids the greatest cowards, as though it said, “Why should I -take that man for my antagonist? He will straightway lay down -his arms: I shall not need all my strength against him: he will -be put to flight by a mere menace: he dares not even face me; -let me look around for some other with whom I may fight hand -to hand: I blush to join battle with one who is prepared to be -beaten.” A gladiator deems it a disgrace to be matched with an -inferior, and knows that to win without danger is to win without -glory. Just so Fortune; she seeks out the bravest to match herself -with, passes over some with disdain, and makes for the most unyielding -and upright of men, to exert her strength against them. She tried -Mucius fire, Fabricius by poverty, Rutilius by exile, Regulus -by torture, Socrates by poison, Cato by death: it is ill fortune -alone that discovers these glorious examples. Was Mucius unhappy, -because he grasped the enemy’s fire with his right hand, and -of his own accord paid the penalty of his mistake? because he -overcame the King with his hand when it was burned, though he -could <span class="pagenum" id="p8">8</span>not when it held a sword? Would he -have been happier, if -he had warmed his hand in his mistress’s bosom? Was Fabricius -unhappy, because when the state could spare him, he dug his own -land? because he waged war against riches as keenly as against -Pyrrhus? because he supped beside his hearth off the very roots -and herbs which he himself, though an old man, and one who had -enjoyed a triumph, had grubbed up while clearing his field of -weeds? What then? would he have been happier if he had gorged -himself with fishes from distant shores, and birds caught in -foreign lands? if he had roused the torpor of his queasy stomach -with shellfish from the upper and the lower sea? if he had piled -a great heap of fruits round game of the first head, which many -huntsmen had been killed in capturing? Was Rutilius unhappy, -because those who condemned him will have to plead their cause -for all ages? because he endured the loss of his country more -composedly than that of his banishment? because he was the only -man who refused anything to Sulla the dictator, and when recalled -from exile all but went further away and banished himself still -more. “Let those,” said he, “whom thy fortunate reign -catches -at Rome, see to the Forum drenched with -blood,<a href="#fn-1.3" name="fnref-1.3" id="fnref-1.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> and -the heads -of Senators above the Pool of Servilius—the place where the victims -of Sulla’s proscriptions were stripped—the bands of assassins -roaming at large through the city, and many thousands of Roman -citizens slaughtered in one place, after, nay, by means of a -promise of quarter. Let those who are unable to go into exile -behold these things.” Well! is Lucius Sulla happy, because when -he comes down into the Forum room is made for him with sword-strokes, -because he allows the heads of consulars to be shown to him, -and counts out the price of blood through the quaestor and the -state exchequer?<span class="pagenum" id="p9">9</span> And this, this was the -man who passed the Lex -Cornelia! Let us now come to Regulus: what injury did fortune -do him when she made him an example of good faith, an example -of endurance? They pierce his skin with nails: wherever he leans -his weary body, it rests on a wound; his eyes are fixed for ever -open; the greater his sufferings, the greater is his glory. Would -you know how far he is from regretting that he valued his honour -at such a price? heal his wounds and send him again into the -senate-house; he will give the same advice. So, then, you think -Maecenas a happier man, who when troubled by love, and weeping -at the daily repulses of his ill-natured wife, sought for sleep -by listening to distant strains of music? Though he drug himself -with wine, divert himself with the sound of falling waters, and -distract his troubled thoughts with a thousand pleasures, yet -Maecenas will no more sleep on his down cushions than Regulus -on the rack. Yet it consoles the latter that he suffers for the -sake of honour, and he looks away from his torments to their -cause: whilst the other, jaded with pleasures and sick with over-enjoyment, -is more hurt by the cause of his sufferings than by the sufferings -themselves. Vice has not so utterly taken possession of the human -race that, if men were allowed to choose their destiny, there -can be any doubt but that more would choose to be Reguluses than -to be Maecenases: or if there were any one who dared to say that -he would prefer to be born Maecenas than Regulus that man, whether -he says so or not, would rather have been Terentia (than Cicero). -</p> - -<p>Do you consider Socrates to have been badly used, because he -took that draught which the state assigned to him as though it -were a charm to make him immortal, and argued about death until -death itself? Was he ill treated, because his blood froze and -the current of his veins gradually stopped as the chill of death -crept over them? How much more is this man to be envied than -he who is <span class="pagenum" id="p10">10</span>served on precious stones, -whose drink a creature trained -to every vice, a eunuch or much the same, cools with snow in -a golden cup? Such men as these bring up again all that they -drink, in misery and disgust at the taste of their own bile, -while Socrates cheerfully and willingly drains his poison. As -for Cato, enough has been said, and all men must agree that the -highest happiness was reached by one who was chosen by Nature -herself as worthy to contend with all her terrors: “The enmity,” -says she, “of the powerful is grievous, therefore let him be -opposed at once by Pompeius, Caesar, and Crassus: it is grievous, -when a candidate for public offices, to be defeated by one’s -inferiors; therefore let him be defeated by Vatinius: it is grievous -to take part in civil wars, therefore let him fight in every -part of the world for the good cause with equal obstinacy and -ill-luck: it is grievous to lay hands upon one’s self, therefore -let him do so. What shall I gain by this? That all men may know -that these things, which I have deemed Cato worthy to undergo, -are not real evils.”</p> - -<p>IV. Prosperity comes to the mob, and to low-minded men as well -as to great ones; but it is the privilege of great men alone -to send under the -yoke<a href="#fn-1.4" name="fnref-1.4" id="fnref-1.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> the -disasters and terrors of mortal -life: whereas to be always prosperous, and to pass through life -without a twinge of mental distress, is to remain ignorant of -one half of nature. You are a great man; but how am I to know -it, if fortune gives you no opportunity of showing your virtue? -You have entered the arena of the Olympic games, but no one -<span class="pagenum" id="p11">11</span>else -has done so: you have the crown, but not the victory: I do not -congratulate you as I would a brave man, but as one who has obtained -a consulship or praetorship. You have gained dignity. I may say -the same of a good man, if troublesome circumstances have never -given him a single opportunity of displaying the strength of -his mind. I think you unhappy because you never have been unhappy: -you have passed through your life without meeting an antagonist: -no one will know your powers, not even you yourself. For a man -cannot know himself without a trial: no one ever learnt what -he could do without putting himself to the test; for which reason -many have of their own free will exposed themselves to misfortunes -which no longer came in their way, and have sought for an opportunity -of making their virtue, which otherwise would have been lost -in darkness, shine before the world. Great men, I say, often -rejoice at crosses of fortune just as brave soldiers do at wars. -I remember to have heard Triumphus, who was a -gladiator<a href="#fn-1.5" name="fnref-1.5" id="fnref-1.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> in -the reign of Tiberius Caesar, complaining about the scarcity -of prizes; “What a glorious time,” said he, “is past.” -Valour -is greedy of danger, and thinks only of whither it strives to -go, not of what it will suffer, since even what it will suffer -is part of its glory. Soldiers pride themselves on their wounds, -they joyously display their blood flowing over their -breastplate.<a href="#fn-1.6" name="fnref-1.6" id="fnref-1.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> -Though those who return unwounded from battle may have done as -bravely, yet he who returns wounded is more admired. God, I say, -favours those whom He wishes to enjoy the greatest honours, whenever -He affords them the means of performing some exploit with spirit -and courage, something which is not easily to be accomplished: -you can judge of a pilot in a storm, of a soldier in a battle. -How can I know with <span class="pagenum" id="p12">12</span>how great a spirit -you could endure poverty, -if you overflow with riches? How can I tell with how great firmness -you could bear up against disgrace, dishonour, and public hatred, -if you grow old to the sound of applause, if popular favour cannot -be alienated from you, and seems to flow to you by the natural -bent of men’s minds? How can I know how calmly you would endure -to be childless, if you see all your children around you? I have -heard what you said when you were consoling others: then I should -have seen whether you could have consoled yourself, whether you -could have forbidden yourself to grieve. Do not, I beg you, dread -those things which the immortal gods apply to our minds like -spurs: misfortune is virtue’s opportunity. Those men may justly -be called unhappy who are stupified with excess of enjoyment, -whom sluggish contentment keeps as it were becalmed in a quiet -sea: whatever befalls them will come strange to them. Misfortunes -press hardest on those who are unacquainted with them: the yoke -feels heavy to the tender neck. The recruit turns pale at the -thought of a wound: the veteran, who knows that he has often -won the victory after losing blood, looks boldly at his own flowing -gore. In like manner God hardens, reviews, and exercises those -whom He tests and loves: those whom He seems to indulge and spare, -He is keeping out of condition to meet their coming misfortunes: -for you are mistaken if you suppose that any one is exempt from -misfortune: he who has long prospered will have his share some -day; those who seem to have been spared them have only had them -put off. Why does God afflict the best of men with ill-health, -or sorrow, or other troubles? Because in the army the most hazardous -services are assigned to the bravest soldiers: a general sends -his choicest troops to attack the enemy in a midnight ambuscade, -to reconnoitre his line of march, or to drive the hostile garrisons -from their strong places. No one of these -<span class="pagenum" id="p13">13</span>men says as he begins -his march, “The general has dealt hardly with me,” but “He has -judged well of me.” Let those who are bidden to suffer what makes -the weak and cowardly weep, say likewise, “God has thought us -worthy subjects on whom to try how much suffering human nature -can endure.” Avoid luxury, avoid effeminate enjoyment, by which -men’s minds are softened, and in which, unless something occurs -to remind them of the common lot of humanity, they lie unconscious, -as though plunged in continual drunkenness. He whom glazed windows -have always guarded from the wind, whose feet are warmed by constantly -renewed fomentations, whose dining-room is heated by hot air -beneath the floor and spread through the walls, cannot meet the -gentlest breeze without danger. While all excesses are hurtful, -excess of comfort is the most hurtful of all; it affects the -brain; it leads men’s minds into vain imaginings; it spreads -a thick cloud over the boundaries of truth and falsehood. Is -it not better, with virtue by one’s side, to endure continual -misfortune, than to burst with an endless surfeit of good things? -It is the overloaded stomach that is rent asunder: death treats -starvation more gently. The gods deal with good men according -to the same rule as schoolmasters with their pupils, who exact -most labour from those of whom they have the surest hopes. Do -you imagine that the Lacedaemonians, who test the mettle of their -children by public flogging, do not love them? Their own fathers -call upon them to endure the strokes of the rod bravely, and -when they are torn and half dead, ask them to offer their wounded -skin to receive fresh wounds. Why then should we wonder if God -tries noble spirits severely? There can be no easy proof of virtue. -Fortune lashes and mangles us: well, let us endure it: it is -not cruelty, it is a struggle, in which the oftener we engage -the braver we shall become. The strongest part of the -<span class="pagenum" id="p14">14</span>body is -that which is exercised by the most frequent use: we must entrust -ourselves to fortune to be hardened by her against herself: by -degrees she will make us a match for herself. Familiarity with -danger leads us to despise it. Thus the bodies of sailors are -hardened by endurance of the sea, and the hands of farmers by -work; the arms of soldiers are powerful to hurl darts, the legs -of runners are active: that part of each man which he exercises -is the strongest: so by endurance the mind becomes able to despise -the power of misfortunes. You may see what endurance might effect -in us if you observe what labour does among tribes that are naked -and rendered stronger by want. Look at all the nations that dwell -beyond the Roman Empire: I mean the Germans and all the nomad -tribes that war against us along the Danube. They suffer from -eternal winter, and a dismal climate, the barren soil grudges -them sustenance, they keep off the rain with leaves or thatch, -they bound across frozen marshes, and hunt wild beasts for food. -Do you think them unhappy? There is no unhappiness in what use -has made part of one’s nature: by degrees men find pleasure in -doing what they were first driven to do by necessity. They have -no homes and no resting-places save those which weariness appoints -them for the day; their food, though coarse, yet must be sought -with their own hands; the harshness of the climate is terrible, -and their bodies are unclothed. This, which you think a hardship, -is the mode of life of all these races: how then can you wonder -at good men being shaken, in order that they may be strengthened? -No tree which the wind does not often blow against is firm and -strong; for it is stiffened by the very act of being shaken, -and plants its roots more securely: those which grow in a sheltered -valley are brittle: and so it is to the advantage of good men, -and causes them to be undismayed, that they should live much -<span class="pagenum" id="p15">15</span>amidst alarms, and learn to bear with -patience what is not evil -save to him who endures it ill.</p> - -<p>V. Add to this that it is to the advantage of every one that -the best men should, so to speak, be on active service and perform -labours: God has the same purpose as the wise man, that is, to -prove that the things which the herd covets and dreads are neither -good nor bad in themselves. If, however, He only bestows them -upon good men, it will be evident that they are good things, -and bad, if He only inflicts them upon bad men. Blindness would -be execrable if no one lost his eyes except those who deserve -to have them pulled out; therefore let Appius and Metellus be -doomed to darkness. Riches are not a good thing: therefore let -Elius the pander possess them, that men who have consecrated -money in the temple, may see the same in the brothel: for by -no means can God discredit objects of desire so effectually as -by bestowing them upon the worst of men, and removing them from -the best. “But,” you say, “it is unjust that a good man should -be enfeebled, or transfixed, or chained, while bad men swagger -at large with a whole skin.” What! is it not unjust that brave -men should bear arms, pass the night in camps, and stand on guard -along the rampart with their wounds still bandaged, while within -the city eunuchs and professional profligates live at their ease? -what? is it not unjust that maidens of the highest birth should -be roused at night to perform Divine service, while fallen women -enjoy the soundest sleep? Labour calls for the best man: the -senate often passes the whole day in debate, while at the same -time every scoundrel either amuses his leisure in the Campus -Martius, or lurks in a tavern, or passes his time in some pleasant -society. The same thing happens in this great commonwealth (of -the world): good men labour, spend and are spent, and that too -of their own free will; they are not dragged along by fortune, -but follow <span class="pagenum" id="p16">16</span>her and take equal steps with -her; if they knew how, -they would outstrip her. I remember, also, to have heard this -spirited saying of that stoutest-hearted of men, Demetrius. “Ye -immortal Gods,” said he, “the only complaint which I have to -make of you is that you did not make your will known to me earlier; -for then I would sooner have gone into that state of life to -which I now have been called. Do you wish to take my children? -it was for you that I brought them up. Do you wish to take some -part of my body? take it: it is no great thing that I am offering -you, I shall soon have done with the whole of it. Do you wish -for my life? why should I hesitate to return to you what you -gave me? whatever you ask you shall receive with my good will: -nay, I would rather give it than be forced to hand it over to -you: what need had you to take away what you did? you might have -received it from me: yet even as it is you cannot take anything -from me, because you cannot rob a man unless he resists.”</p> - -<p>I am constrained to nothing, I suffer nothing against my will, -nor am I God’s slave, but his willing follower, and so much the -more because I know that everything is ordained and proceeds -according to a law that endures for ever. The fates guide us, -and the length of every man’s days is decided at the first hour -of his birth: every cause depends upon some earlier cause: one -long chain of destiny decides all things, public or private. -Wherefore, everything must be patiently endured, because events -do not fall in our way, as we imagine, but come by a regular -law. It has long ago been settled at what you should rejoice -and at what you should weep, and although the lives of individual -men appear to differ from one another in a great variety of particulars, -yet the sum total comes to one and the same thing: we soon perish, -and the gifts which we receive soon perish. Why, then, should -we be angry? why should we lament? we are prepared for our fate: -let nature deal <span class="pagenum" id="p17">17</span>as she will with her own -bodies; let us be cheerful -whatever befalls, and stoutly reflect that it is not anything -of our own that perishes. What is the duty of a good man? to -submit himself to fate: it is a great consolation to be swept -away together with the entire universe: whatever law is laid -upon us that thus we must live and thus we must die, is laid -upon the gods also: one unchangeable stream bears along men and -gods alike: the creator and ruler of the universe himself, though -he has given laws to the fates, yet is guided by them: he always -obeys, he only once commanded. “But why was God so unjust in -His distribution of fate, as to assign poverty, wounds, and untimely -deaths to good men?” The workman cannot alter his materials: -this is their nature. Some qualities cannot be separated from -some others: they cling together; are indivisible. Dull minds, -tending to sleep or to a waking state exactly like sleep, are -composed of sluggish elements: it requires stronger stuff to -form a man meriting careful description. His course will not -be straightforward; he must go upwards and downwards, be tossed -about, and guide his vessel through troubled waters: he must -make his way in spite of fortune: he will meet with much that -is hard which he must soften, much that is rough that he must -make smooth. Fire tries gold, misfortune tries brave men. See -how high virtue has to climb: you may be sure that it has no -safe path to tread.</p> - -<blockquote><p>“Steep is the path at first: the steeds, -though strong,<br /> - Fresh from their rest, can hardly crawl along;<br /> - The middle part lies through the topmost sky,<br /> - Whence oft, as I the earth and sea descry,<br /> - I shudder, terrors through my bosom thrill.<br /> - The ending of the path is sheer down hill,<br /> - And needs the careful guidance of the rein,<br /> - For ever when I sink beneath the main,<br /> - <span class="pagenum" id="p18">18</span>Old Tethys trembles in her depths - below<br /> - Lest headlong down upon her I should - go.”<a href="#fn-1.7" name="fnref-1.7" id="fnref-1.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> -</p></blockquote> - - <p>When the spirited -youth heard this, he said, “I have no fault to find with the -road: I will mount it, it is worth while to go through these -places, even though one fall.” His father did not cease from -trying to scare his brave spirit with terrors:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“Then, too, that -thou may’st hold thy course aright,<br /> - And neither turn aside to left nor right.<br /> - Straight through the Bull’s fell horns thy path must go.<br /> - Through the fierce Lion, and the Archer’s bow.”</p></blockquote> - - <p>After this Phaethon -says:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“Harness the chariot which you yield to me, -</p></blockquote> - -<p>I am encouraged -by these things with which you think to scare me: I long to stand -where the Sun himself trembles to stand.” It is the part of grovellers -and cowards to follow the safe track; courage loves a lofty path. -</p> - -<p>VI. “Yet, why does God permit evil to happen to good men?” He -does not permit it: he takes away from them all evils, such as -crimes and scandalous wickedness, daring thoughts, grasping schemes, -blind lusts, and avarice coveting its neighbour’s goods. He protects -and saves them. Does any one besides this demand that God should -look after the baggage of good men also? Why, they themselves -leave the care of this to God: they scorn external accessories. -Democritus forswore riches, holding them to be a burden to a -virtuous mind: what wonder then, if God permits that to happen -to a good man, which a good man sometimes chooses should happen -to himself? Good men, you say, lose their children: why should -they not, since sometimes they even put them to death? They are -banished: why should they not be, since sometimes they -<span class="pagenum" id="p19">19</span>leave their country of their own free -will, never to return? -They are slain: why not, since sometimes they choose to lay violent -hands on themselves? Why do they suffer certain miseries? it -is that they may teach others how to do so. They are born as -patterns. Conceive, therefore, that God says:—“You, who have -chosen righteousness, what complaint can you make of me? I have -encompassed other men with unreal good things, and have deceived -their inane minds as it were by a long and misleading dream: -I have bedecked them with gold, silver, and ivory, but within -them there is no good thing. Those men whom you regard as fortunate, -if you could see, not their outward show, but their hidden life, -are really unhappy, mean, and base, ornamented on the outside -like the walls of their houses: that good fortune of theirs is -not sound and genuine: it is only a veneer, and that a thin one. -As long, therefore, as they can stand upright and display themselves -as they choose, they shine and impose upon one; when something -occurs to shake and unmask them, we see how deep and real a rottenness -was hidden by that factitious magnificence. To you I have given -sure and lasting good things, which become greater and better -the more one turns them over and views them on every side: I -have granted to you to scorn danger, to disdain passion. You -do not shine outwardly, all your good qualities are turned inwards; -even so does the world neglect what lies without it, and rejoices -in the contemplation of itself. I have placed every good thing -within your own breasts: it is your good fortune not to need -any good fortune. ‘Yet many things befall you which are sad, -dreadful, hard to be borne.’ Well, as I have not been able to -remove these from your path, I have given your minds strength -to combat all: bear them bravely. In this you can surpass God -himself; He is beyond suffering evil: you are above it. Despise -poverty; no man lives as poor as he was born: -<span class="pagenum" id="p20">20</span>despise pain; either -it will cease or you will cease: despise death; it either ends -you or takes you elsewhere: despise fortune; I have given her -no weapon that can reach the mind. Above all, I have taken care -that no one should hold you captive against your will: the way -of escape lies open before you: if you do not choose to fight, -you may fly. For this reason, of all those matters which I have -deemed essential for you, I have made nothing easier for you -than to die. I have set man’s life as it were on a mountain side: -it soon slips -down.<a href="#fn-1.8" name="fnref-1.8" id="fnref-1.8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> -Do but watch, and you will see how short -and how ready a path leads to freedom. I have not imposed such -long delays upon those who quit the world as upon those who enter -it: were it not so, fortune would hold a wide dominion over you, -if a man died as slowly as he is born. Let all time, let every -place teach you, how simple it is to renounce nature, and to -fling back her gifts to her: before the altar itself and during -the solemn rites of sacrifice, while life is being prayed for, -learn how to die. Fat oxen fall dead with a tiny wound; a blow -from a man’s hand fells animals of great strength: the sutures -of the neck are severed by a thin blade, and when the joint which -connects the head and neck is cut, all that great mass falls. -The breath of life is not deep seated, -<span class="pagenum" id="p21">21</span>nor only to be let forth by -steel—the vitals need not be searched -throughout by plunging a sword among them to the hilt: death -lies near the surface, I have not appointed any particular spot -for these blows—the body may be pierced wherever you please. -That very act which is called dying, by which the breath of life -leaves the body, is too short for you to be able to estimate -its quickness: whether a knot crushes the windpipe, or water -stops your breathing: whether you fall headlong from a height -and perish upon the hard ground below, or a mouthful of fire -checks the drawing of your breath—whatever it is, it acts swiftly. -Do you not blush to spend so long a time in dreading what takes -so short a time to do?”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-1.1" id="fn-1.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-1.1">[1]</a> -<i lang="la">honestior</i> opposed to the gladiator—the loftier the -station -of the combatant. The Gracchus of Juvenal, Sat. ii. and viii., -illustrates, the passage. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-1.2" id="fn-1.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-1.2">[2]</a> -<i lang="la">par</i>, a technical term in the language -of sport (<i>worthy</i> of such a spectator). -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-1.3" id="fn-1.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-1.3">[3]</a> -<i lang="la">viderint</i>—Let them -see to it: it is no matter of mine. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-1.4" id="fn-1.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-1.4">[4]</a> -That is, to triumph over. -“Two spears were set upright ... and a third was fastened across -them at the top; and through this gateway the vanquished army -marched out, as a token that they had been conquered in war, -and owed their lives to the enemy’s mercy. It was no peculiar -insult devised for this occasion, but a common usage, so far -as appears, in similar cases; like the modern ceremony of piling -arms when a garrison or army surrender themselves as prisoners -of war.”— Arnold’s <i>History of Rome</i>, ch. xxxi. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-1.5" id="fn-1.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-1.5">[5]</a> -He was a “mirmillo,” -a kind of gladiator who was armed with a Gaulish helmet. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-1.6" id="fn-1.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-1.6">[6]</a> -<i lang="la">e lorica</i>. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-1.7" id="fn-1.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-1.7">[7]</a> -The lines occur in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, ii. 63. -Phoebus is telling Phaethon how to drive the chariot of the Sun. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-1.8" id="fn-1.8"></a> <a href="#fnref-1.8">[8]</a> -Compare Walter Scott: “All. . . . must have felt that but -for the dictates of religion, or the natural recoil of the mind -from the idea of dissolution, there have been times when they -would have been willing to throw away life as a child does a -broken toy. I am sure I know one who has often felt so. O God! -what are we?—Lords of nature?—Why, a tile drops from a house-top, -which an elephant would not feel more than a sheet of pasteboard, -and there lies his lordship. Or something of inconceivably minute -origin, the pressure of a bone, or the inflammation of a particle -of the brain takes place, and the emblem of the Deity destroys -himself or some one else. We hold our health and our reason on -terms slighter than any one would desire, were it in their choice, -to hold an Irish cabin.”—Lockhart’s <i>Life of Sir Walter -Scott</i>, -vol. vii., p. 11. -</p> - - -<h2>THE SECOND BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p22">22</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO SERENUS.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">“THAT THE WISE MAN CAN NEITHER RECEIVE INJURY NOR -INSULT,” OR, AN ESSAY ON THE FIRMNESS OF -THE WISE MAN.</span></h2> - -<p>I. I might truly say, Serenus, that there is as wide a difference -between the Stoics and the other sects of philosophers as there -is between men and women, since each class contributes an equal -share to human society, but the one is born to command, the other -to obey. The other philosophers deal with us gently and coaxingly, -just as our accustomed family physicians usually do with our -bodies, treating them not by the best and shortest method, but -by that which we allow them to employ; whereas the Stoics adopt -a manly course, and do not care about its appearing attractive -to those who are entering upon it, but that it should as quickly -as possible take us out of the world, and lead us to that lofty -eminence which is so far beyond the scope of any missile weapon -that it is above the reach of Fortune herself. “But the way by -which we are asked to climb is steep and uneven.” What then? -Can heights be reached by a level path? Yet they are not so sheer -and precipitous as some think. It is only the first part that -<span class="pagenum" id="p23">23</span>has rocks and cliffs and no apparent -outlet, just as many hills -seen from a long way off appear abruptly steep and joined together, -because the distance deceives our sight, and then, as we draw -nearer, those very hills which our mistaken eyes had made into -one gradually unfold themselves, those parts which seemed precipitous -from afar assume a gently sloping outline. When just now mention -was made of Marcus Cato, you whose mind revolts at injustice -were indignant at Cato’s own age having so little understood -him, at its having allotted a place below Vatinius to one who -towered above both Caesar and Pompeius; it seemed shameful to -you, that when he spoke against some law in the Forum his toga -was torn from him, and that he was hustled through the hands -of a mutinous mob from the Rostra as far as the arch of Fabius, -enduring all the bad language, spitting, and other insults of -the frantic rabble.</p> - -<p>II. I then answered, that you had good cause to be anxious on -behalf of the commonwealth, which Publius Clodius on the one -side, Vatinius and all the greatest scoundrels on the other, -were putting up for sale, and, carried away by their blind covetousness, -did not understand that when they sold it they themselves were -sold with it; I bade you have no fears on behalf of Cato himself, -because the wise man can neither receive injury nor insult, and -it is more certain that the immortal gods have given Cato as -a pattern of a wise man to us, than that they gave Ulysses or -Hercules to the earlier ages; for these our Stoics have declared -were wise men, unconquered by labours, despisers of pleasure, -and superior to all terrors. Cato did not slay wild beasts, whose -pursuit belongs to huntsmen and countrymen, nor did he exterminate -fabulous creatures with fire and sword, or live in times when -it was possible to believe that the heavens could be supported -on the shoulders of one man. In an age which had thrown -<span class="pagenum" id="p24">24</span>off its -belief in antiquated superstitions, and had carried material -knowledge to its highest point, he had to struggle against that -many-headed monster, ambition, against that boundless lust for -power which the whole world divided among three men could not -satisfy. He alone withstood the vices of a worn-out State, sinking -into ruin through its own bulk; he upheld the falling commonwealth -as far as it could be upheld by one man’s hand, until at last -his support was withdrawn, and he shared the crash which he had -so long averted, and perished together with that from which it -was impious to separate him—for Cato did not outlive freedom, -nor did freedom outlive Cato. Think you that the people could -do any wrong to such a man when they tore away his praetorship -or his toga? when they bespattered his sacred head with the rinsings -of their mouths? The wise man is safe, and no injury or insult -can touch him.</p> - -<p>III. I think I see your excited and boiling temper. You are preparing -to exclaim: “These are the things which take away all weight -from your maxims; you promise great matters, such as I should -not even wish for, let alone believe to be possible, and then, -after all your brave words, though you say that the wise man -is not poor, you admit that he often is in want of servants, -shelter, and food. You say that the wise man is not mad, yet -you admit that he sometimes loses his reason, talks nonsense, -and is driven to the wildest actions by the stress of his disorder. -When you say that the wise man cannot be a slave, you do not -deny that he will be sold, carry out orders, and perform menial -services at the bidding of his master; so, for all your proud -looks, you come down to the level of every one else, and merely -call things by different names. Consequently, I suspect that -something of this kind lurks behind this maxim, which at first -sight appears so beautiful and noble, ‘that the wise man can -neither receive <span class="pagenum" id="p25">25</span>injury nor -insult.’ It makes a great deal of -difference whether you declare that the wise man is beyond feeling -resentment, or beyond receiving injury; for if you say that he -will bear it calmly, he has no special privilege in that, for -he has developed a very common quality, and one which is learned -by long endurance of wrong itself, namely, patience. If you declare -that he can never receive an injury, that is, that no one will -attempt to do him one, then I will throw up all my occupations -in life and become a Stoic.”</p> - -<p>It has not been my object to decorate the wise man with mere -imaginary verbal honours, but to raise him to a position where -no injury will be permitted to reach him. “What? will there be -no one to tease him, to try to wrong him?” There is nothing on -earth so sacred as not to be liable to sacrilege; yet holy things -exist on high none the less because there are men who strike -at a greatness which is far above themselves, though with no -hope of reaching it. The invulnerable is not that which is never -struck, but that which is never wounded. In this class I will -show you the wise man. Can we doubt that the strength which is -never overcome in fight is more to be relied on than that which -is never challenged, seeing that untested power is untrustworthy, -whereas that solidity which hurls back all attacks is deservedly -regarded as the most trustworthy of all? In like manner you may -know that the wise man, if no injury hurts him, is of a higher -type than if none is offered to him, and I should call him a -brave man whom war does not subdue and the violence of the enemy -does not alarm, not him who enjoys luxurious ease amid a slothful -people. I say, then, that such a wise man is invulnerable against -all injury; it matters not, therefore, how many darts be hurled -at him, since he can be pierced by none of them. Just as the -hardness of some stones is impervious to steel, and adamant can -neither be cut, <span class="pagenum" id="p26">26</span>broken, or ground, but -blunts all instruments -used upon it; just as some things cannot be destroyed by fire, -but when encircled by flame still retain their hardness and shape; -just as some tall projecting cliffs break the waves of the sea, -and though lashed by them through many centuries, yet show no -traces of their rage; even so the mind of the wise man is firm, -and gathers so much strength, that it is as safe from injury -as any of those things which I have mentioned.</p> - -<p>IV. “What then? Will there be no one who will try to do an injury -to the wise man?” Yes, some one will try, but the injury will -not reach him; for he is separated from the contact of his inferiors -by so wide a distance that no evil impulse can retain its power -of harm until it reaches him. Even when powerful men, raised -to positions of high authority, and strong in the obedience of -their dependents, strive to injure him, all their darts fall -as far short of his wisdom as those which are shot upwards by -bowstrings or catapults, which, although they rise so high as -to pass out of sight, yet fall back again without reaching the -heavens. Why, do you suppose that when that stupid -king<a href="#fn-2.1" name="fnref-2.1" id="fnref-2.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> clouded -the daylight with the multitude of his darts, that any arrow -of them all went into the sun? or that when he flung his chains -into the deep, that he was able to reach Neptune? Just as sacred -things escape from the hands of men, and no injury is done to -the godhead by those who destroy temples and melt down images, -so whoever attempts to treat the wise man with impertinence, -insolence, or scorn, does so in vain. “It would be better,” say -you, “if no one wished to do so.” You are expressing a wish that -the whole human race were inoffensive, which may hardly be; moreover, -those who would gain by such wrongs not being done are those -who would do them, not he who could not suffer from them even -if they were done; nay, I <span class="pagenum" id="p27">27</span>know not -whether wisdom is not best -displayed by calmness in the midst of annoyances, just as the -greatest proof of a general’s strength in arms and men consists -in his quietness and confidence in the midst of an enemy’s country. -</p> - -<p>V. If you think fit, my Serenus, let us distinguish between injury -and insult. The former is naturally the more grievous, the latter -less important, and grievous only to the thin-skinned, since -it angers men but does not wound them. Yet such is the weakness -of men’s minds, that many think that there is nothing more bitter -than insult; thus you will find slaves who prefer to be flogged -to being slapped, and who think stripes and death more endurable -than insulting words. To such a pitch of absurdity have we come -that we suffer not only from pain, but from the idea of pain, -like children, who are terror-stricken by darkness, misshapen -masks, and distorted faces, and whose tears flow at hearing names -unpleasing to their ears, at the movement of our fingers, and -other things which they ignorantly shrink from with a sort of -mistaken spasm. The object which injury proposes to itself is -to do evil to some one. Now wisdom leaves no room for evil; to -it, the only evil is baseness, which cannot enter into the place -already occupied by virtue and honour. If, therefore, there can -be no injury without evil, and no evil without baseness, and -baseness cannot find any place with a man who is already filled -with honour, it follows that no injury can reach the wise man: -for if injury be the endurance of some evil, and the wise man -can endure no evil, it follows that no injury takes effect upon -the wise man. All injury implies a making less of that which -it affects, and no one can sustain an injury without some loss -either of his dignity, or of some part of his body, or of some -of the things external to ourselves; but the wise man can lose -nothing. He has invested everything in himself, has entrusted -nothing to fortune, has his property in safety, -<span class="pagenum" id="p28">28</span>and is content -with virtue, which does not need casual accessories, and therefore -can neither be increased or diminished; for virtue, as having -attained to the highest position, has no room for addition to -herself, and fortune can take nothing away save what she gave. -Now fortune does not give virtue; therefore she does not take -it away. Virtue is free, inviolable, not to be moved, not to -be shaken, and so hardened against misfortunes that she cannot -be bent, let alone overcome by them. She looks unfalteringly -on while tortures are being prepared for her; she makes no change -of countenance, whether misery or pleasure be offered to her. -The wise man therefore can lose nothing of whose loss he will -be sensible, for he is the property of virtue alone, from whom -he never can be taken away. He enjoys all other things at the -good pleasure of fortune; but who is grieved at the loss of what -is not his own? If injury can hurt none of those things which -are the peculiar property of the wise man, because while his -virtue is safe they are safe, then it is impossible that an injury -should be done to a wise man. Demetrius, who was surnamed Poliorcetes, -took Megara, and the philosopher Stilbo, when asked by him whether -he had lost anything, answered, “No, I carry all my property -about me.” Yet his inheritance had been given up to pillage, -his daughters had been outraged by the enemy, his country had -fallen under a foreign dominion, and it was the king, enthroned -on high, surrounded by the spears of his victorious troops, who -put this question to him; yet he struck the victory out of the -king’s hands, and proved that, though the city was taken, he -himself was not only unconquered but unharmed, for he bore with -him those true goods which no one can lay hands upon. What was -being plundered and carried away hither and thither he did not -consider to be his own, but to be merely things which come and -go at the caprice of fortune; therefore he had not loved them -as his own, for <span class="pagenum" id="p29">29</span>the possession of all -things which come from -without is slippery and insecure.</p> - -<p>VI. Consider now, whether any thief, or false accuser, or headstrong -neighbour, or rich man enjoying the power conferred by a childless -old age, could do any injury to this man, from whom neither war -nor an enemy whose profession was the noble art of battering -city walls could take away anything. Amid the flash of swords -on all sides, and the riot of the plundering soldiery, amid the -flames and blood and ruin of the fallen city, amid the crash -of temples falling upon their gods, one man was at peace. You -need not therefore account that a reckless boast, for which I -will give you a surety, if my words goes for nothing. Indeed, -you would hardly believe so much constancy or such greatness -of mind to belong to any man; but here a man comes forward to -prove that you have no reason for doubting that one who is but -of human birth can raise himself above human necessities, can -tranquilly behold pains, losses, diseases, wounds, and great -natural convulsions roaring around him, can bear adversity with -calm and prosperity with moderation, neither yielding to the -former nor trusting to the latter, that he can remain the same -amid all varieties of fortune, and think nothing to be his own -save himself, and himself too only as regards his better part. -“Behold,” says he, “I am here to prove to you that although, -under the direction of that destroyer of so many cities, walls -may be shaken by the stroke of the ram, lofty towers may be suddenly -brought low by galleries and hidden mines, and mounds arise so -high as to rival the highest citadel, yet that no siege engines -can be discovered which can shake a well-established mind. I -have just crept from amid the ruins of my house, and with conflagrations -blazing all around I have escaped from the flames through blood. -What fate has befallen my daughters, whether a worse one than -that of their country, I <span class="pagenum" id="p30">30</span>know not. Alone -and elderly, and seeing -everything around me in the hands of the enemy, still I declare -that my property is whole and untouched. I have, I hold whatever -of mine I have ever had. There is no reason for you to suppose -me conquered and yourself my conqueror. It is your fortune which -has overcome mine. As for those fleeting possessions which change -their owners, I know not where they are; what belongs to myself -is with me, and ever will be. I see rich men who have lost their -estates; lustful men who have lost their loves, the courtesans -whom they cherished at the cost of much shame; ambitious men -who have lost the senate, the law courts, the places set apart -for the public display of men’s vices; usurers who have lost -their account-books, in which avarice vainly enjoyed an unreal -wealth; but I possess everything whole and uninjured. Leave me, -and go and ask those who are weeping and lamenting over the loss -of their money, who are offering their bare breasts to drawn -swords in its defence, or who are fleeing from the enemy with -weighty pockets.” See then, Serenus, that the perfect man, full -of human and divine virtues, can lose nothing; his goods are -surrounded by strong and impassable walls. You cannot compare -with them the walls of Babylon, which Alexander entered, nor -the fortifications of Carthage and Numantia, won by one and the -same hand,<a href="#fn-2.2" name="fnref-2.2" id="fnref-2.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> -nor the Capitol and citadel of Rome, which are -branded with the marks of the victors’ insults; the ramparts -which protect the wise man are safe from fire and hostile invasion; -they afford no passage; they are lofty, impregnable, divine. -</p> - -<p>VII. You have no cause for saying, as you are wont to do, that -this wise man of -ours<a href="#fn-2.3" name="fnref-2.3" id="fnref-2.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> is -nowhere to be found; we do not invent -him as an unreal glory of the human race, or conceive a mighty -shadow of an untruth, but we have displayed and will display -him just as we sketch him, though <span class="pagenum" id="p31">31</span>he may -perhaps be uncommon, -and only one appears at long intervals; for what is great and -transcends the common ordinary type is not often produced; but -this very Marcus Cato himself, the mention of whom started this -discussion, was a man who I fancy even surpassed our model. Moreover, -that which hurts must be stronger than that which is hurt. Now -wickedness is not stronger than virtue; therefore the wise man -cannot be hurt. Only the bad attempt to injure the good. Good -men are at peace among themselves; bad ones are equally mischievous -to the good and to one another. If a man cannot be hurt by one -weaker than himself, and a bad man be weaker than a good one, -and the good have no injury to dread, except from one unlike -themselves; then, no injury takes effect upon the wise man; for -by this time I need not remind you that no one save the wise -man is good.</p> - -<p>“If,” says our adversary, “Socrates was unjustly condemned, -he -received an injury.” At this point it is needful for us to bear -in mind that it is possible for some one to do an injury to me, -and yet for me not to receive it, as if any one were to steal -something from my country-house and leave it in my town-house, -that man would commit a theft, yet I should lose nothing. A man -may become mischievous, and yet do no actual mischief: if a man -lies with his own wife as if she were a stranger, he will commit -adultery, but his wife will not; if a man gives me poison and -the poison lose its strength when mixed with food, that man, -by administering the poison, has made himself a criminal, even -though he has done no hurt. A man is no less a brigand because -his sword becomes entangled in his victim’s clothes and misses -its mark. All crimes, as far as concerns their criminality, are -completed before the actual deed is accomplished. Some crimes -are of such a nature and bound by such conditions that the first -part can take place without the second. -<span class="pagenum" id="p32">32</span>though the second cannot -take place without the first. I will endeavour to explain these -words: I can move my feet and yet not run; but I cannot run without -moving my feet. I can be in the water without swimming; but if -I swim, I cannot help being in the water. The matter of which -we are treating is of this character: if I have received an injury, -it is necessary that some one must have done it to me; but if -an injury has been done me, it is not necessary that I should -have received one; for many circumstances may intervene to avert -the injury, as, for example, some chance may strike the hand -that is aiming at us, and the dart, after it has been thrown, -may swerve aside. So injuries of all kinds may by certain circumstances -be thrown back and intercepted in mid-course, so that they may -be done and yet not received.</p> - -<p>VIII. Moreover, justice can suffer nothing unjust, because contraries -cannot co-exist; but an injury can only be done unjustly, therefore -an injury cannot be done to the wise man. Nor need you wonder -at no one being able to do him an injury; for no one can do him -any good service either. The wise man lacks nothing which he -can accept by way of a present, and the bad man can bestow nothing -that is worthy of the wise man’s acceptance; for he must possess -it before he can bestow it, and he possesses nothing which the -wise man would rejoice to have handed over to him. Consequently, -no one can do either harm or good to the wise man, because divine -things neither want help nor are capable of being hurt; and the -wise man is near, indeed very near to the gods, being like a -god in every respect save that he is mortal. As he presses forward -and makes his way towards the life that is sublime, well-ordered, -without fear, proceeding in a regular and harmonious course, -tranquil, beneficent, made for the good of mankind, useful both -to itself and to others, he will neither long nor weep for anything -that is grovelling. He who, trusting to -<span class="pagenum" id="p33">33</span>reason, passes through -human affairs with godlike mind, has no quarter from which he -can receive injury. Do you suppose that I mean merely from no -man? He cannot receive an injury even from fortune, which, whenever -she contends with virtue, always retires beaten. If we accept -with an undisturbed and tranquil mind that greatest terror of -all, beyond which the angry laws and the most cruel masters have -nothing to threaten us with, in which fortune’s dominion is -contained—if -we know that death is not an evil, and therefore is not an injury -either, we shall much more easily endure the other things, such -as losses, pains, disgraces, changes of abode, bereavements, -and partings, which do not overwhelm the wise man even if they -all befall him at once, much less does he grieve at them when -they assail him separately. And if he bears the injuries of fortune -calmly, how much more will he bear those of powerful men, whom -he knows to be the hands of fortune.</p> - -<p>IX. He therefore endures everything in the same spirit with which -he endures the cold of winter and the severities of climate, -fevers, diseases, and other chance accidents, nor does he entertain -so high an opinion of any man as to suppose that he acts of set -purpose, which belongs to the wise man alone. All other men have -no plans, but only plots and deceits and irregular impulses of -mind, which he reckons the same as pure accident; now, what depends -upon pure accident cannot rage around us designedly. He reflects, -also, that the largest sources of injury are to be found in those -things by means of which danger is sought for against us, as, -for example, by a suborned accuser, or a false charge, or by -the stirring up against us of the anger of great men, and the -other forms of the brigandage of civilized life. Another common -type of injury is when a man loses some profit or prize for which -he has long been angling; when an inheritance which he -<span class="pagenum" id="p34">34</span>has spent -great pains to render his own is left to some one else, or the -favour of some noble house, through which he makes great gain, -is taken from him. The wise man escapes all this, since he knows -not what it is to live for hope or for fear. Add to this, that -no one receives an injury unmoved, but is disturbed by the feeling -of it. Now, the man free from mistakes has no disturbance; he -is master of himself, enjoying a deep and tranquil repose of -mind; for if an injury reaches him it moves and rouses him. But -the wise man is without anger, which is caused by the appearance -of injury, and he could not be free from anger unless he were -also free from injury, which he knows cannot be done to him; -hence it is that he is so upright and cheerful, hence he is elate -with constant joy. So far, however, is he from shrinking from -the encounter either of circumstances or of men, that he makes -use of injury itself to make trial of himself and test his own -virtue. Let us, I beseech you, show favour to this thesis and -listen with impartial ears and minds while the wise man is being -made exempt from injury; for nothing is thereby taken away from -your insolence, your greediest lusts, your blind rashness and -pride; it is without prejudice to your vices that this freedom -is sought for the wise man; we do not strive to prevent your -doing an injury, but to enable him to sink all injuries beneath -himself and protect himself from them by his own greatness of -mind. So in the sacred games many have won the victory by patiently -enduring the blows of their adversaries and so wearying them -out. Think that the wise man belongs to this class, that of men -who, by long and faithful practice, have acquired strength to -endure and tire out all the violence of their enemies.</p> - -<p>X. Since we have now discussed the first part of our subject, -let us pass on to the second, in which we will prove by arguments, -some of which are our own, but <span class="pagenum" id="p35">35</span>which for -the most part are Stoic -commonplaces, that the wise man cannot be insulted. There is -a lesser form of injury, which we must complain of rather than -avenge, which the laws also have considered not to deserve any -special punishment. This passion is produced by a meanness of -mind which shrinks at any act or deed which treats it with disrespect. -“He did not admit me to his house to-day, although he admitted -others; he either turned haughtily away or openly laughed when -I spoke;” or, “he placed me at dinner, not on the middle couch -(the place of honour), but on the lowest one;” and other matters -of the same sort, which I can call nothing but the whinings of -a queasy spirit. These matters chiefly affect the luxuriously-nurtured -and prosperous; for those who are pressed by worse evils have -no time to notice such things as these. Through excessive idleness, -dispositions naturally weak and womanish and prone to indulge -in fancies through want of real injuries are disturbed at these -things, the greater part of which arise from misunderstanding. -He therefore who is affected by insult shows that he possesses -neither sense nor trustfulness; for he considers it certain that -he is scorned, and this vexation affects him with a certain sense -of degradation, as he effaces himself and takes a lower room; -whereas the wise man is scorned by no one, for he knows his own -greatness, gives himself to understand that he allows no one -to have such power over him, and as for all of what I should -not so much call distress as uneasiness of mind, he does not -overcome it, but never so much as feels it. Some other things -strike the wise man, though they may not shake his principles, -such as bodily pain and weakness, the loss of friends and children, -and the ruin of his country in war-time. I do not say that the -wise man does not feel these, for we do not ascribe to him the -hardness of stone or iron; there is no virtue but is conscious -of its own endurance. What then does he? He receives some -<span class="pagenum" id="p36">36</span>blows, -but when he has received them he rises superior to them, heals -them, and brings them to an end; these more trivial things he -does not even feel, nor does he make use of his accustomed fortitude -in the endurance of evil against them, but either takes no notice -of them or considers them to deserve to be laughed at.</p> - -<p>XI. Besides this, as most insults proceed from those who are -haughty and arrogant and bear their prosperity ill, he has something -wherewith to repel this haughty passion, namely, that noblest -of all the virtues, magnanimity, which passes over everything -of that kind as like unreal apparitions in dreams and visions -of the night, which have nothing in them substantial or true. -At the same time he reflects that all men are too low to venture -to look down upon what is so far above them. The Latin word <i -lang="la">contumelia</i> is derived from the word <i>contempt</i>, because no -one -does that injury to another unless he regards him with contempt; -and no one can treat his elders and betters with contempt, even -though he does what contemptuous persons are wont to do; for -children strike their parents’ faces, infants rumple and tear -their mother’s hair, and spit upon her and expose what should -be covered before her, and do not shrink from using dirty language; -yet we do not call any of these things contemptuous. And why? -Because he who does it is not able to show contempt. For the -same reason the scurrilous raillery of our slaves against their -masters amuses us, as their boldness only gains licence to exercise -itself at the expense of the guests if they begin with the master; -and the more contemptible and the more an object of derision -each one of them is, the greater licence he gives his tongue. -Some buy forward slave-boys for this purpose, cultivate their -scurrility and send them to school that they may vent premeditated -libels, which we do not call insults, but smart sayings; yet -what madness, at one time to be amused and at another to be affronted -by the same thing, <span class="pagenum" id="p37">37</span>and to call a phrase -an outrage when spoken -by a friend, and an amusing piece of raillery when used by a -slave-boy!</p> - -<p>XII. In the same spirit in which we deal with boys, the wise -man deals with all those whose childhood still endures after -their youth is past and their hair is grey. What do men profit -by age when their mind has all the faults of childhood and their -defects are intensified by time? when they differ from children -only in the size and appearance of their bodies, and are just -as unsteady and capricious, eager for pleasure without discrimination, -timorous and quiet through fear rather than through natural disposition? -One cannot say that such men differ from children because the -latter are greedy for knuckle-bones and nuts and coppers, while -the former are greedy for gold and silver and cities; because -the latter play amongst themselves at being magistrates, and -imitate the purple-edged robe of state, the lictors’ axes, and -the judgment-seat, while the former play with the same things -in earnest in the Campus Martius and the courts of justice; because -the latter pile up the sand on the seashore into the likeness -of houses, and the former, with an air of being engaged in important -business, employ themselves in piling up stones and walls and -roofs until they have turned what was intended for the protection -of the body into a danger to it? Children and those more advanced -in age both make the same mistake, but the latter deal with different -and more important things; the wise man, therefore, is quite -justified in treating the affronts which he receives from such -men as jokes: and sometimes he corrects them, as he would children, -by pain and punishment, not because he has received an injury, -but because they have done one and in order that they may do -so no more. Thus we break in animals with stripes, yet we are -not angry with them when they refuse to carry their rider, but -curb them in order that pain may overcome -<span class="pagenum" id="p38">38</span>their obstinacy. Now, -therefore, you know the answer to the question which was put -to us, “Why, if the wise man receives neither injury nor insult, -he punishes those who do these things?” He does not revenge himself, -but corrects them.</p> - -<p>XIII. What, then, is there to prevent your believing this strength -of mind to belong to the wise man, when you can see the same -thing existing in others, though not from the same cause?—for -what physician is angry with a crazy patient? who takes to heart -the curses of a fever-stricken one who is denied cold water? -The wise man retains in his dealings with all men this same habit -of mind which the physician adopts in dealing with his patients, -whose parts of shame he does not scorn to handle should they -need treatment, nor yet to look at their solid and liquid evacuations, -nor to endure their reproaches when frenzied by disease. The -wise man knows that all those who strut about in purple-edged -togas,<a href="#fn-2.4" name="fnref-2.4" id="fnref-2.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -healthy and embrowned, are brain-sick people, whom -he regards as sick and full of follies. He is not, therefore, -angry, should they in their sickness presume to bear themselves -somewhat impertinently towards their physician, and in the same -spirit as that in which he sets no value upon their titles of -honour, he will set but little value upon their acts of disrespect -to himself. He will not rise in his own esteem if a beggar pays -his court to him, and he will not think it an affront if one -of the dregs of the people does not return his greeting. So also -he will not admire himself even if many rich men admire him; -for he knows that they differ in no respect from beggars—nay, -are even more wretched than they; for -<span class="pagenum" id="p39">39</span>beggars want but a little, whereas rich -men want a great deal. -Again, he will not be moved if the King of the Medes, or Attalus, -King of Asia, passes by him in silence with a scornful air when -he offers his greeting; for he knows that such a man’s position -has nothing to render it more enviable than that of the man whose -duty it is in some great household to keep the sick and mad servants -in order. Shall I be put out if one of those who do business -at the temple of Castor, buying and selling worthless slaves, -does not return my salute, a man whose shops are crowded with -throngs of the worst of bondmen? I trow not; for what good can -there be in a man who owns none but bad men? As the wise man -is indifferent to the courtesy or incivility of such a man, so -is he to that of a king. “You own,” says he, “the Parthians -and Bactrians, but they are men whom you keep in order by fear, -they are people whose possession forbids you to unstring the -bow, they are fierce enemies, on sale, and eagerly looking out -for a new master.” He will not, then, be moved by an insult from -any man for though all men differ one from another, yet the wise -man regards them all as alike on account of their equal folly; -for should he once lower himself to the point of being affected -by either injury or insult, he could never feel safe afterwards, -and safety is the especial advantage of the wise man, and he -will not be guilty of showing respect to the man who has done -him an injury by admitting that he has received one, because -it necessarily follows that he who is disquieted at any one’s -scorn would value that person’s admiration.</p> - -<p>XIV. Such madness possesses some men that they imagine it possible -for an affront to be put upon them by a woman. What matters it -who she may be, how many slaves bear her litter, how heavily -her ears are laden, how soft her seat? she is always the same -thoughtless creature, and unless she possesses acquired knowledge -and <span class="pagenum" id="p40">40</span>much learning, she is fierce and -passionate in her desires. -Some are annoyed at being jostled by a heater of curling-tongs, -and call the reluctance of a great man’s porter to open the door, -the pride of his -nomenclator,<a href="#fn-2.5" name="fnref-2.5" id="fnref-2.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> -or the disdainfulness of his -chamberlain, insults. O! what laughter is to be got out of such -things, with what amusement the mind may be filled when it contrasts -the frantic follies of others with its own peace! “How then? -will the wise man not approach doors which are kept by a surly -porter?” Nay, if any need calls him thither, he will make trial -of him, however fierce he may be, will tame him as one tames -a dog by offering it food, and will not be enraged at having -to expend entrance-money, reflecting that on certain bridges -also one has to pay toll; in like fashion he will pay his fee -to whoever farms this revenue of letting in visitors, for he -knows that men are wont to buy whatever is offered for -sale.<a href="#fn-2.6" name="fnref-2.6" id="fnref-2.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> -A man shows a poor spirit if he is pleased with himself for having -answered the porter cavalierly, broken his staff, forced his -way into his master’s presence, and demanded a whipping for him. -He who strives with a man makes himself that man’s rival, and -must be on equal terms with him before he can overcome him. But -what will the wise man do when he receives a cuff? He will do -as Cato did when he was struck in the face; he did not flare -up and revenge the outrage, he did not even pardon it, but ignored -it, showing more magnanimity in not acknowledging it than if -he had forgiven it. We will not dwell long upon this point; for -who is there who knows not that none of those things which are -thought to be good or evil are looked upon by the wise man and -by mankind in general in the same manner? He does not regard -what all men think low or wretched; he does not follow the people’s -track, but as the -<span class="pagenum" id="p41">41</span>stars move in a path opposite to that of -the earth, so he proceeds -contrary to the prejudices of all.</p> - -<p>XV. Cease then to say, “Will not the wise man, then, receive -an injury if he be beaten, if his eye be knocked out? will he -not receive an insult if he be hooted through the Forum by the -foul voices of ruffians? if at a court banquet he be bidden to -leave the table and eat with slaves appointed to degrading duties? -if he be forced to endure anything else that can be thought of -that would gall a high spirit?” However many or however severe -these crosses may be, they will all be of the same kind; and -if small ones do not affect him, neither will greater ones; if -a few do not affect him, neither will more. It is from your own -weakness that you form your idea of his colossal mind, and when -you have thought how much you yourselves could endure to suffer, -you place the limit of the wise man’s endurance a little way -beyond that. But his virtue has placed him in another region -of the universe which has nothing in common with you. Seek out -sufferings and all things hard to be borne, repulsive to be heard -or seen; he will not be overwhelmed by their combination, and -will bear all just as he bears each one of them. He who says -that the wise man can bear this and cannot bear that, and restrains -his magnanimity within certain limits, does wrong; for Fortune -overcomes us unless she is entirely overcome. Think not that -this is mere Stoic austerity. Epicurus, whom you adopt as the -patron of your laziness, and who, you imagine, always taught -what was soft and slothful and conducive to pleasure, said, “Fortune -seldom stands in a wise man’s way.” How near he came to a manly -sentiment! Do thou dare to speak more boldly, and clear her out -of the way altogether! This is the house of the wise man—narrow, -unadorned, without bustle and splendour, the threshold guarded -by no porters who marshal the crowd of visitors with a haughtiness -proportionate to their bribes—but -For<span class="pagenum" id="p42">42</span>tune cannot cross this open -and unguarded threshold. She knows that there is no room for -her where there is nothing of hers.</p> - -<p>XVI. Now if even Epicurus, who made more concessions to the body -than any one, takes a spirited tone with regard to injuries, -what can appear beyond belief or beyond the scope of human nature -amongst us Stoics? He says that injuries may be endured by the -wise man, we say that they do not exist for him. Nor is there -any reason why you should declare this to be repugnant to nature. -We do not deny that it is an unpleasant thing to be beaten or -struck, or to lose one of our limbs, but we say that none of -these things are injuries. We do not take away from them the -feeling of pain, but the name of “injury,” which cannot be received -while our virtue is unimpaired. We shall see which of the two -is nearest the truth; each of them agree in despising injury. -You ask what difference there is between them? All that there -is between two very brave gladiators, one of whom conceals his -wound and holds his ground, while the other turns round to the -shouting populace, gives them to understand that his wound is -nothing, and does not permit them to interfere on his behalf. -You need not think that it is any great thing about which we -differ; the whole gist of the matter, that which alone concerns -you, is what both schools of philosophy urge you to do, namely, -to despise injuries and insults, which I may call the shadows -and outlines of injuries, to despise which does not need a wise -man, but merely a sensible one, who can say to himself, “Do these -things befall me deservedly or undeservedly? If deservedly, it -is not an insult, but a judicial sentence; if undeservedly, then -he who does injustice ought to blush, not I. And what is this -which is called an insult? Some one has made a joke about the -baldness of my head, the weakness of my eyes, the thinness of -my legs, the shortness of my stature; what insult is there in -<span class="pagenum" id="p43">43</span>telling me that which every one sees? We -laugh when <i>tête-à-tête</i> -at the same thing at which we are indignant when it is said before -a crowd, and we do not allow others the privilege of saying what -we ourselves are wont to say about ourselves; we are amused at -decorous jests, but are angry if they are carried too far.” -</p> - -<p>XVII. Chrysippus says that a man was enraged because some one -called him a sea-sheep; we have seen Fidus Cornelius, the son-in-law -of Ovidius Naso, weeping in the Senate-house because Corbulo -called him a plucked ostrich; his command of his countenance -did not fail him at other abusive charges, which damaged his -character and way of life; at this ridiculous saying he burst -into tears. So deplorable is the weakness of men’s minds when -reason no longer guides them. What of our taking offence if any -one imitates our talk, our walk, or apes any defect of our person -or our pronunciation? as if they would become more notorious -by another’s imitation than by our doing them ourselves. Some -are unwilling to hear about their age and grey hairs, and all -the rest of what men pray to arrive at. The reproach of poverty -agonizes some men, and whoever conceals it makes it a reproach -to himself; and therefore if you of your own accord are the first -to acknowledge it, you cut the ground from under the feet of -those who would sneer and politely insult you; no one is laughed -at who begins by laughing at himself. Tradition tells us that -Vatinius, a man born both to be laughed at and hated, was a witty -and clever jester. He made many jokes about his feet and his -short neck, and thus escaped the sarcasms of Cicero above all, -and of his other enemies, of whom he had more than he had diseases. -If he, who through constant abuse had forgotten how to blush, -could do this by sheer brazenness, why should not he who has -made some progress in the education of a gentleman and the study -of philosophy? Besides, it is a sort of revenge to spoil a man’s -<span class="pagenum" id="p44">44</span>enjoyment of the insult he has offered -to us; such men say, “Dear -me, I suppose he did not understand it.” Thus the success of -an insult lies in the sensitiveness and rage of the victim; hereafter -the insulter will sometimes meet his match; some one will be -found to revenge you also.</p> - -<p>XVIII. Gaius Caesar, among the other vices with which he overflowed, -was possessed by a strange insolent passion for marking every -one with some note of ridicule, he himself being the most tempting -subject for derision; so ugly was the paleness which proved him -mad, so savage the glare of the eyes which lurked under his old -woman’s brow, so hideous his misshapen head, bald and dotted -about with a few cherished hairs; besides the neck set thick -with bristles, his thin legs, his monstrous feet. It would be -endless were I to mention all the insults which he heaped upon -his parents and ancestors, and people of every class of life. -I will mention those which brought him to ruin. An especial friend -of his was Asiaticus Valerius, a proud-spirited man and one hardly -likely to put up with another’s insults quietly. At a drinking -bout, that is, a public assembly, Gaius, at the top of his voice, -reproached this man with the way his wife behaved in bed. Good -gods! that a man should hear that the emperor knew this, and -that he, the emperor, should describe his adultery and his disappointment -to the lady’s husband, I do not say to a man of consular rank -and his own friend. Chaerea, on the other hand, the military -tribune, had a voice not befitting his prowess, feeble in sound, -and somewhat suspicious unless you knew his achievements. When -he asked for the watchword Gaius at one time gave him “Venus,” -and at another “Priapus,” and by various means reproached the -man-at-arms with effeminate vice; while he himself was dressed -in transparent clothes, wearing sandals and jewellery. Thus he -forced him to use his sword, that he might not have to ask for -the watchword oftener; it was Chaerea who -<span class="pagenum" id="p45">45</span>first of all the conspirators -raised his hand, who cut through the middle of Caligula’s neck -with one blow. After that, many swords, belonging to men who -had public or private injuries to avenge, were thrust into his -body, but he first showed himself a man who seemed least like -one. The same Gaius construed everything as an insult (since -those who are most eager to offer affronts are least able to -endure them). He was angry with Herennius Macer for having greeted -him as Gaius—nor did the chief centurion of triarii get off scot-free -for having saluted him as Caligula; having been born in the camp -and brought up as the child of the legions, he had been wont -to be called by this name, nor was there any by which he was -better known to the troops, but by this time he held -“Caligula” -to be a reproach and a dishonour. Let wounded spirits, then, -console themselves with this reflexion, that, even though our -easy temper may have neglected to revenge itself, nevertheless -that there will be some one who will punish the impertinent, -proud, and insulting man, for these are vices which he never -confines to one victim or one single offensive act. Let us look -at the examples of those men whose endurance we admire, as, for -instance, that of Socrates, who took in good part the published -and acted jibes of the comedians upon himself, and laughed no -less than he did when he was drenched with dirty water by his -wife Xanthippe. Antisthenes was reproached with his mother being -a barbarian and a Thracian; he answered that the mother of the -gods, too, came from Mount Ida.</p> - -<p>XIX. We ought not to engage in quarrels and wrangling; we ought -to betake ourselves far away and to disregard everything of this -kind which thoughtless people do (indeed thoughtless people alone -do it), and to set equal value upon the honours and the reproaches -of the mob; we ought not to be hurt by the one or to be pleased -by the other. Otherwise we shall neglect many essential points, -shall desert our <span class="pagenum" id="p46">46</span>duty both to the state -and in private life through -excessive fear of insults or weariness of them, and sometimes -we shall even miss what would do us good, while tortured by this -womanish pain at hearing something not to our mind. Sometimes, -too, when enraged with powerful men we shall expose this failing -by our reckless freedom of speech; yet it is not freedom to suffer -nothing—we are mistaken—freedom consists in raising one’s mind -superior to injuries and becoming a person whose pleasures come -from himself alone, in separating oneself from external circumstances -that one may not have to lead a disturbed life in fear of the -laughter and tongues of all men; for if any man can offer an -insult, who is there who cannot? The wise man and the would-be -wise man will apply different remedies to this; for it is only -those whose philosophical education is incomplete, and who still -guide themselves by public opinion, who would suppose that they -ought to spend their lives in the midst of insults and injuries; -yet all things happen in a more endurable fashion to men who -are prepared for them. The nobler a man is by birth, by reputation, -or by inheritance, the more bravely he should bear himself, remembering -that the tallest men stand in the front rank in battle. As for -insults, offensive language, marks of disgrace, and such-like -disfigurements, he ought to bear them as he would bear the shouts -of the enemy, and darts or stones flung from a distance, which -rattle upon his helmet without causing a wound; while he should -look upon injuries as wounds, some received on his armour and -others on his body, which, he endures without falling or even -leaving his place in the ranks. Even though you be hard pressed -and violently attacked by the enemy, still it is base to give -way; hold the post assigned to you by nature. You ask, what this -post is? it is that of being a man. The wise man has another -help, of the opposite kind to this; you are hard at work, while -he has already won the victory. Do not -<span class="pagenum" id="p47">47</span>quarrel with your own -good advantage, and, until you shall have made your way to the -truth, keep alive this hope in your minds, be willing to receive -the news of a better life, and encourage it by your admiration -and your prayers; it is to the interest of the commonwealth of -mankind that there should be some one who is unconquered, some -one against whom fortune has no power.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-2.1" id="fn-2.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-2.1">[1]</a> -Xerxes. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-2.2" id="fn-2.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-2.2">[2]</a> -Scipio. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-2.3" id="fn-2.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-2.3">[3]</a> -The Stoics. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-2.4" id="fn-2.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-2.4">[4]</a> -Seneca here speaks of men wearing the toga as officials, contrasted -with the mass of Roman citizens, among whom the wearing of the -toga was already falling into disuse in the time of Augustus. -See Macrob., “Sat.,” vi. 5 extr., and Suetonius, “Life of -Octavius,” -40, where the author mentions that Augustus used sarcastically -to apply the verse, Virg., ‘Aen.,’ i. 282, to the Romans of his -day. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-2.5" id="fn-2.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-2.5">[5]</a> -See note, “De Beneficiis,” vi. 33. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-2.6" id="fn-2.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-2.6">[6]</a> -Gertz reads ‘decet -emere venalia,’ ‘there is no harm in buying what is for sale.’ -</p> - - -<h2>THE THIRD BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p48">48</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO NOVATUS.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">OF ANGER.</span><br /> -<span class="sc shiftdown">Book I.</span></h2> - -<p>You have demanded of me, Novatus, that I should write how anger -may be soothed, and it appears to me that you are right in feeling -especial fear of this passion, which is above all others hideous -and wild: for the others have some alloy of peace and quiet, -but this consists wholly in action and the impulse of grief, -raging with an utterly inhuman lust for arms, blood and tortures, -careless of itself provided it hurts another, rushing upon the -very point of the sword, and greedy for revenge even when it -drags the avenger to ruin with itself. Some of the wisest of -men have in consequence of this called anger a short madness: -for it is equally devoid of self control, regardless of decorum, -forgetful of kinship, obstinately engrossed in whatever it begins -to do, deaf to reason and advice, excited by trifling causes, -awkward at perceiving what is true and just, and very like a -falling rock which breaks itself to pieces upon the very thing -which it crushes. That you may know that they whom anger possesses -are not sane, look at their appearance; for as there are distinct -symptoms which mark madmen, such as a bold and menacing air, -a gloomy <span class="pagenum" id="p49">49</span>brow, a stern face, a hurried -walk, restless hands, -changed colour, quick and strongly-drawn breathing; the signs -of angry men, too, are the same: their eyes blaze and sparkle, -their whole face is a deep red with the blood which boils up -from the bottom of their heart, their lips quiver, their teeth -are set, their hair bristles and stands on end, their breath -is laboured and hissing; their joints crack as they twist them -about, they groan, bellow, and burst into scarcely intelligible -talk, they often clap their hands together and stamp on the ground -with their feet, and their whole body is highly-strung and plays -those tricks which mark a distraught mind, so as to furnish an -ugly and shocking picture of self-perversion and excitement. -You cannot tell whether this vice is more execrable or more disgusting. -Other vices can be concealed and cherished in secret; anger shows -itself openly and appears in the countenance, and the greater -it is, the more plainly it boils forth. Do you not see how in -all animals certain signs appear before they proceed to mischief, -and how their entire bodies put off their usual quiet appearance -and stir up their ferocity? Boars foam at the mouth and sharpen -their teeth by rubbing them against trees, bulls toss their horns -in the air and scatter the sand with blows of their feet, lions -growl, the necks of enraged snakes swell, mad dogs have a sullen -look—there is no animal so hateful and venomous by nature that -it does not, when seized by anger, show additional fierceness. -I know well that the other passions, can hardly be concealed, -and that lust, fear, and boldness give signs of their presence -and may be discovered beforehand, for there is no one of the -stronger passions that does not affect the countenance: what -then is the difference between them and anger? Why, that the -other passions are visible, but that this is conspicuous.</p> - -<p>II. Next, if you choose to view its results and the mischief -that it does, no plague has cost the human race -<span class="pagenum" id="p50">50</span>more dear: you -will see slaughterings and poisonings, accusations and counter-accusations, -sacking of cities, ruin of whole peoples, the persons of princes -sold into slavery by auction, torches applied to roofs, and fires -not merely confined within city-walls but making whole tracts -of country glow with hostile flame. See the foundations of the -most celebrated cities hardly now to be discerned; they were -ruined by anger. See deserts extending for many miles without -an inhabitant: they have been desolated by anger. See all the -chiefs whom tradition mentions as instances of ill fate; anger -stabbed one of them in his bed, struck down another, though he -was protected by the sacred rights of hospitality, tore another -to pieces in the very home of the laws and in sight of the crowded -forum, bade one shed his own blood by the parricide hand of his -son, another to have his royal throat cut by the hand of a slave, -another to stretch out his limbs on the cross: and hitherto I -am speaking merely of individual cases. What, if you were to -pass from the consideration of those single men against whom -anger has broken out to view whole assemblies cut down by the -sword, the people butchered by the soldiery let loose upon it, -and whole nations condemned to death in one common ruin . . . -.<a href="#fn-3.1" name="fnref-3.1" id="fnref-3.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> as though -by <span class="pagenum" id="p51">51</span>men who either freed themselves from -our charge or despised our -authority? Why, wherefore is the people angry with gladiators, -and so unjust as to think itself wronged if they do not die cheerfully? -It thinks itself scorned, and by looks, gestures, and excitement -turns itself from a mere spectator into an adversary. Everything -of this sort is not anger, but the semblance of anger, like that -of boys who want to beat the ground when they have fallen upon -it, and who often do not even know why they are angry, but are -merely angry without any reason or having received any injury, -yet not without some semblance of injury received, or without -some wish to exact a penalty for it. Thus they are deceived by -the likeness of blows, and are appeased by the pretended tears -of those who deprecate their wrath, and thus an unreal grief -is healed by an unreal revenge.</p> - -<p>III. “We often are angry,” says our adversary, “not with -men -who have hurt us, but with men who are going to hurt us: so you -may be sure that anger is not born of injury.” It is true that -we are angry with those who are going to hurt us, but they do -already hurt us in intention, and one who is going to do an injury -is already doing it. “The weakest of men,” argues he, “are -often -angry with the most powerful: so you may be sure that anger is -not a desire to punish their antagonist—for men do not desire -to punish him when they cannot hope to do so.” In the first place, -I spoke of a desire to inflict punishment, not a power to do -so: now men desire even what they cannot obtain. In the next -place, no one is so low in station as not to be able to hope -to inflict punishment even upon the greatest of men: we all are -powerful for mischief. <span class="pagenum" id="p52">52</span>Aristotle’s -definition differs little -from mine: for he declares anger to be a desire to repay suffering. -It would be a long task to examine the differences between his -definition and mine: it may be urged against both of them that -wild beasts become angry without being excited by injury, and -without any idea of punishing others or requiting them with pain: -for, even though they do these things, these are not what they -aim at doing. We must admit, however, that neither wild beasts -nor any other creature except man is subject to anger: for, whilst -anger is the foe of reason, it nevertheless does not arise in -any place where reason cannot dwell. Wild beasts have impulses, -fury, cruelty, combativeness: they have not anger any more than -they have luxury: yet they indulge in some pleasures with less -self-control than human beings. Do not believe the poet who says:</p> -<blockquote><p> -“The boar his wrath forgets, the stag forgets the hounds.<br /> - The bear forgets how ’midst the herd he leaped with frantic -bounds.”<a href="#fn-3.2" name="fnref-3.2" id="fnref-3.2"><sup>[2]</sup> -</a></p></blockquote> -<p>When he speaks of beasts being angry he means that -they are excited, roused up: for indeed they know no more how -to be angry than they know how to pardon. Dumb creatures have -not human feelings, but have certain impulses which resemble -them: for if it were not so, if they could feel love and hate, -they would likewise be capable of friendship and enmity, of disagreement -and agreement. Some traces of these qualities exist even in them, -though properly all of them, whether good or bad, belong to the -human breast alone. To no creature besides man has been given -wisdom, foresight, industry, and reflexion. To animals not only -human virtues but even human vices are forbidden: their whole -constitution, mental and bodily, is unlike that of human beings: -in them the -royal<a href="#fn-3.3" name="fnref-3.3" id="fnref-3.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> and -<span class="pagenum" id="p53">53</span>leading principle is drawn from another -source, as, for instance, -they possess a voice, yet not a clear one, but indistinct and -incapable of forming words: a tongue, but one which is fettered -and not sufficiently nimble for complex movements: so, too, they -possess intellect, the greatest attribute of all, but in a rough -and inexact condition. It is, consequently, able to grasp those -visions and semblances which rouse it to action, but only in -a cloudy and indistinct fashion. It follows from this that their -impulses and outbreaks are violent, and that they do not feel -fear, anxieties, grief, or anger, but some semblances of these -feelings: wherefore they quickly drop them and adopt the converse -of them: they graze after showing the most vehement rage and -terror, and after frantic bellowing and plunging they straightway -sink into quiet sleep.</p> - -<p>IV. What anger is has been sufficiently explained. The difference -between it and irascibility is evident: it is the same as that -between a drunken man and a drunkard; between a frightened man -and a coward. It is possible for an angry man not to be irascible; -an irascible man may sometimes not be angry. I shall omit the -other varieties of anger, which the Greeks distinguish by various -names, because we have no distinctive words for them in our language, -although we call men bitter, and harsh, and also peevish, frantic, -clamorous, surly, and fierce: all of which are different forms -of irascibility. Among these you may class sulkiness, a refined -form of irascibility; for there are some sorts of anger which -go no further than noise, while some are as lasting as they are -common: some are fierce in deed, but inclined to be sparing of -words: some expend themselves in bitter words and curses: some -do not go beyond complaining and turning one’s back: some are -great, deep-seated, and brood within a man: there are a thousand -other forms of a multiform evil.</p> - -<p>V. We have now finished our enquiry as to what anger -<span class="pagenum" id="p54">54</span>is, whether -it exists in any other creature besides man, what the difference -is between it and irascibility, and how many forms it possesses. -Let us now enquire whether anger be in accordance with nature, -and whether it be useful and worth entertaining in some measure. -</p> - -<p>Whether it be according to nature will become evident if we consider -man’s nature, than which what is more gentle while it is in its -proper condition? Yet what is more cruel than anger? What is -more affectionate to others than man? Yet what is more savage -against them than anger? Mankind is born for mutual assistance, -anger for mutual ruin: the former loves society, the latter estrangement. -The one loves to do good, the other to do harm; the one to help -even strangers, the other to attack even its dearest friends. -The one is ready even to sacrifice itself for the good of others, -the other to plunge into peril provided it drags others with -it. Who, then, can be more ignorant of nature than he who classes -this cruel and hurtful vice as belonging to her best and most -polished work? Anger, as we have said, is eager to punish; and -that such a desire should exist in man’s peaceful breast is least -of all according to his nature; for human life is founded on -benefits and harmony, and is bound together into an alliance -for the common help of all, not by terror, but by love towards -one another.</p> - -<p>VI. “What, then? Is not correction sometimes necessary?” Of -course -it is; but with discretion, not with anger; for it does not injure, -but heals under the guise of injury. We char crooked spearshafts -to straighten them, and force them by driving in wedges, not -in order to break them, but to take the bends out of them; and, -in like manner, by applying pain to the body or mind we correct -dispositions which have been rendered crooked by vice. So the -physician at first, when dealing with slight disorders, tries -not to make much change in his patient’s daily habits, to regulate -<span class="pagenum" id="p55">55</span>his food, drink, and exercise, and to -improve his health merely -by altering the order in which he takes them. The next step is -to see whether an alteration in their amount will be of service. -If neither alteration of the order or of the amount is of use, -he cuts off some and reduces others. If even this does not answer, -he forbids food, and disburdens the body by fasting. If milder -remedies have proved useless he opens a vein; if the extremities -are injuring the body and infecting it with disease he lays his -hands upon the limbs; yet none of his treatment is considered -harsh if its result is to give health. Similarly, it is the duty -of the chief administrator of the laws, or the ruler of a state, -to correct ill-disposed men, as long as he is able, with words, -and even with gentle ones, that he may persuade them to do what -they ought, inspire them with a love of honour and justice, and -cause them to hate vice and set store upon virtue. He must then -pass on to severer language, still confining himself to advising -and reprimanding; last of all he must betake himself to punishments, -yet still making them slight and temporary. He ought to assign -extreme punishments only to extreme crimes, that no one may die -unless it be even to the criminal’s own advantage that he should -die. He will differ from the physician in one point alone; for -whereas physicians render it easy to die for those to whom they -cannot grant the boon of life, he will drive the condemned out -of life with ignominy and disgrace, not because he takes pleasure -in any man’s being punished, for the wise man is far from such -inhuman ferocity, but that they may be a warning to all men, -and that, since they would not be useful when alive, the state -may at any rate profit by their death. Man’s nature is not, therefore, -desirous of inflicting punishment; neither, therefore, is anger -in accordance with man’s nature, because that is desirous of -inflicting punishment. I will also adduce Plato’s argument—for -what harm is there in using <span class="pagenum" id="p56">56</span>other -men’s arguments, so far as -they are on our side? “A good man,” says he, “does not do any -hurt: it is only punishment which hurts. Punishment, therefore, -does not accord with a good man: wherefore anger does not do -so either, because punishment and anger accord one with another. -If a good man takes no pleasure in punishment, he will also take -no pleasure in that state of mind to which punishment gives pleasure: -consequently anger is not natural to man.”</p> - -<p>VII. May it not be that, although anger be not natural, it may -be right to adopt it, because it often proves useful? It rouses -the spirit and excites it; and courage does nothing grand in -war without it, unless its flame be supplied from this source; -this is the goad which stirs up bold men and sends them to encounter -perils. Some therefore consider it to be best to control anger, -not to banish it utterly, but to cut off its extravagances, and -force it to keep within useful bounds, so as to retain that part -of it without which action will become languid and all strength -and activity of mind will die away.</p> - -<p>In the first place, it is easier to banish dangerous passions -than to rule them; it is easier not to admit them than to keep -them in order when admitted; for when they have established themselves -in possession of the mind they are more powerful than the lawful -ruler, and will in no wise permit themselves to be weakened or -abridged. In the next place, Reason herself, who holds the reins, -is only strong while she remains apart from the passions; if -she mixes and befouls herself with them she becomes no longer -able to restrain those whom she might once have cleared out of -her path; for the mind, when once excited and shaken up, goes -whither the passions drive it. There are certain things whose -beginnings lie in our own power, but which, when developed, drag -us along by their own force and leave us no retreat. Those who -have flung themselves over a precipice<span class="pagenum" id="p57">57</span> -have no control over their -movements, nor can they stop or slacken their pace when once -started, for their own headlong and irremediable rashness has -left no room for either reflexion or remorse, and they cannot -help going to lengths which they might have avoided. So, also, -the mind, when it has abandoned itself to anger, love, or any -other passion, is unable to check itself: its own weight and -the downward tendency of vices must needs carry the man off and -hurl him into the lowest depth.</p> - -<p>VIII. The best plan is to reject straightway the first incentives -to anger, to resist its very beginnings, and to take care not -to be betrayed into it: for if once it begins to carry us away, -it is hard to get back again into a healthy condition, because -reason goes for nothing when once passion has been admitted to -the mind, and has by our own free will been given a certain authority, -it will for the future do as much as it chooses, not only as -much as you will allow it. The enemy, I repeat, must be met and -driven back at the outermost frontier-line: for when he has once -entered the city and passed its gates, he will not allow his -prisoners to set bounds to his victory. The mind does not stand -apart and view its passions from without, so as not to permit -them to advance further than they ought, but it is itself changed -into a passion, and is therefore unable to check what once was -useful and wholesome strength, now that it has become degenerate -and misapplied: for passion and reason, as I said before, have -not distinct and separate provinces, but consist of the changes -of the mind itself for better or for worse. How then can reason -recover itself when it is conquered and held down by vices, when -it has given way to anger? or how can it extricate itself from -a confused mixture, the greater part of which consists of the -lower qualities? “But,” argues our adversary, “some men when -in anger control themselves.” Do they so far control themselves -that they do nothing which anger dictates, or -some<span class="pagenum" id="p58">58</span>what? If they -do nothing thereof, it becomes evident that anger is not essential -to the conduct of affairs, although your sect advocated it as -possessing greater strength than reason . . . . Finally, I ask, -is anger stronger or weaker than reason? If stronger, how can -reason impose any check upon it, since it is only the less powerful -that obey: if weaker, then reason is competent to effect its -ends without anger, and does not need the help of a less powerful -quality. “But some angry men remain consistent and control -themselves.” -When do they do so? It is when their anger is disappearing and -leaving them of its own accord, not when it was red-hot, for -then it was more powerful than they. What then? do not men, even -in the height of their anger, sometimes let their enemies go -whole and unhurt, and refrain from injuring them? “They do: but -when do they do so? It is when one passion overpowers another, -and either fear or greed gets the upper hand for a while. On -such occasions, it is not thanks to reason that anger is stilled, -but owing to an untrustworthy and fleeting truce between the -passions.</p> - -<p>IX. In the next place, anger has nothing useful in itself, and -does not rouse up the mind to warlike deeds: for a virtue, being -self-sufficient, never needs the assistance of a vice: whenever -it needs an impetuous effort, it does not become angry, but rises -to the occasion, and excites or soothes itself as far as it deems -requisite, just as the machines which hurl darts may be twisted -to a greater or lesser degree of tension at the manager’s pleasure. -“Anger,” says Aristotle, “is necessary, nor can any -fight be -won without it, unless it fills the mind, and kindles up the -spirit. It must, however, be made use of, not as a general, but -as a soldier,” Now this is untrue; for if it listens to reason -and follows whither reason leads, it is no longer anger, whose -characteristic is obstinacy: if, again, it is disobedient and -will not be quiet when ordered, but is carried away by its own -<span class="pagenum" id="p59">59</span>wilful and headstrong spirit, it is then -as useless an aid to -the mind as a soldier who disregards the sounding of the retreat -would be to a general. If, therefore, anger allows limits to -be imposed upon it, it must be called by some other name, and -ceases to be anger, which I understand to be unbridled and unmanageable: -and if it does not allow limits to be imposed upon it, it is -harmful and not to be counted among aids: wherefore either anger -is not anger, or it is useless: for if any man demands the infliction -of punishment, not because he is eager for the punishment itself, -but because it is right to inflict it, he ought not to be counted -as an angry man: that will be the useful soldier, who knows how -to obey orders: the passions cannot obey any more than they can -command.</p> - -<p>X. For this cause reason will never call to its aid blind and -fierce impulses, over whom she herself possesses no authority, -and which she never can restrain save by setting against them -similar and equally powerful passions, as for example, fear against -anger, anger against sloth, greed against timidity. May virtue -never come to such a pass, that reason should fly for aid to -vices! The mind can find no safe repose there, it must needs -be shaken and tempest-tossed if it be safe only because of its -own defects, if it cannot be brave without anger, diligent without -greed, quiet without fear: such is the despotism under which -a man must live if he becomes the slave of a passion. Are you -not ashamed to put virtues under the patronage of vices? Then, -too, reason ceases to have any power if she can do nothing without -passion, and begins to be equal and like unto passion; for what -difference is there between them if passion without reason be -as rash as reason without passion is helpless? They are both -on the same level, if one cannot exist without the other. Yet -who could endure that passion should be made equal to reason? -“Then,” says our adversary, “passion is useful, provided it be -moderate.” <span class="pagenum" id="p60">60</span>Nay, only if it be -useful by nature: but if it be -disobedient to authority and reason, al that we gain by its moderation -is that the less there is of it, the less harm it does: wherefore -a moderate passion is nothing but a moderate evil.</p> - -<p>XI. “But,” argues he, “against our enemies anger is -necessary.” -In no case is it less necessary; since our attacks ought not -to be disorderly, but regulated and under control. What, indeed, -is it except anger, so ruinous to itself, that overthrows barbarians, -who have so much more bodily strength than we, and are so much -better able to endure fatigue? Gladiators, too, protect themselves -by skill, but expose themselves to wounds when they are angry. -Moreover, of what use is anger, when the same end can be arrived -at by reason? Do you suppose that a hunter is angry with the -beasts he kills? Yet he meets them when they attack him, and -follows them when they flee from him, all of which is managed -by reason without anger. When so many thousands of Cimbri and -Teutones poured over the Alps, what was it that caused them to -perish so completely, that no messenger, only common rumour, -carried the news of that great defeat to their homes, except -that with them anger stood in the place of courage? and anger, -although sometimes it overthrows and breaks to pieces whatever -it meets, yet is more often its own destruction. Who can be braver -than the Germans? who charge more boldly? who have more love -of arms, among which they are born and bred, for which alone -they care, to the neglect of everything else? Who can be more -hardened to undergo every hardship, since a large part of them -have no store of clothing for the body, no shelter from the continual -rigour of the climate: yet Spaniards and Gauls, and even the -unwarlike races of Asia and Syria cut them down before the main -legion comes within sight, nothing but their own irascibility -exposing them to death. Give but intelligence to those -<span class="pagenum" id="p61">61</span>minds, -and discipline to those bodies of theirs, which now are ignorant -of vicious refinements, luxury, and wealth,—to say nothing more, -we should certainly be obliged to go back to the ancient Roman -habits of life. By what did Fabius restore the shattered forces -of the state, except by knowing how to delay and spin out time, -which angry men know not how to do? The empire, which then was -at its last gasp, would have perished if Fabius had been as daring -as anger urged him to be: but he took thought about the condition -of affairs, and after counting his force, no part of which could -be lost without everything being lost with it, he laid aside -thoughts of grief and revenge, turning his sole attention to -what was profitable and to making the most of his opportunities, -and conquered his anger before he conquered Hannibal. What did -Scipio do? Did he not leave behind Hannibal and the Carthaginian -army, and all with whom he had a right to be angry, and carry -over the war into Africa with such deliberation that he made -his enemies think him luxurious and lazy? What did the second -Scipio do? Did he not remain a long, long time before Numantia, -and bear with calmness the reproach to himself and to his country -that Numantia took longer to conquer than Carthage? By blockading -and investing his enemies, he brought them to such straits that -they perished by their own swords. Anger, therefore, is not useful -even in wars or battles: for it is prone to rashness, and while -trying to bring others into danger, does not guard itself against -danger. The most trustworthy virtue is that which long and carefully -considers itself, controls itself, and slowly and deliberately -brings itself to the front.</p> - -<p>XII. “What, then,” asks our adversary, “is a good man not -to -be angry if he sees his father murdered or his mother outraged?” No, he -will not be angry, but will avenge them, or protect them. -Why do you fear that <span class="pagenum" id="p62">62</span>filial piety will -not prove a sufficient -spur to him even without anger? You may as well say—“What then? -When a good man sees his father or his son being cut down, I -suppose he will not weep or faint,” as we see women do whenever -any trifling rumour of danger reaches them. The good man will -do his duty without disturbance or fear, and he will perform -the duty of a good man, so as to do nothing unworthy of a man. -My father will be murdered: then I will defend him: he has been -slain, then I will avenge him, not because I am grieved, but -because it is my duty. “Good men are made angry by injuries done -to their friends.” When you say this, Theophrastus, you seek -to throw discredit upon more manly maxims; you leave the judge -and appeal to the mob: because every one is angry when such things -befall his own friends, you suppose that men will decide that -it is their duty to do what they do: for as a rule every man considers -a passion which he recognises to be a righteous one. But he does -the same thing if the hot water is not ready for his drink, if -a glass be broken, or his shoe splashed with mud. It is not filial -piety, but weakness of mind that produces this anger, as children -weep when they lose their parents, just as they do when they -lose their toys. To feel anger on behalf of one’s friends does -not show a loving, but a weak mind: it is admirable and worthy -conduct to stand forth as the defender of one’s parents, children, -friends, and countrymen, at the call of duty itself, acting of -one’s own free will, forming a deliberate judgment, and looking -forward to the future, not in an impulsive, frenzied fashion. -No passion is more eager for revenge than anger, and for that -very reason it is unapt to obtain it: being over hasty and frantic, -like almost all desires, it hinders itself in the attainment -of its own object, and therefore has never been useful either -in peace or war: for it makes peace like war, and when in arms -forgets that Mars belongs <span class="pagenum" id="p63">63</span>to neither -side, and falls into the -power of the enemy, because it is not in its own. In the next -place, vices ought not to be received into common use because -on some occasions they have effected somewhat: for so also fevers -are good for certain kinds of ill-health, but nevertheless it -is better to be altogether free from them: it is a hateful mode -of cure to owe one’s health to disease. Similarly, although anger, -like poison, or falling headlong, or being shipwrecked, may have -unexpectedly done good, yet it ought not on that account to be -classed as wholesome, for poisons have often proved good for -the health.</p> - -<p>XIII. Moreover, qualities which we ought to possess become better -and more desirable the more extensive they are: if justice is -a good thing, no one will say that it would be better if any -part were subtracted from it; if bravery is a good thing, no -one would wish it to be in any way curtailed: consequently the -greater anger is, the better it is, for who ever objected to -a good thing being increased? But it is not expedient that anger -should be increased: therefore it is not expedient that it should -exist at all, for that which grows bad by increase cannot be -a good thing. “Anger is useful,” says our adversary, “because -it makes men more ready to fight.” According to that mode of -reasoning, then, drunkenness also is a good thing, for it makes -men insolent and daring, and many use their weapons better when -the worse for liquor: nay, according to that reasoning, also, -you may call frenzy and madness essential to strength, because -madness often makes men stronger. Why, does not fear often by -the rule of contraries make men bolder, and does not the terror -of death rouse up even arrant cowards to join battle? Yet anger, -drunkenness, fear, and the like, are base and temporary incitements -to action, and can furnish no arms to virtue, which has no need -of vices, although they may at times be of some little assistance -to sluggish and cowardly minds. <span class="pagenum" id="p64">64</span>No man -becomes braver through -anger, except one who without anger would not have been brave -at all: anger does not therefore come to assist courage, but -to take its place. What are we to say to the argument that, if -anger were a good thing it would attach itself to all the best -men? Yet the most irascible of creatures are infants, old men, -and sick people. Every weakling is naturally prone to complaint. -</p> - -<p>XIV. It is impossible, says Theophrastus, for a good man not -to be angry with bad men. By this reasoning, the better a man -is, the more irascible he will be: yet will he not rather be -more tranquil, more free from passions, and hating no one: indeed, -what reason has he for hating sinners, since it is error that -leads them into such crimes? now it does not become a sensible -man to hate the erring, since if so he will hate himself: let -him think how many things he does contrary to good morals, how -much of what he has done stands in need of pardon, and he will -soon become angry with himself also, for no righteous judge pronounces -a different judgment in his own case and in that of others. No -one, I affirm, will be found who can acquit himself. Every one -when he calls himself innocent looks rather to external witnesses -than to his own conscience. How much more philanthropic it is -to deal with the erring in a gentle and fatherly spirit, and -to call them into the right course instead of hunting them down? -When a man is wandering about our fields because he has lost -his way, it is better to place him on the right path than to -drive him away.</p> - -<p>XV. The sinner ought, therefore, to be corrected both by warning -and by force, both by gentle and harsh means, and may be made -a better man both towards himself and others by chastisement, -but not by anger: for who is angry with the patient whose wounds -he is tending? “But they cannot be corrected, and there is nothing -in them that is <span class="pagenum" id="p65">65</span>gentle or that admits of -good hope.” Then let -them be removed from mortal society, if they are likely to deprave -every one with whom they come in contact, and let them cease -to be bad men in the only way in which they can: yet let this -be done without hatred: for what reason have I for hating the -man to whom I am doing the greatest good, since I am rescuing -him from himself? Does a man hate his own limbs when he cuts -them off? That is not an act of anger, but a lamentable method -of healing. We knock mad dogs on the head, we slaughter fierce -and savage bulls, and we doom scabby sheep to the knife, lest -they should infect our flocks: we destroy monstrous births, and -we also drown our children if they are born weakly or unnaturally -formed; to separate what is useless from what is sound is an -act, not of anger, but of reason. Nothing becomes one who inflicts -punishment less than anger, because the punishment has all the -more power to work reformation if the sentence be pronounced -with deliberate judgment. This is why Socrates said to the slave, -“I would strike you, were I not angry.” He put off the correction -of the slave to a calmer season; at the moment, he corrected -himself. Who can boast that he has his passions, under control, -when Socrates did not dare to trust himself to his anger?</p> - -<p>XVI. We do not, therefore, need an angry chastiser to punish -the erring and wicked: for since anger is a crime of the mind, -it is not right that sins should be punished by sin. “What! am -I not to be angry with a robber, or a poisoner?” No: for I am -not angry with myself when I bleed myself. I apply all kinds -of punishment as remedies. You are as yet only in the first stage -of error, and do not go wrong seriously, although you do so often: -then I will try to amend you by a reprimand given first in private -and then in -public.<a href="#fn-3.4" name="fnref-3.4" id="fnref-3.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -You, again, have gone -<span class="pagenum" id="p66">66</span>too far to be restored to virtue by -words alone; you must be -kept in order by disgrace. For the next, some stronger measure -is required, something that he can feel must be branded upon -him; you, sir, shall be sent into exile and to a desert place. -The next man’s thorough villany needs harsher remedies: chains -and public imprisonment must be applied to him. You, lastly, -have an incurably vicious mind, and add crime to crime: you have -come to such a pass, that you are not influenced by the arguments -which are never wanting to recommend evil, but sin itself is -to you a sufficient reason for sinning: you have so steeped your -whole heart in wickedness, that wickedness cannot be taken from -you without bringing your heart with it. Wretched man! you have -long sought to die; we will do you good service, we will take -away that madness from which you suffer, and to you who have -so long lived a misery to yourself and to others, we will give -the only good thing which remains, that is, death. Why should -I be angry with a man just when I am doing him good: sometimes -the truest form of compassion is to put a man to death. If I -were a skilled and learned physician, and were to enter a hospital, -or a rich<a href="#fn-3.5" name="fnref-3.5" id="fnref-3.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> -man’s house, I should not have prescribed the same -treatment for all the patients who were suffering from various -diseases. I see different kinds of vice in the vast number of -different minds, and am called in to heal the whole body of citizens: -let us seek for the remedies proper for each disease. This man -may be cured by his own sense of honour, that one by travel, -that one by pain, that one by want, that one by the sword. If, -therefore, it becomes my duty as a magistrate to put on -black<a href="#fn-3.6" name="fnref-3.6" id="fnref-3.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> -robes, and summon an assembly by the sound of a -<span class="pagenum" id="p67">67</span> -trumpet,<a href="#fn-3.7" name="fnref-3.7" id="fnref-3.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> I -shall walk to the seat of -judgment not in a rage -or in a hostile spirit, but with the countenance of a judge; -I shall pronounce the formal sentence in a grave and gentle rather -than a furious voice, and shall bid them proceed -<span class="pagenum" id="p68">68</span>sternly, yet not angrily. Even when I -command a criminal to be -beheaded, when I sew a parricide up in a sack, when I send a -man to be punished by military law, when I fling a traitor or -public enemy down the Tarpeian Rock, I shall be free from anger, -and shall look and feel just as though I were crushing snakes -and other venomous creatures. “Anger is necessary to enable us -to punish.” What? do you think that the law is angry with men -whom it does not know, whom it has never seen, who it hopes will -never exist? We ought, therefore, to adopt the law’s frame of -mind, which does not become angry, but merely defines offences: -for, if it is right for a good man to be angry at wicked crimes, -it will also be right for him to be moved with envy at the prosperity -of wicked men: what, indeed, is more scandalous than that in -some cases the very men, for whose deserts no fortune could be -found bad enough, should flourish and actually be the spoiled -children of success? Yet he will see their affluence without -envy, just as he sees their crimes without anger: a good judge -condemns wrongful acts, but does not hate them. “What then? when -the wise man is dealing with something of this kind, will his -mind not be affected by it and become excited beyond its usual -wont?” I admit that it will: he will experience a slight and -trifling emotion; for, as Zeno says, “Even in the mind of the -wise man, a scar remains after the wound is quite healed.” He -will, therefore, feel certain hints and semblances of passions; -but he will be free from the passions themselves.</p> - -<p>XVII. Aristotle says that “certain passions, if one makes a proper -use of them, act as arms”: which would be true if, like weapons -of war, they could be taken up or laid aside at the pleasure -of their wielder. These arms, which Aristotle assigns to virtue, -fight of their own accord, do not wait to be seized by the hand, -and possess a man instead of being possessed by him. We have -no need of <span class="pagenum" id="p69">69</span>external weapons, nature has -equipped us sufficiently -by giving us reason. She has bestowed this weapon upon us, which -is strong, imperishable, and obedient to our will, not uncertain -or capable of being turned against its master. Reason suffices -by itself not merely to take thought for the future, but to manage -our affairs:<a href="#fn-3.8" name="fnref-3.8" id="fnref-3.8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> -what, then, can be more foolish than for reason -to beg anger for protection, that is, for what is certain to -beg of what is uncertain? what is trustworthy of what is faithless? -what is whole of what is sick? What, indeed? since reason is -far more powerful by itself even in performing those operations -in which the help of anger seems especially needful: for when -reason has decided that a particular thing should be done, she -perseveres in doing it; not being able to find anything better -than herself to exchange with. She, therefore, abides by her -purpose when it has once been formed; whereas anger is often -overcome by pity: for it possesses no firm strength, but merely -swells like an empty bladder, and makes a violent beginning, -just like the winds which rise from the earth and are caused -by rivers and marshes, which blow furiously without any continuance: -anger begins with a mighty rush, and then falls away, becoming -fatigued too soon: that which but lately thought of nothing but -cruelty and novel forms of torture, is become quite softened -and gentle when the time comes for punishment to be inflicted. -Passion soon cools, whereas reason is always consistent: yet -even in cases where anger has continued to burn, it often happens -that although there may be many who deserve to die, yet after -the death of two or three it ceases to slay. Its first onset -is fierce, just as the teeth of snakes when first roused from -their lair are venomous, but become harmless after repeated bites -have exhausted their poison. Consequently those who are -<span class="pagenum" id="p70">70</span>equally guilty are not equally punished, -and often he who has -done less is punished more, because he fell in the way of anger -when it was fresher. It is altogether irregular; at one time -it runs into undue excess, at another it falls short of its duty: -for it indulges its own feelings and gives sentence according -to its caprices, will not listen to evidence, allows the defence -no opportunity of being heard, clings to what it has wrongly -assumed, and will not suffer its opinion to be wrested from it, -even when it is a mistaken one.</p> - -<p>XVIII. Reason gives each side time to plead; moreover, she herself -demands adjournment, that she may have sufficient scope for the -discovery of the truth; whereas anger is in a hurry: reason wishes -to give a just decision; anger wishes its decision to be thought -just: reason looks no further than the matter in hand; anger -is excited by empty matters hovering on the outskirts of the -case: it is irritated by anything approaching to a confident -demeanour, a loud voice, an unrestrained speech, dainty apparel, -high-flown pleading, or popularity with the public. It often -condemns a man because it dislikes his patron; it loves and maintains -error even when truth is staring it in the face. It hates to -be proved wrong, and thinks it more honourable to persevere in -a mistaken line of conduct than to retract it. I remember Gnaeus -Piso, a man who was free from many vices, yet of a perverse disposition, -and one who mistook harshness for consistency. In his anger he -ordered a soldier to be led off to execution because he had returned -from furlough without his comrade, as though he must have murdered -him if he could not show him. When the man asked for time for -search, he would not grant it: the condemned man was brought -outside the rampart, and was just offering his neck to the axe, -when suddenly there appeared his comrade who was thought to be -slain. Hereupon the centurion in charge of the execution bade -the guardsman sheathe his sword, and led the condemned -<span class="pagenum" id="p71">71</span>man back -to Piso, to restore to him the innocence which Fortune had restored -to the soldier. They were led into his presence by their fellow -soldiers amid the great joy of the whole camp, embracing one -another and accompanied by a vast crowd. Piso mounted the tribunal -in a fury and ordered them both to be executed, both him who -had not murdered and him who had not been slain. What could be -more unworthy than this? Because one was proved to be innocent, -two perished. Piso even added a third: for he actually ordered -the centurion, who had brought back the condemned man, to be -put to death. Three men were set up to die in the same place -because one was innocent. O, how clever is anger at inventing -reasons for its frenzy! “You,” it says, “I order to be -executed, -because you have been condemned to death: you, because you have -been the cause of your comrade’s condemnation, and you, because -when ordered to put him to death you disobeyed your general.” -He discovered the means of charging them with three crimes, because -he could find no crime in them.</p> - -<p>XIX. Irascibility, I say, has this fault—it is loth to be ruled: -it is angry with the truth itself, if it comes to light against -its will: it assails those whom it has marked for its victims -with shouting and riotous noise and gesticulation of the entire -body, together with reproaches and curses. Not thus does reason -act: but if it must be so, she silently and quietly wipes out -whole households, destroys entire families of the enemies of -the state, together with their wives and children, throws down -their very dwellings, levels them with the ground, and roots -out the names of those who are the foes of liberty. This she -does without grinding her teeth or shaking her head, or doing -anything unbecoming to a judge, whose countenance ought to be -especially calm and composed at the time when he is pronouncing -an important sentence. “What need is there,” asks Hieronymus, -“for you to bite your own lips when you want to strike some one?” -What <span class="pagenum" id="p72">72</span>would he have said, had he seen a -proconsul leap down from -the tribunal, snatch the fasces from the lictor, and tear his -own clothes because those of others were not torn as fast as -he wished. Why need you upset the table, throw down the drinking -cups, knock yourself against the columns, tear your hair, smite -your thigh and your breast? How vehement do you suppose anger -to be, if it thus turns back upon itself, because it cannot find -vent on another as fast as it wishes? Such men, therefore, are -held back by the bystanders and are begged to become reconciled -with themselves. But he who while free from anger assigns to -each man the penalty which he deserves, does none of these things. -He often lets a man go after detecting his crime, if his penitence -for what he has done gives good hope for the future, if he perceives -that the man’s wickedness is not deeply rooted in his mind, but -is only, as the saying is, skin-deep. He will grant impunity -in cases where it will hurt neither the receiver nor the giver. -In some cases he will punish great crimes more leniently than -lesser ones, if the former were the result of momentary impulse, -not of cruelty, while the latter were instinct with secret, underhand, -long-practised craftiness. The same fault, committed by two separate -men, will not be visited by him with the same penalty, if the -one was guilty of it through carelessness, the other with a premeditated -intention of doing mischief. In all dealing with crime he will -remember that the one form of punishment is meant to make bad -men better, and the other to put them out of the way. In either -case he will look to the future, not to the past: for, as Plato -says, “no wise man punishes any one because he has sinned, but -that he may sin no more: for what is past cannot be recalled, -but what is to come may be checked.” Those, too, whom he wishes -to make examples of the ill success of wickedness, he executes -publicly, not merely in order that they themselves may die, but -that by dying they <span class="pagenum" id="p73">73</span>may deter others from -doing likewise. You -see how free from any mental disturbance a man ought to be who -has to weigh and consider all this, when he deals with a matter -which ought to be handled with the utmost care, I mean, the power -of life and death. The sword of justice is ill-placed in the -hands of an angry man.</p> - -<p>XX. Neither ought it to be believed that anger contributes anything -to magnanimity: what it gives is not magnanimity but vain glory. -The increase which disease produces in bodies swollen with morbid -humours is not healthy growth, but bloated corpulence. All those -whose madness raises them above human considerations, believe -themselves to be inspired with high and sublime ideas; but there -is no solid ground beneath, and what is built without foundation -is liable to collapse in ruin. Anger has no ground to stand upon, -and does not rise from a firm and enduring foundation, but is -a windy, empty quality, as far removed from true magnanimity -as fool-hardiness from courage, boastfulness from confidence, -gloom from austerity, cruelty from strictness. There is, I say, -a great difference between a lofty and a proud mind: anger brings -about nothing grand or beautiful. On the other hand, to be constantly -irritated seems to me to be the part of a languid and unhappy -mind, conscious of its own feebleness, like folk with diseased -bodies covered with sores, who cry out at the lightest touch. -Anger, therefore, is a vice which for the most part affects women -and children. “Yet it affects men also.” Because many men, too, -have womanish or childish intellects. “But what are we to say? -do not some words fall from angry men which appear to flow from -a great mind?” Yes, to those who know not what true greatness -is: as, for example, that foul and hateful saying, “Let them -hate me, provided they fear me,” which you may be sure was written -in Sulla’s time. I know not which was the worse of the two things -he wished <span class="pagenum" id="p74">74</span>for, that he might be hated or -that he might be feared. -It occurs to his mind that some day people will curse him, plot -against him, crush him: what prayer does he add to this? May -all the gods curse him—for discovering a cure for hate so worthy -of it. “Let them hate.” How? “Provided they obey me?” -No! “Provided -they approve of me?” No! How then? “Provided they fear me!” I -would not even be loved upon such terms. Do you imagine that -this was a very spirited saying? You are wrong: this is not greatness, -but monstrosity. You should not believe the words of angry men, -whose speech is very loud and menacing, while their mind within -them is as timid as possible: nor need you suppose that the most -eloquent of men, Titus Livius, was right in describing somebody -as being “of a great rather than a good disposition.” The things -cannot be separated: he must either be good or else he cannot -be great, because I take greatness of mind to mean that it is -unshaken, sound throughout, firm and uniform to its very foundation; -such as cannot exist in evil dispositions. Such dispositions -may be terrible, frantic, and destructive, but cannot possess -greatness; because greatness rests upon goodness, and owes its -strength to it. “Yet by speech, action, and all outward show -they will make one think them great.” True, they will say something -which you may think shows a great spirit, like Gaius Caesar, -who when angry with heaven because it interfered with his ballet-dancers, -whom he imitated more carefully than he attended to them when -they acted, and because it frightened his revels by its thunders, -surely -ill-directed,<a href="#fn-3.9" name="fnref-3.9" id="fnref-3.9"><sup>[9]</sup> -</a> challenged Jove to fight, and that to -the death, shouting the Homeric verse:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“Carry me off, or I will -carry thee!”</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="p75">75</span>How great was his madness! He must -have believed either that -he could not be hurt even by Jupiter himself, or that he could -hurt even Jupiter itself. I imagine that this saying of his -had no small weight in nerving the minds of the conspirators -for their task: for it seemed to be the height of endurance to -bear one who could not bear Jupiter.</p> - -<p>XXI. There is therefore nothing great or noble in anger, even -when it seems to be powerful and to contemn both gods and men -alike. Any one who thinks that anger produces greatness of mind, -would think that luxury produces it: such a man wishes to rest -on ivory, to be clothed with purple, and roofed with gold; to -remove lands, embank seas, hasten the course of rivers, suspend -woods in the air. He would think that avarice shows greatness -of mind: for the avaricious man broods over heaps of gold and -silver, treats whole provinces as merely fields on his estate, -and has larger tracts of country under the charge of single bailiffs -than those which consuls once drew lots to administer. He would -think that lust shows greatness of mind: for the lustful man -swims across straits, castrates troops of boys, and puts himself -within reach of the swords of injured husbands with complete -scorn of death. Ambition, too, he would think shows greatness -of mind: for the ambitious man is not content with office once -a year, but, if possible, would fill the calendar of dignities -with his name alone, and cover the whole world with his titles. -It matters nothing to what heights or lengths these passions -may proceed: they are narrow, pitiable, grovelling. Virtue alone -is lofty and sublime, nor is anything great which is not at the -same time tranquil.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-3.1" id="fn-3.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-3.1">[1]</a> -Here a leaf or more has been lost, including the fragment -cited in Lactantius, <i lang="la">De ira dei</i>, 17 “Ira est -eupiditas,” &c. -The entire passage is:—“But the Stoics did not perceive that -there is a difference between right and wrong; that there is -just and unjust anger: and as they could find no remedy for it, -they wished to extirpate it. The Peripatetics, on the other hand, -declared that it ought not to be destroyed, but restrained. These -I have sufficiently answered in the sixth book of my -‘Institutiones.’ -It is clear that the philosophers did not comprehend the reason -of anger, from the definitions of it which Seneca has enumerated -in the books ‘On Anger’ which he has written. ‘Anger,’ -he says, -‘is the desire of avenging an injury.’ Others, as Posidonius -says, call it ‘a desire to punish one by whom you think that -you have been unjustly injured,’ Some have defined it thus, -‘Anger is an impulse -of the mind to injure him who either has -injured you or has sought to injure you.’ Aristotle’s definition -differs but little from our own. He says, ‘that anger is a desire -to repay suffering,’ ” etc. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-3.2" id="fn-3.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-3.2">[2]</a> -Ovid, “Met.” vii. 545-6. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-3.3" id="fn-3.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-3.3">[3]</a> -τὸ -ἡγεμονικὸν of the Stoics. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-3.4" id="fn-3.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-3.4">[4]</a> -The gospel rule. Matt, xviii. 15. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-3.5" id="fn-3.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-3.5">[5]</a> -<i lang="la">Divitis</i> (where there might be an army of slaves). -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-3.6" id="fn-3.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-3.6">[6]</a> -“Lorsque -le Préteur devoit prononcer la sentence d’un coupable, il se -depouilloit de la robe pretexte, et se revêtoit alors d’une simple -tunique, ou d’une autre robe, presque usée, et d’un blanc sale -(<i>sordida</i>) -ou d’un gris très foncé tirant sur le noir (<i>toga pulla</i>), -telle qu’en portoient à Rome le peuple et les pauvres (<i>pullaque -paupertas</i>). Dans les jours solemnelles et marqués par un deuil -public, les Senateurs quittoient le laticlave, et les Magistrats -la pretexte. La pourpre, la hache, les faisceaux, aucun de ces -signes extérieurs de leur dignité ne les distinguoient alors -des autres citoyens: <i>sine insignibus Magistratus</i>. Mais ce n’étoit -pas seulement pendant le temps ou la ville étoit plongée dans -le deuil et dans I’affliction, que les magistrats s’habilloient -comme le peuple (<i>sordidam vestem induebant</i>); ils en usoient de -même lorsqu’ils devoient condamner à mort un citoyen. C’est dans -ces tristes circonstances qu’ils quittoient la prétexte et prenoient -la robe de deuil <i>perversam vestem</i>. (No doubt -“inside out.”—J. -E. B. M.) ”On pourroit supposer avec assez de vraisemblance que -par cette expression, Séneque a voulu faire allusion à ce changement -. . . . . Peut-être les Magistrats qui devoient juger à mort -un citoyen, portoient ils aussi leur robe renversée, ou la jettoient -ils de travers ou confusément sur leurs épaules, pour mieux peindre -par ce desordre le trouble de leur esprit. Si cette conjecture -est vraie, comme je serais assez porté à croire, l’expression -<i>perversa vestis</i> dont Séneque s’est servi ici, indiqueroit plus -d’un simple changement d’habit,” &c, (La Grange’s -translation -of Seneca, edited by J, A. Naigeon. Paris, 1778.) -</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="fn-3.7" id="fn-3.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-3.7">[7]</a> -“Ceci fait -allusion à une coutume que Caius Gracchus prétend avoir été pratiquée -de tout tems à Rome, ‘Lorsqu’un citoyen,” dit il, “avoit -un procès -criminel qui alloit à la mort, s’il refusoit d’obéir aux sommations -qui lui étoient faites; le jour qu’on devoit le juger, en envoyoit -des le matin à la porte de sa maison un Officier I’appeller au -son de la trompette, et jamais avant que cette cérémonie eût -été observée, les Juges ne donneroient leur voix contre lui: -tant ces hommes sages,’ ajoute ce hardi Tribun, ‘avoient de retenue -et de precaution dans leurs jugements, quand il s’agissoit de -la vie d’un citoyen.’ ”</p> -<p>“C’étoit de même au son de -la trompette -que l’on convoquoit le peuple, lorsqu’on devoit faire mourir -un citoyen, afin qu’il fût témoin de ce triste spectacle, et -que la supplice du coupable pût lui servir d’exemple. Tacite -dit qu’un Astrologue, nommé P. Marcius, fût exécuté, selon l’ancien -usage, hors de la porte Esquiline, en presence du peuple Romain -que les Consuls firent convoquer au son de la trompette.” (Tac. -Ann. II. 32.) L. Grom. -</p></div> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-3.8" id="fn-3.8"></a> <a href="#fnref-3.8">[8]</a> -<i>I.e.</i> not only for counsel but for -action. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-3.9" id="fn-3.9"></a> <a href="#fnref-3.9">[9]</a> -<i lang="la">Prorsus parum certis</i> (<i>i.e.</i>, the thunderbolts missed -their aim in not striking him dead). -</p> - - -<h2>THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p76">76</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO NOVATUS.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">OF ANGER.</span><br /> -<span class="sc shiftdown">Book II.</span></h2> - -<p>My first book, Novatus, had a more abundant subject: for carriages -roll easily down -hill:<a href="#fn-4.1" name="fnref-4.1" id="fnref-4.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> now we -must proceed to drier matters. -The question before us is whether anger arises from deliberate -choice or from impulse, that is, whether it acts of its own accord -or like the greater part of those passions which spring up within -us without our knowledge. It is necessary for our debate to stoop -to the consideration of these matters, in order that it may afterwards -be able to rise to loftier themes; for likewise in our bodies -the parts which are first set in order are the bones, sinews, -and joints, which are by no means fair to see, albeit they are -the foundation of our frame and essential to its life: next to -them come the parts of which all beauty of face and appearance -consists; and after these, colour, which above all else charms -the eye, is applied last of all, when the rest of the body is -complete. There is no doubt that anger is roused by the appearance -of an injury -<span class="pagenum" id="p77">77</span>being done: but the question before us -is, whether anger straightway -follows the appearance, and springs up without assistance from -the mind, or whether it is roused with the sympathy of the mind. -Our (the Stoics’) opinion is, that anger can venture upon nothing -by itself, without the approval of mind: for to conceive the -idea of a wrong having been done, to long to avenge it, and to -join the two propositions, that we ought not to have been injured -and that it is our duty to avenge our injuries, cannot belong -to a mere impulse which is excited without our consent. That -impulse is a simple act; this is a complex one, and composed -of several parts. The man understands something to have happened: -he becomes indignant thereat: he condemns the deed; and he avenges -it. All these things cannot be done without his mind agreeing -to those matters which touched him.</p> - -<p>II. Whither, say you, does this inquiry tend? That we may know -what anger is: for if it springs up against our will, it never -will yield to reason: because all the motions which take place -without our volition are beyond our control and unavoidable, -such as shivering when cold water is poured over us, or shrinking -when we are touched in certain places. Men’s hair rises up at -bad news, their faces blush at indecent words, and they are seized -with dizziness when looking down a precipice; and as it is not -in our power to prevent any of these things, no reasoning can -prevent their taking place. But anger can be put to flight by -wise maxims; for it is a voluntary defect of the mind, and not -one of those things which are evolved by the conditions of human -life, and which, therefore, may happen even to the wisest of -us. Among these and in the first place must be ranked that thrill -of the mind which seizes us at the thought of wrongdoing. We -feel this even when witnessing the mimic scenes of the stage, -or when reading about things that happened long ago. We often -<span class="pagenum" id="p78">78</span>feel angry with Clodius for banishing -Cicero, and with Antonius -for murdering him. Who is not indignant with the wars of Marius, -the proscriptions of Sulla? who is not enraged against Theodotus -and Achillas and the boy king who dared to commit a more than -boyish -crime?<a href="#fn-4.2" name="fnref-4.2" id="fnref-4.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> -Sometimes songs excite us, and quickened rhythm -and the martial noise of trumpets; so, too, shocking pictures -and the dreadful sight of tortures, however well deserved, affect -our minds. Hence it is that we smile when others are smiling, -that a crowd of mourners makes us sad, and that we take a glowing -interest in another’s battles; all of which feelings are not -anger, any more than that which clouds our brow at the sight -of a stage shipwreck is sadness, or what we feel, when we read -how Hannibal after Cannae beset the walls of Rome, can be called -fear. All these are emotions of minds which are loth to be moved, -and are not passions, but rudiments which may grow into passions. -So, too, a soldier starts at the sound of a trumpet, although -he may be dressed as a civilian and in the midst of a profound -peace, and camp horses prick up their ears at the clash of arms. -It is said that Alexander, when Xenophantus was singing, laid -his hand upon his weapons.</p> - -<p>III. None of these things which casually influence the mind deserve -to be called passions: the mind, if I may so express it, rather -suffers passions to act upon itself than forms them. A passion, -therefore, consists not in being affected by the sights which -are presented to us, but in giving way to our feelings and following -up these chance promptings: for whoever imagines that paleness, -bursting into tears, lustful feelings, deep sighs, sudden flashes -of the eyes, and so forth, are signs of passion and betray the -<span class="pagenum" id="p79">79</span>state of the mind, is mistaken, and -does not understand that -these are merely impulses of the body. Consequently, the bravest -of men often turns pale while he is putting on his armour; when -the signal for battle is given, the knees of the boldest soldier -shake for a moment; the heart even of a great general leaps into -his mouth just before the lines clash together, and the hands -and feet even of the most eloquent orator grow stiff and cold -while he is preparing to begin his speech. Anger must not merely -move, but break out of bounds, being an impulse: now, no impulse -can take place without the consent of the mind: for it cannot -be that we should deal with revenge and punishment without the -mind being cognisant of them. A man may think himself injured, -may wish to avenge his wrongs, and then may be persuaded by some -reason or other to give up his intention and calm down: I do -not call that anger, it is an emotion of the mind which is under -the control of reason. Anger is that which goes beyond reason -and carries her away with it: wherefore the first confusion of -a man’s mind when struck by what seems an injury is no more anger -than the apparent injury itself: it is the subsequent mad rush, -which not only receives the impression of the apparent injury, -but acts upon it as true, that is anger, being an exciting of -the mind to revenge, which proceeds from choice and deliberate -resolve. There never has been any doubt that fear produces flight, -and anger a rush forward; consider, therefore, whether you suppose -that anything can be either sought or avoided without the participation -of the mind.</p> - -<p>IV. Furthermore, that you may know in what manner passions begin -and swell and gain spirit, learn that the first emotion is involuntary, -and is, as it were, a preparation for a passion, and a threatening -of one. The next is combined with a wish, though not an obstinate -one, as, for example, “It is my duty to avenge myself, because -I have been in<span class="pagenum" id="p80">80</span>jured,” or “It -is right that this man should be -punished, because he has committed a crime.” The third emotion -is already beyond our control, because it overrides reason, and -wishes to avenge itself, not if it be its duty, but whether or -no. We are not able by means of reason to escape from that first -impression on the mind, any more than we can escape from those -things which we have mentioned as occurring to the body: we cannot -prevent other people’s yawns temping us to -yawn:<a href="#fn-4.3" name="fnref-4.3" id="fnref-4.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> we -cannot -help winking when fingers are suddenly darted at our eyes. Reason -is unable to overcome these habits, which perhaps might be weakened -by practice and constant watchfulness: they differ from an emotion -which is brought into existence and brought to an end by a deliberate -mental act.</p> - -<p>V. We must also enquire whether those whose cruelty knows no -bounds, and who delight in shedding human blood, are angry when -they kill people from whom they have received no injury, and -who they themselves do not think have done them any injury; such -as were Apollodorus or Phalaris. This is not anger, it is ferocity: -for it does not do hurt because it has received injury: but is -even willing to receive injury, provided it may do hurt. It does -not long to inflict stripes and mangle bodies to avenge its wrongs, -but for its own pleasure. What then are we to say? This evil -takes its rise from anger; for anger, after it has by long use -and indulgence made a man forget mercy, and driven all feelings -of human fellowship from his mind, passes finally into cruelty. -Such men therefore laugh, rejoice, enjoy themselves greatly, -and are as unlike as possible in countenance to angry men, since -cruelty is their relaxation. It is said that when Hannibal saw -a trench full of human blood, he exclaimed, “O, what -<span class="pagenum" id="p81">81</span>a beauteous sight!” How much more -beautiful would he have thought -it, if it had filled a river or a lake? Why should we wonder -that you should be charmed with this sight above all others, -you who were born in bloodshed and brought up amid slaughter -from a child? Fortune will follow you and favour your cruelty -for twenty years, and will display to you everywhere the sight -that you love. You will behold it both at Trasumene and at Cannae, -and lastly at your own city of Carthage. Volesus, who not long -ago, under the Emperor Augustus, was proconsul of Asia Minor, -after he had one day beheaded three hundred persons, strutted -out among the corpses with a haughty air, as though he had performed -some grand and notable exploit, and exclaimed in Greek, “What -a kingly action!” What would this man have done, had he been -really a king? This was not anger, but a greater and an incurable -disease.</p> - -<p>VI. “Virtue,” argues our adversary, “ought to be angry with -what -is base, just as she approves of what is honourable.” What should -we think if he said that virtue ought to be both mean and great; -yet this is what he means, when he wants her to be raised and -lowered, because joy at a good action is grand and glorious, -while anger at another’s sin is base and befits a narrow mind: -and virtue will never be guilty of imitating vice while she is -repressing it; she considers anger to deserve punishment for -itself, since it often is even more criminal than the faults -which which it is angry. To rejoice and be glad is the proper -and natural function of virtue: it is as much beneath her dignity -to be angry, as to mourn: now, sorrow is the companion of anger, -and all anger ends in sorrow, either from remorse or from failure. -Secondly, if it be the part of the wise man to be angry with -sins, he will be more angry the greater they are, and will often -be angry: from which it follows that the wise man will not only -be angry but iras<span class="pagenum" id="p82">82</span>cible. Yet if we do not -believe that great and -frequent anger can find any place in the wise man’s mind, why -should we not set him altogether free from this passion? for -there can be no limit, if he ought to be angry in proportion -to what every man does: because he will either be unjust if he -is equally angry at unequal crimes, or he will be the most irascible -of men, if he blazes into wrath as often as crimes deserve his -anger.</p> - -<p>VII. What, too, can be more unworthy of the wise man, than that -his passions should depend upon the wickedness of others? If -so, the great Socrates will no longer be able to return home -with the same expression of countenance with which he set out. -Moreover, if it be the duty of the wise man to be angry at base -deeds, and to be excited and saddened at crimes, then is there -nothing more unhappy than the wise man, for all his life will -be spent in anger and grief. What moment will there be at which -he will not see something deserving of blame? whenever he leaves -his house, he will be obliged to walk among men who are criminals, -misers, spendthrifts, profligates, and who are happy in being -so: he can turn his eyes in no direction without their finding -something to shock them. He will faint, if he demands anger from -himself as often as reason calls for it. All these thousands -who are hurrying to the law courts at break of day, how base -are their causes, and how much baser their advocates? One impugns -his father’s will, when he would have done better to deserve -it; another appears as the accuser of his mother; a third comes -to inform against a man for committing the very crime of which -he himself is yet more notoriously guilty. The judge, too, is -chosen to condemn men for doing what he himself has done, and -the audience takes the wrong side, led astray by the fine voice -of the pleader.</p> - -<p>VIII. Why need I dwell upon individual cases? Be assured, when -you see the Forum crowded with a multitude, -<span class="pagenum" id="p83">83</span>the -Saepta<a href="#fn-4.4" name="fnref-4.4" id="fnref-4.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -swarming -with people, or the great Circus, in which the greater part of -the people find room to show themselves at once, that among them -there are as many vices as there are men. Among those whom you -see in the garb of peace there is no peace: for a small profit -any one of them will attempt the ruin of another: no one can -gain anything save by another’s loss. They hate the fortunate -and despise the unfortunate: they grudgingly endure the great, -and oppress the small: they are fired by divers lusts: they would -wreck everything for the sake of a little pleasure or plunder: -they live as though they were in a school of gladiators, fighting -with the same people with whom they live: it is like a society -of wild beasts, save that beasts are tame with one another, and -refrain from biting their own species, whereas men tear one another, -and gorge themselves upon one another. They differ from dumb -animals in this alone, that the latter are tame with those who -feed them, whereas the rage of the former preys on those very -persons by whom they were brought up.</p> - -<p>IX. The wise man will never cease to be angry, if he once begins, -so full is every place of vices and crimes. More evil is done -than can be healed by punishment: men seem engaged in a vast -race of wickedness. Every day there is greater eagerness to sin, -less modesty. Throwing aside all reverence for what is better -and more just, lust rushes whithersoever it thinks fit, and crimes -are no longer committed by stealth, they take place before our -eyes, and wickedness has become so general and gained such a -footing in everyone’s breast that innocence is no longer rare, -but no longer exists. Do men break the law singly, or a few at -a time? Nay, they rise in all quarters at once, as though obeying -some universal signal, to wipe out the boundaries of right and -wrong.</p> - -<span class="pagenum" id="p84">84</span> - -<blockquote><p>“Host is not safe from guest,<br /> - Father-in-law from son; but seldom love<br /> - Exists ’twixt brothers; wives long to destroy<br /> - Their husbands, husbands long to slay their wives,<br /> - Stepmothers deadly aconite prepare<br /> - And child-heirs wonder when their sires will die.”</p></blockquote> - - <p>And how small -a part of men’s crimes are these! The -poet<a href="#fn-4.5" name="fnref-4.5" id="fnref-4.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> has not -described -one people divided into two hostile camps, parents and children -enrolled on opposite sides, Rome set on fire by the hand of a -Roman, troops of fierce horsemen scouring the country to track -out the hiding-places of the proscribed, wells defiled with poison, -plagues created by human hands, trenches dug by children round -their beleaguered parents, crowded prisons, conflagrations that -consume whole cities, gloomy tyrannies, secret plots to establish -despotisms and ruin peoples, and men glorying in those deeds -which, as long as it was possible to repress them, were counted -as crimes—I mean rape, debauchery, and lust . . . . . Add to -these, public acts of national bad faith, broken treaties, everything -that cannot defend itself carried off as plunder by the stronger, -knaveries, thefts, frauds, and disownings of debt such as three -of our present law-courts would not suffice to deal with. If -you want the wise man to be as angry as the atrocity of men’s -crimes requires, he must not merely be angry, but must go mad -with rage.</p> - -<p>X. You will rather think that we should not be angry with people’s -faults; for what shall we say of one who is angry with those -who stumble in the dark, or with deaf people who cannot hear -his orders, or with children, because they forget their duty -and interest themselves in the games and silly jokes of their -companions? What shall we say if you choose to be angry -<span class="pagenum" id="p85">85</span>with weaklings for being sick, for -growing old, or becoming fatigued? -Among the other misfortunes of humanity is this, that men’s intellects -are confused, and they not only cannot help going wrong, but -love to go wrong. To avoid being angry with individuals, you -must pardon the whole mass, you must grant forgiveness to the -entire human race. If you are angry with young and old men because -they do wrong, you will be angry with infants also, for they -soon will do wrong. Does any one become angry with children, -who are too young to comprehend distinctions? Yet, to be a human -being is a greater and a better excuse than to be a child. Thus -are we born, as creatures liable to as many disorders of the -mind as of the body; not dull and slow-witted, but making a bad -use of our keenness of wit, and leading one another into vice -by our example. He who follows others who have started before -him on the wrong road is surely excusable for having wandered -on<a href="#fn-4.6" name="fnref-4.6" id="fnref-4.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> the -highway. A general’s severity may be shown in the case -of individual deserters; but where a whole army deserts, it must -needs be pardoned. What is it that puts a stop to the wise man’s -anger? It is the number of sinners. He perceives how unjust and -how dangerous it is to be angry with vices which all men share. -Heraclitcus, whenever he came out of doors and beheld around -him such a number of men who were living wretchedly, nay, rather -perishing wretchedly, used to weep: he pitied all those who met -him joyous and happy. He was of a gentle but too weak disposition: -and he himself was one of those for whom he ought to have wept. -Democritus, on the other hand, is said never to have appeared -in public without laughing; so little did men’s serious occupations -appear serious to him. What room is there for anger? Everything -ought either to move us to tears or to laughter. The wise man -will not be angry with - -<span class="pagenum" id="p86">86</span> -sinners. Why not? Because he knows that no one is born wise, but -becomes so: he knows that very few wise men are produced -in any age, because he thoroughly understands the circumstances -of human life. Now, no sane man is angry with nature: for what -should we say if a man chose to be surprised that fruit did not -hang on the thickets of a forest, or to wonder at bushes and -thorns not being covered with some useful berry? No one is angry -when nature excuses a defect. The wise man, therefore, being -tranquil, and dealing candidly with mistakes, not an enemy to -but an improver of sinners, will go abroad every day in the following -frame of mind:—”Many men will meet me who are drunkards, lustful, -ungrateful, greedy, and excited by the frenzy of ambition.” He -will view all these as benignly as a physician does his patients. -When a man’s ship leaks freely through its opened seams, does -he become angry with the sailors or the ship itself? No; instead -of that, he tries to remedy it: he shuts out some water, bales -out some other, closes all the holes that he can see, and by -ceaseless labour counteracts those which are out of sight and -which let water into the hold; nor does he relax his efforts -because as much water as he pumps out runs in again. We need -a long-breathed struggle against permanent and prolific evils; -not, indeed, to quell them, but merely to prevent their overpowering -us.</p> - -<p>XI. “Anger,” says our opponent, “is useful, because it -avoids -contempt, and because it frightens bad men.” Now, in the first -place, if anger is strong in proportion to its threats, it is -hateful for the same reason that it is terrible: and it is more -dangerous to be hated than to be despised. If, again, it is without -strength, it is much more exposed to contempt, and cannot avoid -ridicule; for what is more flat than anger when it breaks out -into meaningless ravings? Moreover, because some things are somewhat -terrible, they are not on that account desirable: nor does wisdom -wish it <span class="pagenum" id="p87">87</span>to be said of the wise man, as -it is of a wild beast, -that the fear which he inspires is as a weapon to him. Why, do -we not fear fever, gout, consuming ulcers? and is there, for -that reason, any good in them? nay; on the other hand, they are -all despised and thought to be foul and base, and are for this -very reason feared. So, too, anger is in itself hideous and by -no means to be feared; yet it is feared by many, just as a hideous -mask is feared by children. How can we answer the fact that terror -always works back to him who inspired it, and that no one is -feared who is himself at peace? At this point it is well that -you should remember that verse of Laberius, which, when pronounced -in the theatre during the height of the civil war, caught the -fancy of the whole people as though it expressed the national -feeling:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“He must fear many, whom so many -fear.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Thus has nature -ordained, that whatever becomes great by causing fear to others -is not free from fear itself. How disturbed lions are at the -faintest noises! How excited those fiercest of beasts become -at strange shadows, voices, or smells! Whatever is a terror to -others, fears for itself. There can be no reason, therefore, -for any wise man to wish to be feared, and no one need think -that anger is anything great because it strikes terror, since -even the most despicable things are feared, as, for example, -noxious vermin whose bite is venomous: and since a string set -with feathers stops the largest herds of wild beasts and guides -them into traps, it is no wonder that from its effect it should -be named a -“Scarer.”<a href="#fn-4.7" name="fnref-4.7" id="fnref-4.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> -Foolish creatures are frightened by foolish -things: the movement of chariots and the sight of their wheels -turning round drives lions back into their cage: elephants are -frightened at the cries of pigs: and so also we fear anger just -as children fear the dark, or wild -<span class="pagenum" id="p88">88</span>beasts fear red feathers: it has in -itself nothing solid or valiant, -but it affects feeble minds.</p> - -<p>XII. “Wickedness,” says our adversary, “must be removed from -the system of nature, if you wish to remove anger: neither of -which things can be done.” In the first place, it is possible -for a man not to be cold, although according to the system of -nature it may be winter-time, nor yet to suffer from heat, although -it be summer according to the almanac. He may be protected against -the inclement time of the year by dwelling in a favoured spot, -or he may have so trained his body to endurance that it feels -neither heat nor cold. Next, reverse this saying:—You must remove -anger from your mind before you can take virtue into the same, -because vices and virtues cannot combine, and none can at the -same time be both an angry man and a good man, any more than -he can be both sick and well. “It is not possible,” says he, -“to remove anger altogether from the mind, nor does human nature -admit of it.” Yet there is nothing so hard and difficult that -the mind of man cannot overcome it, and with which unremitting -study will not render him familiar, nor are there any passions -so fierce and independent that they cannot be tamed by discipline. -The mind can carry out whatever orders it gives itself: some -have succeeded in never smiling: some have forbidden themselves -wine, sexual intercourse, or even drink of all kinds. Some, who -are satisfied with short hours of rest, have learned to watch -for long periods without weariness. Men have learned to run upon -the thinnest ropes even when slanting, to carry huge burdens, -scarcely within the compass of human strength, or to dive to -enormous depths and suffer themselves to remain under the sea -without any chance of drawing breath. There are a thousand other -instances in which application has conquered all obstacles, and -proved that nothing which the mind has set itself to endure is -difficult. The men whom I <span class="pagenum" id="p89">89</span>have just -mentioned gain either no -reward or one that is unworthy of their unwearied application; -for what great thing does a man gain by applying his intellect -to walking upon a tight rope? or to placing great burdens upon -his shoulders? or to keeping sleep from his eyes? or to reaching -the bottom of the sea? and yet their patient labour brings all -these things to pass for a trifling reward. Shall not we then -call in the aid of patience, we whom such a prize awaits, the -unbroken calm of a happy life? How great a blessing is it to -escape from anger, that chief of all evils, and therewith from -frenzy, ferocity, cruelty, and madness, its attendants?</p> - -<p>XIII. There is no reason why we should seek to defend such a -passion as this or excuse its excesses by declaring it to be -either useful or unavoidable. What vice, indeed, is without its -defenders? yet this is no reason why you should declare anger -to be ineradicable. The evils from which we suffer are curable, -and since we were born with a natural bias towards good, nature -herself will help us if we try to amend our lives. Nor is the -path to virtue steep and rough, as some think it to be: it may -be reached on level ground. This is no untrue tale which I come -to tell you: the road to happiness is easy; do you only enter -upon it with good luck and the good help of the gods themselves. -It is much harder to do what you are doing. What is more restful -than a mind at peace, and what more toilsome than anger? What -is more at leisure than clemency, what fuller of business than -cruelty? Modesty keeps holiday while vice is overwhelmed with -work. In fine, the culture of any of the virtues is easy, while -vices require a great expense. Anger ought to be removed from -our minds: even those who say that it ought to be kept low admit -this to some extent: let it be got rid of altogether; there is -nothing to be gained by it. Without it we can more easily and -more justly put an end <span class="pagenum" id="p90">90</span>to crime, punish -bad men, and amend their -lives. The wise man will do his duty in all things without the -help of any evil passion, and will use no auxiliaries which require -watching narrowly lest they get beyond his control.</p> - -<p>XIV. Anger, then, must never become a habit with us, but we may -sometimes affect to be angry when we wish to rouse up the dull -minds of those whom we address, just as we rouse up horses who -are slow at starting with goads and firebrands. We must sometimes -apply fear to persons upon whom reason makes no impression: yet -to be angry is of no more use than to grieve or to be afraid. -“What? do not circumstances arise which provoke us to anger?” -Yes: but at those times above all others we ought to choke down -our wrath. Nor is it difficult to conquer our spirit, seeing -that athletes, who devote their whole attention to the basest -parts of themselves, nevertheless are able to endure blows and -pain, in order to exhaust the strength of the striker, and do -not strike when anger bids them, but when opportunity invites -them. It is said that Pyrrhus, the most celebrated trainer for -gymnastic contests, used habitually to impress upon his pupils -not to lose their tempers: for anger spoils their science, and -thinks only how it can hurt: so that often reason counsels patience -while anger counsels revenge, and we, who might have survived -our first misfortunes, are exposed to worse ones. Some have been -driven into exile by their impatience of a single contemptuous -word, have been plunged into the deepest miseries because they -would not endure the most trifling wrong in silence, and have -brought upon themselves the yoke of slavery because they were -too proud to give up the least part of their entire liberty. -</p> - -<p>XV. “That you may be sure,” says our opponent, “that anger -has -in it something noble, pray look at the free nations, such as -the Germans and Scythians, who are especially prone to anger.” -The reason of this is that stout <span class="pagenum" id="p91">91</span>and -daring intellects are liable -to anger before they are tamed by discipline; for some passions -engraft themselves upon the better class of dispositions only, -just as good land, even when waste, grows strong brushwood, and -the trees are tall which stand upon a fertile soil. In like -manner, dispositions which are naturally bold produce irritability, -and, being hot and fiery, have no mean or trivial qualities, -but their energy is misdirected, as happens with all those who -without training come to the front by their natural advantages -alone, whose minds, unless they be brought under control, degenerate -from a courageous temper into habits of rashness and reckless -daring. “What? are not milder spirits linked with gentler vices, -such as tenderness of heart, love, and bashfulness?” Yes, and -therefore I can often point out to you a good disposition by -its own faults: yet their being the proofs of a superior nature -does not prevent their being vices. Moreover, all those nations -which are free because they are wild, like lions or wolves, cannot -command any more than they can obey: for the strength of their -intellect is not civilized, but fierce and unmanageable: now, -no one is able to rule unless he is also able to be ruled. Consequently, -the empire of the world has almost always remained in the hands -of those nations who enjoy a milder climate. Those who dwell -near the frozen north have uncivilized tempers—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“Just on the model of their native -skies,”</p></blockquote> as the poet has it. - -<p>XVI. Those animals, urges our opponent, are held to be the most -generous who have large capacity for anger. He is mistaken when -he holds up creatures who act from impulse instead of reason -as patterns for men to follow, because in man reason takes the -place of impulse. Yet even with animals, all do not alike profit -by the same thing. Anger is of use to lions, timidity to stags, -boldness <span class="pagenum" id="p92">92</span>to hawks, flight to doves. What -if I declare that it -is not even true that the best animals are the most prone to -anger? I may suppose that wild beasts, who gain their food by -rapine, are better the angrier they are; but I should praise -oxen and horses who obey the rein for their patience. What reason, -however, have you for referring mankind to such wretched models, -when you have the universe and God, whom he alone of animals -imitates because he alone comprehends Him? “The most irritable -men,” says he, “are thought to be the most straightforward of -all.” Yes, because they are compared with swindlers and sharpers, -and appear to be simple because they are outspoken. I should -not call such men simple, but heedless. We give this title of -“simple” to all fools, gluttons, spendthrifts, and men whose -vices lie on the surface.</p> - -<p>XVII. “An orator,” says our opponent, “sometimes speaks -better, -when he is angry.” Not so, but when he pretends to be angry: -for so also actors bring down the house by their playing, not -when they are really angry, but when they act the angry man well: -and in like manner, in addressing a jury or a popular assembly, -or in any other position in which the minds of others have to -be influenced at our pleasure, we must ourselves pretend to feel -anger, fear, or pity before we can make others feel them, and -often the pretence of passion will do what the passion itself -could not have done. “The mind which does not feel anger,” says -he, “is feeble.” True, if it has nothing stronger than anger -to support it. A man ought to be neither robber nor victim, neither -tender-hearted nor cruel. The former belongs to an over-weak -mind, the latter to an over-hard one. Let the wise man be moderate, -and when things have to be done somewhat briskly, let him call -force, not anger, to his aid.</p> - -<p>XVIII. Now that we have discussed the questions propounded concerning -anger, let us pass on to the -consideration<span class="pagenum" id="p93">93</span> of its remedies. These, -I imagine, are two-fold: the one class preventing our becoming -angry, the other preventing our doing wrong when we are angry. -As with the body we adopt a certain regimen to keep ourselves -in health, and use different rules to bring back health when -lost, so likewise we must repel anger in one fashion and quench -it in another. That we may avoid it, certain general rules of -conduct which apply to all men’s lives must be impressed upon -us. We may divide these into such as are of use during the education -of the young and in after-life.</p> - -<p>Education ought to be carried on with the greatest and most salutary -assiduity: for it is easy to mould minds while they are still -tender, but it is difficult to uproot vices which have grown -up with ourselves.</p> - -<p>XIX. A hot mind is naturally the most prone to anger: for as -there are four -elements,<a href="#fn-4.8" name="fnref-4.8" id="fnref-4.8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> -consisting of fire, air, earth, and -water, so there are powers corresponding and equivalent to each -of these, namely, hot, cold, dry, and moist. Now the mixture -of the elements is the cause of the diversities of lands and -of animals, of bodies and of character, and our dispositions -incline to one or the other of these according as the strength -of each element prevails in us. Hence it is that we call some -regions wet or dry, warm or cold. The same distinctions apply -likewise to animals and mankind; it makes a great difference -how much moisture or heat a man contains; his character will -partake of whichever element has the largest share in him. A -warm temper of mind will make men prone to anger; for fire is -full of movement and vigour; a mixture of -<span class="pagenum" id="p94">94</span>coldness makes men cowards, for cold is -sluggish and contracted. -Because of this, some of our Stoics think that anger is excited -in our breasts by the boiling of the blood round the heart: indeed, -that place is assigned to anger for no other reason than because -the breast is the warmest part of the whole body. Those who have -more moisture in them become angry by slow degrees, because they -have no heat ready at hand, but it has to be obtained by movement; -wherefore the anger of women and children is sharp rather than -strong, and arises on lighter provocation. At dry times of life -anger is violent and powerful, yet without increase, and adding -little to itself, because as heat dies away cold takes its place. -Old men are testy and full of complaints, as also are sick people -and convalescents, and all whose store of heat has been consumed -by weariness or loss of blood. Those who are wasted by thirst -or hunger are in the same condition, as also are those whose -frame is naturally bloodless and faints from want of generous -diet. Wine kindles anger, because it increases heat; according -to each man’s disposition, some fly into a passion when they -are heavily drunk, some when they are slightly drunk: nor is -there any other reason than this why yellow-haired, ruddy-complexioned -people should be excessively passionate, seeing that they are -naturally of the colour which others put on during anger; for -their blood is hot and easily set in motion.</p> - -<p>XX. But just as nature makes some men prone to anger, so there -are many other causes which have the same power as nature. Some -are brought into this condition by disease or bodily injury, -others by hard work, long watching, nights of anxiety, ardent -longings, and love: and everything else which is hurtful to the -body or the spirit inclines the distempered mind to find fault. -All these, however, are but the beginning and causes of anger. -Habit of mind has very great power, and, if it be harsh, increases -the <span class="pagenum" id="p95">95</span>disorder. As for nature, it is -difficult to alter it, nor -may we change the mixture of the elements which was formed once -for all at our birth: yet knowledge will be so far of service, -that we should keep wine out of the reach of hot-tempered men, -which Plato thinks ought also to be forbidden to boys, so that -fire be not made fiercer. Neither should such men be over-fed: -for if so, their bodies will swell, and their minds will swell -with them. Such men ought to take exercise, stopping short, however, -of fatigue, in order that their natural heat may be abated, but -not exhausted, and their excess of fiery spirit may be worked -off. Games also will be useful: for moderate pleasure relieves -the mind and brings it to a proper balance. With those temperaments -which incline to moisture, or dryness and stiffness, there is -no danger of anger, but there is fear of greater vices, such -as cowardice, moroseness, despair, and suspiciousness: such dispositions -therefore ought to be softened, comforted, and restored to cheerfulness: -and since we must make use of different remedies for anger and -for sullenness, and these two vices require not only unlike, -but absolutely opposite modes of treatment, let us always attack -that one of them which is gaining the mastery.</p> - -<p>XXI. It is, I assure you, of the greatest service to boys that -they should be soundly brought up, yet to regulate their education -is difficult, because it is our duty to be careful neither to -cherish a habit of anger in them, nor to blunt the edge of their -spirit. This needs careful watching, for both qualities, both -those which are to be encouraged, and those which are to be checked, -are fed by the same things; and even a careful watcher may be -deceived by their likeness. A boy’s spirit is increased by freedom -and depressed by slavery: it rises when praised, and is led to -conceive great expectations of itself: yet this same treatment -produces arrogance and quickness of temper: we must -<span class="pagenum" id="p96">96</span>therefore -guide him between these two extremes, using the curb at one time -and the spur at another. He must undergo no servile or degrading -treatment; he never must beg abjectly for anything, nor must -he gain anything by begging; let him rather receive it for his -own sake, for his past good behaviour, or for his promises of -future good conduct. In contests with his comrades we ought not -to allow him to become sulky or fly into a passion: let us see -that he be on friendly terms with those whom he contends with, -so that in the struggle itself he may learn to wish not to hurt -his antagonist but to conquer him: whenever he has gained the -day or done something praiseworthy, we should allow him to enjoy -his victory, but not to rush into transports of delight: for -joy leads to exultation, and exultation leads to swaggering and -excessive self-esteem, We ought to allow him some relaxation, -yet not yield him up to laziness and sloth, and we ought to keep -him far beyond the reach of luxury, for nothing makes children -more prone to anger than a soft and fond bringing-up, so that -the more only children are indulged, and the more liberty is -given to orphans, the more they are corrupted. He to whom nothing -is ever denied, will not be able to endure a rebuff, whose anxious -mother always wipes away his tears, whose -<i>paedagogus</i><a href="#fn-4.9" name="fnref-4.9" id="fnref-4.9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> -is made -to pay for his shortcomings. Do you not observe how a man’s anger -becomes more violent as he rises in station? This shows itself -especially in those who are rich and noble, or in great place, -when the favouring gale has roused all the most empty and trivial -passions of their minds. Prosperity fosters anger, when a man’s -proud ears are surrounded by a mob of flatterers, saying, “That -man answer you! you do not act according to your dignity, you -lower yourself.” And so forth, with all the language which can -hardly be resisted even by healthy and originally well-principled -<span class="pagenum" id="p97">97</span> minds. Flattery, then, -must be kept well out of the -way of children. Let a child hear the truth, and sometimes fear -it: let him always reverence it. Let him rise in the presence -of his elders. Let him obtain nothing by flying into a passion: -let him be given when he is quiet what was refused him when he -cried for it: let him behold, but not make use of his father’s -wealth: let him be reproved for what he does wrong. It will be -advantageous to furnish boys with even-tempered teachers and -<i>paedagogi</i>: what is soft and unformed clings to what is near, -and takes its shape: the habits of young men reproduce those -of their nurses and <i>paedagogi</i>. Once, a boy who was brought up -in Plato’s house went home to his parents, and, on seeing his -father shouting with passion, said, “I never saw any one at Plato’s -house act like that.” I doubt not that he learned to imitate -his father sooner than he learned to imitate Plato. Above all, -let his food be scanty, his dress not costly, and of the same -fashion as that of his comrades: if you begin by putting him -on a level with many others, he will not be angry when some one -is compared with him.</p> - -<p>XXII. These precepts, however, apply to our children: in ourselves -the accident of birth and our education no longer admits of either -mistakes or advice; we must deal with what follows. Now we ought -to fight against the first causes of evil: the cause of anger -is the belief that we are injured; this belief, therefore, should -not be lightly entertained. We ought not to fly into a rage even -when the injury appears to be open and distinct: for some false -things bear the semblance of truth. We should always allow some -time to elapse, for time discloses the truth. Let not our ears -be easily lent to calumnious talk: let us know and be on our -guard against this fault of human nature, that we are willing -to believe what we are unwilling to listen to, and that we become -angry before we have formed our opinion. What shall I say? we -are influenced <span class="pagenum" id="p98">98</span>not merely by calumnies -but by suspicions, and -at the very look and smile of others we may fly into a rage with -innocent persons because we put the worst construction upon it. -We ought, therefore, to plead the cause of the absent against -ourselves, and to keep our anger in abeyance: for a punishment -which has been postponed may yet be inflicted, but when once -inflicted cannot be recalled.</p> - -<p>XXIII. Every one knows the story of the tyrannicide who, being -caught before he had accomplished his task, and being tortured -by Hippias to make him betray his accomplices, named the friends -of the tyrant who stood around, and every one to whom he knew -the tyrant’s safety was especially dear. As the tyrant ordered -each man to be slain as he was named, at last the man, being -asked if any one else remained, said, “You remain alone, for -I have left no one else alive to whom you are dear.” Anger had -made the tyrant lend his assistance to the tyrant-slayer, and -cut down his guards with his own sword. How far more spirited -was Alexander, who after reading his mother’s letter warning -him to beware of poison from his physician Philip, nevertheless -drank undismayed the medicine which Philip gave him! He felt -more confidence in his friend: he deserved that his friend should -be innocent, and deserved that his conduct should make him innocent. -I praise Alexander’s doing this all the more because he was above -all men prone to anger; but the rarer moderation is among kings, -the more it deserves to be praised. The great Gaius Caesar, who -proved such a merciful conqueror in the civil war, did the same -thing; he burned a packet of letters addressed to Gnaeus Pompeius -by persons who had been thought to be either neutrals or on the -other side. Though he was never violent in his anger, yet he -preferred to put it out of his power to be angry: he thought -that the kindest way to pardon each of them was not to know what -his offence had been. <span class="pagenum" id="p99">99</span></p> - -<p>XXIV. Readiness to believe what we hear causes very great mischief; -we ought often not even to listen, because in some cases it is -better to be deceived than to suspect deceit. We ought to free -our minds of suspicion and mistrust, those most untrustworthy -causes of anger. “This man’s greeting was far from civil; that -one would not receive my kiss; one cut short a story I had begun -to tell; another did not ask me to dinner; another seemed to -view me with aversion.” Suspicion will never lack grounds: what -we want is straightforwardness, and a kindly interpretation of -things. Let us believe nothing unless it forces itself upon our -sight and is unmistakable, and let us reprove ourselves for being -too ready to believe, as often as our suspicions prove to be -groundless: for this discipline will render us habitually slow -to believe what we hear.</p> - -<p>XXV. Another consequence of this will be, that we shall not be -exasperated by the slightest and most contemptible trifles. It -is mere madness to be put out of temper because a slave is not -quick, because the water we are going to drink is lukewarm, or -because our couch is disarranged or our table carelessly laid. -A man must be in a miserably bad state of health if he shrinks -from a gentle breath of wind; his eyes must be diseased if they -are distressed by the sight of white clothing; he must be broken -down with debauchery if he feels pain at seeing another man work. -It is said that there was one Mindyrides, a citizen of Sybaris, -who one day seeing a man digging and vigorously brandishing a -mattock, complained that the sight made him weary, and forbade -the man to work where he could see him. The same man complained -that he had suffered from the rose-leaves upon which he lay being -folded double. When pleasures have corrupted both the body and -the mind, nothing seems endurable, not indeed because it is hard, -but because he who has to bear it <span class="pagenum" id="p100">100</span>is -soft: for why should we -be driven to frenzy by any one’s coughing and sneezing, or by -a fly not being driven away with sufficient care, or by a dog’s -hanging about us, or a key dropping from a careless servant’s -hand? Will one whose ears are agonised by the noise of a bench -being dragged along the floor be able to endure with unruffled -mind the rude language of party strife, and the abuse which speakers -in the forum or the senate house heap upon their opponents? Will -he who is angry with his slave for icing his drink badly, be -able to endure hunger, or the thirst of a long march in summer? -Nothing, therefore, nourishes anger more than excessive and dissatisfied -luxury: the mind ought to be hardened by rough treatment, so -as not to feel any blow that is not severe.</p> - -<p>XXVI. We are angry, either with those who can, or with those -who cannot do us an injury. To the latter class belong some inanimate -things, such as a book, which we often throw away when it is -written in letters too small for us to read, or tear up when -it is full of mistakes, or clothes which we destroy because we -do not like them. How foolish to be angry with such things as -these, which neither deserve nor feel our anger! “But of course -it is their makers who really affront us.” I answer that, in -the first place, we often become angry before making this distinction -clear in our minds, and secondly, perhaps even the makers might -put forward some reasonable excuses: one of them, it may be, -could not make them any better than he did, and it is not through -any disrespect to you that he was unskilled in his trade: another -may have done his work so without any intention of insulting -you: and, finally, what can be more crazy than to discharge upon -things the ill-feeling which one has accumulated against persons? -Yet as it is the act of a madman to be angry with inanimate objects, -so also is it to be angry with dumb animals, which can do us -no wrong because they are not able to form a -<span class="pagenum" id="p101">101</span>purpose; and we -cannot call anything a wrong unless it be done intentionally. -They are, therefore, able to hurt us, just as a sword or a stone -may do so, but they are not able to do us a wrong. Yet some men -think themselves insulted when the same horses which are docile -with one rider are restive with another, as though it were through -their deliberate choice, and not through habit and cleverness -of handling that some horses are more easily managed by some -men than by others. And as it is foolish to be angry with them, -so it is to be angry with children, and with men who have little -more sense than children: for all these sins, before a just judge, -ignorance would be as effective an excuse as innocence.</p> - -<p>XXVII. There are some things which are unable to hurt us, and -whose power is exclusively beneficial and salutary, as, for example, -the immortal gods, who neither wish nor are able to do harm: -for their temperament is naturally gentle and tranquil, and no -more likely to wrong others than to wrong themselves. Foolish -people who know not the truth hold them answerable for storms -at sea, excessive rain, and long winters, whereas all the while -these phenomena by which we suffer or profit take place without -any reference whatever to us: it is not for our sake that the -universe causes summer and winter to succeed one another; these -have a law of their own, according to which their divine functions -are performed. We think too much of ourselves, when we imagine -that we are worthy to have such prodigious revolutions effected -for our sake: so, then, none of these things take place in order -to do us an injury, nay, on the contrary, they all tend to our -benefit. I have said that there are some things which cannot -hurt us, and some which would not. To the latter class belong -good men in authority, good parents, teachers, and judges whose -punishments ought to be submitted to by us in the same spirit -in which we <span class="pagenum" id="p102">102</span>undergo the -surgeon’s knife, abstinence from food, -and such like things which hurt us for our benefit. Suppose that -we are being punished; let us think not only of what we suffer, -but of what we have done: let us sit in judgement on our past -life. Provided we are willing to tell ourselves the truth, we -shall certainly decide that our crimes deserve a harder measure -than they have received.</p> - -<p>XXVIII. If we desire to be impartial judges of all that takes -place, we must first convince ourselves of this, that no one -of us is faultless: for it is from this that most of our indignation -proceeds. “I have not sinned, I have done no wrong.” Say, rather, -you do not admit that you have done any wrong. We are infuriated -at being reproved, either by reprimand or actual chastisement, -although we are sinning at that very time, by adding insolence -and obstinacy to our wrong-doings. Who is there that can declare -himself to have broken no laws? Even if there be such a man, -what a stinted innocence it is, merely to be innocent by the -letter of the law. How much further do the rules of duty extend -than those of the law! how many things which are not to be found -in the statute book, are demanded by filial feeling, kindness, -generosity, equity, and honour? Yet we are not able to warrant -ourselves even to come under that first narrowest definition -of innocence: we have done what was wrong, thought what was wrong, -wished for what was wrong, and encouraged what was wrong: in -some cases we have only remained innocent because we did not -succeed. When we think of this, let us deal more justly with -sinners, and believe that those who scold us are right: in any -case let us not be angry with ourselves (for with whom shall -we not be angry, if we are angry even with our own selves?), -and least of all with the gods: for whatever we suffer befalls -us not by any ordinance of theirs but of the common law of all -flesh. “But diseases and pains attack us.” Well, people who live -in a crazy <span class="pagenum" id="p103">103</span>dwelling must have some way -of escape from it. Some -one will be said to have spoken ill of you: think whether you -did not first speak ill of him: think of how many persons you -have yourself spoken ill. Let us not, I say, suppose that others -are doing us a wrong, but are repaying one which we have done -them, that some are acting with good intentions, some under compulsion, -some in ignorance, and let us believe that even he who does so -intentionally and knowingly did not wrong us merely for the sake -of wronging us, but was led into doing so by the attraction of -saying something witty, or did whatever he did, not out of any -spite against us, but because he himself could not succeed unless -he pushed us back. We are often offended by flattery even while -it is being lavished upon us: yet whoever recalls to his mind -how often he himself has been the victim of undeserved suspicion, -how often fortune has given his true service an appearance of -wrong-doing, how many persons he has begun by hating and ended -by loving, will be able to keep himself from becoming angry straightway, -especially if he silently says to himself when each offence is -committed: “I have done this very thing myself.” Where, however, -will you find so impartial a judge? The same man who lusts after -everyone’s wife, and thinks that a woman’s belonging to someone -else is a sufficient reason for adoring her, will not allow any -one else to look at his own wife. No man expects such exact fidelity -as a traitor: the perjurer himself takes vengeance of him who -breaks his word: the pettifogging lawyer is most indignant at -an action being brought against him: the man who is reckless -of his own chastity cannot endure any attempt upon that of his -slaves. We have other men’s vices before our eyes, and our own -behind our backs: hence it is that a father, who is worse than -his son, blames the latter for giving extravagant -feasts,<a href="#fn-4.10" name="fnref-4.10" id="fnref-4.10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> -and disapproves of -<span class="pagenum" id="p104">104</span>the least sign of luxury in another, -although he was wont to -set no bounds to it in his own case; hence it is that despots -are angry with homicides, and thefts are punished by those who -despoil temples. A great part of mankind is not angry with sins, -but with sinners. Regard to our own -selves<a href="#fn-4.11" name="fnref-4.11" id="fnref-4.11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> -will make us more -moderate, if we inquire of ourselves:—have we ever committed -any crime of this sort? have we ever fallen into this kind of -error? is it for our interest that we should condemn this conduct? -</p> - -<p>XXIX. The greatest remedy for anger is delay: beg anger to grant -you this at the first, not in order that it may pardon the offence, -but that it may form a right judgment about it: if it delays, -it will come to an end. Do not attempt to quell it all at once, -for its first impulses are fierce; by plucking away its parts -we shall remove the whole. We are made angry by some things which -we learn at second-hand, and by some which we ourselves hear -or see. Now, we ought to be slow to believe what is told us. -Many tell lies in order to deceive us, and many because they -are themselves deceived. Some seek to win our favour by false -accusations, and invent wrongs in order that they may appear -angry at our having suffered them. One man lies out of spite, -that he may set trusting friends at variance; some because they -are -suspicious,<a href="#fn-4.12" name="fnref-4.12" id="fnref-4.12"><sup>[12]</sup></a> -and wish to see sport, and watch from a safe -distance those whom they have set by the ears. If you were about -to give sentence in court about ever so small a sum of money, -you would take nothing as proved without a witness, and a witness -would count for nothing except on his oath. You would allow both -sides to be heard: you would allow them time: you would not despatch -the matter at one sitting, because the oftener it is handled -the more distinctly the truth appears. And do you condemn your -friend off-hand? -<span class="pagenum" id="p105">105</span> Are you angry with him before -you hear his story, before -you have cross-examined him, before he can know either who is -his accuser or with what he is charged. Why then, just now, in -the case which you just tried, did you hear what was said on -both sides? This very man who has informed against your friend, -will say no more if he be obliged to prove what he says. “You -need not,” says he, “bring me forward as a witness; if I am brought -forward I shall deny what I have said; unless you excuse me from -appearing I shall never tell you anything.” At the same time -he spurs you on and withdraws himself from the strife and battle. -The man who will tell you nothing save in secret hardly tells -you anything at all. What can be more unjust than to believe -in secret, and to be angry openly?</p> - -<p>XXX. Some offences we ourselves witness: in these cases let us -examine the disposition and purpose of the offender. Perhaps -he is a child; let us pardon his youth, he knows not whether -he is doing wrong: or he is a father; he has either rendered -such great services, as to have won the right even to wrong us—or -perhaps this very act which offends us is his chief merit: or -a woman; well, she made a mistake. The man did it because he -was ordered to do it. Who but an unjust person can be angry with -what is done under compulsion? You had hurt him: well, there -is no wrong in suffering the pain which you have been the first -to inflict. Suppose that your opponent is a judge; then you ought -to take his opinion rather than your own: or that he is a king; -then, if he punishes the guilty, yield to him because he is just, -and if he punishes the innocent, yield to him because he is powerful. -Suppose that it is a dumb animal or as stupid as a dumb animal: -then, if you are angry with it, you will make yourself like it. -Suppose that it is a disease or a misfortune; it will take less -effect upon you if you bear it quietly: or that it is a god; -then you waste your time by being angry with him as much -<span class="pagenum" id="p106">106</span>as if -you prayed him to be angry with some one else. Is it a good man -who has wronged you? do not believe it: is it a bad one? do not -be surprised at this; he will pay to some one else the penalty -which he owes to you—indeed, by his sin he has already punished -himself.</p> - -<p>XXXI. There are, as I have stated, two cases which produce anger: -first, when we appear to have received an injury, about which -enough has been said, and, secondly, when we appear to have been -treated unjustly: this must now be discussed. Men think some -things unjust because they ought not to suffer them, and some -because they did not expect to suffer them: we think what is -unexpected is beneath our deserts. Consequently, we are especially -excited at what befalls us contrary to our hope and expectation: -and this is why we are irritated at the smallest trifles in our -own domestic affairs, and why we call our friends’ carelessness -deliberate injury. How is it, then, asks our opponent, that we -are angered by the injuries inflicted by our enemies? It is because -we did not expect those particular injuries, or, at any rate, -not on so extensive a scale. This is caused by our excessive -self-love: we think that we ought to remain uninjured even by -our enemies: every man bears within his breast the mind of a -despot, and is willing to commit excesses, but unwilling to submit -to them. Thus it is either ignorance or arrogance that makes -us angry: ignorance of common facts; for what is there to wonder -at in bad men committing evil deeds? what novelty is there in -your enemy hurting you, your friend quarrelling with you, your -son going wrong, or your servant doing amiss? Fabius was wont -to say that the most shameful excuse a general could make was -“I did not think.” I think it the most shameful excuse that a -man can make. Think of everything, expect everything: even with -men of good character something queer will crop up; human nature -produces minds that are treacherous, ungrateful, greedy, and -impious: when you are considering what any -<span class="pagenum" id="p107">107</span>man’s morals may be, -think what those of mankind are. When you are especially enjoying -yourself, be especially on your guard: when everything seems -to you to be peaceful, be sure that mischief is not absent, but -only asleep. Always believe that something will occur to offend -you. A pilot never spreads all his canvas abroad so confidently -as not to keep his tackle for shortening sail ready for use. -Think, above all, how base and hateful is the power of doing -mischief, and how unnatural in man, by whose kindness even fierce -animals are rendered tame. See how bulls yield their necks to -the yoke, how -elephants<a href="#fn-4.13" name="fnref-4.13" id="fnref-4.13"><sup>[13]</sup></a> -allow boys and women to dance on -their backs unhurt, how snakes glide harmlessly over our bosoms -and among our drinking-cups, how within their dens bears and -lions submit to be handled with complacent mouths, and wild beasts -fawn upon their master: let us blush to have exchanged habits -with wild beasts. It is a crime to injure one’s country: so it -is, therefore, to injure any of our countrymen, for he is a part -of our country; if the whole be sacred, the parts must be sacred -too. Therefore it is also a crime to injure any man: for he is -your fellow-citizen in a larger state. What, if the hands were -to wish to hurt the feet? or the eyes to hurt the hands? As all -the limbs act in unison, because it is the interest of the whole -body to keep each one of them safe, so men should spare one another, -because they are born for society. The bond of society, however, -cannot exist unless it guards and loves all its members. We should -not even destroy vipers and water-snakes and other creatures -whose teeth and claws are dangerous, if we were able to tame -them as we do other animals, or to prevent their being a peril -to us: neither ought we, therefore, to hurt a man because he -has done wrong, but lest he should do wrong, and our punishment -should always look to the future, and never to the past, because -it is inflicted in a spirit of precaution, not of anger: for -if everyone -<span class="pagenum" id="p108">108</span> who has a crooked and vicious -disposition were to be punished, -no one would escape punishment.</p> - -<p>XXXII. “But anger possesses a certain pleasure of its own, and -it is sweet to pay back the pain you have suffered.” Not at all; -it is not honourable to requite injuries by injuries, in the -same way as it is to repay benefits by benefits. In the latter -case it is a shame to be conquered; in the former it is a shame -to conquer. Revenge and retaliation are words which men use and -even think to be righteous, yet they do not greatly differ from -wrong-doing, except in the order in which they are done: he who -renders pain for pain has more excuse for his sin; that is all. -Some one who did not know Marcus Cato struck him in the public -bath in his ignorance, for who would knowingly have done him -an injury? Afterwards when he was apologizing, Cato replied, -“I do not remember being struck.” He thought it better to ignore -the insult than to revenge it. You ask, “Did no harm befall that -man for his insolence?” No, but rather much good; he made the -acquaintance of Cato. It is the part of a great mind to despise -wrongs done to it; the most contemptuous form of revenge is not -to deem one’s adversary worth taking vengeance upon. Many have -taken small injuries much more seriously to heart than they need, -by revenging them: that man is great and noble who like a large -wild animal hears unmoved the tiny curs that bark at him.</p> - -<p>XXXIII. “We are treated,” says our opponent, “with more -respect -if we revenge our injuries.” If we make use of revenge merely -as a remedy, let us use it without anger, and not regard revenge -as pleasant, but as useful: yet often it is better to pretend -not to have received an injury than to avenge it. The wrongs -of the powerful must not only be borne, but borne with a cheerful -countenance: they will repeat the wrong if they think they have -inflicted it. This is the worst trait of minds rendered arrogant -by <span class="pagenum" id="p109">109</span>prosperity, they hate those whom -they have injured. Every -one knows the saying of the old courtier, who, when some one -asked him how he had achieved the rare distinction of living -at court till he reached old age, replied, “By receiving wrongs -and returning thanks for them.” It is often so far from expedient -to avenge our wrongs, that it will not do even to admit them. -Gaius Caesar, offended at the smart clothes and well-dressed -hair of the son of Pastor, a distinguished Roman knight, sent -him to prison. When the father begged that his son might suffer -no harm, Caius, as if reminded by this to put him to death, ordered -him to be executed, yet, in order to mitigate his brutality to -the father, invited him that very day to dinner. Pastor came -with a countenance which betrayed no illwill. Caesar pledged -him in a glass of wine, and set a man to watch him. The wretched -creature went through his part, feeling as though he were drinking -his son’s blood: the emperor sent him some perfume and a garland, -and gave orders to watch whether he used them: he did so. On -the very day on which he had buried, nay, on which he had not -even buried his son, he sat down as one of a hundred guests, -and, old and gouty as he was, drank to an extent which would -have been hardly decent on a child’s birthday; he shed no tear -the while; he did not permit his grief to betray itself by the -slightest sign; he dined just as though his entreaties had gained -his son’s life. You ask me why he did so? he had another son. -What did Priam do in the Iliad? Did he not conceal his wrath -and embrace the knees of Achilles? did he not raise to his lips -that death-dealing hand, stained with the blood of his son, and -sup with his slayer? True! but there were no perfumes and garlands, -and his fierce enemy encouraged him with many soothing words -to eat, not to drain huge goblets with a guard standing over -him to see that he did it. Had he only feared for himself, the -father would have treated the <span class="pagenum" id="p110">110</span>tyrant -with scorn: but love for -his son quenched his anger: he deserved the emperor’s permission -to leave the banquet and gather up the bones of his son: but, -meanwhile, that kindly and polite youth the emperor would not -even permit him to do this, but tormented the old man with frequent -invitations to drink, advising him thereby to lighten his sorrows. -He, on the other hand, appeared to be in good spirits, and to -have forgotten what had been done that day: he would have lost -his second son had he proved an unacceptable guest to the murderer -of his eldest.</p> - -<p>XXXIV. We must, therefore, refrain from anger, whether he who -provokes us be on a level with ourselves, or above us, or below -us. A contest with one’s equal is of uncertain issue, with one’s -superior is folly, and with one’s inferior is contemptible. It -is the part of a mean and wretched man to turn and bite one’s -biter: even mice and ants show their teeth if you put your hand -to them, and all feeble creatures think that they are hurt if -they are touched. It will make us milder tempered to call to -mind any services which he with whom we are angry may have done -us, and to let his deserts balance his offence. Let us also reflect, -how much credit the tale of our forgiveness will confer upon -us, how many men may be made into valuable friends by forgiveness. -One of the lessons which Sulla’s cruelty teaches us is not to -be angry with the children of our enemies, whether they be public -or private; for he drove the sons of the proscribed into exile. -Nothing is more unjust than that any one should inherit the quarrels -of his father. Whenever we are loth to pardon any one, let us -think whether it would be to our advantage that all men should -be inexorable. He who refuses to pardon, how often has he begged -it for himself? how often has he grovelled at the feet of those -whom he spurns from his own? How can we gain more glory than -by turning anger <span class="pagenum" id="p111">111</span>into friendship? what -more faithful allies has -the Roman people than those who have been its most unyielding -enemies? where would the empire be to-day, had not a wise foresight -united the conquered and the conquerors? If any one is angry -with you, meet his anger by returning benefits for it: a quarrel -which is only taken up on one side falls to the ground: it takes -two men to fight. -But<a href="#fn-4.14" name="fnref-4.14" id="fnref-4.14"><sup>[14]</sup></a> -suppose that there is an angry struggle -on both sides, even then, he is the better man who first gives -way; the winner is the real loser. He struck you; well then, -do you fall back: if you strike him in turn you will give him -both an opportunity and an excuse for striking you again: you -will not be able to withdraw yourself from the struggle when -you please.</p> - -<p>XXXV. Does any one wish to strike his enemy so hard, as to leave -his own hand in the wound, and not to be able to recover his -balance after the blow? yet such a weapon is anger: it is scarcely -possible to draw it back. We are careful to choose for ourselves -light weapons, handy and manageable swords: shall we not avoid -these clumsy, -unwieldy,<a href="#fn-4.15" name="fnref-4.15" id="fnref-4.15"><sup>[15]</sup></a> -and never-to-be-recalled impulses -of the mind? The only swiftness of which men approve is that -which, when bidden, checks itself and proceeds no further, and -which can be guided, and reduced from a run to a walk: we know -that the sinews are diseased when they move against our will. -A man must be either aged or weakly who runs when he wants to -walk: let us think that those are the most powerful and the soundest -operations of our minds, which act under our own control, not -at their own caprice. Nothing, however, will be of so much service -as to consider, first, the hideousness, and, secondly, the danger -of anger. No passion bears a more troubled aspect: it befouls -the fairest face, makes fierce the expression which before was -peaceful. From the angry “all grace has fled;” -<span class="pagenum" id="p112">112</span>though their clothing may be -fashionable, they will trail it -on the ground and take no heed of their appearance; though their -hair be smoothed down in a comely manner by nature or art, yet -it will bristle up in sympathy with their mind. The veins become -swollen, the breast will be shaken by quick breathing, the man’s -neck will be swelled as he roars forth his frantic talk: then, -too, his limbs will tremble, his hands will be restless, his -whole body will sway hither and thither. What, think you, must -be the state of his mind within him, when its appearance without -is so shocking? how far more dreadful a countenance he bears -within his own breast, how far keener pride, how much more violent -rage, which will burst him unless it finds some vent? Let us -paint anger looking like those who are dripping with the blood -of foemen or savage beasts, or those who are just about to slaughter -them—like those monsters of the nether world fabled by the poet -to be girt with serpents and breathing flame, when they sally -forth from hell, most frightful to behold, in order that they -may kindle wars, stir up strife between nations, and overthrow -peace; let us paint her eyes glowing with fire, her voice hissing, -roaring, grating, and making worse sounds if worse there be, -while she brandishes weapons in both hands, for she cares not -to protect herself, gloomy, stained with blood, covered with -scars and livid with her own blows, reeling like a maniac, wrapped -in a thick cloud, dashing hither and thither, spreading desolation -and panic, loathed by every one and by herself above all, willing, -if otherwise she cannot hurt her foe, to overthrow alike earth, -sea, and heaven, harmful and hateful at the same time. Or, if -we are to see her, let her be such as our poets have described -her—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“There with her blood-stained scourge Bellona fights.<br /> - And Discord in her riven robe - delights,”<a href="#fn-4.16" name="fnref-4.16" id="fnref-4.16"><sup>[16]</sup></a> -</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="p113">113</span>or, if possible, let some even more -dreadful aspect be invented -for this dreadful passion.</p> - -<p>XXXVI. Some angry people, as Sextius remarks, have been benefited -by looking at the glass: they have been struck by so great an -alteration in their own appearance: they have been, as it were, -brought into their own presence and have not recognized themselves: -yet how small a part of the real hideousness of anger did that -reflected image in the mirror reproduce? Could the mind be displayed -or made to appear through any substance, we should be confounded -when we beheld how black and stained, how agitated, distorted, -and swollen it looked: even at present it is very ugly when seen -through all the screens of blood, bones, and so forth: what would -it be, were it displayed uncovered? You say, that you do not -believe that any one was ever scared out of anger by a mirror: -and why not? Because when he came to the mirror to change his -mind, he had changed it already: to angry men no face looks fairer -than one that is fierce and savage and such as they wish to look -like. We ought rather to consider, how many men anger itself -has injured. Some in their excessive heat have burst their veins; -some by straining their voices beyond their strength have vomited -blood, or have injured their sight by too violently injecting -humours into their eyes, and have fallen sick when the fit passed -off. No way leads more swiftly to madness: many have, consequently, -remained always in the frenzy of anger, and, having once lost -their reason, have never recovered it. Ajax was driven mad by -anger, and driven to suicide by madness. Men, frantic with rage, -call upon heaven to slay their children, to reduce themselves -to poverty, and to ruin their houses, and yet declare that they -are not either angry or insane. Enemies to their best friends, -dangerous to their nearest and dearest, regardless of the laws -save where they injure, swayed by the smallest trifles, unwilling -to lend their ears <span class="pagenum" id="p114">114</span>to the advice or -the services of their friends, -they do everything by main force, and are ready either to fight -with their swords or to throw themselves upon them, for the greatest -of all evils, and one which surpasses all vices, has gained possession -of them. Other passions gain a footing in the mind by slow degrees: -anger’s conquest is sudden and complete, and, moreover, it makes -all other passions subservient to itself. It conquers the warmest -love: men have thrust swords through the bodies of those whom -they loved, and have slain those in whose arms they have lain. -Avarice, that sternest and most rigid of passions, is trampled -underfoot by anger, which forces it to squander its carefully -collected wealth and set fire to its house and all its property -in one heap. Why, has not even the ambitious man been known to -fling away the most highly valued ensigns of rank, and to refuse -high office when it was offered to him? There is no passion over -which anger does not bear absolute rule.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.1" id="fn-4.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.1">[1]</a> -“<i lang="la">Vehiculorum ridicule -Koch</i>,” says Gertz, justly, “<i lang="la">vitiorum</i> makes -excellent sense.”—J. -E. B. M. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.2" id="fn-4.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.2">[2]</a> -The murder of Pompeius, B.C. 48. Achillas and Theodotus -acted under the nominal orders of Ptolemy XII., Cleopatra’s brother, -then about seventeen years of age. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.3" id="fn-4.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.3">[3]</a> -See “De Clem.” ii. 6, -4, I emended many years ago ένὸς χανόντος με ΤΕΣΧΗΚεν into ἐ. -χ., με ΤΑΚΕΧΗΝεν ἄτερος: “when one has yawned, the other yawns.”—J. -E. B. M. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.4" id="fn-4.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.4">[4]</a> -The voting-place in the Campus Martius. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.5" id="fn-4.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.5">[5]</a> -Ovid, -Metamorphoses, i., 144, sqq. The same lines are quoted in the -essay on Benefits, v. 15. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.6" id="fn-4.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.6">[6]</a> -<i>I.e.</i>, he can plead that he kept -the beaten track. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.7" id="fn-4.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.7">[7]</a> -De Clem. i. 12, 5. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.8" id="fn-4.8"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.8">[8]</a> -Compare Shakespeare, -“Julius Caesar,” Act v. Sc. 5:—</p> - <blockquote><p class="footnote">“His life was gentle, and the elements<br /> - So mixed in him, that nature might stand up<br /> - And say to all the world, <i>this was a man!</i>”</p></blockquote> -<p class="footnote">See Mr. Aldis Wright’s note upon the passage. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.9" id="fn-4.9"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.9">[9]</a> -<i>Paedagogus</i> -was a slave who accompanied a boy to school, &c., to keep him -out of mischief; he did not teach him anything. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.10" id="fn-4.10"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.10">[10]</a> -<i>Tempestiva</i>, -beginning before the usual hour. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.11" id="fn-4.11"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.11">[11]</a> -Fear of self-condemnation. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.12" id="fn-4.12"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.12">[12]</a> -Lipsius conjectures <i>supprocax</i>, mischievous. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.13" id="fn-4.13"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.13">[13]</a> -I have -adopted the transposition of Haase and Koch. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.14" id="fn-4.14"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.14">[14]</a> -I adopt Vahlen’s -reading. See his Preface, p. viii., ed, Jenae, 1879. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.15" id="fn-4.15"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.15">[15]</a> -I read -<i>onerosos</i> with Vahlen, See his Preface, p, viii., ed, Jenae, 1879. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-4.16" id="fn-4.16"></a> <a href="#fnref-4.16">[16]</a> -The lines are from Virgil, Aen. viii. 702, but are inaccurately -quoted. -</p> - - -<h2>THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p115">115</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO NOVATUS.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">OF ANGER.</span><br /> -<span class="sc shiftdown">Book III.</span></h2> - -<p>I. We will now, my Novatus, attempt to do that which you so especially -long to do, that is, to drive out anger from our minds, or at -all events to curb it and restrain its impulses. This may sometimes -be done openly and without concealment, when we are only suffering -from a slight attack of this mischief, and at other times it -must be done secretly, when our anger is excessively hot, and -when every obstacle thrown in its way increases it and makes -it blaze higher. It is important to know how great and how fresh -its strength may be, and whether it can be driven forcibly back -and suppressed, or whether we must give way to it until its first -storm blow over, lest it sweep away with it our remedies themselves. -We must deal with each case according to each man’s character: -some yield to entreaties, others are rendered arrogant and masterful -by submission: we may frighten some men out of their anger, while -some may be turned from their purpose by reproaches, some by -acknowledging oneself to be in the wrong, some by shame, and -some by delay, a tardy remedy for a hasty disorder, which we -ought only to use when all others have failed: -<span class="pagenum" id="p116">116</span>for other passions -admit of having their case put off, and may be healed at a later -time; but the eager and self-destructive violence of anger does -not grow up by slow degrees, but reaches its full height as soon -as it begins. Nor does it, like other vices, merely disturb men’s -minds, but it takes them away, and torments them till they are -incapable of restraining themselves and eager for the common -ruin of all men, nor does it rage merely against its object, -but against every obstacle which it encounters on its way. The -other vices move our minds; anger hurls them headlong. If we -are not able to withstand our passions, yet at any rate our passions -ought to stand firm: but anger grows more and more powerful, -like lightning flashes or hurricanes, or any other things which -cannot stop themselves because they do not proceed along, but -fall from above. Other vices affect our judgment, anger affects -our sanity: others come in mild attacks and grow unnoticed, but -men’s minds plunge abruptly into anger. There is no passion that -is more frantic, more destructive to its own self; it is arrogant -if successful, and frantic if it fails. Even when defeated it -does not grow weary, but if chance places its foe beyond its -reach, it turns its teeth against itself. Its intensity is in -no way regulated by its origin: for it rises to the greatest -heights from the most trivial beginnings.</p> - -<p>II. It passes over no time of life; no race of men is exempt -from it: some nations have been saved from the knowledge of luxury -by the blessing of poverty; some through their active and wandering -habits have escaped from sloth; those whose manners are unpolished -and whose life is rustic know not chicanery and fraud and all -the evils to which the courts of law give birth: but there is -no race which is not excited by anger, which is equally powerful -with Greeks and barbarians, and is just as ruinous among law-abiding -folk as among those whose only law is that of the -<span class="pagenum" id="p117">117</span>stronger. Finally, -the other passions seize upon individuals; anger is the only -one which sometimes possesses a whole state. No entire people -ever fell madly in love with a woman, nor did any nation ever -set its affections altogether upon gain and profit. Ambition -attacks single individuals; ungovernable rage is the only passion -that affects nations. People often fly into a passion by troops; -men and women, old men and boys, princes and populace all act -alike, and the whole multitude, after being excited by a very -few words, outdoes even its exciter: men betake themselves straightway -to fire and sword, and proclaim a war against their neighbours -or wage one against their countrymen. Whole houses are burned -with the entire families which they contain, and he who but lately -was honoured for his popular eloquence now finds that his speech -moves people to rage. Legions aim their darts at their commander; -the whole populace quarrels with the nobles; the senate, without -waiting for troops to be levied or appointing a general, hastily -chooses leaders, for its anger chases well-born men through the -houses of Rome, and puts them to death with its own hand. Ambassadors -are outraged, the law of nations violated, and an unnatural madness -seizes the state. Without allowing time for the general excitement -to subside, fleets are straightway launched and laden with a -hastily enrolled soldiery. Without organization, without taking -any auspices, the populace rushes into the field guided only -by its own anger, snatches up whatever comes first to hand by -way of arms, and then atones by a great defeat for the reckless -audacity of its anger. This is usually the fate of savage nations -when they plunge into war: as soon as their easily excited minds -are roused by the appearance of wrong having been done them, -they straightway hasten forth, and, guided only by their wounded -feelings, fall like an avalanche upon our legions, without either -discipline, fear, or precaution, and wilfully seeking for danger. -They <span class="pagenum" id="p118">118</span>delight in being struck, in -pressing forward to meet the -blow, writhing their bodies along the weapon, and perishing by -a wound which they themselves make.</p> - -<p>III. “No doubt,” you say, “anger is very powerful and -ruinous: -point out, therefore, how it may be cured.” Yet, as I stated -in my former books, Aristotle stands forth in defence of anger, -and forbids it to be uprooted, saying that it is the spur of -virtue, and that when it is taken away, our minds become weaponless, -and slow to attempt great exploits. It is therefore essential -to prove its unseemliness and ferocity, and to place distinctly -before our eyes how monstrous a thing it is that one man should -rage against another, with what frantic violence he rushes to -destroy alike himself and his foe, and overthrows those very -things whose fall he himself must share. What, then? can any -one call this man sane, who, as though caught up by a hurricane, -does not go but is driven, and is the slave of a senseless disorder? -He does not commit to another the duty of revenging him, but -himself exacts it, raging alike in thought and deed, butchering -those who are dearest to him, and for whose loss he himself will -ere long weep. Will any one give this passion as an assistant -and companion to virtue, although it disturbs calm reason, without -which virtue can do nothing? The strength which a sick man owes -to a paroxysm of disease is neither lasting nor wholesome, and -is strong only to its own destruction. You need not, therefore, -imagine that I am wasting time over a useless task in defaming -anger, as though men had not made up their minds about it, when -there is some one, and he, too, an illustrious philosopher, who -assigns it services to perform, and speaks of it as useful and -supplying energy for battles, for the management of business, -and indeed for everything which requires to be conducted with -spirit. Lest it should delude any one into thinking that on certain -occasions and in certain positions it may be useful, we must -show its <span class="pagenum" id="p119">119</span>unbridled and frenzied -madness, we must restore to it -its attributes, the rack, the cord, the dungeon, and the cross, -the fires lighted round men’s buried bodies, the -hook<a href="#fn-5.1" name="fnref-5.1" id="fnref-5.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> that -drags both living men and corpses, the different kinds of fetters, -and of punishments, the mutilations of limbs, the branding of -the forehead, the dens of savage beasts. Anger should be represented -as standing among these her instruments, growling in an ominous -and terrible fashion, herself more shocking than any of the means -by which she gives vent to her fury.</p> - -<p>IV. There may be some doubt about the others, but at any rate -no passion has a worse look. We have described the angry man’s -appearance in our former books, how sharp and keen he looks, -at one time pale as his blood is driven inwards and backwards, -at another with all the heat and fire of his body directed to -his face, making it reddish-coloured as if stained with blood, -his eyes now restless and starting out of his head, now set motionless -in one fixed gaze. Add to this his teeth, which gnash against -one another, as though he wished to eat somebody, with exactly -the sound of a wild boar sharpening his tusks: add also the cracking -of his joints, the involuntary wringing of his hands, the frequent -slaps he deals himself on the chest, his hurried breathing and -deep-drawn sighs, his reeling body, his abrupt broken speech, -and his trembling lips, which sometimes he draws tight as he -hisses some curse through them. By Hercules, no wild beast, neither -when tortured by hunger, or with a weapon struck through its -vitals, not even when it gathers its last breath to bite its -slayer, looks so shocking as a man raging with anger. Listen, -if you have leisure, to his words -<span class="pagenum" id="p120">120</span>and threats: how dreadful is the -language of his agonized mind! -Would not every man wish to lay aside anger when he sees that -it begins by injuring himself? When men employ anger as the most -powerful of agents, consider it to be a proof of power, and reckon -a speedy revenge among the greatest blessings of great prosperity, -would you not wish me to warn them that he who is the slave of -his own anger is not powerful, nor even free? Would you not wish -me to warn all the more industrious and circumspect of men, that -while other evil passions assail the base, anger gradually obtains -dominion over the minds even of learned and in other respects -sensible men? So true is that, that some declare anger to be -a proof of straight-forwardness, and it is commonly believed -that the best-natured people are prone to it.</p> - -<p>V. You ask me, whither does all this tend? To prove, I answer, -that no one should imagine himself to be safe from anger, seeing -that it rouses up even those who are naturally gentle and quiet -to commit savage and violent acts. As strength of body and assiduous -care of the health avail nothing against a pestilence, which -attacks the strong and weak alike, so also steady and good-humoured -people are just as liable to attacks of anger as those of unsettled -character, and in the case of the former it is both more to be -ashamed of and more to be feared, because it makes a greater -alteration in their habits. Now as the first thing is not to -be angry, the second to lay aside our anger, and the third to -be able to heal the anger of others as well as our own, I will -set forth first how we may avoid falling into anger; next, how -we may set ourselves free from it, and, lastly, how we may restrain -an angry man, appease his wrath, and bring him back to his right -mind. We shall succeed in avoiding anger, if from time to time -we lay before our minds all the vices connected with anger, and -estimate it at its real value: it must be -prosecuted<span class="pagenum" id="p121">121</span> before us -and convicted: its evils must be thoroughly investigated and -exposed. That we may see what it is, let it be compared with -the worst vices. Avarice scrapes together and amasses riches -for some better man to use: anger spends money; few can indulge -in it for nothing. How many slaves an angry master drives to -run away or to commit suicide! how much more he loses by his -anger than the value of what he originally became angry about! -Anger brings grief to a father, divorce to a husband, hatred -to a magistrate, failure to a candidate for office. It is worse -than luxury, because luxury enjoys its own pleasure, while anger -enjoys another’s pain. It is worse than either spitefulness or -envy; for they wish that some one may become unhappy, while anger -wishes to make him so: they are pleased when evil befalls one -by accident, but anger cannot wait upon Fortune; it desires to -injure its victim personally, and is not satisfied merely with -his being injured. Nothing is more dangerous than jealousy: it -is produced by anger. Nothing is more ruinous than war: it is -the outcome of powerful men’s anger; and even the anger of humble -private persons, though without arms or armies, is nevertheless -war. Moreover, even if we pass over its immediate consequences, -such as heavy losses, treacherous plots, and the constant anxiety -produced by strife, anger pays a penalty at the same moment that -it exacts one: it forswears human feelings. The latter urge us -to love, anger urges us to hatred: the latter bid us do men good, -anger bids us do them harm. Add to this that, although its rage -arises from an excessive self-respect and appears to show high -spirit, it really is contemptible and mean: for a man must be -inferior to one by whom he thinks himself despised, whereas the -truly great mind, which takes a true estimate of its own value, -does not revenge an insult because it does not feel it. As weapons -rebound from a hard surface, and solid substances hurt -<span class="pagenum" id="p122">122</span>those -who strike them, so also no insult can make a really great mind -sensible of its presence, being weaker than that against which -it is aimed. How far more glorious is it to throw back all wrongs -and insults from oneself, like one wearing armour of proof against -all weapons, for revenge is an admission that we have been hurt. -That cannot be a great mind which is disturbed by injury. He -who has hurt you must be either stronger or weaker than yourself. -If he be weaker, spare him: if he be stronger, spare yourself. -</p> - -<p>VI. There is no greater proof of magnanimity than that nothing -which befalls you should be able to move you to anger. The higher -region of the universe, being more excellently ordered and near -to the stars, is never gathered into clouds, driven about by -storms, or whirled round by cyclones: it is free from all disturbance: -the lightnings flash in the region below it. In like manner a -lofty mind, always placid and dwelling in a serene atmosphere, -restraining within itself all the impulses from which anger springs, -is modest, commands respect, and remains calm and collected: -none of which qualities will you find in an angry man: for who, -when under the influence of grief and rage, does not first get -rid of bashfulness? who, when excited and confused and about -to attack some one, does not fling away any habits of shamefacedness -he may have possessed? what angry man attends to the number or -routine of his duties? who uses moderate language? who keeps -any part of his body quiet? who can guide himself when in full -career? We shall find much profit in that sound maxim of Democritus -which defines peace of mind to consist in not labouring much, -or too much for our strength, either in public or private matters. -A man’s day, if he is engaged in many various occupations, never -passes so happily that no man or no thing should give rise to -some offence which makes the mind ripe for anger. Just as when -one hurries through the crowded parts of the city -<span class="pagenum" id="p123">123</span>one cannot -help jostling many people, and one cannot help slipping at one -place, being hindered at another, and splashed at another, so -when one’s life is spent in disconnected pursuits and wanderings, -one must meet with many troubles and many accusations. One man -deceives our hopes, another delays their fulfilment, another -destroys them: our projects do not proceed according to our intention. -No one is so favoured by Fortune as to find her always on his -side if he tempts her often: and from this it follows that he -who sees several enterprises turn out contrary to his wishes -becomes dissatisfied with both men and things, and on the slightest -provocation flies into a rage with people, with undertakings, -with places, with fortune, or with himself. In order, therefore, -that the mind may be at peace, it ought not to be hurried hither -and thither, nor, as I said before, wearied by labour at great -matters, or matters whose attainment is beyond its strength. -It is easy to fit one’s shoulder to a light burden, and to shift -it from one side to the other without dropping it: but we have -difficulty in bearing the burdens which others’ hands lay upon -us, and when overweighted by them we fling them off upon our -neighbours. Even when we do stand upright under our load, we -nevertheless reel beneath a weight which is beyond our strength. -</p> - -<p>VII. Be assured that the same rule applies both to public and -private life: simple and manageable undertakings proceed according -to the pleasure of the person in charge of them, but enormous -ones, beyond his capacity to manage, are not easily undertaken. -When he has got them to administer, they hinder him, and press -hard upon him, and just as he thinks that success is within his -grasp, they collapse, and carry him with them: thus it comes -about that a man’s wishes are often disappointed if he does not -apply himself to easy tasks, yet wishes that the tasks which -he undertakes may be easy. Whenever you would attempt anything, -first <span class="pagenum" id="p124">124</span>form an estimate both of your -own powers, of the extent -of the matter which you are undertaking, and of the means by -which you are to accomplish it: for if you have to abandon your -work when it is half done, the disappointment will sour your -temper. In such cases, it makes a difference whether one is of -an ardent or of a cold and unenterprising temperament: for failure -will rouse a generous spirit to anger, and will move a sluggish -and dull one to sorrow. Let our undertakings, therefore, be neither -petty nor yet presumptuous and reckless: let our hopes not range -far from home: let us attempt nothing which if we succeed will -make us astonished at our success.</p> - -<p>VIII. Since we know not how to endure an injury, let us take -care not to receive one: we should live with the quietest and -easiest-tempered persons, not with anxious or with sullen ones: -for our own habits are copied from those with whom we associate, -and just as some bodily diseases are communicated by touch, so -also the mind transfers its vices to its neighbours. A drunkard -leads even those who reproach him to grow fond of wine: profligate -society will, if permitted, impair the morals even of robust-minded -men: avarice infects those nearest it with its poison. Virtues -do the same thing in the opposite direction, and improve all -those with whom they are brought in contact: it is as good for -one of unsettled principles to associate with better men than -himself as for an invalid to live in a warm country with a healthy -climate. You will understand how much may be effected this way, -if you observe how even wild beasts grow tame by dwelling among -us, and how no animal, however ferocious, continues to be wild, -if it has long been accustomed to human companionship: all its -savageness becomes softened, and amid peaceful scenes is gradually -forgotten. We must add to this, that the man who lives with quiet -people is not only improved by their example, but also by the -fact that he finds no reason for anger and does not practise -his <span class="pagenum" id="p125">125</span>vice: it will, therefore, be his -duty to avoid all those -who he knows will excite his anger. You ask, who these are: many -will bring about the same thing by various means; a proud man -will offend you by his disdain, a talkative man by his abuse, -an impudent man by his insults, a spiteful man by his malice, -a quarrelsome man by his wrangling, a braggart and liar by his -vain-gloriousness: you will not endure to be feared by a suspicious -man, conquered by an obstinate one, or scorned by an ultra-refined -one: Choose straightforward, good-natured, steady people, who -will not provoke your wrath, and will bear with it. Those whose -dispositions are yielding, polite and suave, will be of even -greater service, provided they do not flatter, for excessive -obsequiousness irritates bad-tempered men. One of my own friends -was a good man indeed, but too prone to anger, and it was as -dangerous to flatter him as to curse him. Caelius the orator, -it is well known, was the worst-tempered man possible. It is -said that once he was dining in his own chamber with an especially -long-suffering client, but had great difficulty when thrown thus -into a man’s society to avoid quarrelling with him. The other -thought it best to agree to whatever he said, and to play second -fiddle, but Caelius could not bear his obsequious agreement, -and exclaimed, “Do contradict me in something, that there may -be two of us!” Yet even he, who was angry at not being angry, -soon recovered his temper, because he had no one to fight with. -If, then, we are conscious of an irascible disposition, let us -especially choose for our friends those who will look and speak -as we do: they will pamper us and lead us into a bad habit of -listening to nothing that does not please us, but it will be -good to give our anger respite and repose. Even those who are -naturally crabbed and wild will yield to caresses: no creature -continues either angry or frightened if you pat him. Whenever -a controversy seems likely to be longer or more keenly disputed -than usual, let us check its first beginnings, before it gathers -strength. <span class="pagenum" id="p126">126</span>A dispute nourishes itself -as it proceeds, and takes -hold of those who plunge too deeply into it: it is easier to -stand aloof than to extricate oneself from a struggle.</p> - -<p>IX. Irascible men ought not to meddle with the more serious class -of occupations, or, at any rate, ought to stop short of weariness -in the pursuit of them; their mind ought not to be engaged upon -hard subjects, but handed over to pleasing arts: let it be softened -by reading poetry, and interested by legendary history: let it -be treated with luxury and refinement. Pythagoras used to calm -his troubled spirit by playing upon the lyre: and who does not -know that trumpets and clarions are irritants, just as some airs -are lullabies and soothe the mind? Green is good for wearied -eyes, and some colours are grateful to weak sight, while the -brightness of others is painful to it. In the same way cheerful -pursuits soothe unhealthy minds. We must avoid law courts, pleadings, -verdicts, and everything else that aggravates our fault, and -we ought no less to avoid bodily weariness; for it exhausts all -that is quiet and gentle in us, and rouses bitterness. For this -reason those who cannot trust their digestion, when they are -about to transact business of importance always allay their bile -with food, for it is peculiarly irritated by fatigue, either -because it draws the vital heat into the middle of the body, -and injures the blood and stops its circulation by the clogging -of the veins, or else because the worn-out and weakened body -reacts upon the mind: this is certainly the reason why those -who are broken by ill-health or age are more irascible than other -men. Hunger also and thirst should be avoided for the same reason; -they exasperate and irritate men’s minds: it is an old saying -that “a weary man is quarrelsome “: and so also is a hungry or -a thirsty man, or one who is suffering from any cause whatever: -for just as sores pain one at the slightest touch, and afterwards -even at the fear of being touched, so an unsound mind takes offence -at the slightest things, so that even a -<span class="pagenum" id="p127">127</span>greeting, a letter, a -speech, or a question, provokes some men to anger.</p> - -<p>X. That which is diseased can never bear to be handled without -complaining: it is best, therefore, to apply remedies to oneself -as soon as we feel that anything is wrong, to allow oneself as -little licence as possible in speech, and to restrain one’s impetuosity: -now it is easy to detect the first growth of our passions: the -symptoms precede the disorder. Just as the signs of storms and -rain come before the storms themselves, so there are certain -forerunners of anger, love, and all the storms which torment -our minds. Those who suffer from epilepsy know that the fit is -coming on if their extremities become cold, their sight fails, -their sinews tremble, their memory deserts them, and their head -swims: they accordingly check the growing disorder by applying -the usual remedies: they try to prevent the loss of their senses -by smelling or tasting some drug; they battle against cold and -stiffness of limbs by hot fomentations; or, if all remedies fail, -they retire apart, and faint where no one sees them fall. It -is useful for a man to understand his disease, and to break its -strength before it becomes developed. Let us see what it is that -especially irritates us. Some men take offence at insulting words, -others at deeds: one wishes his pedigree, another his person, -to be treated with respect. This man wishes to be considered -especially fashionable, that man to be thought especially learned: -one cannot bear pride, another cannot bear obstinacy. One thinks -it beneath him to be angry with his slaves, another is cruel -at home, but gentle abroad. One imagines that he is proposed -for office because he is unpopular, another thinks himself insulted -because he is not proposed. People do not all take offence in -the same way; you ought then to know what your own weak point -is, that you may guard it with especial care.</p> - -<p>XI. It is better not to see or to hear everything: many causes -of offence may pass by us, most of which are -disregarded<span class="pagenum" id="p128">128</span> by the -man who ignores them. Would you not be irascible? then be not -inquisitive. He who seeks to know what is said about him, who -digs up spiteful tales even if they were told in secret, is himself -the destroyer of his own peace of mind. Some stories may be so -construed as to appear to be insults: wherefore it is best to -put some aside, to laugh at others, and to pardon others. There -are many ways in which anger may be checked; most things may -be turned into jest. It is said that Socrates when he was given -a box on the ear, merely said that it was a pity a man could -not tell when he ought to wear his helmet out walking. It does -not so much matter how an injury is done, as how it is borne; -and I do not see how moderation can be hard to practise, when -I know that even despots, though success and impunity combine -to swell their pride, have sometimes restrained their natural -ferocity. At any rate, tradition informs us that once, when a -guest in his cups bitterly reproached Pisistratus, the despot -of Athens, for his cruelty, many of those present offered to -lay hands on the traitor, and one said one thing and one another -to kindle his wrath, he bore it coolly, and replied to those -who were egging him on, that he was no more angry with the man -than he should be with one who ran against him blindfold.</p> - -<p>XII. A large part of mankind manufacture their own grievances -either by entertaining unfounded suspicions or by exaggerating -trifles. Anger often comes to us, but we often go to it. It ought -never to be sent for: even when it falls in our way it ought -to be flung aside. No one says to himself, “I myself have done -or might have done this very thing which I am angry with another -for doing.” No one considers the intention of the doer, but merely -the thing done: yet we ought to think about him, and whether -he did it intentionally or accidentally, under compulsion or -under a mistake, whether he did it out of hatred for us, or to -gain something for himself, whether he did it to please himself -<span class="pagenum" id="p129">129</span>or to serve a friend. In some cases -the age, in others the worldly -fortunes of the culprit may render it humane or advantageous -to bear with him and put up with what he has done. Let us put -ourselves in the place of him with whom we are angry: at present -an overweening conceit of our own importance makes us prone to -anger, and we are quite willing to do to others what we cannot -endure should be done to ourselves. No one will postpone his -anger: yet delay is the best remedy for it, because it allows -its first glow to subside, and gives time for the cloud which -darkens the mind either to disperse or at any rate to become -less dense. Of these wrongs which drive you frantic, some will -grow lighter after an interval, not of a day, but even of an -hour: some will vanish altogether. Even if you gain nothing by -your adjournment, still what you do after it will appear to be -the result of mature deliberation, not of anger. If you want -to find out the truth about anything, commit the task to time: -nothing can be accurately discerned at a time of disturbance. -Plato, when angry with his slave, could not prevail upon himself -to wait, but straightway ordered him to take off his shirt and -present his shoulders to the blows which he meant to give him -with his own hand: then, when he perceived that he was angry, -he stopped the hand which he had raised in the air, and stood -like one in act to strike. Being asked by a friend who happened -to come in, what he was doing, he answered: “I am making an angry -man expiate his crime.” He retained the posture of one about -to give way to passion, as if struck with astonishment at its -being so degrading to a philosopher, forgetting the slave, because -he had found another still more deserving of punishment. He therefore -denied himself the exercise of authority over his own household, -and once, being rather angry at some fault, said, “Speusippus, -will you please to correct that slave with stripes; for I am -in a rage.” He would not strike him, for the very reason for -which another man would have struck him. “I am in a rage,” said -<span class="pagenum" id="p130">130</span>he; “I should beat him more than -I ought: I should take more -pleasure than I ought in doing so: let not that slave fall into -the power of one who is not in his own power.” Can any one wish -to grant the power of revenge to an angry man, when Plato himself -gave up his own right to exercise it? While you are angry, you -ought not to be allowed to do anything. “Why?” do you ask? Because -when you are angry there is nothing that you do not wish to be -allowed to do.</p> - -<p>XIII. Fight hard with yourself and if you cannot conquer anger, -do not let it conquer you: you have begun to get the better of -it if it does not show itself, if it is not given vent. Let us -conceal its symptoms, and as far as possible keep it secret and -hidden. It will give us great trouble to do this, for it is eager -to burst forth, to kindle our eyes and to transform our face; -but if we allow it to show itself in our outward appearance, -it is our master. Let it rather be locked in the innermost recesses -of our breast, and be borne by us, not bear us: nay, let us replace -all its symptoms by their opposites; let us make our countenance -more composed than usual, our voice milder, our step slower. -Our inward thoughts gradually become influenced by our outward -demeanour. With Socrates it was a sign of anger when he lowered -his voice, and became sparing of speech; it was evident at such -times that he was exercising restraint over himself. His friends, -consequently, used to detect him acting thus, and convict him -of being angry; nor was he displeased at being charged with concealment -of anger; indeed, how could he help being glad that many men -should perceive his anger, yet that none should feel it? they -would however, have felt it had not he granted to his friends -the same right of criticizing his own conduct which he himself -assumed over theirs. How much more needful is it for us to do -this? let us beg all our best friends to give us their opinion -with the greatest freedom at the very time when we can bear it -least, and never to be compliant with us -<span class="pagenum" id="p131">131</span>when we are angry. While -we are in our right senses, while we are under our own control, -let us call for help against so powerful an evil, and one which -we regard with such unjust favour. Those who cannot carry their -wine discreetly, and fear to be betrayed into some rash and insolent -act, give their slaves orders to take them away from the banquet -when they are drunk; those who know by experience how unreasonable -they are when sick give orders that no one is to obey them when -they are in ill health. It is best to prepare obstacles beforehand -for vices which are known, and above all things so to tranquilize -our mind that it may bear the most sudden and violent shocks -either without feeling anger, or, if anger be provoked by the -extent of some unexpected wrong, that it may bury it deep, and -not betray its wound. That it is possible to do this will be -seen, if I quote a few of an abundance of examples, from which -we may learn both how much evil there is in anger, when it exercises -entire dominion over men in supreme power, and how completely -it can control itself when overawed by fear.</p> - -<p>XIV. King -Cambyses<a href="#fn-5.2" name="fnref-5.2" id="fnref-5.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> was -excessively addicted to wine. Praexaspes -was the only one of his closest friends who advised him to drink -more sparingly, pointing out how shameful a thing drunkenness -was in a king, upon whom all eyes and ears were fixed. Cambyses -answered, “That you may know that I never lose command of myself, -I will presently prove to you that both my eyes and my hands -are fit for service after I have been drinking.” Hereupon he -drank more freely than usual, using larger cups, and when heavy -and besotted with wine ordered his reprover’s son to go beyond -the threshold and stand there with his left hand raised above -his head; then he bent his bow and pierced the youth’s heart, -at which he had said that he aimed. He -<span class="pagenum" id="p132">132</span>then had his breast cut open, showed -the arrow sticking exactly -into the heart, and, looking at the boy’s father, asked whether -his hand was not steady enough. He replied, that Apollo himself -could not have taken better aim. God confound such a man, a slave -in mind, if not in station! He actually praised an act which -he ought not to have endured to witness. He thought that the -breast of his son being torn assunder, and his heart quivering -with its wound, gave him an opportunity of making a complimentary -speech. He ought to have raised a dispute with him about his -success, and have called for another shot, that the king might -be pleased to prove upon the person of the father that his hand -was even steadier than when he shot the son. What a savage king! -what a worthy mark for all his follower’s arrows! Yet though -we curse him for making his banquet end in cruelty and death, -still it was worse to praise that arrow-shot than to shoot it. -We shall see hereafter how a father ought to bear himself when -standing over the corpse of his son, whose murder he had both -caused and witnessed: the matter which we are now discussing, -has been proved, I mean, that anger can be suppressed. He did -not curse the king, he did not so much as let fall a single inauspicious -word, though he felt his own heart as deeply wounded as that -of his son. He may be said to have done well in choking down -his words; for though he might have spoken as an angry man, yet -he could not have expressed what he felt as a father. He may, -I repeat, be thought to have behaved with greater wisdom on that -occasion than when he tried to regulate the drink of one who -was better employed in drinking wine than in drinking blood, -and who granted men peace while his hands were busy with the -winecup. He, therefore, added one more to the number of those -who have shown to their bitter cost how little kings care for -their friends’ good advice. <span class="pagenum" id="p133">133</span></p> - -<p>XV. I have no doubt that Harpagus must have given some such advice -to the king of the Persians and of himself, in anger at which -the king placed Harpagus’s own children before him on the dinner-table -for him to eat, and asked him from time to time, whether he liked -the seasoning. Then, when he saw that he was satiated with his -own misery, he ordered their heads to be brought to him, and -asked him how he liked his entertainment. The wretched man did -not lose his readiness of speech; his face did not change. “Every -kind of dinner,” said he, “is pleasant at the king’s table.” -What did he gain by this obsequiousness? He avoided being invited -a second time to dinner, to eat what was left of them. I do not -forbid a father to blame the act of his king, or to seek for -some revenge worthy of so bloodthirsty a monster, but in the -meanwhile I gather from the tale this fact, that even the anger -which arises from unheard of outrages can be concealed, and forced -into using language which is the very reverse of its meaning. -This way of curbing anger is necessary, at least for those who -have chosen this sort of life and who are admitted to dine at -a king’s table; this is how they must eat and drink, this is -how they must answer, and how they must laugh at their own deaths. -Whether life is worth having at such a price, we shall see hereafter; -that is another question. Let us not console so sorry a crew, -or encourage them to submit to the orders of their butchers; -let us point out that however slavish a man’s condition may be, -there is always a path to liberty open to him, unless his mind -be diseased. It is a man’s own fault if he suffers, when by putting -an end to himself he can put an end to his misery. To him whose -king aimed arrows at the breasts of his friends, and to him whose -master gorged fathers with the hearts of their children, I would -say “Madman, why do you groan? for what are you waiting? for -some enemy to avenge you by the destruction of your -<span class="pagenum" id="p134">134</span>entire nation, -or for some powerful king to arrive from a distant land? Wherever -you turn your eyes you may see an end to your woes. Do you see -that precipice? down that lies the road to liberty; do you see -that sea? that river? that well? Liberty sits at the bottom of -them. Do you see that tree? stunted, blighted, dried up though -it be, yet liberty hangs from its branches. Do you see your own -throat, your own neck, your own heart? they are so many ways -of escape from slavery. Are these modes which I point out too -laborious, and needing much strength and courage? do you ask -what path leads to liberty? I answer, any -vein<a href="#fn-5.3" name="fnref-5.3" id="fnref-5.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> in your -body. -</p> - -<p>XVI. As long, however, as we find nothing in our life so unbearable -as to drive us to suicide, let us, in whatever position we may -be, set anger far from us: it is destructive to those who are -its slaves. All its rage turns to its own misery, and authority -becomes all the more irksome the more obstinately it is resisted. -It is like a wild animal whose struggles only pull the noose -by which it is caught tighter; or like birds who, while flurriedly -trying to shake themselves free, smear birdlime on to all their -feathers. No yoke is so grievous as not to hurt him who struggles -against it more than him who yields to it: the only way to alleviate -great evils is to endure them and to submit to do what they compel. -This control of our passions, and especially of this mad and -unbridled passion of anger, is useful to subjects, but still -more useful to kings. All is lost when a man’s position enables -him to carry out whatever anger prompts him to do; nor can power -long endure if it be exercised to the injury of many, for it -becomes endangered as soon as common fear draws together those -who bewail themselves separately. Many kings, therefore, have -fallen victims, some to single individuals, others to entire -peoples, -<span class="pagenum" id="p135">135</span>who have been forced by general -indignation to make one man the -minister of their wrath. Yet many kings have indulged their anger -as though it were a privilege of royalty, like Darius, who, after -the dethronement of the Magian, was the first ruler of the Persians -and of the greater part of the East: for when he declared -war<a href="#fn-5.4" name="fnref-5.4" id="fnref-5.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -against the Scythians who bordered on the empire of the East, -Oeobazus, an aged noble, begged that one of his three sons might -be left at home to comfort his father, and that the king might -be satisfied with the services of two of them. Darius promised -him more than he asked for, saying that he would allow all three -to remain at home, and flung their dead bodies before their father’s -eyes. He would have been harsh, had he taken them all to the -war with him. How much more good-natured was -Xerxes,<a href="#fn-5.5" name="fnref-5.5" id="fnref-5.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> who, -when Pythias, the father of five sons, begged for one to be excused -from service, permitted him to choose which he wished for. He -then tore the son whom the father had chosen into two halves, -placed one on each side of the road, and, as it were, purified -his army by means of this propitiatory victim. He therefore had -the end which he deserved, being defeated, and his army scattered -far and wide in utter rout, while he in the midst of it walked -among the corpses of his soldiers, seeing on all sides the signs -of his own overthrow.</p> - -<p>XVII. So ferocious in their anger were those kings who had no -learning, no tincture of polite literature: now I will show you -King Alexander (the Great), fresh from the lap of Aristotle, -who with his own hand while at table stabbed Clitus, his dearest -friend, who had been brought up with him, because he did not -flatter him enough, and was too slow in transforming himself -from a free man and a Macedonian into a Persian slave. Indeed -he shut up -<span class="pagenum" id="p136">136</span> -Lysimachus,<a href="#fn-5.6" name="fnref-5.6" id="fnref-5.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> -who was no less his friend than Clitus, in a cage -with a lion; yet did this make Lysimachus, who escaped by some -happy chance from the lion’s teeth, any gentler when he became -a king? Why, he mutilated his own friend, Telesphorus the Rhodian, -cutting off his nose and ears, and kept him for a long while -in a den, like some new and strange animal, after the hideousness -of his hacked and disfigured face had made him no longer appear -to be human, assisted by starvation and the squalid filth of -a body left to wallow in its own dung! Besides this, his hands -and knees, which the narrowness of his abode forced him to use -instead of his feet, became hard and callous, while his sides -were covered with sores by rubbing against the walls, so that -his appearance was no less shocking than frightful, and his punishment -turned him into so monstrous a creature that he was not even -pitied. Yet, however unlike a man he was who suffered this, even -more unlike was he who inflicted it.</p> - -<p>XVIII. Would to heaven that such savagery had contented itself -with foreign examples, and that barbarity in anger and punishment -had not been imported with other outlandish vices into our Roman -manners! Marcus Marius, to whom the people erected a statue in -every street, to whom they made offerings of incense and wine, -had, by the command of Lucius Sulla, his legs broken, his eyes -pulled out, his hands cut off, and his whole body gradually torn -to pieces limb by limb, as if Sulla killed him as many times -as he wounded him. Who was it who carried out Sulla’s orders? -who but Catiline, already practising his hands in every sort -of wickedness? He tore him to pieces before the tomb of Quintus -Catulus, an unwelcome burden to the ashes of that gentlest of -men, above which one who was no doubt a criminal, yet nevertheless -<span class="pagenum" id="p137">137</span> the idol of the people, and -who was not undeserving of -love, although men loved him beyond all reason, was forced to -shed his blood drop by drop. Though Marius deserved such tortures, -yet it was worthy of Sulla to order them, and of Catiline to -execute them; but it was unworthy of the State to be stabbed -by the swords of her enemy and her avenger alike. Why do I pry -into ancient history? quite lately Gaius Caesar flogged and tortured -Sextus Papinius, whose father was a consular, Betilienus Bassus, -his own quaestor, and several others, both senators and knights, -on the same day, not to carry out any judicial inquiry, but merely -to amuse himself. Indeed, so impatient was he of any delay in -receiving the pleasure which his monstrous cruelty never delayed -in asking, that when walking with some ladies and senators in -his mother’s gardens, along the walk between the colonnade and -the river, he struck off some of their heads by lamplight. What -did he fear? what public or private danger could one night threaten -him with? how very small a favour it would have been to wait -until morning, and not to kill the Roman people’s senators in -his slippers?</p> - -<p>XIX. It is to the purpose that we should know how haughtily his -cruelty was exercised, although some one might suppose that we -are wandering from the subject and embarking on a digression; -but this digression is itself connected with unusual outbursts -of anger. He beat senators with rods; he did it so often that -he made men able to say, “It is the custom.” He tortured them -with all the most dismal engines in the world, with the cord, -the boots, the rack, the fire, and the sight of his own face. -Even to this we may answer, “To tear three senators to pieces -with stripes and fire like criminal slaves was no such great -crime for one who had thoughts of butchering the entire Senate, -who was wont to wish that the Roman people had but one neck, -that he might concentrate <span class="pagenum" id="p138">138</span>into one day -and one blow all the wickedness -which he divided among so many places and times. Was there ever -anything so unheard-of as an execution in the night-time? Highway -robbery seeks for the shelter of darkness, but the more public -an execution is, the more power it has as an example and lesson. -Here I shall be met by: “This, which you are so surprised at, -was the daily habit of that monster; this was what he lived for, -watched for, sat up at night for.” Certainly one could find no -one else who would have ordered all those whom he condemned to -death to have their mouths closed by a sponge being fastened -in them, that they might not have the power even of uttering -a sound. What dying man was ever forbidden to groan? He feared -that the last agony might find too free a voice, that he might -hear what would displease him. He knew, moreover, that there -were countless crimes, with which none but a dying man would -dare to reproach him. When sponges were not forthcoming, he ordered -the wretched men’s clothes to be torn up, and the rags stuffed -into their mouths. What savagery was this? Let a man draw his -last breath: give room for his soul to escape through: let it -not be forced to leave the body through a wound. It becomes tedious -to add to this that in the same night he sent centurions to the -houses of the executed men and made an end of their fathers also, -that is to say, being a compassionate-minded man, he set them -free from sorrow: for it is not my intention to describe the -ferocity of Gaius, but the ferocity of anger, which does not -merely vent its rage upon individuals, but rends in pieces whole -nations, and even lashes cities, rivers, and things which have -no sense of pain.</p> - -<p>XX. Thus, the king of the Persians cut off the noses of a whole -nation in Syria, wherefore the place is called Rhinocolura. Do -you think that he was merciful, because he did not cut their -heads off altogether? no, he was delighted at -<span class="pagenum" id="p139">139</span>having invented -a new kind of punishment. Something of the same kind would have -befallen the -Aethiopians,<a href="#fn-5.7" name="fnref-5.7" id="fnref-5.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> -who on account of their prodigiously -long lives are called Macrobiotae; for, because they did not -receive slavery with hands uplifted to heaven in thankfulness, -and sent an embassy which used independent, or what kings call -insulting language, Cambyses became wild with rage, and, without -any store of provisions, or any knowledge of the roads, started -with all his fighting men through an arid and trackless waste, -where during the first day’s march the necessaries of life failed, -and the country itself furnished nothing, being barren and uncultivated, -and untrodden by the foot of man. At first the tenderest parts -of leaves and shoots of trees relieved their hunger, then hides -softened by fire, and anything else that their extremity drove -them to use as food. When as they proceeded neither roots nor -herbs were to be found in the sand, and they found a wilderness -destitute even of animal life, they chose each tenth man by lot -and made of him a meal which was more cruel than hunger. Rage -still drove the king madly forwards, until after he had lost -one part of his army and eaten another he began to fear that -he also might be called upon to draw the lot for his life; then -at last he gave the order for retreat. Yet all the while his -well-bred hawks were not sacrificed, and the means of feasting -were carried for him on camels, while his soldiers were drawing -lots for who should miserably perish, and who should yet more -miserably live.</p> - -<p>XXI. This man was angry with an unknown and inoffensive nation, -which nevertheless was able to feel his wrath; but -Cyrus<a href="#fn-5.8" name="fnref-5.8" id="fnref-5.8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> was -angry with a river. When hurrying to besiege Babylon, since in -making war it is above all things important to seize one’s opportunity, -he tried to ford the wide-spread river Gyndes, which it is hardly -safe to -<span class="pagenum" id="p140">140</span>attempt even when the river has been -dried up by the summer heat -and is at its lowest. Here one of the white horses which drew -the royal chariot was washed away, and his loss moved the king -to such violent rage, that he swore to reduce the river which -had carried off his royal retinue to so low an ebb that even -women should walk across it and trample upon it. He thereupon -devoted all the resources of his army to this object, and remained -working until by cutting one hundred and eighty channels across -the bed of the river he divided it into three hundred and sixty -brooks, and left the bed dry, the waters flowing through other -channels. Thus he lost time, which is very important in great -operations, and lost, also, the soldiers’ courage, which was -broken by useless labour, and the opportunity of falling upon -his enemy unprepared, while he was waging against the river the -war which he had declared against his foes. This frenzy, for -what else can you call it, has befallen Romans also, for G. Caesar -destroyed a most beautiful villa at Herculaneum because his mother -was once imprisoned in it, and has thus made the place notorious -by its misfortune; for while it stood, we used to sail past it -without noticing it, but now people inquire why it is in ruins. -</p> - -<p>XXII. These should be regarded as examples to be avoided, and -what I am about to relate, on the contrary, to be followed, being -examples of gentle and lenient conduct in men who both had reasons -for anger and power to avenge themselves. What could have been -easier than for Antigonus to order those two common soldiers -to be executed who leaned against their king’s tent while doing -what all men especially love to do, and run the greatest danger -by doing, I mean while they spoke evil of their king. Antigonus -heard all they said, as was likely, since there was only a piece -of cloth between the speakers and the listener, who gently raised -it, and said “Go a little -<span class="pagenum" id="p141">141</span>further off, for fear the king should -hear you.” He also on one night, hearing some of his soldiers -invoking everything that was evil upon their king for having -brought them along that road and into that impassable mud, went -to those who were in the greatest difficulties, and having extricated -them without their knowing who was their helper, said, “Now curse -Antigonus, by whose fault you have fallen into this trouble, -but bless the man who has brought you out of this slough.” This -same Antigonus bore the abuse of his enemies as good-naturedly -as that of his countrymen; thus when he was besieging some Greeks -in a little fort, and they, despising their enemy through their -confidence in the strength of their position, cut many jokes -upon the ugliness of Antigonus, at one time mocking him for his -shortness of stature, at another for his broken nose, he answered, -“I rejoice, and expect some good fortune because I have a Silenus -in my camp.” After he had conquered these witty folk by hunger, -his treatment of them was to form regiments of those who were -fit for service, and sell the rest by public auction; nor would -he, said he, have done this had it not been better that men who -had such evil tongues should be under the control of a master. -</p> - -<p>XXIII. This man’s -grandson<a href="#fn-5.9" name="fnref-5.9" id="fnref-5.9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> was -Alexander, who used to hurl -his lance at his guests, who, of the two friends which I have -mentioned above, exposed one to the rage of a wild beast, and -the other to his own; yet of these two men, he who was exposed -to the lion survived. He did not derive this vice from his grandfather, -nor even from his father; for it was an especial virtue of Philip’s -to endure insults patiently, and was a great safeguard of his -kingdom. Demochares, who was surnamed Parrhesiastes on account -of his unbridled and impudent tongue, came on an embassy to him -with other ambassadors from Athens. After graciously -<span class="pagenum" id="p142">142</span> listening to what they had -to say, Philip said to them, -“Tell me, what can I do that will please the Athenians? “Demochares -took him up, and answered, “Hang yourself.” All the bystanders -expressed their indignation at so brutal an answer, but Philip -bade them be silent, and let this Thersites depart safe and sound. -“But do you,” said he, “you other ambassadors, tell the -Athenians -that those who say such things are much more arrogant than those -who hear them without revenging themselves.”</p> - -<p>The late Emperor Augustus also did and said many memorable things, -which prove that he was not under the dominion of anger. Timagenes, -the historical writer, made some remarks upon him, his wife, -and his whole family: nor did his jests fall to the ground, for -nothing spreads more widely or is more in people’s mouths than -reckless wit. Caesar often warned him to be less audacious in -his talk, and as he continued to offend, forbade him his house. -Timagenes after this passed the later years of his life as the -guest of Asinius Pollio, and was the favourite of the whole city: -the closing of Caesar’s door did not close any other door against -him. He read aloud the history which he wrote after this, but -burned the books which contained the doings of Augustus Caesar. -He was at enmity with Caesar, but yet no one feared to be his -friend, no one shrank from him as though he were blasted by lightning: -although he fell from so high a place, yet some one was found -to catch him in his lap. Caesar, I say, bore this with patience, -and was not even irritated by the historian’s having laid violent -hands upon his own glories and acts: he never complained of the -man who afforded his enemy shelter, but merely said to Asinius -Pollio “You are keeping a wild beast:” then, when the other would -have excused his conduct, he stopped him, and said “Enjoy, my -Pollio, enjoy his friendship.” When Pollio said, “If you order -me, Caesar, I will straightway forbid him my house,” he -<span class="pagenum" id="p143">143</span>answered, -“Do you think that I am likely to do this, after having made -you friends again?” for formerly Pollio had been angry with Timagenes, -and ceased to be angry with him for no other reason than that -Caesar began to be so.</p> - -<p>XXIV. Let every one, then, say to himself, whenever he is provoked, -“Am I more powerful than Philip? yet he allowed a man to curse -him with impunity. Have I more authority in my own house than -the Emperor Augustus possessed throughout the world? yet he was -satisfied with leaving the society of his maligner. Why should -I make my slave atone by stripes and manacles for having answered -me too loudly or having put on a stubborn look, or muttered something -which I did not catch? Who am I, that it should be a crime to -shock my ears? Many men have forgiven their enemies: shall I -not forgive men for being lazy, careless, and gossipping?” We -ought to plead age as an excuse for children, sex for women, -freedom for a stranger, familiarity for a house-servant. Is this -his first offence? think how long he has been acceptable. Has -he often done wrong, and in many other cases? then let us continue -to bear what we have borne so long. Is he a friend? then he did -not intend to do it. Is he an enemy? then in doing it he did -his duty. If he be a sensible man, let us believe his excuses; -if a fool, let us grant him pardon; whatever he may be, let us -say to ourselves on his behalf, that even the wisest of men are -often in fault, that no one is so alert that his carefulness -never betrays itself, that no one is of so ripe a judgment that -his serious mind cannot be goaded by circumstances into some -hotheaded action, that, in fine, no one, however much he may -fear to give offence, can help doing so even while he tries to -avoid it.</p> - -<p>XXV. As it is a consolation to a humble man in trouble that the -greatest are subject to reverses of fortune, and a man weeps -more calmly over his dead son in the corner of -<span class="pagenum" id="p144">144</span>his hovel if he -sees a -piteous<a href="#fn-5.10" name="fnref-5.10" id="fnref-5.10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> -funeral proceed out of the palace as well; -so one bears injury or insult more calmly if one remembers that -no power is so great as to be above the reach of harm. Indeed, -if even the wisest do wrong, who cannot plead a good excuse for -his faults? Let us look back upon our own youth, and think how -often we then were too slothful in our duty, too impudent in -our speech, too intemperate in our cups. Is anyone angry? then -let us give him enough time to reflect upon what he has done, -and he will correct his own self. But suppose he ought to pay -the penalty of his deeds: well, that is no reason why we should -act as he does. It canot be doubted that he who regards his tormentor -with contempt raises himself above the common herd and looks -down upon them from a loftier position: it is the property of -true magnanimity not to feel the blows which it may receive. -So does a huge wild beast turn slowly and gaze at yelping curs: -so does the wave dash in vain against a great cliff. The man -who is not angry remains unshaken by injury: he who is angry -has been moved by it. He, however, whom I have described as being -placed too high for any mischief to reach him, holds as it were -the highest good in his arms: he can reply, not only to any man, -but to fortune herself: “Do what you will, you are too feeble -to disturb my serenity: this is forbidden by reason, to whom -I have entrusted the guidance of my life: to become angry would -do me more harm than your violence can do me. ‘More harm?’ say -you. Yes, certainly: I know how much injury you have done me, -but I cannot tell to what excesses anger might not carry me.” -</p> - -<p>XXVI. You say, “I cannot endure it: injuries are hard to bear.” -You lie; for how can any one not be able to bear injury, if he -can bear to be angry? Besides, what you -<span class="pagenum" id="p145">145</span>intend to do is to endure both injury -and anger. Why do you bear -with the delirium of a sick man, or the ravings of a madman, -or the impudent blows of a child? Because, of course, they evidently -do not know what they are doing: if a man be not responsible -for his actions, what does it matter by what malady he became -so: the plea of ignorance holds equally good in every case. “What -then?” say you, “shall he not be punished?” He will be, even -supposing that you do not wish it: for the greatest punishment -for having done harm is the sense of having done it, and no one -is more severely punished than he who is given over to the punishment -of remorse. In the next place, we ought to consider the whole -state of mankind, in order to pass a just judgment on all the -occurrences of life: for it is unjust to blame individuals for -a vice which is common to all. The colour of an Aethiop is not -remarkable amongst his own people, nor is any man in Germany -ashamed of red hair rolled into a knot. You cannot call anything -peculiar or disgraceful in a particular man if it is the general -characteristic of his nation. Now, the cases which I have quoted -are defended only by the usage of one out-of-the-way quarter -of the world: see now, how far more deserving of pardon those -crimes are which are spread abroad among all mankind. We all -are hasty and careless, we all are untrustworthy, dissatisfied, -and ambitious: nay, why do I try to hide our common wickedness -by a too partial description? we all are bad. Every one of us -therefore will find in his own breast the vice which he blames -in another. Why do you remark how pale this man, or how lean -that man is? there is a general pestilence. Let us therefore -be more gentle one to another: we are bad men, living among bad -men: there is only one thing which can afford us peace, and that -is to agree to forgive one another. “This man has already injured -me,” say you, “and I have not yet injured him.” No, but you -have -probably injured some one else, and you will injure -<span class="pagenum" id="p146">146</span>him some -day. Do not form your judgment by one hour, or one day: consider -the whole tendency of your mind: even though you have done no -evil, yet you are capable of doing it.</p> - -<p>XXVII. How far better is it to heal an injury than to avenge -it? Revenge takes up much time, and throws itself in the way -of many injuries while it is smarting under one. We all retain -our anger longer than we feel our hurt: how far better it were -to take the opposite course and not meet one mischief by another. -Would any one think himself to be in his perfect mind if he were -to return kicks to a mule or bites to a dog?” These creatures,” -you say, “know not that they are doing wrong.” Then, in the first -place, what an unjust judge you must be if a man has less chance -of gaining your forgiveness than a beast! Secondly, if animals -are protected from your anger by their want of reason, you ought -to treat all foolish men in the like manner: for if a man has -that mental darkness which excuses all the wrong-doings of dumb -animals, what difference does it make if in other respects he -be unlike a dumb animal? He has sinned. Well, is this the first -time, or will this be the last time? Why, you should not believe -him even if he said, “Never will I do so again.” He will sin, -and another will sin against him, and all his life he will wallow -in wickedness. Savagery must be met by kindness: we ought to -use, to a man in anger, the argument which is so effective with -one in grief, that is, “Shall you leave off this at some time, -or never? If you will do so at some time, how better is it that -you should abandon anger than that anger should abandon you? -Or, will this excitement never leave you? Do you see to what -an unquiet life you condemn yourself? for what will be the life -of one who is always swelling with rage?” Add to this, that after -you have worked yourself up into a rage, and have from time to -time renewed the causes of your -<span class="pagenum" id="p147">147</span>excitement, yet your anger will -depart from you of its own accord, and time will sap its strength: -how much better then is it that it should be overcome by you -than by itself?</p> - -<p>XXVIII. If you are angry, you will quarrel first with this man, -and then with that: first with slaves, then with freedmen: first -with parents, then with children: first with acquaintances, then -with strangers: for there are grounds for anger in every case, -unless your mind steps in and intercedes with you: your frenzy -will drag you from one place to another, and from thence to elsewhere, -your madness will constantly meet with newly-occurring irritants, -and will never depart from you. Tell me, miserable man, what -time you will have for loving? O, what good time you are wasting -on an evil thing! How much better it would be to win friends, -and disarm enemies: to serve the state, or to busy oneself with -one’s private affairs, rather than to cast about for what harm -you can do to somebody, what wound you can inflict either upon -his social position, his fortune, or his person, although you -cannot succeed in doing so without a struggle and risk to yourself, -even if your antagonist be inferior to you. Even supposing that -he were handed over to you in chains, and that you were at liberty -to torture him as much as you please, yet even then excessive -violence in striking a blow often causes us to dislocate a joint, -or entangles a sinew in the teeth which it has broken. Anger -makes many men cripples, or invalids, even when it meets with -an unresisting victim: and besides this, no creature is so weak -that it can be destroyed without any danger to its destroyer: -sometimes grief, sometimes chance, puts the weakest on a level -with the strongest. What shall we say of the fact that the greater -part of the things which enrage us are insults, not injuries? -It makes a great difference whether a man thwarts my wishes or -merely fails to carry them out, whether he robs me or does not -give me anything: yet we count it all the same whether a -<span class="pagenum" id="p148">148</span>man -takes anything from us or refuses to give anything to us, whether -he extinguishes our hope or defers it, whether his object be -to hinder us or to help himself, whether he acts out of love -for some one or out of hatred for us. Some men are bound to oppose -us not only on the ground of justice, but of honour: one is defending -his father, another his brother, another his country, another -his friend: yet we do not forgive men for doing what we should -blame them for not doing; nay, though one can hardly believe -it, we often think well of an act, and ill of the man who did -it. But, by Hercules, a great and just man looks with respect -at the bravest of his enemies, and the most obstinate defender -of his freedom and his country, and wishes that he had such a -man for his own countryman and soldier.</p> - -<p>XXIX. It is shameful to hate him whom you praise: but how much -more shameful is it to hate a man for something for which he -deserves to be pitied? If a prisoner of war, who has suddenly -been reduced to the condition of a slave, still retains some -remnants of liberty, and does not run nimbly to perform foul -and toilsome tasks, if, having grown slothful by long rest, he -cannot run fast enough to keep pace with his master’s horse or -carriage, if sleep overpowers him when weary with many days and -nights of watching, if he refuses to undertake farm work, or -does not do it heartily when brought away from the idleness of -city service and put to hard labour, we ought to make a distinction -between whether a man cannot or will not do it: we should pardon -many slaves, if we began to judge them before we began to be -angry with them: as it is, however, we obey our first impulse, -and then, although we may prove to have been excited about mere -trifles, yet we continue to be angry, lest we should seem to -have begun to be angry without cause; and, most unjust of all, -the injustice of our anger makes us persist in it all the more; -for we <span class="pagenum" id="p149">149</span>nurse it and inflame it, as -though to be violently angry -proved our anger to be just.</p> - -<p>XXX. How much better is it to observe how trifling, how inoffensive -are the first beginnings of anger? You will see that men are -subject to the same influences as dumb animals: we are put out -by trumpery, futile matters. Bulls are excited by red colour, -the asp raises its head at a shadow, bears or lions are irritated -at the shaking of a rag, and all creatures who are naturally -fierce and wild are alarmed at trifles. The same thing befalls -men both of restless and of sluggish disposition; they are seized -by suspicions, sometimes to such an extent that they call slight -benefits injuries: and these form the most common and certainly -the most bitter subject for anger: for we become angry with our -dearest friends for having bestowed less upon us than we expected, -and less than others have received from them: yet there is a -remedy at hand for both these grievances. Has he favoured our -rival more than ourselves? then let us enjoy what we have without -making any comparisons. A man will never be well off to whom -it is a torture to see any one better off than himself. Have -I less than I hoped for? well, perhaps I hoped for more than -I ought. This it is against which we ought to be especially on -our guard: from hence arises the most destructive anger, sparing -nothing, not even the holiest. The Emperor Julius was not stabbed -by so many enemies as by friends whose insatiable hopes he had -not satisfied. He was willing enough to do so, for no one ever -made a more generous use of victory, of whose fruits he kept -nothing for himself save the power of distributing them; but -how could he glut such unconscionable appetites, when each man -coveted as much as any one man could possess? This was why he -saw his fellow-soldiers standing round his chair with drawn swords, -Tillius Cimber, though he had a short time before been the keenest -defender of his party, <span class="pagenum" id="p150">150</span>and others who -only became Pompeians after -Pompeius was dead. This it is which has turned the arms of kings -against them, and made their trustiest followers meditate the -death of him for whom and before -whom<a href="#fn-5.11" name="fnref-5.11" id="fnref-5.11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> -they once would have -been glad to die.</p> - -<p>XXXI. No man is satisfied with his own lot if he fixes his attention -on that of another: and this leads to our being angry even with -the gods, because somebody precedes us, though we forget of how -many we take precedence, and that when a man envies few people, -he must be followed in the background by a huge crowd of people -who envy him. Yet so churlish is human nature, that, however -much men may have received, they think themselves wronged if -they are able to receive still more. “He gave me the praetorship. -Yes, but I had hoped for the consulship. He bestowed the twelve -axes upon me: true, but he did not make me a -regular<a href="#fn-5.12" name="fnref-5.12" id="fnref-5.12"><sup>[12]</sup></a> -consul. -He allowed me to give my name to the year, but he did not help -me to the priesthood. I have been elected a member of the college: -but why only of one? He has bestowed upon me every honour that -the state affords: yes, but he has added nothing to my private -fortune. What he gave me he was obliged to give to somebody: -he brought out nothing from his own pocket.” Rather than speak -thus, thank him for what you have received: wait for the rest, -and be thankful that you are not yet too full to contain more: -there is a pleasure in having something left to hope for. Are -you preferred to every one? then rejoice at holding the first -place in the thoughts of your friend. Or are many others preferred -before you? then think how many more are below you than there -are -<span class="pagenum" id="p151">151</span>above you. Do you ask, what is your -greatest fault? It is, that -you keep your accounts wrongly: you set a high value upon what -you give, and a low one upon what you receive.</p> - -<p>XXXII. Let different qualities in different people keep us from -quarrelling with them: let us fear to be angry with some, feel -ashamed of being angry with others, and disdain to be angry with -others. We do a fine thing, indeed, when we send a wretched slave -to the workhouse! Why are we in such a hurry to flog him at once, -to break his legs straightway? we shall not lose our boasted -power if we defer its exercise. Let us wait for the time when -we ourselves can give orders: at present we speak under constraint -from anger. When it has passed away we shall see what amount -of damage has been done; for this is what we are especially liable -to make mistakes about: we use the sword, and capital punishment, -and we appoint chains, imprisonment, and starvation to punish -a crime which deserves only flogging with a light scourge. “In -what way,” say you, “do you bid us look at those things by which -we think ourselves injured, that we may see how paltry, pitiful, -and childish they are?” Of all things I would charge you to take -to yourself a magnanimous spirit, and behold how low and sordid -all these matters are about which we squabble and run to and -fro till we are out of breath; to any one who entertains any -lofty and magnificent ideas, they are not worthy of a thought. -</p> - -<p>XXXIII. The greatest hullabaloo is about money: this it is which -wearies out the law-courts, sows strife between father and son, -concocts poisons, and gives swords to murderers just as to soldiers: -it is stained with our blood: on account of it husbands and wives -wrangle all night long, crowds press round the bench of magistrates, -kings rage and plunder, and overthrow communities which it has -taken the labour of centuries to build, that they may seek for -gold and <span class="pagenum" id="p152">152</span>silver in the ashes of their -cities. Do you like to -look at your money-bags lying in the corner? it is for these -that men shout till their eyes start from their heads, that the -law-courts ring with the din of trials, and that jurymen brought -from great distances sit to decide which man’s covetousness is -the more equitable. What shall we say if it be not even for a -bag of money, but for a handful of coppers or a shilling scored -up by a slave that some old man, soon to die without an heir, -bursts with rage? what if it be an invalid money-lender whose -feet are distorted by the gout, and who can no longer use his -hands to count with, who calls for his interest of one thousandth -a month,<a href="#fn-5.13" name="fnref-5.13" id="fnref-5.13"><sup>[13]</sup></a> -and by his sureties demands his pence even during -the paroxysms of his disease? If you were to bring to me all -the money from all our mines, which we are at this moment sinking, -if you were to bring to-night all that is concealed in hoards, -where avarice returns money to the earth from whence it came, -and pity that it ever was dug out—all that mass I should not -think worthy to cause a wrinkle on the brow of a good man. What -ridicule those things deserve which bring tears into our eyes! -</p> - -<p>XXXIV. Come now, let us enumerate the other causes of anger: -they are food, drink, and the showy apparatus connected with -them, words, insults, disrespectful movements of the body, suspicions, -obstinate cattle, lazy slaves, and spiteful construction put -upon other men’s words, so that even the gift of language to -mankind becomes reckoned among the wrongs of nature. Believe -me, the things which cause us such great heat are trifles, the -sort of things that children fight and squabble over: there is -nothing serious, nothing important in all that we do with such -gloomy faces. It is, I repeat, the setting a great value on trifles -that is the cause of your anger and madness. This -<span class="pagenum" id="p153">153</span>man wanted to rob me of my -inheritance, that one has brought -a charge against me before -persons<a href="#fn-5.14" name="fnref-5.14" id="fnref-5.14"><sup>[14]</sup></a> -whom I had long courted -with great expectations, that one has coveted my mistress. A -wish for the same things, which ought to have been a bond of -friendship, becomes a source of quarrels and hatred. A narrow -path causes quarrels among those who pass up and down it; a wide -and broadly spread road may be used by whole tribes without jostling. -Those objects of desire of yours cause strife and disputes among -those who covet the same things, because they are petty, and -cannot be given to one man without being taken away from another. -</p> - -<p>XXXV. You are indignant at being answered back by your slave, -your freedman, your wife, or your client: and then you complain -of the state having lost the freedom which you have destroyed -in your own house: then again if he is silent when you question -him, you call it sullen obstinacy. Let him both speak and be -silent, and laugh too. “In the presence of his master?” you ask. -Nay, say rather “in the presence of the house-father.” Why do -you shout? why do you storm? why do you in the middle of dinner -call for a whip, because the slaves are talking, because a crowd -as large as a public meeting is not as silent as the wilderness? -You have ears, not merely that you may listen to musical sounds, -softly and sweetly drawn out and harmonized: you ought to hear -laughter and weeping, coaxing and quarrelling, joy and sorrow, -the human voice and the roaring and barking of animals. Miserable -one! why do you shudder at the noise of a slave, at the rattling -of brass or the banging of a door? you cannot help hearing the -thunder, however refined you may be. You may apply these remarks -about your ears with equal truth to your eyes, which are just -as dainty, if they have been badly schooled: they are shocked -at stains and -<span class="pagenum" id="p154">154</span>dirt, at silver plate which is not -sufficiently bright, or at -a pool whose water is not clear down to the bottom. Those same -eyes which can only endure to see the most variegated marble, -and that which has just been scoured bright, which will look -at no table whose wood is not marked with a network of veining, -and which at home are loth to tread upon anything that is not -more precious than gold, will, when out of doors, gaze most calmly -upon rough and miry paths, will see unmoved that the greater -number of persons that meet them are shabbily dressed, and that -the walls of the houses are rotten, full of cracks, and uneven. -What, then, can be the reason that they are not distressed out -of doors by sights which would shock them in their own home, -unless it be that their temper is placid and long-suffering in -one case, sulky and fault-finding in the other?</p> - -<p>XXXVI. All our senses should be educated into strength: they -are naturally able to endure much, provided that the spirit forbears -to spoil them. The spirit ought to be brought up for examination -daily. It was the custom of Sextius when the day was over, and -he had betaken himself to rest, to inquire of his spirit: “What -bad habit of yours have you cured to-day? what vice have you -checked? in what respect are you better?” Anger will cease, and -become more gentle, if it knows that every day it will have to -appear before the judgment seat. What can be more admirable than -this fashion of discussing the whole of the day’s events? how -sweet is the sleep which follows this self-examination? how calm, -how sound, and careless is it when our spirit has either received -praise or reprimand, and when our secret inquisitor and censor -has made his report about our morals? I make use of this privilege, -and daily plead my cause before myself: when the lamp is taken -out of my sight, and my wife, who knows my habit, has ceased -to talk, I pass the whole day in review before myself, and repeat -all that I have said and done: I conceal nothing -<span class="pagenum" id="p155">155</span>from myself, -and omit nothing: for why should I be afraid of any of my shortcomings, -when it is in my power to say, “I pardon you this time: see that -you never do that any more? In that dispute you spoke too contentiously: -do not for the future argue with ignorant people: those who have -never been taught are unwilling to learn. You reprimanded that -man with more freedom than you ought, and consequently you have -offended him instead of amending his ways: in dealing with other -cases of the kind, you should look carefully, not only to the -truth of what you say, but also whether the person to whom you -speak can bear to be told the truth.” A good man delights in -receiving advice: all the worst men are the most impatient of -guidance.</p> - -<p>XXXVII. At the dinner-table some jokes and sayings intended to -give you pain have been directed against you: avoid feasting -with low people. Those who are not modest even when sober become -much more recklessly impudent after drinking. You have seen your -friend in a rage with the porter of some lawyer or rich man, -because he has sent him back when about to enter, and you yourself -on behalf of your friend have been in a rage with the meanest -of slaves. Would you then be angry with a chained housedog? Why, -even he, after a long bout of barking, becomes gentle if you -offer him food. So draw back and smile; for the moment your porter -fancies himself to be somebody, because he guards a door which -is beset by a crowd of litigants; for the moment he who sits -within is prosperous and happy, and thinks that a street-door -through which it is hard to gain entrance is the mark of a rich -and powerful man; he knows not that the hardest door of all to -open is that of the prison. Be prepared to submit to much. Is -any one surprised at being cold in winter? at being sick at sea? -or at being jostled in the street? The mind is strong enough -to bear those evils for which it is prepared. When -<span class="pagenum" id="p156">156</span>you are not -given a sufficiently distinguished place at table you have begun -to be angry with your fellow-guests, with your host, and with -him who is preferred above you. Idiot! What difference can it -make what part of the couch you rest upon? Can a cushion give -you honour or take it away? You have looked askance at somebody -because he has spoken slightingly of your talents; will you apply -this rule to yourself? If so, Ennius, whose poetry you do not -care for, would have hated you. Hortensius, if you had found -fault with his speeches, would have quarrelled with you, and -Cicero, if you had laughed at his poetry, would have been your -enemy. A candidate for office, will you resent men’s votes?</p> - -<p>XXXVIII. Some one has offered you an insult? Not a greater one, -probably, than was offered to the Stoic philosopher Diogenes, -in whose face an insolent young man spat just when he was lecturing -upon anger. He bore it mildly and wisely. “I am not angry,” said -he, “but I am not sure that I ought not to be angry.” Yet how -much better did our Cato behave? When he was pleading, one Lentulus, -whom our fathers remember as a demagogue and passionate man, -spat all the phlegm he could muster upon his forehead. Cato wiped -his face, and said, “Lentulus, I shall declare to all the world -that men are mistaken when they say that you are wanting in cheek.” -</p> - -<p>XXXIX. We have now succeeded, my Novatus, in properly regulating -our own minds: they either do not feel anger or are above it: -let us next see how we may soothe the wrath of others, for we -do not only wish to be whole, but to heal.</p> - -<p>You should not attempt to allay the first burst of anger by words: -it is deaf and frantic: we must give it scope; our remedies will -only be effective when it slackens. We do not meddle with men’s -eyes when they are swollen, because we should only irritate their -hard stiffness by <span class="pagenum" id="p157">157</span>touching them, nor -do we try to cure other -diseases when at their height: the best treatment in the first -stage of illness is rest. “Of how very little value,” say you, -“is your remedy, if it appeases anger which is subsiding of its -own accord?” In the first place, I answer, it makes it end quicker: -in the next, it prevents a relapse. It can render harmless even -the violent impulse which it dares not soothe: it will put out -of the way all weapons which might be used for revenge: it will -pretend to be angry, in order that its advice may have more weight -as coming from an assistant and comrade in grief. It will invent -delays, and postpone immediate punishment while a greater one -is being sought for: it will use every artifice to give the man -a respite from his frenzy. If his anger be unusually strong, -it will inspire him with some irresistible feeling of shame or -of fear: if weak, it will make use of conversation on amusing -or novel subjects, and by playing upon his curiosity lead him -to forget his passion. We are told that a physician, who was -forced to cure the king’s daughter, and could not without using -the knife, conveyed a lancet to her swollen breast concealed -under the sponge with which he was fomenting it. The same girl, -who would have shrunk from the remedy if he had applied it openly, -bore the pain because she did not expect it. Some diseases can -only be cured by deceit.</p> - -<p>XL. To one class of men you will say, “Beware, lest your anger -give pleasure to your foes:” to the other, “Beware lest your -greatness of mind and the reputation it bears among most people -for strength become impaired. I myself, by Hercules, am scandalized -at your treatment and am grieved beyond measure, but we must -wait for a proper opportunity. He shall pay for what he has done; -be well assured of that: when you are able you shall return it -to him with interest.” To reprove a man when he is angry is to -add to his anger by being angry oneself. You -<span class="pagenum" id="p158">158</span>should approach -him in different ways and in a compliant fashion, unless perchance -you be so great a personage that you can quash his anger, as -the Emperor Augustus did when he was dining with Vedius -Pollio.<a href="#fn-5.15" name="fnref-5.15" id="fnref-5.15"><sup>[15]</sup></a> -One of the slaves had broken a crystal goblet of his: Vedius -ordered him to be led away to die, and that too in no common -fashion: he ordered him to be thrown to feed the muraenae, some -of which fish, of great size, he kept in a tank. Who would not -think that he did this out of luxury? but it was out of cruelty. -The boy slipped through the hands of those who tried to seize -him, and flung himself at Caesar’s feet in order to beg for nothing -more than that he might die in some different way, and not be -eaten. Caesar was shocked at this novel form of cruelty, and -ordered him to be let go, and, in his place, all the crystal -ware which he saw before him to be broken, and the tank to be -filled up. This was the proper way for Caesar to reprove his -friend: he made a good use of his power. What are you, that when -at dinner you order men to be put to death, and mangled by an -unheard-of form of torture? Are a man’s bowels to be torn asunder -because your cup is broken? You must think a great deal of yourself, -if even when the emperor is present you order men to be executed. -</p> - -<p>XLI. If any one’s power is so great that he can treat anger with -the tone of a superior let him crush it out of existence, but -only if it be of the kind of which I have just spoken, fierce, -inhuman, bloodthirsty, and incurable save by fear of something -more powerful than itself . . . . . . . . let us give the mind -that peace which is given by constant meditation upon wholesome -maxims, by good actions, and by a mind directed to the pursuit -of honour alone. Let us set our own conscience fully at rest, -but make no efforts to gain credit for ourselves: so long as -we -<span class="pagenum" id="p159">159</span>deserve well, let us be satisfied, -even if we should be ill spoken -of. “But the common herd admires spirited actions, and bold men -are held in honour, while quiet ones are thought to be indolent.” -True, at first sight they may appear to be so: but as soon as -the even tenor of their life proves that this quietude arises -not from dullness but from peace of mind, then that same populace -respects and reverences them. There is, then, nothing useful -in that hideous and destructive passion of anger, but on the -contrary, every kind of evil, fire and sword. Anger tramples -self-restraint underfoot, steeps its hands in slaughter, scatters -abroad the limbs of its children: it leaves no place unsoiled -by crime, it has no thoughts of glory, no fears of disgrace, -and when once anger has hardened into hatred, no amendment is -possible.</p> - -<p>XLII. Let us be free from this evil, let us clear our minds of -it, and extirpate root and branch a passion which grows again -wherever the smallest particle of it finds a resting-place. Let -us not moderate anger, but get rid of it altogether: what can -moderation have to do with an evil habit? We shall succeed in -doing this, if only we exert ourselves. Nothing will be of greater -service than to bear in mind that we are mortal: let each man -say to himself and to his neighbour, “Why should we, as though -we were born to live for ever, waste our tiny span of life in -declaring anger against any one? why should days, which we might -spend in honourable enjoyment, be misapplied in grieving and -torturing others? Life is a matter which does not admit of waste, -and we have no spare time to throw away. Why do we rush into -the fray? why do we go out of our way to seek disputes? why do -we, forgetful of the weakness of our nature, undertake mighty -feuds, and, frail though we be, summon up all our strength to -cut down other men? Ere long, fever or some other bodily ailment -will make us unable to carry on this warfare of -<span class="pagenum" id="p160">160</span>hatred which -we so implacably wage: death will soon part the most vigorous -pair of combatants. Why do we make disturbances and spend our -lives in rioting? fate hangs over our heads, scores up to our -account the days as they pass, and is ever drawing nearer and -nearer. The time which you have marked for the death of another -perhaps includes your own.”</p> - -<p>XLIII. Instead of acting thus, why do you not rather draw together -what there is of your short life, and keep it peaceful for others -and for yourself? why do you not rather make yourself beloved -by every one while you live, and regretted by every one when -you die? Why do you wish to tame that man’s pride, because he -takes too lofty a tone with you? why do you try with all your -might to crush that other who snaps and snarls at you, a low -and contemptible wretch, but spiteful and offensive to his betters? -Master, why are you angry with your slave? Slave, why are you -angry with your master? Client, why are you angry with your patron? -Patron, why are you angry with your client? Wait but a little -while. See, here comes death, who will make you all equals. We -often see at a morning performance in the arena a battle between -a bull and a bear, fastened together, in which the victor, after -he has torn the other to pieces, is himself slain. We do just -the same thing: we worry some one who is connected with us, although -the end of both victor and vanquished is at hand, and that soon. -Let us rather pass the little remnant of our lives in peace and -quiet: may no one loathe us when we lie dead. A quarrel is often -brought to an end by a cry of “Fire!” in the neighbourhood, and -the appearance of a wild beast parts the highwayman from the -traveller: men have no leisure to battle with minor evils when -menaced by some overpowering terror. What have we to do with -fighting and ambuscades? do you want anything more than death -to befall <span class="pagenum" id="p161">161</span>him with whom you are angry? -well, even though you -sit quiet, he will be sure to die. You waste your pains: you -want to do what is certain to be done. You say, “I do not wish -necessarily to kill him, but to punish him by exile, or public -disgrace, or loss of property.” I can more easily pardon one -who wishes to give his enemy a wound than one who wishes to give -him a blister: for the latter is not only bad, but petty-minded. -Whether you are thinking of extreme or slighter punishments, -how very short is the time during which either your victim is -tortured or you enjoy an evil pleasure in another’s pain? This -breath that we hold so dear will soon leave us: in the meantime, -while we draw it, while we live among human beings, let us practise -humanity: let us not be a terror or a danger to any one. Let -us keep our tempers in spite of losses, wrongs, abuse or sarcasm, -and let us endure with magnanimity our shortlived troubles: while -we are considering what is due to ourselves, as the saying is, -and worrying ourselves, death will be upon us.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.1" id="fn-5.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.1">[1]</a> -The hook alluded to was fastened to the neck of condemned -criminals, and by it they were dragged to the Tiber. Also the -bodies of dead gladiators were thus dragged out of the arena. -The hook by which the dead bull is drawn away at a modern Spanish -bull-fight is probably a survival of this custom. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.2" id="fn-5.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.2">[2]</a> -Hdt. iii, -34, 35, -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.3" id="fn-5.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.3">[3]</a> -Seneca’s own death, by opening his veins, gives a -melancholy interest to this passage. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.4" id="fn-5.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.4">[4]</a> -Hdt. iv. 84. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.5" id="fn-5.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.5">[5]</a> -Hdt. -vii. 38, 39. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.6" id="fn-5.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.6">[6]</a> -Plut. Dem. 27. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.7" id="fn-5.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.7">[7]</a> -Hdt. iii. 17, <i>sqq.</i> -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.8" id="fn-5.8"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.8">[8]</a> -Hdt. -i. 189, 190. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.9" id="fn-5.9"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.9">[9]</a> -A mistake: Antigonus (Monophthalmus) was one -of Alexander’s generals. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.10" id="fn-5.10"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.10">[10]</a> -<i>Acerbum</i> = ἄωρυν; the funeral of -one who has been cut off in the flower of his youth. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.11" id="fn-5.11"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.11">[11]</a> -In -point of time. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.12" id="fn-5.12"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.12">[12]</a> -<i>Consul ordinarius</i>, a regular consul, one -who administered in office from the first of January, in opposition -to <i>consul suffectus</i>, one chosen in the course of the year in -the place of one who had died. The consul ordinarius gave his -name to the year. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.13" id="fn-5.13"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.13">[13]</a> -It seems inconceivable that so small an -interest, 1 1/5 per cent, per an., can be meant. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.14" id="fn-5.14"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.14">[14]</a> -<i>Captatis</i>, -Madvig. Adv. II. 394. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-5.15" id="fn-5.15"></a> <a href="#fnref-5.15">[15]</a> -See “On Clemency,” i. 18, 2. -</p> - - -<h2>THE SIXTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p162">162</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO MARCIA.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">OF CONSOLATION.</span></h2> - -<p>I. Did I not know, Marcia, that you have as little of a woman’s -weakness of mind as of her other vices, and that your life was -regarded as a pattern of antique virtue, I should not have dared -to combat your grief, which is one that many men fondly nurse -and embrace, nor should I have conceived the hope of persuading -you to hold fortune blameless, having to plead for her at such -an unfavorable time, before so partial a judge, and against such -an odious charge. I derive confidence, however, from the proved -strength of your mind, and your virtue, which has been proved -by a severe test. All men know how well you behaved towards your -father, whom you loved as dearly as your children in all respects, -save that you did not wish him to survive you: indeed, for all -that I know you may have wished that also: for great affection -ventures to break some of the golden rules of life. You did all -that lay in your power to avert the death of your father, Aulus -Cremutius -Cordus;<a href="#fn-6.1" name="fnref-6.1" id="fnref-6.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> but -when it became clear that, surrounded -as he was by the myrmidons of Sejanus, there was no other way -of escape from slavery, you did not -<span class="pagenum" id="p163">163</span>indeed approve of his resolution, but -gave up all attempts to -oppose it; you shed tears openly, and choked down your sobs, -yet did not screen them behind a smiling face; and you did all -this in the present century, when not to be unnatural towards -one’s parents is considered the height of filial affection. When -the changes of our times gave you an opportunity, you restored -to the use of man that genius of your father for which he had -suffered, and made him in real truth immortal by publishing as -an eternal memorial of him those books which that bravest of -men had written with his own blood. You have done a great service -to Roman literature: a large part of Cordus’s books had been -burned; a great service to posterity, who will receive a true -account of events, which cost its author so dear; and a great -service to himself, whose memory flourishes and ever will flourish, -as long as men set any value upon the facts of Roman history, -as long as any one lives who wishes to review the deeds of our -fathers, to know what a true Roman was like—one who still remained -unconquered when all other necks were broken in to receive the -yoke of Sejanus, one who was free in every thought, feeling, -and act. By Hercules, the state would have sustained a great -loss if you had not brought him forth from the oblivion to which -his two splendid qualities, eloquence and independence, had consigned -him: he is now read, is popular, is received into men’s hands -and bosoms, and fears no old age: but as for those who butchered -him, before long men will cease to speak even of their crimes, -the only things by which they are remembered. This greatness -of mind in you has forbidden me to take into consideration your -sex or your face, still clouded by the sorrow by which so many -years ago it was suddenly overcast. See; I shall do nothing underhand, -nor try to steal away your sorrows: I have reminded you of old -hurts, and to prove that your present wound may be healed, I -have <span class="pagenum" id="p164">164</span>shown you the scar of one which -was equally severe. Let -others use soft measures and caresses; I have determined to do -battle with your grief, and I will dry those weary and exhausted -eyes, which already, to tell you the truth, are weeping more -from habit than from sorrow. I will effect this cure, if possible, -with your goodwill: if you disapprove of my efforts, or dislike -them, then you must continue to hug and fondle the grief which -you have adopted as the survivor of your son. What, I pray you, -is to be the end of it? All means have been tried in vain: the -consolations of your friends, who are weary of offering them, -and the influence of great men who are related to you: literature, -a taste which your father enjoyed and which you have inherited -from him, now finds your ears closed, and affords you but a futile -consolation, which scarcely engages your thoughts for a moment. -Even time itself, nature’s greatest remedy, which quiets the -most bitter grief, loses its power with you alone. Three years -have already passed, and still your grief has lost none of its -first poignancy, but renews and strengthens itself day by day, -and has now dwelt so long with you that it has acquired a domicile -in your mind, and actually thinks that it would be base to leave -it. All vices sink into our whole being, if we do not crush them -before they gain a footing; and in like manner these sad, pitiable, -and discordant feelings end by feeding upon their own bitterness, -until the unhappy mind takes a sort of morbid delight in grief. -I should have liked, therefore, to have attempted to effect this -cure in the earliest stages of the disorder, before its force -was fully developed; it might have been checked by milder remedies, -but now that it has been confirmed by time it cannot be beaten -without a hard struggle. In like manner, wounds heal easily when -the blood is fresh upon them: they can then be cleared out and -brought to the surface, and admit of being probed by the finger: -when disease <span class="pagenum" id="p165">165</span>has turned them into -malignant ulcers, their cure -is more difficult. I cannot now influence so strong a grief by -polite and mild measures: it must be broken down by force.</p> - -<p>II. I am aware that all who wish to give any one advice begin -with precepts, and end with examples: but it is sometimes useful -to alter this fashion, for we must deal differently with different -people. Some are guided by reason, others must be confronted -with authority and the names of celebrated persons, whose brilliancy -dazzles their mind and destroys their power of free judgment. -I will place before your eyes two of the greatest examples belonging -to your sex and your century: one, that of a woman who allowed -herself to be entirely carried away by grief; the other, one -who, though afflicted by a like misfortune, and an even greater -loss, yet did not allow her sorrows to reign over her for a very -long time, but quickly restored her mind to its accustomed frame. -Octavia and Livia, the former Augustus’s sister, the latter his -wife, both lost their sons when they were young men, and when -they were certain of succeeding to the throne. Octavia lost Marcellus, -whom both his father-in-law and his uncle had begun to depend -upon, and to place upon his shoulders the weight of the empire—a -young man of keen intelligence and firm character, frugal and -moderate in his desires to an extent which deserved especial -admiration in one so young and so wealthy, strong to endure labour, -averse to indulgence, and able to bear whatever burden his uncle -might choose to lay, or I may say to pile upon his shoulders. -Augustus had well chosen him as a foundation, for he would not -have given way under any weight, however excessive. His mother -never ceased to weep and sob during her whole life, never endured -to listen to wholesome advice, never even allowed her thoughts -to be diverted from her sorrow. She remained during her whole -life just as she was during the funeral, with all the -<span class="pagenum" id="p166">166</span>strength -of her mind intently fixed upon one subject. I do not say that -she lacked the courage to shake off her grief, but she refused -to be comforted, thought that it would be a second bereavement -to lose her tears, and would not have any portrait of her darling -son, nor allow any allusion to be made to him. She hated all -mothers, and raged against Livia with especial fury, because -it seemed as though the brilliant prospect once in store for -her own child was now transferred to Livia’s son. Passing all -her days in darkened rooms and alone, not conversing even with -her brother, she refused to accept the poems which were composed -in memory of Marcellus, and all the other honours paid him by -literature, and closed her ears against all consolation. She -lived buried and hidden from view, neglecting her accustomed -duties, and actually angry with the excessive splendour of her -brother’s prosperity, in which she shared. Though surrounded -by her children and grandchildren, she would not lay aside her -mourning garb, though by retaining it she seemed to put a slight -upon all her relations, in thinking herself bereaved in spite -of their being alive.</p> - -<p>III. Livia lost her son Drusus, who would have been a great emperor, -and was already a great general: he had marched far into Germany, -and had planted the Roman standards in places where the very -existence of the Romans was hardly known. He died on the march, -his very foes treating him with respect, observing a reciprocal -truce, and not having the heart to wish for what would do them -most service. In addition to his dying thus in his country’s -service, great sorrow for him was expressed by the citizens, -the provinces, and the whole of Italy, through which his corpse -was attended by the people of the free towns and colonies, who -poured out to perform the last sad offices to him, till it reached -Rome in a procession which resembled a triumph. His mother was -not permitted to <span class="pagenum" id="p167">167</span>receive his last kiss -and gather the last fond -words from his dying lips: she followed the relics of her Drusus -on their long journey, though every one of the funeral pyres -with which all Italy was glowing seemed to renew her grief, as -though she had lost him so many times. When, however, she at -last laid him in the tomb, she left her sorrow there with him, -and grieved no more than was becoming to a Caesar or due to a -son. She did not cease to make frequent mention of the name of -her Drusus, to set up his portrait in all places, both public -and private, and to speak of him and listen while others spoke -of him with the greatest pleasure: she lived with his memory; -which none can embrace and consort with who has made it painful -to himself.<a href="#fn-6.2" name="fnref-6.2" id="fnref-6.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> -Choose, therefore, which of these two examples -you think the more commendable: if you prefer to follow the former, -you will remove yourself from the number of the living; you will -shun the sight both of other people’s children and of your own, -and even of him whose loss you deplore; you will be looked upon -by mothers as an omen of evil; you will refuse to take part in -honourable, permissible pleasures, thinking them unbecoming for -one so afflicted; you will be loth to linger above ground, and -will be especially angry with your age, because it will not straightway -bring your life abruptly to an end. I here put the best construction -on what is really most contemptible and foreign to your character. -I mean that you will show yourself unwilling to live, and unable -to die. If, on the other hand, showing a milder and better regulated -spirit, you try to follow the example of the latter most exalted -lady, you will not be in misery, nor will you wear your life -out with suffering. Plague on it! what madness this is, to punish -one’s self because one is unfortunate, and not to lessen, but -to increase one’s ills! You ought to display, in this -<span class="pagenum" id="p168">168</span>matter also, that decent behaviour and -modesty which has characterised -all your life: for there is such a thing as self-restraint in -grief also. You will show more respect for the youth himself, -who well deserves that it should make you glad to speak and think -of him, if you make him able to meet his mother with a cheerful -countenance, even as he was wont to do when alive.</p> - -<p>IV. I will not invite you to practise the sterner kind of maxims, -nor bid you bear the lot of humanity with more than human philosophy; -neither will I attempt to dry a mother’s eyes on the very day -of her son’s burial. I will appear with you before an arbitrator: -the matter upon which we shall join issue is, whether grief ought -to be deep or unceasing. I doubt not that you will prefer the -example of Julia Augusta, who was your intimate friend: she invites -you to follow her method: she, in her first paroxysm, when grief -is especially keen and hard to bear, betook herself for consolation -to Areus, her husband’s teacher in philosophy, and declared that -this did her much good; more good than the thought of the Roman -people, whom she was unwilling to sadden by her mourning; more -than Augustus, who, staggering under the loss of one of his two -chief supporters, ought not to be yet more bowed down by the -sorrow of his relatives; more even than her son Tiberius, whose -affection during that untimely burial of one for whom whole nations -wept made her feel that she had only lost one member of her family. -This was, I imagine, his introduction to and grounding in philosophy -of a woman peculiarly tenacious of her own opinion:—“Even to -the present day, Julia, as far as I can tell—and I was your -husband’s -constant companion, and knew not only what all men were allowed -to know, but all the most secret thoughts of your hearts— you -have been careful that no one should find anything to blame in -your conduct; not only in matters of importance, -<span class="pagenum" id="p169">169</span>but even in -trifles you have taken pains to do nothing which you could wish -common fame, that most frank judge of the acts of princes, to -overlook. Nothing, I think, is more admirable than that those -who are in high places should pardon many shortcomings in others, -and have to ask it for none of their own. So also in this matter -of mourning you ought to act up to your maxim of doing nothing -which you could wish undone, or done otherwise.</p> - -<p>V. “In the next place, I pray and beseech you not to be self-willed -and beyond the management of your friends. You must be aware -that none of them know how to behave, whether to mention Drusus -in your presence or not, as they neither wish to wrong a noble -youth by forgetting him, nor to hurt you by speaking of him. -When we leave you and assemble together by ourselves, we talk -freely about his sayings and doings, treating them with the respect -which they deserve: in your presence deep silence is observed -about him, and thus you lose that greatest of pleasures, the -hearing the praises of your son, which I doubt not you would -be willing to hand down to all future ages, had you the means -of so doing, even at the cost of your own life. Wherefore endure -to listen to, nay, encourage conversation of which he is the -subject, and let your ears be open to the name and memory of -your son. You ought not to consider this painful, like those -who in such a case think that part of their misfortune consists -in listening to consolation. As it is, you have altogether run -into the other extreme, and, forgetting the better aspects of -your lot, look only upon its worse side: you pay no attention -to the pleasure you have had in your son’s society and your joyful -meetings with him, the sweet caresses of his babyhood, the progress -of his education: you fix all your attention upon that last scene -of all: and to this, as though it were not shocking enough, you -add every horror you can. Do not, I implore you, take a perverse -pride in appearing <span class="pagenum" id="p170">170</span>the most unhappy of -women: and reflect also -that there is no great credit in behaving bravely in times of -prosperity, when life glides easily with a favouring current: -neither does a calm sea and fair wind display the art of the -pilot: some foul weather is wanted to prove his courage. Like -him, then, do not give way, but rather plant yourself firmly, -and endure whatever burden may fall upon you from above, scared -though you may have been at the first roar of the tempest. There -is nothing that fastens such a -reproach<a href="#fn-6.3" name="fnref-6.3" id="fnref-6.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> on -Fortune as resignation.” -After this he points out to her the son who is yet alive: he -points out grandchildren from the lost one.</p> - -<p>VI. It is your trouble, Marcia, which has been dealt with here: -it is beside your couch of mourning that Areus has been sitting: -change the characters, and it is you whom he has been consoling. -But, on the other hand, Marcia, suppose that you have sustained -a greater loss than ever mother did before you: see, I am not -soothing you or making light of your misfortune: if fate can -be overcome by tears, let us bring tears to bear upon it: let -every day be passed in mourning, every night be spent in sorrow -instead of sleep: let your breast be torn by your own hands, -your very face attacked by them, and every kind of cruelty be -practised by your grief, if it will profit you. But if the dead -cannot be brought back to life, however much we may beat our -breasts, if destiny remains fixed and immoveable for ever, not -to be changed by any sorrow, however great, and death does not -loose his hold of anything that he once has taken away, then -let our futile grief be brought to an end. Let us, then, steer -our own course, and no longer allow ourselves to be driven to -leeward by the force of our misfortune. He is a sorry pilot who -lets the waves wring his rudder from his grasp, who leaves the -sails to fly loose, and abandons the ship to the storm: but he -who -<span class="pagenum" id="p171">171</span>boldly grasps the helm and clings to -it until the sea closes -over him, deserves praise even though he be shipwrecked.</p> - -<p>VII. “But,” say you, “sorrow for the loss of one’s -own children -is natural.” Who denies it? provided it be reasonable? for we -cannot help feeling a pang, and the stoutest-hearted of us are -cast down not only at the death of those dearest to us, but even -when they leave us on a journey. Nevertheless, the mourning which -public opinion enjoins is more than nature insists upon. Observe -how intense and yet how brief are the sorrows of dumb animals: -we hear a cow lowing for one or two days, nor do mares pursue -their wild and senseless gallops for longer: wild beasts after -they have tracked their lost cubs throughout the forest, and -often visited their plundered dens, quench their rage within -a short space of time. Birds circle round their empty nests with -loud and piteous cries, yet almost immediately resume their ordinary -flight in silence; nor does any creature spend long periods in -sorrowing for the loss of its offspring, except man, who encourages -his own grief, the measure of which depends not upon his sufferings, -but upon his will. You may know that to be utterly broken down -by grief is not natural, by observing that the same bereavement -inflicts a deeper wound upon women than upon men, upon savages -than upon civilised and cultivated persons, upon the unlearned -than upon the learned: yet those passions which derive their -force from nature are equally powerful in all men: therefore -it is clear that a passion of varying strength cannot be a natural -one. Fire will burn all people equally, male and female, of every -rank and every age: steel will exhibit its cutting power on all -bodies alike: and why? Because these things derive their strength -from nature, which makes no distinction of persons. Poverty, -grief, and -ambition,<a href="#fn-6.4" name="fnref-6.4" id="fnref-6.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -are -<span class="pagenum" id="p172">172</span>felt differently by different people, -according as they are influenced -by habit: a rooted prejudice about the terrors of these things, -though they are not really to be feared, makes a man weak and -unable to endure them.</p> - -<p>VIII. Moreover, that which depends upon nature is not weakened -by delay, but grief is gradually effaced by time. However obstinate -it may be, though it be daily renewed and be exasperated by all -attempts to soothe it, yet even this becomes weakened by time, -which is the most efficient means of taming its fierceness. You, -Marcia, have still a mighty sorrow abiding with you, nevertheless -it already appears to have become blunted: it is obstinate and -enduring, but not so acute as it was at first: and this also -will be taken from you piecemeal by succeeding years. Whenever -you are engaged in other pursuits your mind will be relieved -from its burden: at present you keep watch over yourself to prevent -this. Yet there is a great difference between allowing and forcing -yourself to grieve. How much more in accordance with your cultivated -taste it would be to put an end to your mourning instead of looking -for the end to come, and not to wait for the day when your sorrow -shall cease against your will: dismiss it of your own accord. -</p> - -<p>IX. “Why then,” you ask, “do we show such persistence in -mourning -for our friends, if it be not nature that bids us do so?” It -is because we never expect that any evil will befall ourselves -before it comes, we will not be taught by seeing the misfortunes -of others that they are the common inheritance of all men, but -imagine that the path which we have begun to tread is free from -them and less beset by dangers than that of other people. How -many funerals pass our houses? yet we do not think of death. -How many untimely deaths? we think only of our son’s coming of -age, of his service in the army, or of his succession to his -father’s estate. How many rich men -suddenly<span class="pagenum" id="p173">173</span> sink into poverty -before our very eyes, without its ever occurring to our minds -that our own wealth is exposed to exactly the same risks? When, -therefore, misfortune befalls us, we cannot help collapsing all -the more completely, because we are struck as it were unawares: -a blow which has long been foreseen falls much less heavily upon -us. Do you wish to know how completely exposed you are to every -stroke of fate, and that the same shafts which have transfixed -others are whirling around yourself? then imagine that you are -mounting without sufficient armour to assault some city wall -or some strong and lofty position manned by a great host, expect -a wound, and suppose that all those stones, arrows, and darts -which fill the upper air are aimed at your body: whenever any -one falls at your side or behind your back, exclaim, “Fortune, -you will not outwit me, or catch me confident and heedless: I -know what you are preparing to do: you have struck down another, -but you aimed at me.” Who ever looks upon his own affairs as -though he were at the point of death? which of us ever dares -to think about banishment, want, or mourning? who, if advised -to meditate upon these subjects, would not reject the idea like -an evil omen, and bid it depart from him and alight on the heads -of his enemies, or even on that of his untimely adviser? “I never -thought it would happen!” How can you think that anything will -not happen, when you know that it may happen to many men, and -has happened to many? That is a noble verse, and worthy of a -nobler source than the stage:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“What one hath suffered may befall -us all.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>That man has lost his children: you may lose yours. -That man has been convicted: your innocence is in peril. We are -deceived and weakened by this delusion, when we suffer what we -never foresaw that we possibly could suffer: but by looking forward -to the coming of our sorrows we take the sting out of them when -they come. <span class="pagenum" id="p174">174</span></p> - -<p>X. My Marcia, all these adventitious circumstances which glitter -around us, such as children, office in the state, wealth, large -halls, vestibules crowded with clients seeking vainly for admittance, -a noble name, a well-born or beautiful wife, and every other -thing which depends entirely upon uncertain and changeful fortune, -are but furniture which is not our own, but entrusted to us on -loan: none of these things are given to us outright: the stage -of our lives is adorned with properties gathered from various -sources, and soon to be returned to their several owners: some -of them will be taken away on the first day, some on the second, -and but few will remain till the end. We have, therefore, no -grounds for regarding ourselves with complacency, as though the -things which surround us were our own: they are only borrowed: -we have the use and enjoyment of them for a time regulated by -the lender, who controls his own gift: it is our duty always -to be able to lay our hands upon what has been lent us with no -fixed date for its return, and to restore it when called upon -without a murmur: the most detestable kind of debtor is he who -rails at his creditor. Hence all our relatives, both those who -by the order of their birth we hope will outlive ourselves, and -those who themselves most properly wish to die before us, ought -to be loved by us as persons whom we cannot be sure of having -with us for ever, nor even for long. We ought frequently to remind -ourselves that we must love the things of this life as we would -what is shortly to leave us, or indeed in the very act of leaving -us. Whatever gift Fortune bestows upon a man, let him think while -he enjoys it, that it will prove as fickle as the goddess from -whom it came. Snatch what pleasure you can from your children, -allow your children in their turn to take pleasure in your society, -and drain every pleasure to the dregs without any delay. We cannot -reckon on to-night, nay, I have allowed too long a delay, -<span class="pagenum" id="p175">175</span>we -cannot reckon on this hour: we must make haste: the enemy presses -on behind us: soon that society of yours will be broken up, that -pleasant company will be taken by assault and dispersed. Pillage -is the universal law: unhappy creatures, know you not that life -is but a flight? If you grieve for the death of your son, the -fault lies with the time when he was born, for at his birth he -was told that death was his doom: it is the law under which he -was born, the fate which has pursued him ever since he left his -mother’s womb. We have come under the dominion of Fortune, and -a harsh and unconquerable dominion it is: at her caprice we must -suffer all things whether we deserve them or not. She maltreats -our bodies with anger, insult, and cruelty: some she burns, the -fire being sometimes applied as a punishment and sometimes as -a remedy: some she imprisons, allowing it to be done at one time -by our enemies, at another by our countrymen: she tosses others -naked on the changeful seas, and after their struggle with the -waves will not even cast them out upon the sand or the shore, -but will entomb them in the belly of some huge sea-monster: she -wears away others to a skeleton by divers kinds of disease, and -keeps them long in suspense between life and death: she is as -capricious in her rewards and punishments as a fickle, whimsical, -and careless mistress is with those of her slaves.</p> - -<p>XI. Why need we weep over parts of our life? the whole of it -calls for tears: new miseries assail us before we have freed -ourselves from the old ones. You, therefore, who allow them to -trouble you to an unreasonable extent ought especially to restrain -yourselves, and to muster all the powers of the human breast -to combat your fears and your pains. Moreover, what forgetfulness -of your own position and that of mankind is this? You were born -a mortal, and you have given birth to mortals: yourself a weak -and fragile body, liable to all diseases, can you have hoped -to <span class="pagenum" id="p176">176</span>produce anything strong and lasting -from such unstable materials? -Your son has died: in other words he has reached that goal towards -which those whom you regard as more fortunate than your offspring -are still hastening: this is the point towards which move at -different rates all the crowds which are squabbling in the law -courts, sitting in the theatres, praying in the temples. Those -whom you love and those whom you despise will both be made equal -in the same ashes. This is the meaning of that command, KNOW -THYSELF, which is written on the shrine of the Pythian oracle. -What is man? a potter’s vessel, to be broken by the slightest -shake or toss: it requires no great storm to rend you asunder: -you fall to pieces wherever you strike. What is man? a weakly -and frail body, naked, without any natural protection, dependent -on the help of others, exposed to all the scorn of Fortune; even -when his muscles are well trained he is the prey and the food -of the first wild beast he meets, formed of weak and unstable -substances, fair in outward feature, but unable to endure cold, -heat, or labour, and yet falling to ruin if kept in sloth and -idleness, fearing his very victuals, for he is starved if he -has them not, and bursts if he has too much. He cannot be kept -safe without anxious care, his breath only stays in the body -on sufferance, and has no real hold upon it; he starts at every -sudden danger, every loud and unexpected noise that reaches his -ears. Ever a cause of anxiety to ourselves, diseased and useless -as we are, can we be surprised at the death of a creature which -can be killed by a single hiccup? Is it a great undertaking to -put an end to us? why, smells, tastes, fatigue and want of sleep, -food and drink, and the very necessaries of life, are mortal. -Whithersoever he moves he straightway becomes conscious of his -weakness, not being able to bear all climates, falling sick after -drinking strange water, breathing an air to which he is not accustomed, -or <span class="pagenum" id="p177">177</span>from other causes and reasons of -the most trifling kind, frail, -sickly, entering upon his life with weeping: yet nevertheless -what a disturbance this despicable creature makes! what ideas -it conceives, forgetting its lowly condition! It exercises its -mind upon matters which are immortal and eternal, and arranges -the affairs of its grandchildren and great-grandchildren, while -death surprises it in the midst of its far-reaching schemes, -and what we call old age is but the round of a very few years. -</p> - -<p>XII. Supposing that your sorrow has any method at all, is it -your own sufferings or those of him who is gone that it has in -view? Why do you grieve over your lost son? is it because you -have received no pleasure from him, or because you would have -received more had he lived longer? If you answer that you have -received no pleasure from him you make your loss more endurable: -for men miss less when lost what has given them no enjoyment -or gladness. If, again, you admit that you have received much -pleasure, it is your duty not to complain of that part which -you have lost, but to return thanks for that which you have enjoyed. -His rearing alone ought to have brought you a sufficient return -for your labours, for it can hardly be that those who take the -greatest pains to rear puppies, birds, and such like paltry objects -of amusement derive a certain pleasure from the sight and touch -and fawning caresses of these dumb creatures, and yet that those -who rear children should not find their reward in doing so. Thus, -even though his industry may have gained nothing for you, his -carefulness may have saved nothing for you, his foresight may -have given you no advice, yet you found sufficient reward in -having owned him and loved him. “But,” say you, “it might have -lasted longer.” True, but you have been better dealt with than -if you had never had a son, for, supposing you were given your -choice, which is the better lot, to be happy for a short time -or not at all? <span class="pagenum" id="p178">178</span>It is better to enjoy -pleasures which soon leave -us than to enjoy none at all. Which, again, would you choose? -to have had one who was a disgrace to you, and who merely filled -the position and owned the name of your son, or one of such noble -character as your son’s was? a youth who soon grew discreet and -dutiful, soon became a husband and a father, soon became eager -for public honours, and soon obtained the priesthood, winning -his way to all these admirable things with equally admirable -speed. It falls to scarcely any one’s lot to enjoy great prosperity, -and also to enjoy it for a long time: only a dull kind of happiness -can last for long and accompany us to the end of our lives. The -immortal gods, who did not intend to give you a son for long, -gave you one who was straightway what another would have required -long training to become. You cannot even say that you have been -specially marked by the gods for misfortune because you have -had no pleasure in your son. Look at any company of people, whether -they be known to you or not: everywhere you will see some who -have endured greater misfortunes than your own. Great generals -and princes have undergone like bereavements: mythology tells -us that the gods themselves are not exempt from them, its aim, -I suppose, being to lighten our sorrow at death by the thought -that even deities are subject to it. Look around, I repeat, at -every one: you cannot mention any house so miserable as not to -find comfort in the fact of another being yet more miserable. -I do not, by Hercules, think so ill of your principles as to -suppose that you would bear your sorrow more lightly were I to -show you an enormous company of mourners: that is a spiteful -sort of consolation which we derive from the number of our fellow-sufferers: -nevertheless I will quote some instances, not indeed in order -to teach you that this often befalls men, for it is absurd to -multiply examples of man’s mortality, but to let you know that -there have <span class="pagenum" id="p179">179</span>been many who have -lightened their misfortunes by -patient endurance of them. I will begin with the luckiest man -of all. Lucius Sulla lost his son, yet this did not impair either -the spitefulness or the brilliant valour which he displayed at -the expense of his enemies and his countrymen alike, nor did -it make him appear to have assumed his well-known title untruly -that he did so after his son’s death, fearing neither the hatred -of men, by whose sufferings that excessive prosperity of his -was purchased, nor the ill-will of the gods, to whom it was a -reproach that Sulla should be so truly The Fortunate. What, however, -Sulla’s real character was may pass among questions still undecided: -even his enemies will admit that he took up arms with honour, -and laid them aside with honour: his example proves the point -at issue, that an evil which befalls even the most prosperous -cannot be one of the first magnitude.</p> - -<p>XIII. That Greece cannot boast unduly of that father who, being -in the act of offering sacrifice when he heard the news of his -son’s death, merely ordered the flute-player to be silent, and -removed the garland from his head, but accomplished all the rest -of the ceremony in due form, is due to a Roman, Pulvillus the -high priest. When he was in the act of holding the -doorpost<a href="#fn-6.5" name="fnref-6.5" id="fnref-6.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> -and dedicating the Capitol the news of his son’s death was brought -to him. He pretended not to hear it, and pronounced the form -of words proper for the high priest on such an occasion, without -his prayer being interrupted by a single groan, begging that -Jupiter would show himself gracious, at the very instant that -he heard his son’s name mentioned as dead. Do you imagine that -this man’s mourning knew no end, if the first day and the first -shook could not drive him, though a father, away -<span class="pagenum" id="p180">180</span>from the public altar of the state, or -cause him to mar the ceremony -of dedication by words of ill omen? Worthy, indeed, of the most -exalted priesthood was he who ceased not to revere the gods even -when they were angry. Yet he, after he had gone home, filled -his eyes with tears, said a few words of lamentation, and performed -the rites with which it was then customary to honour the dead, -resumed the expression of countenance which he had worn in the -Capitol.</p> - -<p>Paulus,<a href="#fn-6.6" name="fnref-6.6" id="fnref-6.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> -about the time of his magnificent triumph, in which -he drove Perses in chains before his car, gave two of his sons -to be adopted into other families, and buried those whom he had -kept for himself. What, think you, must those whom he kept have -been, when Scipio was one of those whom he gave away? It was -not without emotion that the Roman people looked upon Paulus’s -empty -chariot:<a href="#fn-6.7" name="fnref-6.7" id="fnref-6.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> -nevertheless he made a speech to them, and -returned thanks to the gods for having granted his prayer: for -he had prayed that, if any offering to Nemesis were due in consequence -of the stupendous victory which he had won, it might be paid -at his own expense rather than at that of his country. Do you -see how magnanimously he bore his loss? he even congratulated -himself on being left childless, though who had more to suffer -by such a change? he lost at once his comforters and his helpers. -Yet Perses did not have the pleasure of seeing Paulus look sorrowful. -</p> - -<p>XIV. Why should I lead you on through the endless -<span class="pagenum" id="p181">181</span>series of great men and pick out the -unhappy ones, as though -it were not more difficult to find happy ones? for how few households -have remained possessed of all their members until the end? what -one is there that has not suffered some loss? Take any one year -you please and name the consuls for it: if you like, that -of<a href="#fn-6.8" name="fnref-6.8" id="fnref-6.8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> -Lucius Bibulus and Gaius Caesar; you will see that, though these -colleagues were each other’s bitterest enemies, yet their fortunes -agreed. Lucius Bibulus, a man more remarkable for goodness than -for strength of character, had both his sons murdered at the -same time, and even insulted by the Egyptian soldiery, so that -the agent of his bereavement was as much a subject for tears -as the bereavement itself. Nevertheless Bibulus, who during the -whole of his year of office had remained hidden in his house, -to cast reproach upon his colleague Caesar on the day following -that upon which he heard of both his sons’ deaths, came forth -and went through the routine business of his magistracy. Who -could devote less than one day to mourning for two sons? Thus -soon did he end his mourning for his children, although he had -mourned a whole year for his consulship. Gaius Caesar, after -having traversed Britain, and not allowed even the ocean to set -bounds to his successes, heard of the death of his daughter, -which hurried on the crisis of affairs. Already Gnaeus Pompeius -stood before his eyes, a man who would ill endure that any one -besides himself should become a great power in the state, and -one who was likely to place a check upon his advancement, which -he had regarded as onerous even when each gained by the other’s -rise: yet within three days’ time he resumed his duties as general, -and conquered his grief as quickly as he was wont to conquer -everything else.</p> - -<p>XV. Why need I remind you of the deaths of the other -<span class="pagenum" id="p182">182</span>Caesars, whom fortune appears to me -sometimes to have outraged -in order that even by their deaths they might be useful to mankind, -by proving that not even they, although they were styled “sons -of gods,” and “fathers of gods to come,” could exercise the -same -power over their own fortunes which they did over those of others? -The Emperor Augustus lost his children and his grandchildren, -and after all the family of Caesar had perished was obliged to -prop his empty house by adopting a son: yet he bore his losses -as bravely as though he were already personally concerned in -the honour of the gods, and as though it were especially to his -interest that no one should complain of the injustice of Heaven. -Tiberius Caesar lost both the son whom he begot and the son whom -he adopted, yet he himself pronounced a panegyric upon his son -from the Rostra, and stood in full view of the corpse, which -merely had a curtain on one side to prevent the eyes of the high -priest resting upon the dead body, and did not change his countenance, -though all the Romans wept: he gave Sejanus, who stood by his -side, a proof of how patiently he could endure the loss of his -relatives. See you not what numbers of most eminent men there -have been, none of whom have been spared by this blight which -prostrates us all: men, too, adorned with every grace of character, -and every distinction that public or private life can confer. -It appears as though this plague moved in a regular orbit, and -spread ruin and desolation among us all without distinction of -persons, all being alike its prey. Bid any number of individuals -tell you the story of their lives: you will find that all have -paid some penalty for being born.</p> - -<p>XVI. I know what you will say, “You quote men as examples: you -forget that it is a woman that you are trying to console.” Yet -who would say that nature has dealt grudgingly with the minds -of women, and stunted their virtues? Believe me, they have the -same intellectual power as men, <span class="pagenum" id="p183">183</span>and -the same capacity for honourable -and generous action. If trained to do so, they are just as able -to endure sorrow or labour. Ye good gods, do I say this in that -very city in which Lucretia and Brutus removed the yoke of kings -from the necks of the Romans? We owe liberty to Brutus, but we -owe Brutus to Lucretia—in which Cloelia, for the sublime courage -with which she scorned both the enemy and the river, has been -almost reckoned as a man. The statue of Cloelia, mounted on horseback, -in that busiest of thoroughfares, the Sacred Way, continually -reproaches the youth of the present day, who never mount anything -but a cushioned seat in a carriage, with journeying in such a -fashion through that very city in which we have enrolled even -women among our knights. If you wish me to point out to you examples -of women who have bravely endured the loss of their children, -I shall not go far afield to search for them: in one family I -can quote two Cornelias, one the daughter of Scipio, and the -mother of the Gracchi, who made acknowledgment of the birth of -her twelve children by burying them all: nor was it so hard to -do this in the case of the others, whose birth and death were -alike unknown to the public, but she beheld the murdered and -unburied corpses of both Tiberius Gracchus and Gaius Gracchus, -whom even those who will not call them good must admit were great -men. Yet to those who tried to console her and called her unfortunate, -she answered, “I shall never cease to call myself happy, because -I am the mother of the Gracchi.” Cornelia, the wife of Livius -Drusus, lost by the hands of an unknown assassin a young son -of great distinction, who was treading in the footsteps of the -Gracchi, and was murdered in his own house just when he had so -many bills half way through the process of becoming law: nevertheless -she bore the untimely and unavenged death of her son with as -lofty a spirit as he had shown in carrying his laws. Will you -not, Marcia, forgive fortune because she has not -refrained<span class="pagenum" id="p184">184</span> from -striking you with the darts with which she launched at the Scipios, -and the mothers and daughters of the Scipios, and with which -she has attacked the Caesars themselves? Life is full of misfortunes; -our path is beset with them: no one can make a long peace, nay, -scarcely an armistice with fortune. You, Marcia, have borne four -children: now they say that no dart which is hurled into a close -column of soldiers can fail to hit one,—ought you then to wonder -at not having been able to lead along such a company without -exciting the ill-will of Fortune, or suffering loss at her hands? -“But,” say you, “Fortune has treated me unfairly, for she not -only has bereaved me of my son, but chose my best beloved to -deprive me of.” Yet you never can say that you have been wronged, -if you divide the stakes equally with an antagonist who is stronger -than yourself: Fortune has left you two daughters, and their -children: she has not even taken away altogether him who you -now mourn for, forgetful of his elder brother: you have two daughters -by him, who if you support them ill will prove great burdens, -but if well, great comforts to you. You ought to prevail upon -yourself, when you see them, to let them remind you of your son, -and not of your grief. When a husbandman’s trees have either -been torn up, roots and all, by the wind, or broken off short -by the force of a hurricane, he takes care of what is left of -their stock, straightway plants seeds or cuttings in the place -of those which he has lost, and in a moment—for time is as swift -in repairing losses as in causing them—more flourishing trees -are growing than were there before. Take, then, in the place -of your Metilius these his two daughters, and by their twofold -consolation lighten your single sorrow. True, human nature is -so constituted as to love nothing so much as what it has lost, -and our yearning after those who have been taken from us makes -us judge unfairly of those who are left to us: nevertheless, -if you choose to reckon up how -merciful<span class="pagenum" id="p185">185</span> Fortune has been to you -even in her anger, you will feel that you have more than enough -to console you. Look at all your grandchildren, and your two -daughters: and say also, Marcia:—“I should indeed be cast down, -if everyone’s fortune followed his deserts, and if no evil ever -befel good men: but as it is I perceive that no distinction is -made, and that the bad and the good are both harassed alike.” -</p> - -<p>XVII. “Still, it is a sad thing to lose a young man whom you -have brought up, just as he was becoming a defence and a pride -both to his mother and to his country.” No one denies that it -is sad: but it is the common lot of mortals. You were born to -lose others, to be lost, to hope, to fear, to destroy your own -peace and that of others, to fear and yet to long for death, -and, worst of all, never to know what your real position is. -If you were about to journey to Syracuse, and some one were to -say:—“Learn beforehand all the discomforts, and all the pleasures -of your coming voyage, and then set sail. The sights which you -will enjoy will be as follows: first, you will see the island -itself, now separated from Italy by a narrow strait, but which, -we know, once formed part of the mainland. The sea suddenly broke -through, and</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘Sever’d Sicilia from the western -shore.’<a href="#fn-6.9" name="fnref-6.9" id="fnref-6.9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> -</p></blockquote> - -<p>Next, -as you will be able to sail close to Charybdis, of which the -poets have sung, you will see that greediest of whirlpools, quite -smooth if no south wind be blowing, but whenever there is a gale -from that quarter, sucking down ships into a huge and deep abyss. -You will see the fountain of Arethusa, so famed in song, with -its waters bright and pellucid to the very bottom, and pouring -forth an icy stream which it either finds on the spot or else -plunges it under ground, conveys it thither as a separate river -beneath so many seas, free from any mixture of less pure water, -and -<span class="pagenum" id="p186">186</span>there brings it again to the surface. -You will see a harbour -which is more sheltered than all the others in the world, whether -they be natural or improved by human art for the protection of -shipping; so safe, that even the most violent storms are powerless -to disturb it. You will see the place where the power of Athens -was broken, where that natural prison, hewn deep among precipices -of rock, received so many thousands of captives: you will see -the great city itself, occupying a wider site than many capitals, -an extremely warm resort in winter, where not a single day passes -without sunshine: but when you have observed all this, you must -remember that the advantages of its winter climate are counterbalanced -by a hot and pestilential summer: that here will be the tyrant -Dionysius, the destroyer of freedom, of justice, and of law, -who is greedy of power even after conversing with Plato, and -of life even after he has been exiled; that he will burn some, -flog others, and behead others for slight offences; that he will -exercise his lust upon both sexes . . . . . You have now heard -all that can attract you thither, all that can deter you from -going: now, then, either set sail or remain at home!” If, after -this declaration, anybody were to say that he wished to go to -Syracuse, he could blame no one but himself for what befel him -there, because he would not stumble upon it unknowingly, but -would have gone thither fully aware of what was before him. To -everyone Nature says: “I do not deceive any person. If you choose -to have children, they may be handsome, or they may be deformed; -perhaps they will be born dumb. One of them may perhaps prove -the saviour of his country, or perhaps its betrayer. You need -not despair of their being raised to such honour that for their -sake no one will dare to speak evil of you: yet remember that -they may reach such a pitch of infamy as themselves to become -curses to you. There is nothing to prevent their performing the -<span class="pagenum" id="p187">187</span>last offices for you, and your -panegyric being spoken by your -children: but hold yourself prepared nevertheless to place a -son as boy, man, or greybeard, upon the funeral pyre: for years -have nothing to do with the matter, since every sort of funeral -in which a parent buries his child must alike be -untimely.<a href="#fn-6.10" name="fnref-6.10" id="fnref-6.10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> -If you still choose to rear children, after I have explained -these conditions to you, you render yourself incapable of blaming -the gods, for they never guaranteed anything to you.”</p> - -<p>XVIII. You may make this simile apply to your whole entrance -into life. I have explained to you what attractions and what -drawbacks there would be if you were thinking of going to Syracuse: -now suppose that I were to come and give you advice when you -were going to be born. “You are about,” I should say, “to enter -a city of which both gods and men are citizens, a city which -contains the whole universe, which is bound by irrevocable and -eternal laws, and wherein the heavenly bodies run their unwearied -courses: you will see therein innumerable twinkling stars, and -the sun, whose single light pervades every place, who by his -daily course marks the times of day and night, and by his yearly -course makes a more equal division between summer and winter. -You will see his place taken by night by the moon, who borrows -at her meetings with her brother a gentle and softer light, and -who at one time is invisible, at another hangs full-faced above -the earth, ever waxing and waning, each phase unlike the last. -You will see five stars, moving in the opposite direction to -the others, stemming the whirl of the skies towards the West: -on the slightest motions of these depend the fortunes of nations, -and according as the aspect of the planets is auspicious or malignant, -the greatest empires rise and fall: you will see with wonder -the gathering clouds, the falling showers, the -<span class="pagenum" id="p188">188</span>zigzag lightning, the crashing -together of the heavens. When, -sated with the wonders above, you turn your eyes towards the -earth, they will be met by objects of a different yet equally -admirable aspect: on one side a boundless expanse of open plains, -on another the towering peaks of lofty and snow-clad mountains: -the downward course of rivers, some streams running eastward, -some westward from the same source: the woods which wave even -on the mountain tops, the vast forests with all the creatures -that dwell therein, and the confused harmony of the birds: the -variously-placed cities, the nations which natural obstacles -keep secluded from the world, some of whom withdraw themselves -to lofty mountains, while others dwell in fear and trembling -on the sloping banks of rivers: the crops which are assisted -by cultivation, and the trees which bear fruit even without it: -the rivers that flow gently through the meadows, the lovely bays -and shores that curve inwards to form harbours: the countless -islands scattered over the main, which break and spangle the -seas. What of the brilliancy of stones and gems, the gold that -rolls amid the sands of rushing streams, the heaven-born fires -that burst forth from the midst of the earth and even front the -midst of the sea; the ocean itself, that binds land to land, -dividing the nations by its threefold indentations, and boiling -up with mighty rage? Swimming upon its waves, making them disturbed -and swelling without wind, you will see animals exceeding the -size of any that belong to the land, some clumsy and requiring -others to guide their movements, some swift and moving faster -than the utmost efforts of rowers, some of them that drink in -the waters and blow them out again to the great perils of those -who sail near them: you will see here ships seeking for unknown -lands: you will see that man’s audacity leaves nothing unattempted, -and you will yourself be both a witness and a sharer in great -<span class="pagenum" id="p189">189</span>attempts. You will both learn and -teach the arts by which men’s -lives are supplied with necessaries, are adorned, and are ruled: -but in this same place there will be a thousand pestilences fatal -to both body and mind, there will be wars and highway robberies, -poisonings and shipwrecks, extremes of climate and excesses of -body, untimely griefs for our dearest ones, and death for ourselves, -of which we cannot tell whether it will be easy or by torture -at the hands of the executioner. Now consider and weigh carefully -in your own mind which you would choose. If you wish to enjoy -these blessings you must pass through these pains. Do you answer -that you choose to live? ‘Of course.’ Nay, I thought you would -not enter upon that of which the least diminution causes pain. -Live, then, as has been agreed on. You say, “No one has asked -my opinion.” Our parents’ opinion was taken about us, when, knowing -what the conditions of life are, they brought us into it.</p> - -<p>XIX. But, to come to topics of consolation, in the first place -consider if you please to what our remedies must be applied, -and next, in what way. It is regret for the absence of his loved -one which causes a mourner to grieve: yet it is clear that this -in itself is bearable enough; for we do not weep at their being -absent or intending to be absent during their lifetime, although -when they leave our sight we have no more pleasure in them. What -tortures us, therefore, is an idea. Now every evil is just as -great as we consider it to be: we have, therefore, the remedy -in our own hands. Let us suppose that they are on a journey, -and let us deceive ourselves: we have sent them away, or, rather, -we have sent them on in advance to a place whither we shall soon -follow -them.<a href="#fn-6.11" name="fnref-6.11" id="fnref-6.11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> -Besides this, mourners are wont to suffer from -the thought, “I shall -<span class="pagenum" id="p190">190</span>have no one to protect me, no one to -avenge me when I am scorned.” -To use a very disreputable but very true mode of consolation, -I may say that in our country the loss of children bestows more -influence than it takes away, and loneliness, which used to bring -the aged to ruin, now makes them so powerful that some old men -have pretended to pick quarrels with their sons, have disowned -their own children, and have made themselves childless by their -own act. I know what you will say: “My own losses do not grieve -me:” and indeed a man does not deserve to be consoled if he is -sorry for his son’s death as he would be for that of a slave, -who is capable of seeing anything in his son beyond his son’s -self. What then, Marcia, is it that grieves you? is it that your -son has died, or that he did not live long? If it be his having -died, then you ought always to have grieved, for you always knew -that he would die. Reflect that the dead suffer no evils, that -all those stories which make us dread the nether world are mere -fables, that he who dies need fear no darkness, no prison, no -blazing streams of fire, no river of Lethe, no judgment seat -before which he must appear, and that Death is such utter freedom -that, he need fear no more despots. All that is a phantasy of -the poets, who have terrified us without a cause. Death is a -release from and an end of all pains: beyond it our sufferings -cannot extend: it restores us to the peaceful rest in which we -lay before we were born. If any one pities the dead, he ought -also to pity those who have not been born. Death is neither a -good nor a bad thing, for that alone which is something can be -a good or a bad thing: but that which is nothing, and reduces -all things to nothing, does not hand us over to either fortune, -because good and bad require some material to work upon. Fortune -cannot take hold of that which Nature has let go, nor can a man -be unhappy if he is nothing. Your son has passed beyond the border -of the <span class="pagenum" id="p191">191</span>country where men are forced to -labour; he has reached -deep and everlasting peace. He feels no fear of want, no anxiety -about his riches, no stings of lust that tears the heart in guise -of pleasure: he knows no envy of another’s prosperity, he is -not crushed by the weight of his own; even his chaste ears are -not wounded by any ribaldry: he is menaced by no disaster, either -to his country or to himself. He does not hang, full of anxiety, -upon the issue of events, to reap even greater uncertainty as -his reward: he has at last taken up a position from which nothing -can dislodge him, where nothing can make him afraid.</p> - -<p>XX. O how little do men understand their own misery, that they -do not praise and look forward to death as the best discovery -of Nature, whether because it hedges in happiness, or because -it drives away misery: because it puts an end to the sated weariness -of old age, cuts down youth in its bloom while still full of -hope of better things, or calls home childhood before the harsher -stages of life are reached: it is the end of all men, a relief -to many, a desire to some, and it treats none so well as those -to whom it comes before they call for it. Death frees the slave -though his master wills it not, it lightens the captive’s chains: -it leads out of prison those whom headstrong power has forbidden -to quit it: it points out to exiles, whose minds and eyes are -ever turned towards their own country, that it makes no difference -under what people’s soil one lies. When Fortune has unjustly -divided the common stock, and has given over one man to another, -though they were born with equal rights. Death makes them all -equal. After Death no one acts any more at another’s bidding: -in death no man suffers any more from the sense of his low position. -It is open to all: it was what your father, Marcia, longed for: -it is this, I say, that renders it no misery to be born, which -enables me to face the threatenings of misfortune without quailing, -and to keep <span class="pagenum" id="p192">192</span>my mind unharmed and able -to command itself. I have -a last appeal. I see before me crosses not all alike, but differently -made by different peoples: some hang a man head downwards, some -force a stick upwards through his groin, some stretch out his -arms on a forked gibbet. I see cords, scourges, and instruments -of torture for each limb and each joint: but I see Death also. -There are bloodthirsty enemies, there are overbearing fellow-countrymen, -but where they are there I see Death also. Slavery is not grievous -if a man can gain his freedom by one step as soon as he becomes -tired of thraldom. Life, it is thanks to Death that I hold thee -so dear. Think how great a blessing is a timely death, how many -have been injured by living longer than they ought. If sickness -had carried off that glory and support of the empire, Gnaeus -Pompeius, at Naples, he would have died the undoubted head of -the Roman people, but as it was, a short extension of time cast -him down from his pinnacle of fame: he beheld his legions slaughtered -before his eyes: and what a sad relic of that battle, in which -the Senate formed the first line, was the survival of the general. -He saw his Egyptian butcher, and offered his body, hallowed by -so many victories, to a guardsman’s sword, although even had -he been unhurt, he would have regretted his safety: for what -could have been more infamous than that a Pompeius should owe -his life to the clemency of a king? If Marcus Cicero had fallen -at the time when he avoided those daggers which Catiline aimed -equally at him and at his country, he might have died as the -saviour of the commonwealth which he had set free: if his death -had even followed upon that of his daughter, he might have died -happy. He would not then have seen swords drawn for the slaughter -of Roman citizens, the goods of the murdered divided among the -murderers that men might pay from their own purse the price of -their <span class="pagenum" id="p193">193</span>own blood, the public auction of -the consul’s spoil in -the civil war, the public letting out of murder to be done, brigandage, -war, pillage, hosts of Catilines. Would it not have been a good -thing for Marcus Cato if the sea had swallowed him up when he -was returning from Cyprus after sequestrating the king’s hereditary -possessions, even if that very money which he was bringing to -pay the soldiers in the civil war had been lost with him? He -certainly would have been able to boast that no one would dare -to do wrong in the presence of Cato: as it was, the extension -of his life for a very few more years forced one who was born -for personal and political freedom to flee from Caesar and to -become Pompeius’s follower. Premature death therefore did him -no evil: indeed, it put an end to the power of any evil to hurt -him.</p> - -<p>XXI. “Yet,” say you, “he perished too soon and -untimely.” In -the first place, suppose that he had lived to extreme old age: -let him continue alive to the extreme limits of human existence: -how much is it after all? Born for a very brief space of time, -we regard this life as an inn which we are soon to quit that -it may be made ready for the coming guest. Do I speak of our -lives, which we know roll away incredibly fast? Reckon up the -centuries of cities: you will find that even those which boast -of their antiquity have not existed for long. All human works -are brief and fleeting; they take up no part whatever of infinite -time. Tried by the standard of the universe, we regard this earth -of ours, with all its cities, nations, rivers, and sea-board -as a mere point: our life occupies less than a point when compared -with all time, the measure of which exceeds that of the world, -for indeed the world is contained many times in it. Of what importance, -then, can it be to lengthen that which, however much you add -to it, will never be much more than nothing? We can only make -our lives long by one expedient, that is, by being -<span class="pagenum" id="p194">194</span>satisfied -with their length: you may tell me of long-lived men, whose length -of days has been celebrated by tradition, you may assign a hundred -and ten years apiece to them: yet when you allow your mind to -conceive the idea of eternity, there will be no difference between -the shortest and the longest life, if you compare the time during -which any one has been alive with that during which he has not -been alive. In the next place, when he died his life was complete: -he had lived as long as he needed to live: there was nothing -left for him to accomplish. All men do not grow old at the same -age, nor indeed do all animals: some are wearied out by life -at fourteen years of age, and what is only the first stage of -life with man is their extreme limit of longevity. To each man -a varying length of days has been assigned: no one dies before -his time, because he was not destined to live any longer than -he did. Everyone’s end is fixed, and will always remain where -it has been placed: neither industry nor favour will move it -on any further. Believe, then, that you lost him by advice: he -took all that was his own,</p> - -<blockquote><p>“And reached the goal allotted to -his life,”</p></blockquote> - -<p>so you need not burden yourself with the thought, -“He might have lived longer.” His life has not been cut short, -nor does chance ever cut short our years: every man receives -as much as was promised to him: the Fates go their own way, and -neither add anything nor take away anything from what they have -once promised. Prayers and endeavours are all in vain: each man -will have as much life as his first day placed to his credit: -from the time when he first saw the light he has entered on the -path that leads to death, and is drawing nearer to his doom: -those same years which were added to his youth were subtracted -from his life. We all fall into this mistake of supposing that -it is only old men, already in the decline of life, who are drawing -<span class="pagenum" id="p195">195</span>near to death, whereas our first -infancy, our youth, indeed every -time of life leads thither. The Fates ply their own work: they -take from us the consciousness of our death, and, the better -to conceal its approaches, death lurks under the very names we -give to life: infancy changes into boyhood, maturity swallows -up the boy, old age the man; these stages themselves, if you -reckon them properly, are so many losses.</p> - -<p>XXII. Do you complain, Marcia, that your son did not live as -long as he might have done? How do you know that it was to his -advantage to live longer? whether his interest was not served -by this death? Whom can you find at the present time whose fortunes -are grounded on such sure foundations that they have nothing -to fear in the future? All human affairs are evanescent and perishable, -nor is any part of our life so frail and liable to accident as -that which we especially enjoy. We ought, therefore, to pray -for death when our fortune is at its best, because so great is -the uncertainty and turmoil in which we live, that we can be -sure of nothing but what is past. Think of your son’s handsome -person, which you had guarded in perfect purity among all the -temptations of a voluptuous capital. Who could have undertaken -to keep that clear of all diseases, so that it might preserve -its beauty of form unimpaired even to old age? Think of the many -taints of the mind: for fine dispositions do not always continue -to their life’s end to make good the promise of their youth, -but have often broken down: either extravagance, all the more -shameful for being indulged in late in life, takes possession -of men and makes their well-begun lives end in disgrace, or they -devote their entire thoughts to the eating-house and the belly, -and they become interested in nothing save what they shall eat -and what they shall drink. Add to this conflagrations, falling -houses, shipwrecks, the agonizing operations of surgeons, who -cut <span class="pagenum" id="p196">196</span>pieces of bone out of men’s -living bodies, plunge their whole -hands into their entrails, and inflict more than one kind of -pain to effect the cure of shameful diseases. After these comes -exile; your son was not more innocent than Rutilius: imprisonment; -he was not wiser than Socrates: the piercing of one’s breast -by a self-inflicted wound; he was not of holier life than Cato. -When you look at these examples, you will perceive that nature -deals very kindly with those whom she puts speedily in a place -of safety because there awaited them the payment of some such -price as this for their lives. Nothing is so deceptive, nothing -is so treacherous as human life; by Hercules, were it not given -to men before they could form an opinion, no one would take it. -Not to be born, therefore, is the happiest lot of all, and the -nearest thing to this, I imagine, is that we should soon finish -our strife here and be restored again to our former rest. Recall -to your mind that time, so painful to you, during which Sejanus -handed over your father as a present to his client Satrius Secundus: -he was angry with him about something or other which he had said -with too great freedom, because he was not able to keep silence -and see Sejanus climbing up to take his seat upon our necks, -which would have been bad enough had he been placed there by -his master. He was decreed the honour of a statue, to be set -up in the theatre of Pompeius, which had been burned down and -was being restored by Caesar. Cordus exclaimed that “Now the -theatre was really destroyed.” What then? should he not burst -with spite at a Sejanus being set up over the ashes of Gnaeus -Pompeius, at a faithless soldier being commemorated within the -memorial of a consummate commander? The inscription was put -up:<a href="#fn-6.12" name="fnref-6.12" id="fnref-6.12"><sup>[12]</sup></a> -and those keen-scented -<span class="pagenum" id="p197">197</span>hounds whom Sejanus used to feed on -human blood, to make them -tame towards himself and fierce to all the world beside, began -to bay around their victim and even to make premature snaps at -him. What was he to do? If he chose to live, he must gain the -consent of Sejanus; if to die, he must gain that of his daughter; -and neither of them could have been persuaded to grant it: he -therefore determined to deceive his daughter, and having taken -a bath in order to weaken himself still further, he retired to -his bed-chamber on the pretence of taking a meal there. After -dismissing his slaves he threw some of the food out of the window, -that he might appear to have eaten it: then he took no supper, -making the excuse that he had already had enough food in his -chamber. This he continued to do on the second and the third -day: the fourth betrayed his condition by his bodily weakness; -so, embracing you, “My dearest daughter,” said he, “from whom -I have never throughout your whole life concealed aught but this, -I have begun my journey towards death, and have already travelled -half-way thither. You cannot and you ought not to call me back.” -So saying he ordered all light to be excluded from the room and -shut himself up in the darkness. When his determination became -known there was a general feeling of pleasure at the prey being -snatched out of the jaws of those ravening wolves. His prosecutors, -at the instance of Sejanus, went to the judgment-seat of the -consuls, complained that Cordus was dying, and begged the consuls -to interpose to prevent his doing what they themselves had driven -him to do; so true was it that Cordus appeared to them to be -escaping: an important matter was at stake, namely, whether the -accused should lose the right to die. While this point was being -debated, and the prosecutors were going to attend the court a -second time, he had set himself free from them. Do you see, Marcia, -how suddenly evil days come upon a man? -<span class="pagenum" id="p198">198</span>and do you weep because -one of your family could not avoid dying? one of your family -was within a very little of not being allowed to die.</p> - -<p>XXIII. Besides the fact that everything that is future is uncertain, -and the only certainty is that it is more likely to turn out -ill than well, our spirits find the path to the Gods above easiest -when it is soon allowed to leave the society of mankind, because -it has then contracted fewest impurities to weigh it down: if -set free before they become hardened worldlings, before earthly -things have sunk too deep into them, they fly all the more lightly -back to the place from whence they came, and all the more easily -wash away the stains and defilements which they may have contracted. -Great minds never love to linger long in the body: they are eager -to burst its bonds and escape from it, they chafe at the narrowness -of their prison, having been wont to wander through space, and -from aloft in the upper air to look down with contempt upon human -affairs. Hence it is that Plato declares that the wise man’s -mind is entirely given up to death, longs for it, contemplates -it, and through his eagerness for it is always striving after -things which lie beyond this life. Why, Marcia, when you saw -him while yet young displaying the wisdom of age, with a mind -that could rise superior to all sensual enjoyments, faultless -and without a blemish, able to win riches without greediness, -public office without ambition, pleasure without extravagance, -did you suppose it would long be your lot to keep him safe by -your side? Whatever has arrived at perfection, is ripe for dissolution. -Consummate virtue flees away and betakes itself out of our sight, -and those things which come to maturity in the first stage of -their being do not wait for the last. The brighter a fire glows, -the sooner it goes out: it lasts longer when it is made up with -bad and slowly burning fuel, and shows a dull light through a -cloud of smoke: its being poorly fed -<span class="pagenum" id="p199">199</span>makes it linger all the -longer. So also the more brilliant men’s minds, the shorter lived -they are: for when there is no room for further growth, the end -is near. Fabianus tells us, what our parents themselves have -seen, that there was at Rome a boy of gigantic stature, exceeding -that of a man: but he soon died, and every sensible person always -said that he would soon die, for he could not live to reach the -age which he had assumed before it was due. So it is: too complete -maturity is a proof that destruction is near, and the end approaches -when growth is over.</p> - -<p>XXIV. Begin to reckon his age, not by years, but by virtues: -he lived long enough. He was left as a ward in the care of guardians -up to his fourteenth year, and never passed out of that of his -mother: when he had a household of his own he was loth to leave -yours, and continued to dwell under his mother’s roof, though -few sons can endure to live under their father’s. Though a youth -whose height, beauty, and vigour of body destined him for the -army, yet he refused to serve, that he might not be separated -from you. Consider, Marcia, how seldom mothers who live in separate -houses see their children: consider how they lose and pass in -anxiety all those years during which they have sons in the army, -and you will see that this time, none of which you lost, was -of considerable extent: he never went out of your sight: it was -under your eyes that he applied himself to the cultivation of -an admirable intellect and one which would have rivalled that -of his grandfather, had it not been hindered by shyness, which -has concealed many men’s accomplishments: though a youth of unusual -beauty, and living among such throngs of women who made it their -business to seduce men, he gratified the wishes of none of them, -and when the effrontery of some led them so far as actually to -tempt him, he blushed as deeply at having found favour in their -eyes as though he had been guilty. By this holiness of life he -caused himself, while yet quite a <span class="pagenum" id="p200">200</span>boy, -to be thought worthy of -the priesthood, which no doubt he owed to his mother’s influence; -but even his mother’s influence would have had no weight if the -candidate for whom it was exerted had been unfit for the post. -Dwell upon these virtues, and nurse your son as it were in your -lap: now he is more at leisure to respond to your caresses, he -has nothing to call him away from you, he will never be an anxiety -or a sorrow to you. You have grieved at the only grief so good -a son could cause you: all else is beyond the power of fortune -to harm, and is full of pleasure, if only you know how to make -use of your son, if you do but know what his most precious quality -was. It is merely the outward semblance of your son that has -perished, his likeness, and that not a very good one; he himself -is immortal, and is now in a far better state, set free from -the burden of all that was not his own, and left simply by himself: -all this apparatus which you see about us of bones and sinews, -this covering of skin, this face, these our servants the hands, -and all the rest of our environment, are but chains and darkness -to the soul: they overwhelm it, choke it, corrupt it, fill it -with false ideas, and keep it at a distance from its own true -sphere: it has to struggle continually against this burden of -the flesh, lest it be dragged down and sunk by it. It ever strives -to rise up again to the place from whence it was sent down on -earth: there eternal rest awaits it, there it will behold what -is pure and clear, in place of what is foul and turbid.</p> - -<p>XXV. You need not, therefore, hasten to the burial-place of your -son: that which lies there is but the worst part of him and that -which gave him most trouble, only bones and ashes, which are -no more parts of him than clothes or other coverings of his body. -He is complete, and without leaving any part of himself behind -on earth has taken wing and gone away altogether: he has tarried -a brief space above us while his soul was being cleansed -<span class="pagenum" id="p201">201</span>and -purified from the vices and rust which all mortal lives must -contract, and from thence he will rise to the high heavens and -join the souls of the blessed: a saintly company will welcome -him thither,—Scipios and Catos; and among the rest of those who -have held life cheap and set themselves free, thanks to death, -albeit all there are alike akin, your father, Marcia, will embrace -his grandson as he rejoices in the unwonted light, will teach -him the motion of the stars which are so near to them, and introduce -him with joy into all the secrets of nature, not by guesswork -but by real knowledge. Even as a stranger is grateful to one -who shows him the way about an unknown city, so is a searcher -after the causes of what he sees in the heavens to one of his -own family who can explain them to him. He will delight in gazing -deep down upon the earth, for it is a delight to look from aloft -at what one has left below. Bear yourself, therefore, Marcia, -as though you were placed before the eyes of your father and -your son, yet not such as you knew them, but far loftier beings, -placed in a higher sphere. Blush, then, to do any mean or common -action, or to weep for those your relatives who have been changed -for the better. Free to roam through the open, boundless realms -of the everliving universe, they are not hindered in their course -by intervening seas, lofty mountains, impassable valleys, or -the treacherous fiats of the Syrtes: they find a level path everywhere, -are swift and ready of motion, and are permeated in their turn -by the stars and dwell together with them.</p> - -<p>XXVI. Imagine then, Marcia, that your father, whose influence -over you was as great as yours over your son, no longer in that -frame of mind in which he deplored the civil wars, or in which -he for ever proscribed those who would have proscribed him, but -in a mood as much more joyful as his abode now is higher than -of old, is saying, as <span class="pagenum" id="p202">202</span>he looks down -from the height of heaven, -“My daughter, why does this sorrow possess you for so long? why -do you live in such ignorance of the truth, as to think that -your son has been unfairly dealt with because he has returned -to his ancestors in his prime, without decay of body or mind, -leaving his family flourishing? Do you not know with what storms -Fortune unsettles everything? how she proves kind and compliant -to none save to those who have the fewest possible dealings with -her? Need I remind you of kings who would have been the happiest -of mortals had death sooner withdrawn them from the ruin which -was approaching them? or of Roman generals, whose greatness, -had but a few years been taken from their lives, would have wanted -nothing to render it complete? or of men of the highest distinction -and noblest birth who have calmly offered their necks to the -stroke of a soldier’s sword? Look at your father and your grandfather: -the former fell into the hands of a foreign murderer: I allowed -no man to take any liberties with me, and by abstinence from -food showed that my spirit was as great as my writings had represented -it. Why, then, should that member of our household who died most -happily of all be mourned in it the longest? We have all assembled -together, and, not being plunged in utter darkness, we see that -with you on earth there is nothing to be wished for, nothing -grand or magnificent, but all is mean, sad, anxious, and hardly -receives a fractional part of the clear light in which we dwell. -I need not say that here are no frantic charges of rival armies, -no fleets shattering one another, no parricides, actual or meditated, -no courts where men babble over lawsuits for days together, here -is nothing underhand, all hearts and minds are open and unveiled, -our life is public and known to all, and that we command a view -of all time and of things to come. I used to take pleasure in -compiling the history of what took place in one century among -<span class="pagenum" id="p203">203</span>a few people in the most -out-of-the-way corner of the world: -here I enjoy the spectacle of all the centuries, the whole chain -of events from age to age as long as years have been. I may view -kingdoms when they rise and when they fall, and behold the ruin -of cities and the new channels made by the sea. If it will be -any consolation to you in your bereavement to know that it is -the common lot of all, be assured that nothing will continue -to stand in the place in which it now stands, but that time will -lay everything low and bear it away with itself: it will sport, -not only with men—for how small a part are they of the dominion -of Fortune? —but with districts, provinces, quarters of the world: -it will efface entire mountains, and in other places will pile -new rocks on high: it will dry up seas, change the course of -rivers, destroy the intercourse of nation with nation, and break -up the communion and fellowship of the human race: in other regions -it will swallow up cities by opening vast chasms in the earth, -will shake them with earthquakes, will breathe forth pestilence -from the nether world, cover all habitable ground with inundations -and destroy every creature in the flooded world, or burn up all -mortals by a huge conflagration. When the time shall arrive for -the world to be brought to an end, that it may begin its life -anew, all the forces of nature will perish in conflict with one -another, the stars will be dashed together, and all the lights -which now gleam in regular order in various parts of the sky -will then blaze in one fire with all their fuel burning at once. -Then we also, the souls of the blest and the heirs of eternal -life, whenever God thinks fit to reconstruct the universe, when -all things are settling down again, we also, being a small accessory -to the universal -wreck,<a href="#fn-6.13" name="fnref-6.13" id="fnref-6.13"><sup>[13]</sup></a> -shall be changed into our old elements. -Happy is your son, Marcia, in that he already knows this.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.1" id="fn-6.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.1">[1]</a> -See -Merivale’s “History of the Romans under the Empire,” ch. xlv. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.2" id="fn-6.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.2">[2]</a> -If it is a pain to dwell upon the thought of lost friends, -of course you do not continually refresh the memory of them by -speaking of them. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.3" id="fn-6.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.3">[3]</a> -See my note on <i>invidiam facere alicui</i> in -Juv. 15.—J. E. B. Mayor. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.4" id="fn-6.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.4">[4]</a> -Koch declares that this cannot be -the true reading, and suggests <i>deminutio</i>, ‘degradation.’ -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.5" id="fn-6.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.5">[5]</a> -This seems to have been part of the ceremony of dedication. Pulvillus -was dedicating the Temple of Jupiter in the Capitol. See Livy, -ii. 8; Cic. Pro Domo, paragraph cxxi. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.6" id="fn-6.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.6">[6]</a> -Lucius Aemilius Paullus -conquered Perses, the last King of Macedonia, B.C. 168. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.7" id="fn-6.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.7">[7]</a> -“For -he had four sons, two, as has been already related, adopted into -other families, Scipio and Fabius; and two others, who were still -children, by his second wife, who lived in his own house. Of -these, one died five days before Aemilius’s triumph, at the age -of fourteen, and the other, twelve years old, died three days -after it: so that there was no Roman that did not grieve for -him,” &c.—Plutarch, “Life of Aemilius,” ch. xxxv. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.8" id="fn-6.8"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.8">[8]</a> -A. U. C. -695, B.C 59. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.9" id="fn-6.9"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.9">[9]</a> -Virg. Ae. III. 418. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.10" id="fn-6.10"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.10">[10]</a> -See Mayor’s note on -Juv. i., and above, c. 16, § 4. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.11" id="fn-6.11"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.11">[11]</a> -Lipsius points out -that this idea is borrowed from the comic poet Antiphanes. See -Meineke’s “Comic Fragments,” p. 3. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.12" id="fn-6.12"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.12">[12]</a> -This I believe to be -the meaning of the text, but Koch reasonably conjectures that -the true reading is “editur subscriptio,” “an indictment was -made out against him.” See “On Benefits,” iii. 26. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-6.13" id="fn-6.13"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.13">[13]</a> -<i>Ruinae</i>; -Koch’s <i>urinae</i> is a misprint. -</p> - - -<h2>THE SEVENTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p204">204</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO GALLIO.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">OF A HAPPY LIFE.</span></h2> - -<p>I. All men, brother Gallio, wish to live happily, but are dull -at perceiving exactly what it is that makes life happy: and so -far is it from being easy to attain to happiness that the more -eagerly a man struggles to reach it the further he departs from -it, if he takes the wrong road; for, since this leads in the -opposite direction, his very swiftness carries him all the further -away. We must therefore first define clearly what it is at which -we aim: next we must consider by what path we may most speedily -reach it, for on our journey itself, provided it be made in the -right direction, we shall learn how much progress we have made -each day, and how much nearer we are to the goal towards which -our natural desires urge us. But as long as we wander at random, -not following any guide except the shouts and discordant clamours -of those who invite us to proceed in different directions, our -short life will be wasted in useless roamings, even if we labour -both day and night to get a good understanding. Let us not therefore -decide whither we must tend, and by what path, without the advice -of some experienced person who has explored the region which -we are about to enter, because this -<span class="pagenum" id="p205">205</span>journey is not subject to -the same conditions as others; for in them some distinctly understood -track and inquiries made of the natives make it impossible for -us to go wrong, but here the most beaten and frequented tracks -are those which lead us most astray. Nothing, therefore, is more -important than that we should not, like sheep, follow the flock -that has gone before us, and thus proceed not whither we ought, -but whither the rest are going. Now nothing gets us into greater -troubles than our subservience to common rumour, and our habit -of thinking that those things are best which are most generally -received as such, of taking many counterfeits for truly good -things, and of living not by reason but by imitation of others. -This is the cause of those great heaps into which men rush till -they are piled one upon another. In a great crush of people, -when the crowd presses upon itself, no one can fall without drawing -some one else down upon him, and those who go before cause the -destruction of those who follow them. You may observe the same -thing in human life: no one can merely go wrong by himself, but -he must become both the cause and adviser of another’s wrongdoing. -It is harmful to follow the march of those who go before us, -and since every one had rather believe another than form his -own opinion, we never pass a deliberate judgment upon life, but -some traditional error always entangles us and brings us to ruin, -and we perish because we follow other men’s examples: we should -be cured of this if we were to disengage ourselves from the herd; -but as it is, the mob is ready to fight against reason in defence -of its own mistake. Consequently the same thing happens as at -elections, where, when the fickle breeze of popular favour has -veered round, those who have been chosen consuls and praetors -are viewed with admiration by the very men who made them so. -That we should all approve and disapprove of the same things -is the end of every <span class="pagenum" id="p206">206</span>decision which is -given according to the -voice of the majority.</p> - -<p>II. When we are considering a happy life, you cannot answer me -as though after a division of the House, “This view has most -supporters;” because for that very reason it is the worse of -the two: matters do not stand so well with mankind that the majority -should prefer the better course: the more people do a thing the -worse it is likely to be. Let us therefore inquire, not what -is most commonly done, but what is best for us to do, and what -will establish us in the possession of undying happiness, not -what is approved of by the vulgar, the worst possible exponents -of truth. By “the vulgar” I mean both those who wear woollen -cloaks and those who wear -crowns;<a href="#fn-7.1" name="fnref-7.1" id="fnref-7.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> for -I do not regard the -colour of the clothes with which they are covered: I do not trust -my eyes to tell me what a man is: I have a better and more trustworthy -light by which I can distinguish what is true from what is false: -let the mind find out what is good for the mind. If a man ever -allows his mind some breathing space and has leisure for communing -with himself, what truths he will confess to himself, after having -been put to the torture by his own self! He will say, “Whatever -I have hitherto done I wish were undone: when I think over what -I have said, I envy dumb people: whatever I have longed for seems -to have been what my enemies would pray might befall me: good -heaven, how far more endurable what I have feared seems to be -than what I have lusted after. I have been at enmity with many -men, and have changed my dislike of them into friendship, if -friendship can exist between bad men: yet I have not yet become -reconciled to myself. I have striven with all my strength to -raise myself above the -<span class="pagenum" id="p207">207</span>common herd, and to make myself -remarkable for some talent: what -have I effected save to make myself a mark for the arrows of -my enemies, and show those who hate me where to wound me? Do -you see those who praise your eloquence, who covet your wealth, -who court your favour, or who vaunt your power? All these either -are, or, which comes to the same thing, may be your enemies: -the number of those who envy you is as great as that of those -who admire you; why do I not rather seek for some good thing -which I can use and feel, not one which I can show? these good -things which men gaze at in wonder, which they crowd to see, -which one points out to another with speechless admiration, are -outwardly brilliant, but within are miseries to those who possess -them.”</p> - -<p>III. Let us seek for some blessing, which does not merely look -fine, but is sound and good throughout alike, and most beautiful -in the parts which are least seen: let us unearth this. It is -not far distant from us; it can be discovered: all that is necessary -is to know whither to stretch out your hand: but, as it is, we -behave as though we were in the dark, and reach out beyond what -is nearest to us, striking as we do so against the very things -that we want. However, that I may not draw you into digressions, -I will pass over the opinions of other philosophers, because -it would take a long time to state and confute them all: take -ours. When, however, I say “ours,” I do not bind myself to any -one of the chiefs of the Stoic school, for I too have a right -to form my own opinion. I shall, therefore, follow the authority -of some of them, but shall ask some others to discriminate their -meaning:<a href="#fn-7.2" name="fnref-7.2" id="fnref-7.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> -perhaps, when after having -<span class="pagenum" id="p208">208</span>reported all their opinions, I am -asked for my own, I shall impugn -none of my predecessors’ decisions, and shall say, “I will also -add somewhat to them.” Meanwhile I follow nature, which is a -point upon which every one of the Stoic philosophers are agreed: -true wisdom consists in not departing from nature and in moulding -our conduct according to her laws and model. A happy life, therefore, -is one which is in accordance with its own nature, and cannot -be brought about unless in the first place the mind be sound -and remain so without interruption, and next, be bold and vigorous, -enduring all things with most admirable courage, suited to the -times in which it lives, careful of the body and its appurtenances, -yet not troublesomely careful. It must also set due value upon -all the things which adorn our lives, without over-estimating -any one of them, and must be able to enjoy the bounty of Fortune -without becoming her slave. You understand without my mentioning -it that an unbroken calm and freedom ensue, when we have driven -away all those things which either excite us or alarm us: for -in the place of sensual pleasures and those slight perishable -matters which are connected with the basest crimes, we thus gain -an immense, unchangeable, equable joy, together with peace, calmness -and greatness of mind, and kindliness: for all savageness is -a sign of weakness.</p> - -<p>IV. Our highest good may also be defined otherwise, that is to -say, the same idea may be expressed in different language. Just -as the same army may at one time be extended more widely, at -another contracted into a smaller compass, and may either be -curved towards the wings by a depression in the line of the centre, -or drawn up in a straight line, while, in whatever figure it -be arrayed, its <span class="pagenum" id="p209">209</span>strength and loyalty -remain unchanged; so also -our definition of the highest good may in some cases be expressed -diffusely and at great length, while in others it is put into -a short and concise form. Thus, it will come to the same thing, -if I say “The highest good is a mind which despises the accidents -of fortune, and takes pleasure in virtue”: or, “It is an -unconquerable -strength of mind, knowing the world well, gentle in its dealings, -showing great courtesy and consideration for those with whom -it is brought into contact.” Or we may choose to define it by -calling that man happy who knows good and bad only in the form -of good or bad minds: who worships honour, and is satisfied with -his own virtue, who is neither puffed up by good fortune nor -cast down by evil fortune, who knows no other good than that -which he is able to bestow upon himself, whose real pleasure -lies in despising pleasures. If you choose to pursue this digression -further, you can put this same idea into many other forms, without -impairing or weakening its meaning: for what prevents our saying -that a happy life consists in a mind which is free, upright, -undaunted, and steadfast, beyond the influence of fear or desire, -which thinks nothing good except honour, and nothing bad except -shame, and regards everything else as a mass of mean details -which can neither add anything to nor take anything away from -the happiness of life, but which come and go without either increasing -or diminishing the highest good? A man of these principles, whether -he will or no, must be accompanied by a continual cheerfulness, -a high happiness, which comes indeed from on high because he -delights in what he has, and desires no greater pleasures than -those which his home affords. Is he not right in allowing these -to turn the scale against petty, ridiculous, and shortlived movements -of his wretched body? on the day on which he becomes proof against -pleasure he also becomes proof against pain. See, on the other -hand, how <span class="pagenum" id="p210">210</span>evil and guilty a slavery -the man is forced to serve -who is dominated in turn by pleasures and pains, those most untrustworthy -and passionate of masters. We must, therefore, escape from them -into freedom. This nothing will bestow upon us save contempt -of Fortune: but if we attain to this, then there will dawn upon -us those invaluable blessings, the repose of a mind that is at -rest in a safe haven, its lofty imaginings, its great and steady -delight at casting out errors and learning to know the truth, -its courtesy, and its cheerfulness, in all of which we shall -take delight, not regarding them as good things, but as proceeding -from the proper good of man.</p> - -<p>V. Since I have begun to make my definitions without a too strict -adherence to the letter, a man may be called “happy” who, thanks -to reason, has ceased either to hope or to fear: but rocks also -feel neither fear nor sadness, nor do cattle, yet no one would -call those things happy which cannot comprehend what happiness -is. With them you may class men whose dull nature and want of -self-knowledge reduces them to the level of cattle, mere animals: -there is no difference between the one and the other, because -the latter have no reason, while the former have only a corrupted -form of it, crooked and cunning to their own hurt. For no one -can be styled happy who is beyond the influence of truth: and -consequently a happy life is unchangeable, and is founded upon -a true and trustworthy discernment; for the mind is uncontaminated -and freed from all evils only when it is able to escape not merely -from wounds but also from scratches, when it will always be able -to maintain the position which it has taken up, and defend it -even against the angry assaults of Fortune: for with regard to -sensual pleasures, though they were to surround one on every -side, and use every means of assault, trying to win over the -mind by caresses and making trial of every conceivable stratagem -to attract either our entire selves or -<span class="pagenum" id="p211">211</span>our separate parts, yet -what mortal that retains any traces of human origin would wish -to be tickled day and night, and, neglecting his mind, to devote -himself to bodily enjoyments?</p> - -<p>VI. “But,” says our adversary, “the mind also will have pleasures -of its own.” Let it have them, then, and let it sit in judgment -over luxury and pleasures; let it indulge itself to the full -in all those matters which give sensual delights: then let it -look back upon what it enjoyed before, and with all those faded -sensualities fresh in its memory let it rejoice and look eagerly -forward to those other pleasures which it experienced long ago, -and intends to experience again, and while the body lies in helpless -repletion in the present, let it send its thoughts onward towards -the future, and take stock of its hopes: all this will make it -appear, in my opinion, yet more wretched, because it is insanity -to choose evil instead of good: now no insane person can be happy, -and no one can be sane if he regards what is injurious as the -highest good and strives to obtain it. The happy man, therefore, -is he who can make a right judgment in all things: he is happy -who in his present circumstances, whatever they may be, is satisfied -and on friendly terms with the conditions of his life. That man -is happy, whose reason recommends to him the whole posture of -his affairs.</p> - -<p>VII. Even those very people who declare the highest good to be -in the belly, see what a dishonourable position they have assigned -to it: and therefore they say that pleasure cannot be parted -from virtue, and that no one can either live honourably without -living cheerfully, nor yet live cheerfully without living honourably. -I do not see how these very different matters can have any connexion -with one another. What is there, I pray you, to prevent virtue -existing apart from pleasure? of course the reason is that all -good things derive their origin from virtue, and therefore even -those things which you cherish and seek for -<span class="pagenum" id="p212">212</span>come originally from -its roots. Yet, if they were entirely inseparable, we should -not see some things to be pleasant, but not honourable, and others -most honourable indeed, but hard and only to be attained by suffering. -Add to this, that pleasure visits the basest lives, but virtue -cannot co-exist with an evil life; yet some unhappy people are -not without pleasure, nay, it is owing to pleasure itself that -they are unhappy; and this could not take place if pleasure had -any connexion with virtue, whereas virtue is often without pleasure, -and never stands in need of it. Why do you put together two things -which are unlike and even incompatible one with another? virtue -is a lofty quality, sublime, royal, unconquerable, untiring: -pleasure is low, slavish, weakly, perishable; its haunts and -homes are the brothel and the tavern. You will meet virtue in -the temple, the market-place, the senate house, manning the walls, -covered with dust, sunburnt, horny-handed: you will find pleasure -skulking out of sight, seeking for shady nooks at the public -baths, hot chambers, and places which dread the visits of the -aedile, soft, effeminate, reeking of wine and perfumes, pale -or perhaps painted and made up with cosmetics. The highest good -is immortal: it knows no ending, and does not admit of either -satiety or regret: for a right-thinking mind never alters or -becomes hateful to itself, nor do the best things ever undergo -any change: but pleasure dies at the very moment when it charms -us most: it has no great scope, and therefore it soon cloys and -wearies us, and fades away as soon as its first impulse is over: -indeed, we cannot depend upon anything whose nature is to change. -Consequently it is not even possible that there should be any -solid substance in that which comes and goes so swiftly, and -which perishes by the very exercise of its own functions, for -it arrives at a point at which it ceases to be, and even while -it is beginning always keeps its end in view. -<span class="pagenum" id="p213">213</span></p> - -<p>VIII. What answer are we to make to the reflexion that pleasure -belongs to good and bad men alike, and that bad men take as much -delight in their shame as good men in noble things? This was -why the ancients bade us lead the highest, not the most pleasant -life, in order that pleasure might not be the guide but the companion -of a right-thinking and honourable mind; for it is Nature whom -we ought to make our guide: let our reason watch her, and be -advised by her. To live happily, then, is the same thing as to -live according to Nature: what this may be, I will explain. If -we guard the endowments of the body and the advantages of nature -with care and fearlessness, as things soon to depart and given -to us only for a day; if we do not fall under their dominion, -nor allow ourselves to become the slaves of what is no part of -our own being; if we assign to all bodily pleasures and external -delights the same position which is held by auxiliaries and light-armed -troops in a camp; if we make them our servants, not our masters—then -and then only are they of value to our minds. A man should be -unbiassed and not to be conquered by external things: he ought -to admire himself alone, to feel confidence in his own spirit, -and so to order his life as to be ready alike for good or for -bad fortune. Let not his confidence be without knowledge, nor -his knowledge without steadfastness: let him always abide by -what he has once determined, and let there be no erasure in his -doctrines. It will be understood, even though I append it not, -that such a man will be tranquil and composed in his demeanour, -high-minded and courteous in his actions. Let reason be encouraged -by the senses to seek for the truth, and draw its first principles -from thence: indeed it has no other base of operations or place -from which to start in pursuit of truth: it must fall back upon -itself. Even the all-embracing universe and God who is its guide -extends himself forth into outward things, and yet altogether -returns from all sides back to -<span class="pagenum" id="p214">214</span>himself. Let our mind do the same -thing: when, following its bodily senses it has by means of them -sent itself forth into the things of the outward world, let it -remain still their master and its own. By this means we shall -obtain a strength and an ability which are united and allied -together, and shall derive from it that reason which never halts -between two opinions, nor is dull in forming its perceptions, -beliefs, or convictions. Such a mind, when it has ranged itself -in order, made its various parts agree together, and, if I may -so express myself, harmonized them, has attained to the highest -good: for it has nothing evil or hazardous remaining, nothing -to shake it or make it stumble: it will do everything under the -guidance of its own will, and nothing unexpected will befal it, -but whatever may be done by it will turn out well, and that, -too, readily and easily, without the doer having recourse to -any underhand devices: for slow and hesitating action are the -signs of discord and want of settled purpose. You may, then, -boldly declare that the highest good is singleness of mind: for -where agreement and unity are, there must the virtues be: it -is the vices that are at war one with another.</p> - -<p>IX. “But,” says our adversary, “you yourself only practise -virtue -because you hope to obtain some pleasure from it.” In the first -place, even though virtue may afford us pleasure, still we do -not seek after her on that account: for she does not bestow this, -but bestows this to boot, nor is this the end for which she labours, -but her labour wins this also, although it be directed to another -end. As in a tilled-field, when ploughed for corn, some flowers -are found amongst it, and yet, though these posies may charm -the eye, all this labour was not spent in order to produce them—the -man who sowed the field had another object in view, he gained -this over and above it—so pleasure is not the reward or the cause -of virtue, but comes in addition to it; nor do we choose virtue -because she gives us pleasure, but <span class="pagenum" id="p215">215</span>she -gives us pleasure also -if we choose her. The highest good lies in the act of choosing -her, and in the attitude of the noblest minds, which when once -it has fulfilled its function and established itself within its -own limits has attained to the highest good, and needs nothing -more: for there is nothing outside of the whole, any more than -there is anything beyond the end. You are mistaken, therefore, -when you ask me what it is on account of which I seek after virtue: -for you are seeking for something above the highest. Do you ask -what I seek from virtue? I answer. Herself: for she has nothing -better; she is her own reward. Does this not appear great enough, -when I tell you that the highest good is an unyielding strength -of mind, wisdom, magnanimity, sound judgment, freedom, harmony, -beauty? Do you still ask me for something greater, of which these -may be regarded as the attributes? Why do you talk of pleasures -to me? I am seeking to find what is good for man, not for his -belly; why, cattle and whales have larger ones than he.</p> - -<p>X. “You purposely misunderstand what I say,” says he, “for I -too say that no one can live pleasantly unless he lives honorably -also, and this cannot be the case with dumb animals who measure -the extent of their happiness by that of their food. I loudly -and publicly proclaim that what I call a pleasant life cannot -exist without the addition of virtue.” Yet who does not know -that the greatest fools drink the deepest of those pleasures -of yours? or that vice is full of enjoyments, and that the mind -itself suggests to itself many perverted, vicious forms of pleasure?—in -the first place arrogance, excessive self-esteem, swaggering -precedence over other men, a shortsighted, nay, a blind devotion -to his own interests, dissolute luxury, excessive delight springing -from the most trifling and childish causes, and also talkativeness, -pride that takes a pleasure in insulting others, sloth, and the -decay of a dull mind which goes to sleep over itself. All these -are dissipated by virtue, which plucks a -<span class="pagenum" id="p216">216</span>man by the ear, and -measures the value of pleasures before she permits them to be -used; nor does she set much store by those which she allows to -pass current, for she merely allows their use, and her cheerfulness -is not due to her use of them, but to her moderation in using -them. “Yet when moderation lessens pleasure, it impairs the highest -good.” You devote yourself to pleasures, I check them; you indulge -in pleasure, I use it; you think that it is the highest good, -I do not even think it to be good: for the sake of pleasure I -do nothing, you do everything.</p> - -<p>XI. When I say that I do nothing for the sake of pleasure, I -allude to that wise man, whom alone you admit to be capable of -pleasure: now I do not call a man wise who is overcome by anything, -let alone by pleasure: yet, if engrossed by pleasure, how will -he resist toil, danger, want, and all the ills which surround -and threaten the life of man? How will he bear the sight of death -or of pain? How will he endure the tumult of the world, and make -head against so many most active foes, if he be conquered by -so effeminate an antagonist? He will do whatever pleasure advises -him: well, do you not see how many things it will advise him -to do? “It will not,” says our adversary, “be able to give him -any bad advice, because it is combined with virtue?” Again, do -you not see what a poor kind of highest good that must be which -requires a guardian to ensure its being good at all? and how -is virtue to rule pleasure if she follows it, seeing that to -follow is the duty of a subordinate, to rule that of a commander? -do you put that which commands in the background? According to -your school, virtue has the dignified office of preliminary taster -of pleasures. We shall, however, see whether virtue still remains -virtue among those who treat her with such contempt, for if she -leaves her proper station she can no longer keep her proper name: -in the meanwhile, to keep to the point, I will show you many -men beset by pleasures, <span class="pagenum" id="p217">217</span>men upon whom -Fortune has showered all -her gifts, whom you must needs admit to be bad men. Look at Nomentanus -and Apicius, who digest all the good things, as they call them, -of the sea and land, and review upon their tables the whole animal -kingdom. Look at them as they lie on beds of roses gloating over -their banquet, delighting their ears with music, their eyes with -exhibitions, their palates with flavours: their whole bodies -are titillated with soft and soothing applications, and lest -even their nostrils should be idle, the very place in which, -they -solemnize<a href="#fn-7.3" name="fnref-7.3" id="fnref-7.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> -the rites of luxury is scented with various -perfumes. You will say that these men live in the midst of pleasures. -Yet they are ill at ease, because they take pleasure in what -is not good.</p> - -<p>XII. “They are ill at ease,” replies he, “because many -things -arise which distract their thoughts, and their minds are disquieted -by conflicting opinions.” I admit that this is true: still these -very men, foolish, inconsistent, and certain to feel remorse -as they are, do nevertheless receive great pleasure, and we must -allow that in so doing they are as far from feeling any trouble -as they are from forming a right judgment, and that, as is the -case with many people, they are possessed by a merry madness, -and laugh while they rave. The pleasures of wise men, on the -other hand, are mild, decorous, verging on dulness, kept under -restraint and scarcely noticeable, and are neither invited to -come nor received with honour when they come of their own accord, -nor are they welcomed with any delight by those whom they visit, -who mix them up with their lives and fill up empty spaces with -them, like an amusing farce in the intervals of serious business. -Let them no longer, then, join incongruous matters together, -or connect pleasure with -<span class="pagenum" id="p218">218</span>virtue, a mistake whereby they court -the worst of men. The reckless -profligate, always in liquor and belching out the fumes of wine, -believes that he lives with virtue, because he knows that he -lives with pleasure, for he hears it said that pleasure cannot -exist apart from virtue; consequently he dubs his vices with -the title of wisdom and parades all that he ought to conceal. -So, men are not encouraged by Epicurus to run riot, but the vicious -hide their excesses in the lap of philosophy, and flock to the -schools in which they hear the praises of pleasure. They do not -consider how sober and temperate—for so, by Hercules, I believe -it to be—that “pleasure” of Epicurus is, but they rush at his -mere name, seeking to obtain some protection and cloak for their -vices. They lose, therefore, the one virtue which their evil -life possessed, that of being ashamed of doing wrong: for they -praise what they used to blush at, and boast of their vices. -Thus modesty can never reassert itself, when shameful idleness -is dignified with an honourable name. The reason why that praise -which your school lavishes upon pleasure is so hurtful, is because -the honourable part of its teaching passes unnoticed, but the -degrading part is seen by all.</p> - -<p>XIII. I myself believe, though my Stoic comrades would be unwilling -to hear me say so, that the teaching of Epicurus was upright -and holy, and even, if you examine it narrowly, stern: for this -much talked of pleasure is reduced to a very narrow compass, -and he bids pleasure submit to the same law which we bid virtue -do—I mean, to obey nature. Luxury, however, is not satisfied -with what is enough for nature. What is the consequence? Whoever -thinks that happiness consists in lazy sloth, and alternations -of gluttony and profligacy, requires a good patron for a bad -action, and when he has become an Epicurean, having been led -to do so by the attractive name of that school, he follows, not -the pleasure which he there hears -<span class="pagenum" id="p219">219</span>spoken of, but that which he -brought thither with him, and, haying learned to think that his -vices coincide with the maxims of that philosophy, he indulges -in them no longer timidly and in dark corners, but boldly in -the face of day. I will not, therefore, like most of our school, -say that the sect of Epicurus is the teacher of crime, but what -I say is: it is ill spoken of, it has a bad reputation, and yet -it does not deserve it. “Who can know this without having been -admitted to its inner mysteries?” Its very outside gives opportunity -for scandal, and encourages men’s baser desires: it is like a -brave man dressed in a woman’s gown: your chastity is assured, -your manhood is safe, your body is submitted to nothing disgraceful, -but your hand holds a drum (like a priest of Cybele). Choose, -then, some honourable superscription for your school, some writing -which shall in itself arouse the mind: that which at present -stands over your door has been invented by the vices. He who -ranges himself on the side of virtue gives thereby a proof of -a noble disposition: he who follows pleasure appears to be weakly, -worn out, degrading his manhood, likely to fall into infamous -vices unless someone discriminates his pleasures for him, so -that he may know which remain within the bounds of natural desire, -which are frantic and boundless, and become all the more insatiable -the more they are satisfied. But come! let virtue lead the way: -then every step will be safe. Too much pleasure is hurtful: but -with virtue we need fear no excess of any kind, because moderation -is contained in virtue herself. That which is injured by its -own extent cannot be a good thing: besides, what better guide -can there be than reason for beings endowed with a reasoning -nature? so if this combination pleases you, if you are willing -to proceed to a happy life thus accompanied, let virtue lead -the way, let pleasure follow and hang about the body like a shadow: -it is the part of a mind incapable of great things to hand -<span class="pagenum" id="p220">220</span>over -virtue, the highest of all qualities, as a handmaid to pleasure. -</p> - -<p>XIV. Let virtue lead the way and bear the standard: we shall -have pleasure for all that, but we shall be her masters and controllers; -she may win some concessions from us, but will not force us to -do anything. On the contrary, those who have permitted pleasure -to lead the van, have neither one nor the other: for they lose -virtue altogether, and yet they do not possess pleasure, but -are possessed by it, and are either tortured by its absence or -choked by its excess, being wretched if deserted by it, and yet -more wretched if overwhelmed by it, like those who are caught -in the shoals of the Syrtes and at one time are left on dry ground -and at another tossed on the flowing waves. This arises from -an exaggerated want of self-control, and a hidden love of evil: -for it is dangerous for one who seeks after evil instead of good -to attain his object. As we hunt wild beasts with toil and peril, -and even when they are caught find them an anxious possession, -for they often tear their keepers to pieces, even so are great -pleasures: they turn out to be great evils and take their owners -prisoner. The more numerous and the greater they are, the more -inferior and the slave of more masters does that man become whom -the vulgar call a happy man. I may even press this analogy further: -as the man who tracks wild animals to their lairs, and who sets -great store on—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“Seeking with snares the wandering brutes to -noose,”</p></blockquote> - -<p>and</p> - -<blockquote><p>“Making their hounds the spacious glade -surround,”</p></blockquote> - -<p>that he may follow their tracks, neglects far more desirable -things, and leaves many duties unfulfilled, so he who pursues -pleasure postpones everything to it, disregards that first essential, -liberty, and sacrifices it to his belly; nor does he buy pleasure -for himself, but sells himself to pleasure. -<span class="pagenum" id="p221">221</span></p> - -<p>XV. “But what,” asks our adversary, “is there to hinder -virtue -and pleasure being combined together, and a highest good being -thus formed, so that honour and pleasure may be the same thing?” -Because nothing except what is honourable can form a part of -honour, and the highest good would lose its purity if it were -to see within itself anything unlike its own better part. Even -the joy which arises from virtue, although it be a good thing, -yet is not a part of absolute good, any more than cheerfulness -or peace of mind, which are indeed good things, but which merely -follow the highest good, and do not contribute to its perfection, -although they are generated by the noblest causes. Whoever on -the other hand forms an alliance, and that, too, a one-sided -one, between virtue and pleasure, clogs whatever strength the -one may possess by the weakness of the other, and sends liberty -under the yoke, for liberty can only remain unconquered as long -as she knows nothing more valuable than herself: for he begins -to need the help of Fortune, which is the most utter slavery: -his life becomes anxious, full of suspicion, timorous, fearful -of accidents, waiting in agony for critical moments of time. -You do not afford virtue a solid immoveable base if you bid it -stand on what is unsteady: and what can be so unsteady as dependence -on mere chance, and the vicissitudes of the body and of those -things which act on the body? How can such a man obey God and -receive everything which comes to pass in a cheerful spirit, -never complaining of fate, and putting a good construction upon -everything that befalls him, if he be agitated by the petty pin-pricks -of pleasures and pains? A man cannot be a good protector of his -country, a good avenger of her wrongs, or a good defender of -his friends, if he be inclined to pleasures. Let the highest -good, then, rise to that height from whence no force can dislodge -it, whither neither pain can ascend, nor hope, nor fear, nor -anything else that can <span class="pagenum" id="p222">222</span>impair the -authority of the “highest good.” -Thither virtue alone can make her way: by her aid that hill must -be climbed: she will bravely stand her ground and endure whatever -may befal her not only resignedly, but even willingly: she will -know that all hard times come in obedience to natural laws, and -like a good soldier she will bear wounds, count scars, and when -transfixed and dying will yet adore the general for whom she -falls: she will bear in mind the old maxim “Follow God.” On the -other hand, he who grumbles and complains and bemoans himself -is nevertheless forcibly obliged to obey orders, and is dragged -away, however much against his will, to carry them out: yet what -madness is it to be dragged rather than to follow? as great, -by Hercules, as it is folly and ignorance of one’s true position -to grieve because one has not got something or because something -has caused us rough treatment, or to be surprised or indignant -at those ills which befall good men as well as bad ones, I mean -diseases, deaths, illnesses, and the other cross accidents of -human life. Let us bear with magnanimity whatever the system -of the universe makes it needful for us to bear: we are all bound -by this oath: “To bear the ills of mortal life, and to submit -with a good grace to what we cannot avoid.” We have been born -into a monarchy: our liberty is to obey God.</p> - -<p>XVI. True happiness, therefore, consists in virtue: and what -will this virtue bid you do? Not to think anything bad or good -which is connected neither with virtue nor with wickedness: and -in the next place, both to endure unmoved the assaults of evil, -and, as far as is right, to form a god out of what is good. What -reward does she promise you for this campaign? an enormous one, -and one that raises you to the level of the gods: you shall be -subject to no restraint and to no want; you shall be free, safe, -unhurt; you shall fail in nothing that you attempt; you shall -be debarred from nothing; everything shall turn out according -<span class="pagenum" id="p223">223</span>to your wish; no misfortune shall -befal you; nothing shall happen -to you except what you expect and hope for. “What! does virtue -alone suffice to make you happy?” why, of course, consummate -and god-like virtue such as this not only suffices, but more -than suffices: for when a man is placed beyond the reach of any -desire, what can he possibly lack? if all that he needs is concentred -in himself, how can he require anything from without? He, however, -who is only on the road to virtue, although he may have made -great progress along it, nevertheless needs some favour from -fortune while he is still struggling among mere human interests, -while he is untying that knot, and all the bonds which bind him -to mortality. What, then, is the difference between them? it -is that some are tied more or less tightly by these bonds, and -some have even tied themselves with them as well; whereas he -who has made progress towards the upper regions and raised himself -upwards drags a looser chain, and though not yet free, is yet -as good as free.</p> - -<p>XVII. If, therefore, any one of those dogs who yelp at philosophy -were to say, as they are wont to do, “Why, then, do you talk -so much more bravely than you live? why do you check your words -in the presence of your superiors, and consider money to be a -necessary implement? why are you disturbed when you sustain losses, -and weep on hearing of the death of your wife or your friend? -why do you pay regard to common rumour, and feel annoyed by calumnious -gossip? why is your estate more elaborately kept than its natural -use requires? why do you not dine according to your own maxims? -why is your furniture smarter than it need be? why do you drink -wine that is older than yourself? why are your grounds laid out? -why do you plant trees which afford nothing except shade? why -does your wife wear in her ears the price of a rich man’s house? -why are your children at school dressed in costly -<span class="pagenum" id="p224">224</span>clothes? why -is it a science to wait upon you at table? why is your silver -plate not set down anyhow or at random, but skilfully disposed -in regular order, with a superintendent to preside over the carving -of the viands?” Add to this, if you like, the questions “Why -do you own property beyond the seas? why do you own more than -you know of? it is a shame to you not to know your slaves by -sight: for you must be very neglectful of them if you only own -a few, or very extravagant if you have too many for your memory -to retain.” I will add some reproaches afterwards, and will bring -more accusations against myself than you think of: for the present -I will make you the following answer. “I am not a wise man, and -I will not be one in order to feed your spite: so do not require -me to be on a level with the best of men, but merely to be better -than the worst: I am satisfied, if every day I take away something -from my vices and correct my faults. I have not arrived at perfect -soundness of mind, indeed, I never shall arrive at it: I compound -palliatives rather than remedies for my gout, and am satisfied -if it comes at rarer intervals and does not shoot so painfully. -Compared with your feet, which are lame, I am a racer.” I make -this speech, not on my own behalf, for I am steeped in vices -of every kind, but on behalf of one who has made some progress -in virtue.</p> - -<p>XVIII. “You talk one way,” objects our adversary, “and live -another.” -You most spiteful of creatures, you who always show the bitterest -hatred to the best of men, this reproach was flung at Plato, -at Epicurus, at Zeno: for all these declared how they ought to -live, not how they did live. I speak of virtue, not of myself, -and when I blame vices, I blame my own first of all: when I have -the power, I shall live as I ought to do: spite, however deeply -steeped in venom, shall not keep me back from what is best: that -poison itself with which you bespatter others, with which you -choke yourselves, shall not hinder me from continuing -<span class="pagenum" id="p225">225</span>to praise -that life which I do not, indeed, lead, but which I know I ought -to lead, from loving virtue and from following after her, albeit -a long way behind her and with halting gait. Am I to expect that -evil speaking will respect anything, seeing that it respected -neither Rutilius nor Cato? Will any one care about being thought -too rich by men for whom Diogenes the Cynic was not poor enough? -That most energetic philosopher fought against all the desires -of the body, and was poorer even than the other Cynics, in that -besides haying given up possessing anything he had also given -up asking for anything: yet they reproached him for not being -sufficiently in want: as though forsooth it were poverty, not -virtue, of which he professed knowledge.</p> - -<p>XIX. They say that Diodorus, the Epicurean philosopher, who within -these last few days put an end to his life with his own hand, -did not act according to the precepts of Epicurus, in cutting -his throat: some choose to regard this act as the result of madness, -others of recklessness; he, meanwhile, happy and filled with -the consciousness of his own goodness, has borne testimony to -himself by his manner of departing from life, has commended the -repose of a life spent at anchor in a safe harbour, and has said -what you do not like to hear, because you too ought to do it:</p> - -<blockquote><p>“I’ve lived, I’ve run the race which Fortune -set me.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>You argue -about the life and death of another, and yelp at the name of -men whom some peculiarly noble quality has rendered great, just -as tiny curs do at the approach of strangers: for it is to your -interest that no one should appear to be good, as if virtue in -another were a reproach to all your crimes. You enviously compare -the glories of others with your own dirty actions, and do not -understand how greatly to your disadvantage it is to venture -to do so: for if they who follow after virtue be greedy, lustful, -<span class="pagenum" id="p226">226</span>and fond of power, what must you be, -who hate the very name of -virtue? You say that no one acts up to his professions, or lives -according to the standard which he sets up in his discourses: -what wonder, seeing that the words which they speak are brave, -gigantic, and able to weather all the storms which wreck mankind, -whereas they themselves are struggling to tear themselves away -from crosses into which each one of you is driving his own nail. -Yet men who are crucified hang from one single pole, but these -who punish themselves are divided between as many crosses as -they have lusts, but yet are given to evil speaking, and are -so magnificent in their contempt of the vices of others that -I should suppose that they had none of their own, were it not -that some criminals when on the gibbet spit upon the spectators. -</p> - -<p>XX. “Philosophers do not carry into effect all that they teach.” -No; but they effect much good by their teaching, by the noble -thoughts which they conceive in their minds: would, indeed, that -they could act up to their talk: what could be happier than they -would be? but in the meanwhile you have no right to despise good -sayings and hearts full of good thoughts. Men deserve praise -for engaging in profitable studies, even though they stop short -of producing any results. Why need we wonder if those who begin -to climb a steep path do not succeed in ascending it very high? -yet, if you be a man, look with respect on those who attempt -great things, even though they fall. It is the act of a generous -spirit to proportion its efforts not to its own strength but -to that of human nature, to entertain lofty aims, and to conceive -plans which are too vast to be carried into execution even by -those who are endowed with gigantic intellects, who appoint for -themselves the following rules: I will look upon death or upon -a comedy with the same expression of countenance: I will submit -to labours, however great they may be, supporting -<span class="pagenum" id="p227">227</span>the strength -of my body by that of my mind: I will despise riches when I have -them as much as when I have them not; if they be elsewhere I -will not be more gloomy, if they sparkle around me I will not -be more lively than I should otherwise be: whether Fortune comes -or goes I will take no notice of her: I will view all lands as -though they belong to me, and my own as though they belonged -to all mankind: I will so live as to remember that I was born -for others, and will thank Nature on this account: for in what -fashion could she have done better for me? she has given me alone -to all, and all to me alone. Whatever I may possess, I will neither -hoard it greedily nor squander it recklessly. I will think that -I have no possessions so real as those which I have given away -to deserving people: I will not reckon benefits by their magnitude -or number, or by anything except the value set upon them by the -receiver: I never will consider a gift to be a large one if it -be bestowed upon a worthy object. I will do nothing because of -public opinion, but everything because of conscience: whenever -I do anything alone by myself I will believe that the eyes of -the Roman people are upon me while I do it. In eating and drinking -my object shall be to quench the desires of Nature, not to fill -and empty my belly. I will be agreeable with my friends, gentle -and mild to my foes: I will grant pardon before I am asked for -it, and will meet the wishes of honourable men half way: I will -bear in mind that the world is my native city, that its governors -are the gods, and that they stand above and around me, criticizing -whatever I do or say. Whenever either Nature demands my breath -again, or reason bids me dismiss it, I will quit this life, calling -all to witness that I have loved a good conscience, and good -pursuits; that no one’s freedom, my own least of all, has been -impaired through me.” He who sets up these as the rules of his -life will soar aloft and strive to make his way to the gods: -of a truth, even though he fails, yet he -<span class="pagenum" id="p228">228</span></p> - -<blockquote><p>“Fails in a high -emprise.”<a href="#fn-7.4" name="fnref-7.4" id="fnref-7.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -</p></blockquote> - -<p> -But you, who hate both virtue and those who practise it, do nothing -at which we need be surprised, for sickly lights cannot bear -the sun, nocturnal creatures avoid the brightness of day, and -at its first dawning become bewildered and all betake themselves -to their dens together: creatures that fear the light hide themselves -in crevices. So croak away, and exercise your miserable tongues -in reproaching good men: open wide your jaws, bite hard: you -will break many teeth before you make any impression.</p> - -<p>XXI. “But how is it that this man studies philosophy and nevertheless -lives the life of a rich man? Why does he say that wealth ought -to be despised and yet possess it? that life should be despised, -and yet live? that health should be despised, and yet guard it -with the utmost care, and wish it to be as good as possible? -Does he consider banishment to be an empty name, and say, “What -evil is there in changing one country for another?” and yet, -if permitted, does he not grow old in his native land? does he -declare that there is no difference between a longer and a shorter -time, and yet, if he be not prevented, lengthen out his life -and flourish in a green old age?” His answer is, that these things -ought to be despised, not that he should not possess them, but -that he should not possess them with fear and trembling: he does -not drive them away from him, but when they leave him he follows -after them unconcernedly. Where, indeed, can fortune invest riches -more securely than in a place from whence they can always be -recovered without any squabble with their trustee? Marcus Cato, -when he was praising Curius and Coruncanius and that century -in which the possession of a few small silver coins were an offence -which was punished by the Censor, himself owned four million -sesterces; a less fortune no -<span class="pagenum" id="p229">229</span>doubt, than that of Crassus, but -larger than of Cato the Censor. -If the amounts be compared, he had outstripped his great-grandfather -further than he himself was outdone by Crassus, and if still -greater riches had fallen to his lot, he would not have spurned -them: for the wise man does not think himself unworthy of any -chance presents: he does not love riches, but he prefers to have -them; he does not receive them into his spirit, but only into -his house: nor does he cast away from him what he already possesses, -but keeps them, and is willing that his virtue should receive -a larger subject-matter for its exercise.</p> - -<p>XXII. Who can doubt, however, that the wise man, if he is rich, -has a wider field for the development of his powers than if he -is poor, seeing that in the latter case the only virtue which -he can display is that of neither being perverted nor crushed -by his poverty, whereas if he has riches, he will have a wide -field for the exhibition of temperance, generosity, laboriousness, -methodical arrangement, and grandeur. The wise man will not despise -himself, however short of stature he may be, but nevertheless -he will wish to be tall: even though he be feeble and one-eyed -he may be in good health, yet he would prefer to have bodily -strength, and that too, while he knows all the while that he -has something which is even more powerful: he will endure illness, -and will hope for good health: for some things, though they may -be trifles compared with the sum total, and though they may be -taken away without destroying the chief good, yet add somewhat -to that constant cheerfulness which arises from virtue. Riches -encourage and brighten up such a man just as a sailor is delighted -at a favourable wind that bears him on his way, or as people -feel pleasure at a fine day or at a sunny spot in the cold weather. -What wise man, I mean of our school, whose only good is virtue, -can deny that even these matters which we call neither good nor -bad have in themselves a <span class="pagenum" id="p230">230</span>certain -value, and that some of them -are preferable to others? to some of them we show a certain amount -of respect, and to some a great deal. Do not, then, make any -mistake: riches belong to the class of desirable things. “Why -then,” say you, “do you laugh at me, since you place them in -the same position that I do?” Do you wish to know how different -the position is in which we place them? If my riches leave me, -they will carry away with them nothing except themselves: you -will be bewildered and will seem to be left without yourself -if they should pass away from you: with me riches occupy a certain -place, but with you they occupy the highest place of all. In -fine, my riches belong to me, you belong to your riches.</p> - -<p>XXIII. Cease, then, forbidding philosophers to possess money: -no one has condemned wisdom to poverty. The philosopher may own -ample wealth, but will not own wealth that which has been torn -from another, or which is stained with another’s blood: his must -be obtained without wronging any man, and without its being won -by base means; it must be alike honourably come by and honourably -spent, and must be such as spite alone could shake its head at. -Raise it to whatever figure you please, it will still be an honourable -possession, if, while it includes much which every man would -like to call his own, there be nothing which any one can say -is his own. Such a man will not forfeit his right to the favour -of Fortune, and will neither boast of his inheritance nor blush -for it if it was honourably acquired: yet he will have something -to boast of, if he throw his house open, let all his countrymen -come among his property, and say, “If any one recognizes here -anything belonging to him, let him take it.” What a great man, -how excellently rich will he be, if after this speech he possesses -as much as he had before! I say, then, that if he can safely -and confidently submit his accounts to the scrutiny of the people, -and no one can find <span class="pagenum" id="p231">231</span>in them any item -upon which he can lay hands, -such a man may boldly and unconcealedly enjoy his riches. The -wise man will not allow a single ill-won penny to cross his threshold: -yet he will not refuse or close his door against great riches, -if they are the gift of fortune and the product of virtue: what -reason has he for grudging them good quarters: let them come -and be his guests: he will neither brag of them nor hide them -away: the one is the part of a silly, the other of a cowardly -and paltry spirit, which, as it were, muffles up a good thing -in its lap. Neither will he, as I said before, turn them out -of his house: for what will he say? will he say, “You are useless,” -or “I do not know how to use riches?” As he is capable of performing -a journey upon his own feet, but yet would prefer to mount a -carriage, just so he will be capable of being poor, yet will -wish to be rich; he will own wealth, but will view it as an uncertain -possession which will some day fly away from him. He will not -allow it to be a burden either to himself or to any one else: -he will give it—why do you prick up your ears? why do you open -your pockets?—he will give it either to good men or to those -whom it may make into good men. He will give it after having -taken the utmost pains to choose those who are fittest to receive -it, as becomes one who bears in mind that he ought to give an -account of what he spends as well as of what he receives. He -will give for good and commendable reasons, for a gift ill bestowed -counts as a shameful loss: he will have an easily opened pocket, -but not one with a hole in it, so that much may be taken out -of it, yet nothing may fall out of it.</p> - -<p>XXIV. He who believes giving to be an easy matter, is mistaken: -it offers very great difficulties, if we bestow our bounty rationally, -and do not scatter it impulsively and at random. I do this man -a service, I requite a good turn done me by that one: I help -this other, because I pity him: this man, again, I teach to be -no fit object for poverty to <span class="pagenum" id="p232">232</span>hold down -or degrade. I shall not -give some men anything, although they are in want, because, even -if I do give to them they will still be in want: I shall proffer -my bounty to some, and shall forcibly thrust it upon others: -I cannot be neglecting my own interests while I am doing this: -at no time do I make more people in my debt than when I am giving -things away. “What?” say you, “do you give that you may receive -again?” At any rate I do not give that I may throw my bounty -away: what I give should be so placed that although I cannot -ask for its return, yet it may be given back to me. A benefit -should be invested in the same manner as a treasure buried deep -in the earth, which you would not dig up unless actually obliged. -Why, what opportunities of conferring benefits the mere house -of a rich man affords? for who considers generous behaviour due -only to those who wear the toga? Nature bids me do good to mankind—what -difference does it make whether they be slaves or freemen, free-born -or emancipated, whether their freedom be legally acquired or -betowed by arrangement among friends? Wherever there is a human -being, there is an opportunity for a benefit: consequently, money -may be distributed even within one’s own threshold, and a field -may be found there for the practice of freehandedness, which -is not so called because it is our duty towards free men, but -because it takes its rise in a free-born mind. In the case of -the wise man, this never falls upon base and unworthy recipients, -and never becomes so exhausted as not, whenever it finds a worthy -object, to flow as if its store was undiminished. You have, therefore, -no grounds for misunderstanding the honourable, brave, and spirited -language which you hear from those who are studying wisdom: and -first of all observe this, that a student of wisdom is not the -same thing as a man who has made himself perfect in wisdom. The -former will say to you, “In my talk I express the most admirable -senti<span class="pagenum" id="p233">233</span>ments, yet I am still weltering -amid countless ills. You -must not force me to act up to my rules: at the present time -I am forming myself, moulding my character, and striving to rise -myself to the height of a great example. If I should ever succeed -in carrying out all that I have set myself to accomplish, you -may then demand that my words and deeds should correspond,” But -he who has reached the summit of human perfection will deal otherwise -with you, and will say, “In the first place, you have no business -to allow yourself to sit in judgment upon your betters:” I have -already obtained one proof of my righteousness in having become -an object of dislike to bad men: however, to make you a rational -answer, which I grudge to no man, listen to what I declare, and -at what price I value all things. Riches, I say, are not a good -thing; for if they were, they would make men good: now since -that which is found even among bad men cannot be termed good, -I do not allow them to be called so: nevertheless I admit that -they are desirable and useful and contribute great comforts to -our lives.</p> - -<p>XXV. Learn, then, since we both agree that they are desirable, -what my reason is amongst counting them among good things, and -in what respects I should behave differently to you if I possessed -them. Place me as master in the house of a very rich man: place -me where gold and silver plate is used for the commonest purposes; -I shall not think more of myself because of things which even -though they are in my house are yet no part of me. Take me away -to the wooden -bridge<a href="#fn-7.5" name="fnref-7.5" id="fnref-7.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> and -put me down there among the beggars: -I shall not despise myself because I am sitting among those who -hold out their hands for alms: for what can the lack of a piece -of bread matter to one -<span class="pagenum" id="p234">234</span>who does not lack the power of dying? -Well, then? I prefer the -magnificent house to the beggar’s bridge. Place me among magnificent -furniture and all the appliances of luxury: I shall not think -myself any happier because my cloak is soft, because my guests -rest upon purple. Change the scene: I shall be no more miserable -if my weary head rests upon a bundle of hay, if I lie upon a -cushion from the circus, with all the stuffing on the point of -coming out through its patches of threadbare cloth. Well, then? -I prefer, as far as my feelings go, to show myself in public -dressed in woollen and in robes of office, rather than with naked -or half-covered shoulders: I should like every day’s business -to turn out just as I wish it to do, and new congratulations -to be constantly following upon the former ones: yet I will not -pride myself upon this: change all this good fortune for its -opposite, let my spirit be distracted by losses, grief, various -kinds of attacks: let no hour pass without some dispute: I shall -not on this account, though beset by the greatest miseries, call -myself the most miserable of beings, nor shall I curse any particular -day, for I have taken care to have no unlucky days. What, then, -is the upshot of all this? it is that I prefer to have to regulate -joys than to stifle sorrows. The great Socrates would say the -same thing to you. “Make me,” he would say, “the conqueror of -all nations: let the voluptuous car of Bacchus bear me in triumph -to Thebes from the rising of the sun: let the kings of the Persians -receive laws from me: yet I shall feel myself to be a man at -the very moment when all around salute me as a God. Straightway -connect this lofty height with a headlong fall into misfortune: -let me be placed upon a foreign chariot that I may grace the -triumph of a proud and savage conqueror: I will follow another’s -car with no more humility than I showed when I stood in my own. -What then? In spite of all this, I had rather be a conqueror -than a captive. I despise the whole -<span class="pagenum" id="p235">235</span>dominion of Fortune, but -still, if I were given my choice, I would choose its better parts. -I shall make whatever befals me become a good thing, but I prefer -that what befals me should be comfortable and pleasant and unlikely -to cause me annoyance: for you need not suppose that any virtue -exists without labour, but some virtues need spurs, while others -need the curb. As we have to check our body on a downward path, -and to urge it to climb a steep one; so also the path of some -virtues leads down hill, that of others uphill. Can we doubt -that patience, courage, constancy, and all the other virtues -which have to meet strong opposition, and to trample Fortune -under their feet, are climbing, struggling, winning their way -up a steep ascent? Why! is it not equally evident that generosity, -moderation, and gentleness glide easily downhill? With the latter -we must hold in our spirit, lest it run away with us: with the -former we must urge and spur it on. We ought, therefore, to apply -these energetic, combative virtues to poverty, and to riches -those other more thrifty ones which trip lightly along, and merely -support their own weight. This being the distinction between -them, I would rather have to deal with those which I could practise -in comparative quiet, than those of which one can only make trial -through blood and sweat. “Wherefore,” says the sage, “I do not -talk one way and live another: but you do not rightly understand -what I say: the sound of my words alone reaches your ears, you -do not try to find out their meaning.”</p> - -<p>XXVI. “What difference, then, is there between me, who am a fool, -and you, who are a wise man?” “All the difference in the world: -for riches are slaves in the house of a wise man, but masters -in that of a fool. You accustom yourself to them and cling to -them as if somebody had promised that they should be yours for -ever, but a wise man never thinks so much about poverty as when -he is surrounded by riches. No general ever trusts so implicitly -in <span class="pagenum" id="p236">236</span>the maintenance of peace as not to -make himself ready for -a war, which, though it may not actually be waged, has nevertheless -been declared; you are rendered over-proud by a fine house, as -though it could never be burned or fall down, and your heads -are turned by riches as though they were beyond the reach of -all dangers and were so great that Fortune has not sufficient -strength to swallow them up. You sit idly playing with your wealth -and do not foresee the perils in store for it, as savages generally -do when besieged, for, not understanding the use of siege artillery, -they look on idly at the labours of the besiegers and do not -understand the object of the machines which they are putting -together at a distance: and this is exactly what happens to you: -you go to sleep over your property, and never reflect how many -misfortunes loom menacingly around you on all sides, and soon -will plunder you of costly spoils, but if one takes away riches -from the wise man, one leaves him still in possession of all -that is his: for he lives happy in the present, and without fear -for the future. The great Socrates, or any one else who had the -same superiority to and power to withstand the things of this -life, would say, ‘I have no more fixed principle than that of -not altering the course of my life to suit your prejudices: you -may pour your accustomed talk upon me from all sides: I shall -not think that you are abusing me, but that you are merely wailing -like poor little babies.’ ” This is what the man will say who -possesses wisdom, whose mind, being free from vices, bids him -reproach others, not because he hates them, but in order to improve -them: and to this he will add, “Your opinion of me affects me -with pain, not for my own sake but for yours, because to hate -perfection and to assail virtue is in itself a resignation of -all hope of doing well. You do me no harm; neither do men harm -the gods when they overthrow their altars: but it is clear that -your intention is an evil one and that you will wish to do harm -even <span class="pagenum" id="p237">237</span>where you are not able. I bear -with your prating in the -same spirit in which Jupiter, best and greatest, bears with the -idle tales of the poets, one of whom represents him with wings, -another with horns, another as an adulterer staying out all night, -another is dealing harshly with the gods, another as unjust to -men, another as the seducer of noble youths whom he carries off -by force, and those, too, his own relatives, another as a parricide -and the conqueror of another’s kingdom, and that his father’s. -The only result of such tales is that men feel less shame at -committing sin if they believe the gods to be guilty of such -actions. But although this conduct of yours does not hurt me, -yet, for your own sakes, I advise you, respect virtue: believe -those who having long followed her cry aloud that what they follow -is a thing of might, and daily appears mightier. Reverence her -as you would the gods, and reverence her followers as you would -the priests of the gods: and whenever any mention of sacred writings -is made, <i>favete linguis</i>, favour us with silence: this word is -not derived, as most people imagine, from <i>favour</i>, but commands -silence, that divine service may be performed without being interrupted -by any words of evil omen. It is much more necessary that you -should be ordered to do this, in order that whenever utterance -is made by that oracle, you may listen to it with attention and -in silence. Whenever any one beats a -sistrum,<a href="#fn-7.6" name="fnref-7.6" id="fnref-7.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> -pretending to -do so by divine command, any proficient in grazing his own skin -covers his arms and shoulders with blood from light cuts, any -one crawls on his knees howling along the street, or any old -man clad in linen comes forth in daylight with a lamp and laurel -branch and cries out that one of the gods is angry, you crowd -round him and listen to his words, and each increases the -<span class="pagenum" id="p238">238</span>other’s wonderment by declaring -him to be divinely inspired. -</p> - -<p>XXVII. Behold! from that prison of his, which by entering he -cleansed from shame and rendered more honourable than any senate -house, Socrates addresses you, saying: “What is this madness -of yours? what is this disposition, at war alike with gods and -men, which leads you to calumniate virtue and to outrage holiness -with malicious accusations? Praise good men, if you are able: -if not, pass them by in silence: if indeed you take pleasure -in this offensive abusiveness, fall foul of one another: for -when you rave against Heaven, I do not say that you commit sacrilege, -but you waste your time. I once afforded Aristophanes with the -subject of a jest: since then all the crew of comic poets have -made me a mark for their envenomed wit: my virtue has been made -to shine more brightly by the very blows which have been aimed -at it, for it is to its advantage to be brought before the public -and exposed to temptation, nor do any people understand its greatness -more than those who by their assaults have made trial of its -strength. The hardness of flint is known to none so well as to -those who strike it. I offer myself to all attacks, like some -lonely rock in a shallow sea, which the waves never cease to -beat upon from whatever quarter they may come, but which they -cannot thereby move from its place nor yet wear away, for however -many years they may unceasingly dash against it. Bound upon me, -rush upon me, I will overcome you by enduring your onset: whatever -strikes against that which is firm and unconquerable merely injures -itself by its own violence. Wherefore, seek some soft and yielding -object to pierce with your darts. But have you leisure to peer -into other men’s evil deeds and to sit in judgment upon anybody? -to ask how it is that this philosopher has so roomy a house, -or that one so good a dinner? Do you look at other people’s pimples -while you <span class="pagenum" id="p239">239</span>yourselves are covered with -countless ulcers? This -is as though one who was eaten up by the mange were to point -with scorn at the moles and warts on the bodies of the handsomest -men. Reproach Plato with having sought for money, reproach Aristotle -with having obtained it, Democritus with having disregarded it, -Epicurus with having spent it: cast Phaedrus and Alcibiades in -my own teeth, you who reach the height of enjoyment whenever -you get an opportunity of imitating our vices! Why do you not -rather cast your eyes around yourselves at the ills which tear -you to pieces on every side, some attacking you from without, -some burning in your own bosoms? However little you know your -own place, mankind has not yet come to such a pass that you can -have leisure to wag your tongues to the reproach of your betters. -</p> - -<p>XXVIII. This you do not understand, and you bear a countenance -which does not befit your condition, like many men who sit in -the circus or the theatre without having learned that their home -is already in mourning: but I, looking forward from a lofty standpoint, -can see what storms are either threatening you, and will burst -in torrents upon you somewhat later, or are close upon you and -on the point of sweeping away all that you possess. Why, though -you are hardly aware of it, is there not a whirling hurricane -at this moment spinning round and confusing your minds, making -them seek and avoid the very same things, now raising them aloft -and now dashing them below? . . . . . .”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-7.1" id="fn-7.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-7.1">[1]</a> -Lipsius’s conjecture, “those -who are dressed in white as well as those who are dressed in -coloured clothes,’ alluding to the white robes of candidates -for office, seems reasonable. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-7.2" id="fn-7.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-7.2">[2]</a> -The Latin words are literally -“to divide” their vote, that is, “to separate things of -different -kinds comprised in a single vote so that they might be voted -for separately.”—Andrews.</p> -<p class="footnote">Séneque fait allusion ici à une coutume -pratiquée dans les assemblées du Sénat; et il nous I’explique -lui-même ailleurs d’un manière très claire: -“Si quelqu’un dans -le Sénat,” dit il, “ouvre un avis, dont une partie me convienne, -je le somme de la detacher du reste, et j’y -adhère.”—<i>Ep</i>. 21, -La Grange. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-7.3" id="fn-7.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-7.3">[3]</a> -<i>Parentatur</i> seems to mean where an offering is -made to luxury— where they sacrifice to luxury. Perfumes were -used at funerals. Lipsius suggests that these feasts were like -funerals because the guests were carried away from them dead -drunk. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-7.4" id="fn-7.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-7.4">[4]</a> -The quotation is from the epitaph on Phaeton.—See -<i>Ovid</i>, Met. II, 327. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-7.5" id="fn-7.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-7.5">[5]</a> -The “Pons Sublicius,” or “pile bridge,” -was built over the Tiber by Ancus Martius, one of the early kings -of Rome, and was always kept in repair out of a superstitious -feeling. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-7.6" id="fn-7.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-7.6">[6]</a> -<i>Sistrum</i>. A metallic rattle used by the Egyptians -in celebrating the rites of Isis, &c.—Andrews. -</p> - - -<h2>THE EIGHTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p240">240</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO SERENUS.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">OF LEISURE.</span></h2> - -<p>I. . . . . why do they with great unanimity recommend vices to -us? even though we attempt nothing else that would do us good, -yet retirement in itself will be beneficial to us: we shall be -better men when taken singly—and if so, what an advantage it -will be to retire into the society of the best of men, and to -choose some example by which we may guide our lives! This cannot -be done without leisure: with leisure we can carry out that which -we have once for all decided to be best, when there is no one -to interfere with us and with the help of the mob pervert our -as yet feeble judgment: with leisure only can life, which we -distract by aiming at the most incompatible objects, flow on -in a single gentle stream. Indeed, the worst of our various ills -is that we change our very vices, and so we have not even the -advantage of dealing with a well-known form of evil: we take -pleasure first in one and then in another, and are, besides, -troubled by the fact that our opinions are not only wrong, but -lightly formed; we toss as it were on waves, and clutch at one -thing after another: we let go what we just now sought for, and -<span class="pagenum" id="p241">241</span>strive to recover what we have let go. -We oscillate between desire -and remorse, for we depend entirely upon the opinions of others, -and it is that which many people praise and seek after, not that -which deserves to be praised and sought after, which we consider -to be best. Nor do we take any heed of whether our road be good -or bad in itself, but we value it by the number of footprints -upon it, among which there are none of any who have returned. -You will say to me, “Seneca, what are you doing? do you desert -your party? I am sure that our Stoic philosophers say we must -be in motion up to the very end of our life, we will never cease -to labour for the general good; to help individual people, and -when stricken in years to afford assistance even to our enemies. -We are the sect that gives no discharge for any number of years’ -service, and in the words of the most eloquent of poets:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘We -wear the helmet when our locks are -grey.’<a href="#fn-8.1" name="fnref-8.1" id="fnref-8.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> -</p></blockquote> - -<p>We are they who -are so far from indulging in any leisure until we die, that if -circumstances permit it, we do not allow ourselves to be at leisure -even when we are dying. Why do you preach the maxims of Epicurus -in the very headquarters of Zeno? nay, if you are ashamed of -your party, why do you not go openly altogether over to the enemy -rather than betray your own side?” I will answer this question -straightway: What more can you wish than that I should imitate -my leaders? What then follows? I shall go whither they lead me, -not whither they send me.</p> - -<p>II. Now I will prove to you that I am not deserting the -<span class="pagenum" id="p242">242</span>tenets of the Stoics: for they -themselves have not deserted them: -and yet I should be able to plead a very good excuse even if -I did follow, not their precepts, but their examples. I shall -divide what I am about to say into two parts: first, that a man -may from the very beginning of his life give himself up entirely -to the contemplation of truth; secondly, that a man when he has -already completed his term of service, has the best of rights, -that of his shattered health, to do this, and that he may then -apply his mind to other studies after the manner of the Vestal -virgins, who allot different duties to different years, first -learn how to perform the sacred rites, and when they have learned -them teach others.</p> - -<p>III. I will show that this is approved of by the Stoics also, -not that I have laid any commandment upon myself to do nothing -contrary to the teaching of Zeno and Chrysippus, but because -the matter itself allows me to follow the precepts of those men; -for if one always follows the precepts of one man, one ceases -to be a debater and becomes a partizan. Would that all things -were already known, that truth were unveiled and recognized, -and that none of our doctrines required modification! but as -it is we have to seek for truth in the company of the very men -who teach it. The two sects of Epicureans and Stoics differ widely -in most respects, and on this point among the rest, nevertheless, -each of them consigns us to leisure, although by a different -road. Epicurus says, “The wise man will not take part in politics, -except upon some special occasion;” Zeno says, “The wise man -will take part in politics, unless prevented by some special -circumstance.” The one makes it his aim in life to seek for leisure, -the other seeks it only when he has reasons for so doing: but -this word “reasons” has a wide signification. If the state is -so rotten as to be past helping, if evil has entire dominion -over it, the wise man will not labour in vain or waste his strength -in un<span class="pagenum" id="p243">243</span>profitable efforts. Should he be -deficient in influence -or bodily strength, if the state refuse to submit to his guidance, -if his health stand in the way, then he will not attempt a journey -for which he is unfit, just as he would not put to sea in a worn-out -ship, or enlist in the army if he were an invalid. Consequently, -one who has not yet suffered either in health or fortune has -the right, before encountering any storms, to establish himself -in safety, and thenceforth to devote himself to honourable industry -and inviolate leisure, and the service of those virtues which -can be practised even by those who pass the quietest of lives. -The duty of a man is to be useful to his fellow-men; if possible, -to be useful to many of them; failing this, to be useful to a -few; failing this, to be useful to his neighbours, and, failing -them, to himself: for when he helps others, he advances the general -interests of mankind. Just as he who makes himself a worse man -does harm not only to himself but to all those to whom he might -have done good if he had made himself a better one, so he who -deserves well of himself does good to others by the very fact -that he is preparing what will be of service to them.</p> - -<p>IV. Let us grasp the fact that there are two republics, one vast -and truly “public,” which contains alike gods and men, in which -we do not take account of this or that nook of land, but make -the boundaries of our state reach as far as the rays of the sun: -and another to which we have been assigned by the accident of -birth. This may be that of the Athenians or Carthaginians, or -of any other city which does not belong to all men but to some -especial ones. Some men serve both of these states, the greater -and the lesser, at the same time; some serve only the lesser, -some only the greater. We can serve the greater commonwealth -even when we are at leisure; indeed I am not sure that we cannot -serve it better when we are at leisure to inquire into what virtue -is, and whether it be one or many: -<span class="pagenum" id="p244">244</span>whether it be nature or art -that makes men good: whether that which contains the earth and -sea and all that in them is be one, or whether God has placed -therein many bodies of the same species: whether that out of -which all things are made be continuous and solid, or containing -interstices and alternate empty and full spaces: whether God -idly looks on at His handiwork, or directs its course: whether -He is without and around the world, or whether He pervades its -entire surface: whether the world be immortal, or doomed to decay -and belonging to the class of things which are born only for -a time? What service does he who meditates upon these questions -render to God? He prevents these His great works having no one -to witness them.</p> - -<p>V. We have a habit of saying that the highest good is to live -according to nature: now nature has produced us for both purposes, -for contemplation and for action. Let us now prove what we said -before: nay, who will not think this proved if he bethinks himself -how great a passion he has for discovering the unknown? how vehemently -his curiosity is roused by every kind of romantic tale. Some -men make long voyages and undergo the toils of journeying to -distant lands for no reward except that of discovering something -hidden and remote. This is what draws people to public shows, -and causes them to pry into everything that is closed, to puzzle -out everything that is secret, to clear up points of antiquity, -and to listen to tales of the customs of savage nations. Nature -has bestowed upon us an inquiring disposition, and being well -aware of her own skill and beauty, has produced us to be spectators -of her vast works, because she would lose all the fruits of her -labour if she were to exhibit such vast and noble works of such -complex construction, so bright and beautiful in so many ways, -to solitude alone. That you may be sure that she wishes to be -gazed upon, not merely looked at, see what a place she has assigned -to us: she has placed us in <span class="pagenum" id="p245">245</span>the middle -of herself and given us -a prospect all around. She has not only set man erect upon his -feet, but also with a view to making it easy for him to watch -the heavens, she has raised his head on high and connected it -with a pliant neck, in order that he might follow the course -of the stars from their rising to their setting, and move his -face round with the whole heaven. Moreover, by carrying six constellations -across the sky by day, and six by night, she displays every part -of herself in such a manner that by what she brings before man’s -eyes she renders him eager to see the rest also. For we have -not beheld all things, nor yet the true extent of them, but our -eyesight does but open to itself the right path for research, -and lay the foundation, from which our speculations may pass -from what is obvious to what is less known, and find out something -more ancient than the world itself, from whence those stars came -forth: inquire what was the condition of the universe before -each of its elements were separated from the general mass: on -what principle its confused and blended parts were divided: who -assigned their places to things, whether it was by their own -nature that what was heavy sunk downwards, and what was light -flew upwards, or whether besides the stress and weight of bodies -some higher power gave laws to each of them: whether that greatest -proof that the spirit of man is divine be true, the theory, namely, -that some parts and as it were sparks of the stars have fallen -down upon earth and stuck there in a foreign substance. Our thought -bursts through the battlements of heaven, and is not satisfied -with knowing only what is shown to us: “I investigate,” it says, -“that which lies without the world, whether it be a bottomless -abyss, or whether it also is confined within boundaries of its -own: what the appearance of the things outside may be, whether -they be shapeless and vague, extending equally in every direction, -or whether they also are arranged <span class="pagenum" id="p246">246</span>in a -certain kind of order: -whether they are connected with this world of ours, or are widely -separated from it and welter about in empty space: whether they -consist of distinct atoms, of which everything that is and that -is to be, is made, or whether their substance is uninterrupted -and all of it capable of change: whether the elements are naturally -opposed to one another, or whether they are not at variance, -but work towards the same end by different means.” Since man -was born for such speculations as these, consider how short a -time he has been given for them, even supposing that he makes -good his claims to the whole of it, allows no part of it to be -wrested from him through good nature, or to slip away from him -through carelessness; though he watches over all his hours with -most miserly care, though he live to the extreme confines of -human existence, and though misfortune take nothing away from -what Nature bestowed upon him, even then man is too mortal for -the comprehension of immortality. I live according to Nature, -therefore, if I give myself entirely up to her, and if I admire -and reverence her. Nature, however, intended me to do both, to -practise both contemplation and action: and I do both, because -even contemplation is not devoid of action.</p> - -<p>VI. “But,” say you, “it makes a difference whether you adopt -the contemplative life for the sake of your own pleasure, demanding -nothing from it save unbroken contemplation without any result: -for such a life is a sweet one and has attractions of its own.” -To this I answer you: It makes just as much difference in what -spirit you lead the life of a public man, whether you are never -at rest, and never set apart any time during which you may turn -your eyes away from the things of earth to those of Heaven. It -is by no means desirable that one should merely strive to accumulate -property without any love of virtue, or do nothing but hard work -without any cultivation of the -<span class="pagenum" id="p247">247</span>intellect, for these things ought -to be combined and blended together; and, similarly, virtue placed -in leisure without action is but an incomplete and feeble good -thing, because she never displays what she has learned. Who can -deny that she ought to test her progress in actual work, and -not merely think what ought to be done, but also sometimes use -her hands as well as her head, and bring her conceptions into -actual being? But if the wise man be quite willing to act thus, -if it be the things to be done, not the man to do them that are -wanting, will you not then allow him to live to himself? What -is the wise man’s purpose in devoting himself to leisure? He -knows that in leisure as well as in action he will accomplish -something by which he will be of service to posterity. Our school -at any rate declares that Zeno and Chrysippus have done greater -things than they would have done had they been in command of -armies, or filled high offices, or passed laws: which latter -indeed they did pass, though not for one single state, but for -the whole human race. How then can it be unbecoming to a good -man to enjoy a leisure such as this, by whose means he gives -laws to ages to come, and addresses himself not to a few persons -but to all men of all nations, both now and hereafter? To sum -up the matter, I ask you whether Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and Zeno -lived in accordance with their doctrine? I am sure that you will -answer that they lived in the manner in which they taught that -men ought to live: yet no one of them governed a state. “They -had not,” you reply, “the amount of property or social position -which as a rule enables people to take part in public affairs.” -Yet for all that they did not live an idle life: they found the -means of making their retirement more useful to mankind than -the perspirings and runnings to and fro of other men: wherefore -these persons are thought to have done great things, in spite -of their having done nothing of a public character. -<span class="pagenum" id="p248">248</span></p> - -<p>VII. Morever, there are three kinds of life, and it is a stock -question which of the three is the best: the first is devoted -to pleasure, the second to contemplation, the third to action. -First, let us lay aside all disputatiousness and bitterness of -feeling, which, as we have stated, causes those whose paths in -life are different to hate one another beyond all hope of reconciliation, -and let us see whether all these three do not come to the same -thing, although under different names: for neither he who decides -for pleasure is without contemplation, nor is he who gives himself -up to contemplation without pleasure: nor yet is he, whose life -is devoted to action, without contemplation. “It makes,” you -say, “all the difference in the world, whether a thing is one’s -main object in life, or whether it be merely an appendage to -some other object.” I admit that the difference is considerable, -nevertheless the one does not exist apart from the other: the -one man cannot live in contemplation without action, nor can -the other act without contemplation: and even the third, of whom -we all agree in having a bad opinion, does not approve of passive -pleasure, but of that which he establishes for himself by means -of reason: even this pleasure-seeking sect itself, therefore, -practises action also. Of course it does, since Epicurus himself -says that at times he would abandon pleasure and actually seek -for pain, if he became likely to be surfeited with pleasure, -or if he thought that by enduring a slight pain he might avoid -a greater one. With what purpose do I state this? To prove that -all men are fond of contemplation. Some make it the object of -their lives: to us it is an anchorage, but not a harbour.</p> - -<p>VIII. Add to this that, according to the doctrine of Chrysippus, -a man may live at leisure: I do not say that he ought to endure -leisure, but that he ought to choose it. Our Stoics say that -the wise man would not take part in the government of any state. -What difference does it <span class="pagenum" id="p249">249</span>make by what -path the wise man arrives -at leisure, whether it be because the state is wanting to him, -or he is wanting to the state? If the state is to be wanting -to all wise men (and it always will be found wanting by refined -thinkers), I ask you, to what state should the wise man betake -himself; to that of the Athenians, in which Socrates is condemned -to death, and from which Aristotle goes into exile lest he should -be condemned to death? where virtues are borne down by jealousy? -You will tell me that no wise man would join such a state. Shall -then the wise man go to the commonwealth of the Carthaginians, -where faction never ceases to rage, and liberty is the foe of -all the best men, where justice and goodness are held of no account, -where enemies are treated with inhuman cruelty and natives are -treated like enemies: he will flee from this state also. If I -were to discuss each one separately, I should not be able to -find one which the wise man could endure, or which could endure -the wise man. Now if such a state as we have dreamed of cannot -be found on earth, it follows that leisure is necessary for every -one, because the one thing which might be preferred to leisure -is nowhere to be found. If any one says that to sail is the best -of things, and then says that we ought not to sail in a sea in -which shipwrecks were common occurrences, and where sudden storms -often arise which drive the pilot back from his course, I should -imagine that this man, while speaking in praise of sailing, was -really forbidding me to unmoor my ship . . . .</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-8.1" id="fn-8.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-8.1">[1]</a> -Virg. “Aen.” -ix. 612. Compare Sir Walter Scott, “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” -canto iv.:—</p> -<blockquote><p class="footnote">“And still, in age, he spurned at rest,<br /> - And still his brows the helmet pressed.<br /> - Albeit the blanched locks below<br /> - Were white as Dinlay’s spotless snow,” &c.<br /> -</p></blockquote> - -<h2>THE NINTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p250">250</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO SERENUS.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">OF PEACE OF MIND.</span></h2> - -<p class="center">I. [<i>Serenus.</i>]</p> - -<p>When I examine myself, Seneca, some vices appear on the surface, -and so that I can lay my hands upon them, while others are less -distinct and harder to reach, and some are not always present, -but recur at intervals: and these I should call the most troublesome, -being like a roving enemy that assails one when he sees his opportunity, -and who will neither let one stand on one’s guard as in war, -nor yet take one’s rest without fear as in peace. The position -in which I find myself more especially (for why should I not -tell you the truth as I would to a physician), is that of neither -being thoroughly set free from the vices which I fear and hate, -nor yet quite in bondage to them: my state of mind, though not -the worst possible, is a particularly discontented and sulky -one: I am neither ill nor well, It is of no use for you to tell -me that all virtues are weakly at the outset, and that they acquire -strength and solidity by time, for I am well aware that even -those which do but help our outward show, such as grandeur, a -reputation for eloquence, and everything that appeals to others, -gain power by time. Both those which -<span class="pagenum" id="p251">251</span>afford us real strength -and those which do but trick us out in a more attractive form, -require long years before they gradually are adapted to us by -time. But I fear that custom, which confirms most things, implants -this vice more and more deeply in me. Long acquaintance with -both good and bad people leads one to esteem them all alike. -What this state of weakness really is, when the mind halts between -two opinions without any strong inclination towards either good -or evil, I shall be better able to show you piecemeal than all -at once. I will tell you what befalls me, you must find out the -name of the disease. I have to confess the greatest possible -love of thrift: I do not care for a bed with gorgeous hangings, -nor for clothes brought out of a chest, or pressed under weights -and made glossy by frequent manglings, but for common and cheap -ones, that require no care either to keep them or to put them -on. For food I do not want what needs whole troops of servants -to prepare it and admire it, nor what is ordered many days before -and served up by many hands, but something handy and easily come -at, with nothing far-fetched or costly about it, to be had in -every part of the world, burdensome neither to one’s fortune -nor one’s body, not likely to go out of the body by the same -path by which it came in. I -like<a href="#fn-9.1" name="fnref-9.1" id="fnref-9.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> a rough -and unpolished homebred -servant, I like my servant born in my house: I like my country-bred -father’s heavy silver plate stamped with no maker’s name: I do -not want a table that is beauteous with dappled spots, or known -to all the town by the number of fashionable people to whom it -has successively belonged, but one which stands merely for use, -and which causes no guest’s eye to dwell upon it with pleasure -or to kindle at it with envy. While I am well satisfied with -this, I am reminded of the clothes of a certain schoolboy, dressed -with no ordinary care and splendour, of slaves bedecked with -gold and a whole regi<span class="pagenum" id="p252">252</span>ment of -glittering attendants. I think of -houses too, where one treads on precious stones, and where valuables -lie about in every corner, where the very roof is brilliantly -painted, and a whole nation attends and accompanies an inheritance -on the road to ruin. What shall I say of waters, transparent -to the very bottom, which flow round the guests, and banquets -worthy of the theatre in which they take place? Coming as I do -from a long course of dull thrift, I find myself surrounded by -the most brilliant luxury, which echoes around me on every side: -my sight becomes a little dazzled by it: I can lift up my heart -against it more easily than my eyes. When I return from seeing -it I am a sadder, though not a worse man, I cannot walk amid -my own paltry possessions with so lofty a step as before, and -silently there steals over me a feeling of vexation, and a doubt -whether that way of life may not be better than mine. None of -these things alter my principles, yet all of them disturb me. -At one time I would obey the maxims of our school and plunge -into public life, I would obtain office and become consul, not -because the purple robe and lictor’s axes attract me, but in -order that I may be able to be of use to my friends, my relatives, -to all my countrymen, and indeed to all mankind. Ready and determined, -I follow the advice of Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus, all of -whom bid one take part in public affairs, though none of them -ever did so himself: and then, as soon as something disturbs -my mind, which is not used to receiving shocks, as soon as something -occurs which is either disgraceful, such as often occurs in all -men’s lives, or which does not proceed quite easily, or when -subjects of very little importance require me to devote a great -deal of time to them, I go back to my life of leisure, and, just -as even tired cattle go faster when they are going home, I wish -to retire and pass my life within the walls of my house. “No -one,” I say, “that will give me no compensation worth such a -loss shall ever <span class="pagenum" id="p253">253</span>rob me of a day. Let -my mind be contained within -itself and improve itself: let it take no part with other men’s -affairs, and do nothing which depends on the approval of others: -let me enjoy a tranquillity undisturbed by either public or private -troubles.” But whenever my spirit is roused by reading some brave -words, or some noble example spurs me into action, I want to -rush into the law courts, to place my voice at one man’s disposal, -my services at another’s, and to try to help him even though -I may not succeed, or to quell the pride of some lawyer who is -puffed up by ill-deserved success: but I think, by Hercules, -that in philosophical speculation it is better to view things -as they are, and to speak of them on their own account, and as -for words, to trust to things for them, and to let one’s speech -simply follow whither they lead. “Why do you want to construct -a fabric that will endure for ages? Do you not wish to do this -in order that posterity may talk of you: yet you were born to -die, and a silent death is the least wretched. Write something -therefore in a simple style, merely to pass the time, for your -own use, and not for publication. Less labour is needed when -one does not look beyond the present.” Then again, when the mind -is elevated by the greatness of its thoughts, it becomes ostentatious -in its use of words, the loftier its aspirations, the more loftily -it desires to express them, and its speech rises to the dignity -of its subject. At such times I forget my mild and moderate determination -and soar higher than is my wont, using a language that is not -my own. Not to multiply examples, I am in all things attended -by this weakness of a well-meaning mind, to whose level I fear -that I shall be gradually brought down, or, what is even more -worrying, that I may always hang as though about to fall, and -that there may be more the matter with me than I myself perceive: -for we take a friendly view of our own private affairs, and partiality -always obscures our judgment. <span class="pagenum" id="p254">254</span>I fancy -that many men would have -arrived at wisdom had they not believed themselves to have arrived -there already, had they not purposely deceived themselves as -to some parts of their character, and passed by others with their -eyes shut: for you have no grounds for supposing that other people’s -flattery is more ruinous to us than our own. Who dares to tell -himself the truth? Who is there, by however large a troop of -caressing courtiers he may be surrounded, who in spite of them -is not his own greatest flatterer? I beg you, therefore, if you -have any remedy by which you could stop this vacillation of mine, -to deem me worthy to owe my peace of mind to you. I am well aware -that these oscillations of mind are not perilous and that they -threaten me with no serious disorder: to express what I complain -of by an exact simile, I am not suffering from a storm, but from -sea-sickness. Take from me, then, this evil, whatever it may -be, and help one who is in distress within sight of land.</p> - -<p>II. [<i>Seneca.</i>] I have long been silently asking myself, my friend -Serenus, to what I should liken such a condition of mind, and -I find that nothing more closely resembles it than the conduct -of those who, after having recovered from a long and serious -illness, occasionally experience slight touches and twinges, -and, although they have passed through the final stages of the -disease, yet have suspicions that it has not left them, and though -in perfect health yet hold out their pulse to be felt by the -physician, and whenever they feel warm suspect that the fever -is returning. Such men, Serenus, are not unhealthy, but they -are not accustomed to being healthy; just as even a quiet sea -or lake nevertheless displays a certain amount of ripple when -its waters are subsiding after a storm. What you need, therefore, -is, not any of those harsher remedies to which allusion has been -made, not that you should in some cases check yourself, in others -be angry with yourself, in <span class="pagenum" id="p255">255</span>others -sternly reproach yourself, -but that you should adopt that which comes last in the list, -have confidence in yourself, and believe that you are proceeding -on the right path, without being led aside by the numerous divergent -tracks of wanderers which cross it in every direction, some of -them circling about the right path itself. What you desire, to -be undisturbed, is a great thing, nay, the greatest thing of -all, and one which raises a man almost to the level of a god. -The Greeks call this calm steadiness of mind <i lang="el">euthymia</i>, and -Democritus’s -treatise upon it is excellently written: I call it peace of mind: -for there is no necessity for translating so exactly as to copy -the words of the Greek idiom: the essential point is to mark -the matter under discussion by a name which ought to have the -same meaning as its Greek name, though perhaps not the same form. -What we are seeking, then, is how the mind may always pursue -a steady, unruffled course, may be pleased with itself, and look -with pleasure upon its surroundings, and experience no interruption -of this joy, but abide in a peaceful condition without being -ever either elated or depressed: this will be “peace of mind.” -Let us now consider in a general way how it may be attained: -then you may apply as much as you choose of the universal remedy -to your own case. Meanwhile we must drag to light the entire -disease, and then each one will recognize his own part of it: -at the same time you will understand how much less you suffer -by your self-depreciation than those who are bound by some showy -declaration which they have made, and are oppressed by some grand -title of honour, so that shame rather than their own free will -forces them to keep up the pretence. The same thing applies both -to those who suffer from fickleness and continual changes of -purpose, who always are fondest of what they have given up, and -those who merely yawn and dawdle: add to these those who, like -bad sleepers, turn from side to <span class="pagenum" id="p256">256</span>side, -and settle themselves first -in one manner and then in another, until at last they find rest -through sheer weariness: in forming the habits of their lives -they often end by adopting some to which they are not kept by -any dislike of change, but in the practice of which old age, -which is slow to alter, has caught them living: add also those -who are by no means fickle, yet who must thank their dulness, -not their consistency for being so, and who go on living not -in the way they wish, but in the way they have begun to live. -There are other special forms of this disease without number, -but it has but one effect, that of making people dissatisfied -with themselves. This arises from a distemperature of mind and -from desires which one is afraid to express or unable to fulfil, -when men either dare not attempt as much as they wish to do, -or fail in their efforts and depend entirely upon hope: such -people are always fickle and changeable, which is a necessary -consequence of living in a state of suspense: they take any way -to arrive at their ends, and teach and force themselves to use -both dishonourable and difficult means to do so, so that when -their toil has been in vain they are made wretched by the disgrace -of failure, and do not regret having longed for what was wrong, -but having longed for it in vain. They then begin to feel sorry -for what they have done, and afraid to begin again, and their -mind falls by degrees into a state of endless vacillation, because -they can neither command nor obey their passions, of hesitation, -because their life cannot properly develope itself, and of decay, -as the mind becomes stupefied by disappointments. All these symptoms -become aggravated when their dislike of a laborious misery has -driven them to idleness and to secret studies, which are unendurable -to a mind eager to take part in public affairs, desirous of action -and naturally restless, because, of course, it finds too few -resources within itself: when therefore it loses the amusement -which business itself affords to busy -<span class="pagenum" id="p257">257</span>men, it cannot endure home, -loneliness, or the walls of a room, and regards itself with dislike -when left to itself. Hence arises that weariness and dissatisfaction -with oneself, that tossing to and fro of a mind which can nowhere -find rest, that unhappy and unwilling endurance of enforced leisure. -In all cases where one feels ashamed to confess the real cause -of one’s suffering, and where modesty leads one to drive one’s -sufferings inward, the desires pent up in a little space without -any vent choke one another. Hence comes melancholy and drooping -of spirit, and a thousand waverings of the unsteadfast mind, -which is held in suspense by unfulfilled hopes, and saddened -by disappointed ones: hence comes the state of mind of those -who loathe their idleness, complain that they have nothing to -do, and view the progress of others with the bitterest jealousy: -for an unhappy sloth favours the growth of envy, and men who -cannot succeed themselves wish every one else to be ruined. This -dislike of other men’s progress and despair of one’s own produces -a mind angered against fortune, addicted to complaining of the -age in which it lives, to retiring into corners and brooding -over its misery, until it becomes sick and weary of itself: for -the human mind is naturally nimble and apt at movement: it delights -in every opportunity of excitement and forgetfulness of itself, -and the worse a man’s disposition the more he delights in this, -because he likes to wear himself out with busy action, just as -some sores long for the hands that injure them and delight in -being touched, and the foul itch enjoys anything that scratches -it. Similarly I assure you that these minds, over which desires -have spread like evil ulcers, take pleasure in toils and troubles, -for there are some things which please our body while at the -same time they give it a certain amount of pain, such as turning -oneself over and changing one’s side before it is wearied, or -cooling oneself in one position after another. It is like Homer’s -Achilles, <span class="pagenum" id="p258">258</span>lying first upon its face, -then upon its back, placing -itself in various attitudes, and, as sick people are wont, enduring -none of them for long, and using changes as though they were -remedies. Hence men undertake aimless wanderings, travel along -distant shores, and at one time at sea, at another by land, try -to soothe that fickleness of disposition which always is dissatisfied -with the present. “Now let us make for Campania: now I am sick -of rich cultivation: let us see wild regions, let us thread the -passes of Bruttii and Lucania: yet amid this wilderness one wants -something of beauty to relieve our pampered eyes after so long -dwelling on savage wastes: let us seek Tarentum with its famous -harbour, its mild winter climate, and its district, rich enough -to support even the great hordes of ancient times. Let us now -return to town: our ears have too long missed its shouts and -noise: it would be pleasant also to enjoy the sight of human -bloodshed.” Thus one journey succeeds another, and one sight -is changed for another. As Lucretius says:—</p> - - <blockquote><p>“Thus every mortal from himself doth flee;”</p> - </blockquote> - -<p>but what does he gain by so doing if he does not escape from -himself? he follows himself and weighs himself down by his own -most burdensome companionship. We must understand, therefore, -that what we suffer from is not the fault of the places but of -ourselves: we are weak when there is anything to be endured, -and cannot support either labour or pleasure, either one’s own -business or any one else’s for long. This has driven some men -to death, because by frequently altering their purpose they were -always brought back to the same point, and had left themselves -no room for anything new. They had become sick of life and of -the world itself, and as all indulgences palled upon them they -began to ask themselves the question, “How long are we to go -on doing the same thing?” <span class="pagenum" id="p259">259</span></p> - -<p>III. You ask me what I think we had better make use of to help -us to support this ennui. “The best thing,” as Athenodorus says, -“is to occupy oneself with business with the management of affairs -of state and the duties of a citizen: for as some pass the day -in exercising themselves in the sun and in taking care of their -bodily health, and athletes find it most useful to spend the -greater part of their time in feeding up the muscles and strength -to whose cultivation they have devoted their lives; so too for -you who are training your mind to take part in the struggles -of political life, it is far more honourable to be thus at work -than to be idle. He whose object is to be of service to his countrymen -and to all mortals, exercises himself and does good at the same -time when he is engrossed in business and is working to the best -of his ability both in the interests of the public and of private -men. But,” continues he, “because innocence is hardly safe among -such furious ambitions and so many men who turn one aside from -the right path, and it is always sure to meet with more hindrance -than help, we ought to withdraw ourselves from the forum and -from public life, and a great mind even in a private station -can find room wherein to expand freely. Confinement in dens restrains -the springs of lions and wild creatures, but this does not apply -to human beings, who often effect the most important works in -retirement. Let a man, however, withdraw himself only in such -a fashion that wherever he spends his leisure his wish may still -be to benefit individual men and mankind alike, both with his -intellect, his voice, and his advice. The man that does good -service to the state is not only he who brings forward candidates -for public office, defends accused persons, and gives his vote -on questions of peace and war, but he who encourages young men -in well-doing, who supplies the present dearth of good teachers -by instilling into their minds the principles of virtue, who -seizes and holds back those who <span class="pagenum" id="p260">260</span>are -rushing wildly in pursuit -of riches and luxury, and, if he does nothing else, at least -checks their course—such a man does service to the public though -in a private station. Which does the most good, he who decides -between foreigners and citizens (as praetor peregrinus), or, -as praetor urbanus, pronounces sentence to the suitors in his -court at his assistant’s dictation, or he who shows them what -is meant by justice, filial feeling, endurance, courage, contempt -of death and knowledge of the gods, and how much a man is helped -by a good conscience? If then you transfer to philosophy the -time which you take away from the public service, you will not -be a deserter or have refused to perform your proper task. A -soldier is not merely one who stands in the ranks and defends -the right or the left wing of the army, but he also who guards -the gates—a service which, though less dangerous, is no sinecure—who -keeps watch, and takes charge of the arsenal: though all these -are bloodless duties, yet they count as military service. As -soon as you have devoted yourself to philosophy, you will have -overcome all disgust at life: you will not wish for darkness -because you are weary of the light, nor will you be a trouble -to yourself and useless to others: you will acquire many friends, -and all the best men will be attracted towards you: for virtue, -in however obscure a position, cannot be hidden, but gives signs -of its presence: any one who is worthy will trace it out by its -footsteps: but if we give up all society, turn our backs upon -the whole human race, and live communing with ourselves alone, -this solitude without any interesting occupation will lead to -a want of something to do: we shall begin to build up and to -pull down, to dam out the sea, to cause waters to flow through -natural obstacles, and generally to make a bad disposal of the -time which Nature has given us to spend: some of us use it grudgingly, -others wastefully; some of us spend it so that we can show a -profit and loss account, <span class="pagenum" id="p261">261</span>others so -that they have no assets remaining: -than which nothing can be more shameful. Often a man who is very -old in years has nothing beyond his age by which he can prove -that he has lived a long time.”</p> - -<p>IV. To me, my dearest Serenus, Athenodorus seems to have yielded -too completely to the times, to have fled too soon: I will not -deny that sometimes one must retire, but one ought to retire -slowly, at a foot’s pace, without losing one’s ensigns or one’s -honour as a soldier: those who make terms with arms in their -hands are more respected by their enemies and more safe in their -hands. This is what I think ought to be done by virtue and by -one who practises virtue: if Fortune get the upper hand and deprive -him of the power of action, let him not straightway turn his -back to the enemy, throw away his arms, and run away seeking -for a hiding-place, as if there were any place whither Fortune -could not pursue him, but let him be more sparing in his acceptance -of public office, and after due deliberation discover some means -by which he can be of use to the state. He is not able to serve -in the army: then let him become a candidate for civic honours: -must he live in a private station? then let him be an advocate: -is he condemned to keep silence? then let him help his countrymen -with silent counsel. Is it dangerous for him even to enter the -forum? then let him prove himself a good comrade, a faithful -friend, a sober guest in people’s houses, at public shows, and -at wine-parties. Suppose that he has lost the status of a citizen; -then let him exercise that of a man: our reason for magnanimously -refusing to confine ourselves within the walls of one city, for -having gone forth to enjoy intercourse with all lands and for -professing ourselves to be citizens of the world is that we may -thus obtain a wider theatre on which to display our virtue. Is -the bench of judges closed to you, are you forbidden to address -the people from the hustings, or to be a candidate at elections? -<span class="pagenum" id="p262">262</span>then turn your eyes away from Rome, -and see what a wide extent -of territory, what a number of nations present themselves before -you. Thus, it is never possible for so many outlets to be closed -against your ambition that more will not remain open to it: but -see whether the whole prohibition does not arise from your own -fault. You do not choose to direct the affairs of the state except -as consul or -prytanis<a href="#fn-9.2" name="fnref-9.2" id="fnref-9.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> or -meddix<a href="#fn-9.3" name="fnref-9.3" id="fnref-9.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> -or sufes:<a href="#fn-9.4" name="fnref-9.4" id="fnref-9.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -what should -we say if you refused to serve in the army save as general or -military tribune? Even though others may form the first line, -and your lot may have placed you among the veterans of the third, -do your duty there with your voice, encouragement, example, and -spirit: even though a man’s hands be cut off, he may find means -to help his side in a battle, if he stands his ground and cheers -on his comrades. Do something of that sort yourself: if Fortune -removes you from the front rank, stand your ground nevertheless -and cheer on your comrades, and if somebody stops your mouth, -stand nevertheless and help your side in silence. The services -of a good citizen are never thrown away: he does good by being -heard and seen, by his expression, his gestures, his silent determination, -and his very walk. As some remedies benefit us by their smell -as well as by their their taste and touch, so virtue even when -concealed and at a distance sheds usefulness around. Whether -she moves at her ease and enjoys her just rights, or can only -appear abroad on sufferance and is forced to shorten sail to -the tempest, whether it be unemployed, silent, and pent up in -a narrow lodging, or openly displayed, in whatever guise she -may appear, she always does good. What? do you think that the -example of one who can rest nobly has no value? It is by far -the best plan, therefore, to mingle -<span class="pagenum" id="p263">263</span>leisure with business, whenever -chance impediments or the state of public affairs forbid one’s -leading an active life: for one is never so cut off from all -pursuits as to find no room left for honourable action.</p> - -<p>V. Could you anywhere find a [more] miserable city than that -of Athens when it was being torn to pieces by the thirty tyrants? -they slew thirteen hundred citizens, all the best men, and did -not leave off because they had done so, but their cruelty became -stimulated by exercise. In the city which possessed that most -reverend tribunal, the Court of the Areopagus, which possessed -a Senate, and a popular assembly which was like a Senate, there -met daily a wretched crew of butchers, and the unhappy Senate -House was crowded with tyrants. A state, in which there were -so many tyrants that they would have been enough to form a bodyguard -for one, might surely have rested from the struggle; it seemed -impossible for men’s minds even to conceive hopes of recovering -their liberty, nor could they see any room for a remedy for such -a mass of evil: for whence could the unhappy state obtain all -the Harmodiuses it would need to slay so many tyrants? Yet Socrates -was in the midst of the city, and consoled its mourning Fathers, -encouraged those who despaired of the republic, by his reproaches -brought rich men, who feared that their wealth would be their -ruin, to a tardy repentance of their avarice, and moved about -as a great example to those who wished to imitate him, because -he walked a free man in the midst of thirty masters. However, -Athens herself put him to death in prison, and Freedom herself -could not endure the freedom of one who had treated a whole band -of tyrants with scorn: you may know, therefore, that even in -an oppressed state a wise man can find an opportunity for bringing -himself to the front, and that in a prosperous and flourishing -one wanton insolence, jealousy, and a thousand other cowardly -vices bear sway. We ought, <span class="pagenum" id="p264">264</span>therefore, -to expand or contract ourselves -according as the state presents itself to us, or as Fortune offers -us opportunities: but in any case we ought to move and not to -become frozen still by fear: nay, he is the best man who, though -peril menaces him on every side and arms and chains beset his -path, nevertheless neither impairs nor conceals his virtue: for -to keep oneself safe does not mean to bury oneself. I think that -Curius Dentatus spoke truly when he said that he would rather -be dead than alive: the worst evil of all is to leave the ranks -of the living before one dies: yet it is your duty, if you happen -to live in an age when it is not easy to serve the state, to -devote more time to leisure and to literature. Thus, just as -though you were making a perilous voyage, you may from time to -time put into harbour, and set yourself free from public business -without waiting for it to do so.</p> - -<p>VI. We ought, however, first to examine our own selves, next -the business which we propose to transact, next those for whose -sake or in whose company we transact it.</p> - -<p>It is above all things necessary to form a true estimate of oneself, -because as a rule we think that we can do more than we are able: -one man is led too far through confidence in his eloquence, another -demands more from his estate than it can produce, another burdens -a weakly body with some toilsome duty. Some men are too shamefaced -for the conduct of public affairs, which require an unblushing -front: some men’s obstinate pride renders them unfit for courts: -some cannot control their anger, and break into unguarded language -on the slightest provocation: some cannot rein in their wit or -resist making risky jokes: for all these men leisure is better -than employment: a bold, haughty and impatient nature ought to -avoid anything that may lead it to use a freedom of speech which -will bring it to ruin. Next we must form an estimate of the matter -which we mean to deal with, and compare our strength -<span class="pagenum" id="p265">265</span>with the -deed we are about to attempt: for the bearer ought always to -be more powerful than his load: indeed, loads which are too heavy -for their bearer must of necessity crush him: some affairs also -are not so important in themselves as they are prolific and lead -to much more business, which employments, as they involve us -in new and various forms of work, ought to be refused. Neither -should you engage in anything from which you are not free to -retreat: apply yourself to something which you can finish, or -at any rate can hope to finish: you had better not meddle with -those operations which grow in importance, while they are being -transacted, and which will not stop where you intended them to -stop.</p> - -<p>VII. In all cases one should be careful in one’s choice of men, -and see whether they be worthy of our bestowing a part of our -life upon them, or whether we shall waste our own time and theirs -also: for some even consider us to be in their debt because of -our services to them. Athenodorus said that “he would not so -much as dine with a man who would not be grateful to him for -doing so”: meaning, I imagine, that much less would he go to -dinner with those who recompense the services of their friends -by their table, and regard courses of dishes as donatives, as -if they overate themselves to do honour to others. Take away -from these men their witnesses and spectators: they will take -no pleasure in solitary gluttony. You must decide whether your -disposition is better suited for vigorous action or for tranquil -speculation and contemplation, and you must adopt whichever the -bent of your genius inclines you for. Isocrates laid hands upon -Ephorus and led him away from the forum, thinking that he would -be more usefully employed in compiling chronicles; for no good -is done by forcing one’s mind to engage in uncongenial work: -it is vain to struggle against Nature. Yet nothing delights the -mind so much as faithful and pleasant friendship: what a -<span class="pagenum" id="p266">266</span>blessing -it is when there is one whose breast is ready to receive all -your secrets with safety, whose knowledge of your actions you -fear less than your own conscience, whose conversation removes -your anxieties, whose advice assists your plans, whose cheerfulness -dispels your gloom, whose very sight delights you! We should -choose for our friends men who are, as far as possible, free -from strong desires: for vices are contagious, and pass from -a man to his neighbour, and injure those who touch them. As, -therefore, in times of pestilence we have to be careful not to -sit near people who are infected and in whom the disease is raging, -because by so doing, we shall run into danger and catch the plague -from their very breath; so, too, in choosing our friends’ dispositions, -we must take care to select those who are as far as may be unspotted -by the world; for the way to breed disease is to mix what is -sound with what is rotten. Yet I do not advise you to follow -after or draw to yourself no one except a wise man: for where -will you find him whom for so many centuries we have sought in -vain? in the place of the best possible man take him who is least -bad. You would hardly find any time that would have enabled you -to make a happier choice than if you could have sought for a -good man from among the Platos and Xenophons and the rest of -the produce of the brood of Socrates, or if you had been permitted -to choose one from the age of Cato: an age which bore many men -worthy to be born in Cato’s time (just as it also bore many men -worse than were ever known before, planners of the blackest crimes: -for it needed both classes in order to make Cato understood: -it wanted both good men, that he might win their approbation, -and bad men, against whom he could prove his strength): but at -the present day, when there is such a dearth of good men, you -must be less squeamish in your choice. Above all, however, avoid -dismal men who grumble at whatever happens, and find something -to com<span class="pagenum" id="p267">267</span>plain of in everything. Though -he may continue loyal and -friendly towards you, still one’s peace of mind is destroyed -by a comrade whose mind is soured and who meets every incident -with a groan.</p> - -<p>VIII. Let us now pass on to the consideration of property, that -most fertile source of human sorrows: for if you compare all -the other ills from which we suffer—deaths, sicknesses, fears, -regrets, endurance of pains and labours— with those miseries -which our money inflicts upon us, the latter will far outweigh -all the others. Reflect, then, how much less a grief it is never -to have had any money than to have lost it: we shall thus understand -that the less poverty has to lose, the less torment it has with -which to afflict us: for you are mistaken if you suppose that -the rich bear their losses with greater spirit than the poor: -a wound causes the same amount of pain to the greatest and the -smallest body. It was a neat saying of Bion’s, “that it hurts -bald men as much as hairy men to have their hairs pulled out”: -you may be assured that the same thing is true of rich and poor -people, that their suffering is equal: for their money clings -to both classes, and cannot be torn away without their feeling -it: yet it is more endurable, as I have said, and easier not -to gain property than to lose it, and therefore you will find -that those upon whom Fortune has never smiled are more cheerful -than those whom she has deserted. Diogenes, a man of infinite -spirit, perceived this, and made it impossible that anything -should be taken from him. Call this security from loss poverty, -want, necessity, or any contemptuous name you please: I shall -consider such a man to be happy, unless you find me another who -can lose nothing. If I am not mistaken, it is a royal attribute -among so many misers, sharpers, and robbers, to be the one man -who cannot be injured. If any one doubts the happiness of Diogenes, -he would doubt whether the position of the immortal gods was -one of sufficient happiness. <span class="pagenum" id="p268">268</span>because -they have no farms or gardens, -no valuable estates let to strange tenants, and no large loans -in the money market. Are you not ashamed of yourself, you who -gaze upon riches with astonished admiration? Look upon the universe: -you will see the gods quite bare of property, and possessing -nothing though they give everything. Do you think that this man -who has stripped himself of all fortuitous accessories is a pauper, -or one like to the immortal gods? Do you call Demetrius, Pompeius’s -freedman, a happier man, he who was not ashamed to be richer -than Pompeius, who was daily furnished with a list of the number -of his slaves, as a general is with that of his army, though -he had long deserved that all his riches should consist of a -pair of underlings, and a roomier cell than the other slaves? -But Diogenes’s only slave ran away from him, and when he was -pointed out to Diogenes, he did not think him worth fetching -back. “It is a shame,” he said, “that Manes should be able to -live without Diogenes, and that Diogenes should not be able to -live without Manes.” He seems to me to have said, “Fortune, mind -your own business: Diogenes has nothing left that belongs to -you. Did my slave run away? nay, he went away from me as a free -man.” A household of slaves requires food and clothing: the bellies -of so many hungry creatures have to be filled: we must buy raiment -for them, we must watch their most thievish hands, and we must -make use of the services of people who weep and execrate us. -How far happier is he who is indebted to no man for anything -except for what he can deprive himself of with the greatest ease! -Since we, however, have not such strength of mind as this, we -ought at any rate to diminish the extent of our property, in -order to be less exposed to the assaults of fortune: those men -whose bodies can be within the shelter of their armour, are more -fitted for war than those whose huge size everywhere extends -beyond <span class="pagenum" id="p269">269</span>it, and exposes them to wounds: -the best amount of property -to have is that which is enough to keep us from poverty, and -which yet is not far removed from it.</p> - -<p>IX. We shall be pleased with this measure of wealth if we have -previously taken pleasure in thrift, without which no riches -are sufficient, and with which none are insufficient, especially -as the remedy is always at hand, and poverty itself by calling -in the aid of thrift can convert itself into riches. Let us accustom -ourselves to set aside mere outward show, and to measure things -by their uses, not by their ornamental trappings: let our hunger -be tamed by food, our thirst quenched by drinking, our lust confined -within needful bounds; let us learn to use our limbs, and to -arrange our dress and way of life according to what was approved -of by our ancestors, not in imitation of new-fangled models: -let us learn to increase our continence, to repress luxury, to -set bounds to our pride, to assuage our anger, to look upon poverty -without prejudice, to practise thrift, albeit many are ashamed -to do so, to apply cheap remedies to the wants of nature, to -keep all undisciplined hopes and aspirations as it were under -lock and key, and to make it our business to get our riches from -ourselves and not from Fortune. We never can so thoroughly defeat -the vast diversity and malignity of misfortune with which we -are threatened as not to feel the weight of many gusts if we -offer a large spread of canvas to the wind: we must draw our -affairs into a small compass, to make the darts of Fortune of -no avail. For this reason, sometimes slight mishaps have turned -into remedies, and more serious disorders have been healed by -slighter ones. When the mind pays no attention to good advice, -and cannot be brought to its senses by milder measures, why should -we not think that its interests are being served by poverty, -disgrace, or financial ruin being applied to it? one evil is -balanced by another. Let us then teach ourselves to be able to -<span class="pagenum" id="p270">270</span>dine without all Rome to look on, to -be the slaves of fewer slaves, -to get clothes which fulfil their original purpose, and to live -in a smaller house. The inner curve is the one to take, not only -in running races and in the contests of the circus, but also -in the race of life; even literary pursuits, the most becoming -thing for a gentleman to spend money upon, are only justifiable -as long as they are kept within bounds. What is the use of possessing -numberless books and libraries, whose titles their owner can -hardly read through in a lifetime? A student is overwhelmed by -such a mass, not instructed, and it is much better to devote -yourself to a few writers than to skim through many. Forty thousand -books were burned at Alexandria: some would have praised this -library as a most noble memorial of royal wealth, like Titus -Livius, who says that it was “a splendid result of the taste -and attentive care of the -kings.”<a href="#fn-9.5" name="fnref-9.5" id="fnref-9.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> -It had nothing to do with -taste or care, but was a piece of learned luxury, nay, not even -learned, since they amassed it, not for the sake of learning, -but to make a show, like many men who know less about letters -than a slave is expected to know, and who uses his books not -to help him in his studies but to ornament his dining-room. Let -a man, then, obtain as many books as he wants, but none for show. -“It is more respectable,” say you, “to spend -one’s money on -such books than on vases of Corinthian brass and paintings.” -Not so: everything that is carried to excess is wrong. What excuses -can you find for a man who is eager to buy bookcases of ivory -and citrus wood, to collect the works of unknown or discredited -authors, and who sits yawning <span class="pagenum" id="p271">271</span>amid so -many thousands of books, -whose backs and titles please him more than any other part of -them? Thus in the houses of the laziest of men you will see the -works of all the orators and historians stacked upon book-shelves -reaching right up to the ceiling. At the present day a library -has become as necessary an appendage to a house as a hot and -cold bath. I would excuse them straightway if they really were -carried away by an excessive zeal for literature; but as it is, -these costly works of sacred genius, with all the illustrations -that adorn them, are merely bought for display and to serve as -wall-furniture.</p> - -<p>X. Suppose, however, that your life has become full of trouble, -and that without knowing what you were doing you have fallen -into some snare which either public or private Fortune has set -for you, and that you can neither untie it nor break it: then -remember that fettered men suffer much at first from the burdens -and clogs upon their legs: afterwards, when they have made up -their minds not to fret themselves about them, but to endure -them, necessity teaches them to bear them bravely, and habit -to bear them easily. In every station of life you will find amusements, -relaxations, and enjoyments; that is, provided you be willing -to make light of evils rather than to hate them. Knowing to what -sorrows we were born, there is nothing for which Nature more -deserves our thanks than for having invented habit as an alleviation -of misfortune, which soon accustoms us to the severest evils. -No one could hold out against misfortune if it permanently exercised -the same force as at its first onset. We are all chained to Fortune: -some men’s chain is loose and made of gold, that of others is -tight and of meaner metal: but what difference does this make? -we are all included in the same captivity, and even those who -have bound us are bound themselves, unless you think that a chain -on the left side is lighter to bear: one man may be bound by -public <span class="pagenum" id="p272">272</span>office, another by wealth: some -have to bear the weight -of illustrious, some of humble birth: some are subject to the -commands of others, some only to their own: some are kept in -one place by being banished thither, others by being elected -to the priesthood. All life is slavery: let each man therefore -reconcile himself to his lot, complain of it as little as possible, -and lay hold of whatever good lies within his reach. No condition -can be so wretched that an impartial mind can find no compensations -in it. Small sites, if ingeniously divided, may be made use of -for many different purposes, and arrangement will render ever -so narrow a room habitable. Call good sense to your aid against -difficulties: it is possible to soften what is harsh, to widen -what is too narrow, and to make heavy burdens press less severely -upon one who bears them skilfully. Moreover, we ought not to -allow our desires to wander far afield, but we must make them -confine themselves to our immediate neighbourhood, since they -will not endure to be altogether locked up. We must leave alone -things which either cannot come to pass or can only be effected -with difficulty, and follow after such things as are near at -hand and within reach of our hopes, always remembering that all -things are equally unimportant, and that though they have a different -outward appearance, they are all alike empty within. Neither -let us envy those who are in high places: the heights which look -lofty to us are steep and rugged. Again, those whom unkind fate -has placed in critical situations will be safer if they show -as little pride in their proud position as may be, and do all -they are able to bring down their fortunes to the level of other -men’s. There are many who must needs cling to their high pinnacle -of power, because they cannot descend from it save by falling -headlong: yet they assure us that their greatest burden is being -obliged to be burdensome to others, and that they are nailed -to their lofty post rather than raised to it: let -<span class="pagenum" id="p273">273</span>them then, -by dispensing justice, clemency, and kindness with an open and -liberal hand, provide themselves with assistance to break their -fall, and looking forward to this maintain their position more -hopefully. Yet nothing sets us free from these alternations of -hope and fear so well as always fixing some limit to our successes, -and not allowing Fortune to choose when to stop our career, but -to halt of our own accord long before we apparently need do so. -By acting thus certain desires will rouse up our spirits, and -yet being confined within bounds, will not lead us to embark -on vast and vague enterprises.</p> - -<p>XI. These remarks of mine apply only to imperfect, commonplace, -and unsound natures, not to the wise man, who needs not to walk -with timid and cautious gait: for he has such confidence in himself -that he does not hesitate to go directly in the teeth of Fortune, -and never will give way to her. Nor indeed has he any reason -for fearing her, for he counts not only chattels, property, and -high office, but even his body, his eyes, his hands, and everything -whose use makes life dearer to us, nay, even his very self, to -be things whose possession is uncertain; he lives as though he -had borrowed them, and is ready to return them cheerfully whenever -they are claimed. Yet he does not hold himself cheap, because -he knows that he is not his own, but performs all his duties -as carefully and prudently as a pious and scrupulous man would -take care of property left in his charge as trustee. When he -is bidden to give them up, he will not complain of Fortune, but -will say, “I thank you for what I have had possession of: I have -managed your property so as largely to increase it, but since -you order me, I give it back to you and return it willingly and -thankfully. If you still wish me to own anything of yours, I -will keep it for you: if you have other views, I restore into -your hands and make restitution of all my wrought and coined -silver, my house and my <span class="pagenum" id="p274">274</span>household. -Should Nature recall what -she previously entrusted us with, let us say to her also: ‘Take -back my spirit, which is better than when you gave it me: I do -not shuffle or hang back. Of my own free will I am ready to return -what you gave me before I could think: take me away,’ ” What hardship -can there be in returning to the place from whence one came? -a man cannot live well if he knows not how to die well. We must, -therefore, take away from this commodity its original value, -and count the breath of life as a cheap matter. “We dislike -gladiators,” -says Cicero, “if they are eager to save their lives by any means -whatever: but we look favourably upon them if they are openly -reckless of them,” You may be sure that the same thing occurs -with us: we often die because we are afraid of death. Fortune, -which regards our lives as a show in the arena for her own enjoyment, -says, “Why should I spare you, base and cowardly creature that -you are? you will be pierced and hacked with all the more wounds -because you know not how to offer your throat to the knife: whereas -you, who receive the stroke without drawing away your neck or -putting up your hands to stop it, shall both live longer and -die more quickly,” He who fears death will never act as becomes -a living man: but he who knows that this fate was laid upon him -as soon as he was conceived will live according to it, and by -this strength of mind will gain this further advantage, that -nothing can befal him unexpectedly: for by looking forward to -everything which can happen as though it would happen to him, -he takes the sting out of all evils, which can make no difference -to those who expect it and are prepared to meet it: evil only -comes hard upon those who have lived without giving it a thought -and whose attention has been exclusively directed to happiness. -Disease, captivity, disaster, conflagration, are none of them -unexpected: I always knew with what disorderly company -<span class="pagenum" id="p275">275</span>Nature -had associated me. The dead have often been wailed for in my -neighbourhood: the torch and taper have often been borne past -my door before the bier of one who has died before his time: -the crash of falling buildings has often resounded by my side: -night has snatched away many of those with whom I have become -intimate in the forum, the Senate-house, and in society, and -has sundered the hands which were joined in friendship: ought -I to be surprised if the dangers which have always been circling -around me at last assail me? How large a part of mankind never -think of storms when about to set sail? I shall never be ashamed -to quote a good saying because it comes from a bad author. Publilius, -who was a more powerful writer than any of our other playwrights, -whether comic or tragic, whenever he chose to rise above farcical -absurdities and speeches addressed to the gallery, among many -other verses too noble even for tragedy, let alone for comedy, -has this one:—</p> - - <blockquote><p>“What one hath suffered may befall us - all.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>If a man takes this into his inmost heart and looks upon all -the misfortunes of other men, of which there is always a great -plenty, in this spirit, remembering that there is nothing to -prevent their coming upon him also, he will arm himself against -them long before they attack him. It is too late to school the -mind to endurance of peril after peril has come. “I did not think -this would happen,” and “Would you ever have believed that this -would have happened?” say you. But why should it not? Where are -the riches after which want, hunger, and beggary do not follow? -what office is there whose purple robe, augur’s staff, and patrician -reins have not as their accompaniment rags and banishment, the -brand of infamy, a thousand disgraces, and utter reprobation? -what kingdom is there for which ruin, trampling under foot, a -tyrant and a <span class="pagenum" id="p276">276</span>butcher are not ready at -hand? nor are these matters -divided by long periods of time, but there is but the space of -an hour between sitting on the throne ourselves and clasping -the knees of some one else as suppliants. Know then that every -station of life is transitory, and that what has ever happened -to anybody may happen to you also. You are wealthy: are you wealthier -than -Pompeius?<a href="#fn-9.6" name="fnref-9.6" id="fnref-9.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> -Yet when -Gaius,<a href="#fn-9.7" name="fnref-9.7" id="fnref-9.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> his -old relative and new -host, opened Caesar’s house to him in order that he might close -his own, he lacked both bread and water: though he owned so many -rivers which both rose and discharged themselves within his dominions, -yet he had to beg for drops of water: he perished of hunger and -thirst in the palace of his relative, while his heir was contracting -for a public funeral for one who was in want of food. You have -filled public offices: were they either as important, as unlooked -for, or as all-embracing as those of Sejanus? Yet on the day -on which the Senate disgraced him, the people tore him to pieces: -the -executioner<a href="#fn-9.8" name="fnref-9.8" id="fnref-9.8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> -could find no part left large enough to drag -to the Tiber, of one upon whom gods and men had showered all -that could be given to man. You are a king: I will not bid you -go to Croesus for an example, he who while yet alive saw his -funeral pile both lighted and extinguished, being made to outlive -not only his kingdom but even his own death, nor to Jugurtha, -whom the people of Rome beheld as a captive within the year in -which they had feared him. We have seen Ptolemaeus King of Africa, -and Mithridates King of Armenia, under the charge of -Gaius’s<a href="#fn-9.9" name="fnref-9.9" id="fnref-9.9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> -guards: the former was sent into exile, the latter chose it in -order to make his <span class="pagenum" id="p277">277</span>exile more -honourable. Among such continual -topsy-turvy changes, unless you expect that whatever can happen -will happen to you, you give adversity power against you, a power -which can be destroyed by any one who looks at it beforehand. -</p> - -<p>XII. The next point to these will be to take care that we do -not labour for what is vain, or labour in vain: that is to say, -neither to desire what we are not able to obtain, nor yet, having -obtained our desire too late, and after much toil to discover -the folly of our wishes: in other words, that our labour may -not be without result, and that the result may not be unworthy -of our labour: for as a rule sadness arises from one of these -two things, either from want of success or from being ashamed -of having succeeded. We must limit the running to and fro which -most men practise, rambling about houses, theatres, and market-places. -They mind other men’s business, and always seem as though they -themselves had something to do. If you ask one of them as he -comes out of his own door, “Whither are you going?” he will answer, -“By Hercules, I do not know: but I shall see some people and -do something.” They wander purposelessly seeking for something -to do, and do, not what they have made up their minds to do, -but what has casually fallen in their way. They move uselessly -and without any plan, just like ants crawling over bushes, which -creep up to the top and then down to the bottom again without -gaining anything. Many men spend their lives in exactly the same -fashion, which one may call a state of restless indolence. You -would pity some of them when you see them running as if their -house was on fire: they actually jostle all whom they meet, and -hurry along themselves and others with them, though all the while -they are going to salute some one who will not return their greeting, -or to attend the funeral of some one whom they did not know: -they are going to hear the verdict on one -<span class="pagenum" id="p278">278</span>who often goes to law, -or to see the wedding of one who often gets married: they will -follow a man’s litter, and in some places will even carry it: -afterwards returning home weary with idleness, they swear that -they themselves do not know why they went out, or where they -have been, and on the following day they will wander through -the same round again. Let all your work, therefore, have some -purpose, and keep some object in view: these restless people -are not made restless by labour, but are driven out of their -minds by mistaken ideas: for even they do not put themselves -in motion without any hope: they are excited by the outward appearance -of something, and their crazy mind cannot see its futility. In -the same way every one of those who walk out to swell the crowd -in the streets, is led round the city by worthless and empty -reasons; the dawn drives him forth, although he has nothing to -do, and after he has pushed his way into many men’s doors, and -saluted their nomenclators one after the other, and been turned -away from many others, he finds that the most difficult person -of all to find at home is himself. From this evil habit comes -that worst of all vices, talebearing and prying into public and -private secrets, and the knowledge of many things which it is -neither safe to tell nor safe to listen to.</p> - -<p>XIII. It was, I imagine, following out this principle that Democritis -taught that “he who would live at peace must not do much business -either public or private,” referring of course to unnecessary -business: for if there be any necessity for it we ought to transact -not only much but endless business, both public and private; -in cases, however, where no solemn duty invites us to act, we -had better keep ourselves quiet: for he who does many things -often puts himself in Fortune’s power, and it is safest not to -tempt her often, but always to remember her existence, and never -to promise oneself anything on her security. I will set sail -unless anything happens to prevent me, I shall -<span class="pagenum" id="p279">279</span>be praetor, if -nothing hinders me, my financial operations will succeed, unless -anything goes wrong with them. This is why we say that nothing -befals the wise man which he did not expect—we do not make him -exempt from the chances of human life, but from its mistakes, -nor does everything happen to him as he wished it would, but -as he thought it would: now his first thought was that his purpose -might meet with some resistance, and the pain of disappointed -wishes must affect a man’s mind less severely if he has not been -at all events confident of success.</p> - -<p>XIV. Moreover, we ought to cultivate an easy temper, and not -become over fond of the lot which fate has assigned to us, but -transfer ourselves to whatever other condition chance may lead -us to, and fear no alteration, either in our purposes or our -position in life, provided that we do not become subject to -caprice, which of all vices is the most hostile to repose: for -obstinacy, from which Fortune often wrings some concession, must -needs be anxious and unhappy, but caprice, which can never restrain -itself, must be more so. Both of these qualities, both that of -altering nothing, and that of being dissatisfied with everything, -are energies to repose. The mind ought in all cases to be called -away from the contemplation of external things to that of itself: -let it confide in itself, rejoice in itself, admire its own works; -avoid as far as may be those of others, and devote itself to -itself; let it not feel losses, and put a good construction even -upon misfortunes. Zeno, the chief of our school, when he heard -the news of a shipwreck, in which all his property had been lost, -remarked, “Fortune bids me follow philosophy in lighter marching -order.” A tyrant threatened Theodorus with death, and even with -want of burial. “You are able to please yourself,” he answered, -“my half pint of blood is in your power: for, as for burial, -what a fool you must be if you suppose that I care whether I -rot above ground or under it.” Julius -<span class="pagenum" id="p280">280</span>Kanus, a man of peculiar -greatness, whom even the fact of his having been born in this -century does not prevent our admiring, had a long dispute with -Gaius, and when as he was going away that Phalaris of a man said -to him, “That you may not delude yourself with any foolish hopes, -I have ordered you to be executed,” he answered, “I thank you, -most excellent prince.” I am not sure what he meant: for many -ways of explaining his conduct occur to me. Did he wish to be -reproachful, and to show him how great his cruelty must be if -death became a kindness? or did he upbraid him with his accustomed -insanity? for even those whose children were put to death, and -whose goods were confiscated, used to thank him: or was it that -he willingly received death, regarding it as freedom? Whatever -he meant, it was a magnanimous answer. Some one may say, “After -this Gaius might have let him live.” Kanus had no fear of this: -the good faith with which Gaius carried out such orders as these -was well known. Will you believe that he passed the ten intervening -days before his execution without the slightest despondency? -it is marvellous how that man spoke and acted, and how peaceful -he was. He was playing at draughts when the centurion in charge -of a number of those who where going to be executed bade him -join them: on the summons he counted his men and said to his -companion, “Mind you do not tell a lie after my death, and say -that you won;” then, turning to the centurion, he said “You will -bear me witness that I am one man ahead of him.” Do you think -that Kanus played upon that draught-board? nay, he played with -it. His friends were sad at being about to lose so great a man: -“Why,” asked he, “are you sorrowful? you are enquiring whether -our souls are immortal, but I shall presently know.” Nor did -he up to the very end cease his search after truth, and raised -arguments upon the subject of his own death. His own teacher -of philosophy accompanied him, and they -<span class="pagenum" id="p281">281</span>were not far from the -hill on which the daily sacrifice to Caesar our god was offered, -when he said, “What are you thinking of now, Kanus? or what are -your ideas?” “I have decided,” answered Kanus, “at that -most -swiftly-passing moment of all to watch whether the spirit will -be conscious of the act of leaving the body.” He promised, too, -that if he made any discoveries, he would come round to his friends -and tell them what the condition of the souls of the departed -might be. Here was peace in the very midst of the storm: here -was a soul worthy of eternal life, which used its own fate as -a proof of truth, which when at the last step of life experimented -upon his fleeting breath, and did not merely continue to learn -until he died, but learned something even from death itself. -No man has carried the life of a philosopher further. I will -not hastily leave the subject of a great man, and one who deserves -to be spoken of with respect: I will hand thee down to all posterity, -thou most noble heart, chief among the many victims of Gaius. -</p> - -<p>XV. Yet we gain nothing by getting rid of all personal causes -of sadness, for sometimes we are possessed by hatred of the human -race. When you reflect how rare simplicity is, how unknown innocence, -how seldom faith is kept, unless it be to our advantage, when -you remember such numbers of successful crimes, so many equally -hateful losses and gains of lust, and ambition so impatient even -of its own natural limits that it is willing to purchase distinction -by baseness, the mind seems as it were cast into darkness, and -shadows rise before it as though the virtues were all overthrown -and we were no longer allowed to hope to possess them or benefited -by their possession. We ought therefore to bring ourselves into -such a state of mind that all the vices of the vulgar may not -appear hateful to us, but merely ridiculous, and we should imitate -Democritus rather than Heraclitus. The latter of these, whenever -be <span class="pagenum" id="p282">282</span>appeared in public, used to weep, -the former to laugh: the -one thought all human doings to be follies, the other thought -them to be miseries. We must take a higher view of all things, -and bear with them more easily: it better becomes a man to scoff -at life than to lament over it. Add to this that he who laughs -at the human race deserves better of it than he who mourns for -it, for the former leaves it some good hopes of improvement, -while the latter stupidly weeps over what he has given up all -hopes of mending. He who after surveying the universe cannot -control his laughter shows, too, a greater mind than he who cannot -restrain his tears, because his mind is only affected in the -slightest possible degree, and he does not think that any part -of all this apparatus is either important, or serious, or unhappy. -As for the several causes which render us happy or sorrowful, -let every one describe them for himself, and learn the truth -of Bion’s saying, “That all the doings of men were very like -what he began with, and that there is nothing in their lives -which is more holy or decent than their conception.” Yet it is -better to accept public morals and human vices calmly without -bursting into either laughter or tears; for to be hurt by the -sufferings of others is to be for ever miserable, while to enjoy -the sufferings of others is an inhuman pleasure, just as it is -a useless piece of humanity to weep and pull a long face because -some one is burying his son. In one’s own misfortunes, also, -one ought so to conduct oneself as to bestow upon them just as -much sorrow as reason, not as much as custom requires: for many -shed tears in order to show them, and whenever no one is looking -at them their eyes are dry, but they think it disgraceful not -to weep when every one does so. So deeply has this evil of being -guided by the opinion of others taken root in us, that even grief, -the simplest of all emotions, begins to be counterfeited. -<span class="pagenum" id="p283">283</span></p> - -<p>XVI. There comes now a part of our subject which is wont with -good cause to make one sad and anxious: I mean when good men -come to bad ends; when Socrates is forced to die in prison, Rutilius -to live in exile, Pompeius and Cicero to offer their necks to -the swords of their own followers, when the great Cato, that -living image of virtue, falls upon his sword and rips up both -himself and the republic, one cannot help being grieved that -Fortune should bestow her gifts so unjustly: what, too, can a -good man hope to obtain when he sees the best of men meeting -with the worst fates. Well, but see how each of them endured -his fate, and if they endured it bravely, long in your heart -for courage as great as theirs; if they died in a womanish and -cowardly manner, nothing was lost: either they deserved that -you should admire their courage, or else they did not deserve -that you should wish to imitate their cowardice: for what can -be more shameful than that the greatest men should die so bravely -as to make people cowards. Let us praise one who deserves such -constant praises, and say, “The braver you are the happier you -are! You have escaped from all accidents, jealousies, diseases: -you have escaped from prison: the gods have not thought you worthy -of ill-fortune, but have thought that fortune no longer deserved -to have any power over you”: but when any one shrinks back in -the hour of death and looks longingly at life, we must lay hands -upon him. I will never weep for a man who dies cheerfully, nor -for one who dies weeping: the former wipes away my tears, the -latter by his tears makes himself unworthy that any should be -shed for him. Shall I weep for Hercules because he was burned -alive, or for Regulus because he was pierced by so many nails, -or for Cato because he tore open his wounds a second time? All -these men discovered how at the cost of a small portion of time -they might obtain immortality, and by their deaths gained eternal -life. <span class="pagenum" id="p284">284</span></p> - -<p>XVII. It also proves a fertile source of troubles if you take -pains to conceal your feelings and never show yourself to any -one undisguised, but, as many men do, live an artificial life, -in order to impose upon others: for the constant watching of -himself becomes a torment to a man, and he dreads being caught -doing something at variance with his usual habits, and, indeed, -we never can be at our ease if we imagine that every one who -looks at us is weighing our real value: for many things occur -which strip people of their disguise, however reluctantly they -may part with it, and even if all this trouble about oneself -is successful, still life is neither happy nor safe when one -always has to wear a mask. But what pleasure there is in that -honest straight-forwardness which is its own ornament, and which -conceals no part of its character? Yet even this life, which -hides nothing from any one runs some risk of being despised; -for there are people who disdain whatever they come close to: -but there is no danger of virtue’s becoming contemptible when -she is brought near our eyes, and it is better to be scorned -for one’s simplicity than to bear the burden of unceasing hypocrisy. -Still, we must observe moderation in this matter, for there is -a great difference between living simply and living slovenly. -Moreover, we ought to retire a great deal into ourselves: for -association with persons unlike ourselves upsets all that we -had arranged, rouses the passions which were at rest, and rubs -into a sore any weak or imperfectly healed place in our minds. -Nevertheless we ought to mix up these two things, and to pass -our lives alternately in solitude and among throngs of people; -for the former will make us long for the society of mankind, -the latter for that of ourselves, and the one will counteract -the other: solitude will cure us when we are sick of crowds, -and crowds will cure us when we are sick of solitude. Neither -ought we always to keep the mind strained to the -<span class="pagenum" id="p285">285</span>same pitch, -but it ought sometimes to be relaxed by amusement. Socrates did -not blush to play with little boys, Cato used to refresh his -mind with wine after he had wearied it with application to affairs -of state, and Scipio would move his triumphal and soldierly limbs -to the sound of music, not with a feeble and halting gait, as -is the fashion now-a-days, when we sway in our very walk with -more than womanly weakness, but dancing as men were wont in the -days of old on sportive and festal occasions, with manly bounds, -thinking it no harm to be seen so doing even by their enemies. -Men’s minds ought to have relaxation: they rise up better and -more vigorous after rest. We must not force crops from rich fields, -for an unbroken course of heavy crops will soon exhaust their -fertility, and so also the liveliness of our minds will be destroyed -by unceasing labour, but they will recover their strength after -a short period of rest and relief: for continuous toil produces -a sort of numbness and sluggishness. Men would not be so eager -for this, if play and amusement did not possess natural attractions -for them, although constant indulgence in them takes away all -gravity and all strength from the mind: for sleep, also, is necessary -for our refreshment, yet if you prolong it for days and nights -together it will become death. There is a great difference between -slackening your hold of a thing and letting it go. The founders -of our laws appointed festivals, in order that men might be publicly -encouraged to be cheerful, and they thought it necessary to vary -our labours with amusements, and, as I said before, some great -men have been wont to give themselves a certain number of holidays -in every month, and some divided every day into play-time and -work-time. Thus, I remember that great orator Asinius Pollio -would not attend to any business after the tenth hour: he would -not even read letters after that time for fear some new -<span class="pagenum" id="p286">286</span>trouble -should arise, but in those two -hours<a href="#fn-9.10" name="fnref-9.10" id="fnref-9.10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> -used to get rid of the -weariness which he had contracted during the whole day. Some -rest in the middle of the day, and reserve some light occupation -for the afternoon. Our ancestors, too, forbade any new motion -to be made in the Senate after the tenth hour. Soldiers divide -their watches, and those who have just returned from active service -are allowed to sleep the whole night undisturbed. We must humour -our minds and grant them rest from time to time, which acts upon -them like food, and restores their strength. It does good also -to take walks out of doors, that our spirits may be raised and -refreshed by the open air and fresh breeze: sometimes we gain -strength by driving in a carriage, by travel, by change of air, -or by social meals and a more generous allowance of wine: at -times we ought to drink even to intoxication, not so as to drown, -but merely to dip ourselves in wine: for wine washes away troubles -and dislodges them from the depths of the mind, and acts as a -remedy to sorrow as it does to some diseases. The inventor of -wine is called Liber, not from the licence which he gives to -our tongues, but because he liberates the mind from the bondage -of cares, and emancipates it, animates it, and renders it more -daring in all that it attempts. Yet moderation is wholesome both -in freedom and in wine. It is believed that Solon and Arcesilaus -used to drink deep. Cato is reproached with drunkenness: but -whoever casts this in his teeth will find it easier to turn his -reproach into a commendation than to prove that Cato did anything -wrong: however, we ought not to do it often, for fear the mind -should contract evil habits, though it ought sometimes to be -forced into frolic and frankness, and to cast off dull sobriety -for a while. If we believe the Greek poet, “it is sometimes pleasant -to be mad”; again, Plato always -<span class="pagenum" id="p287">287</span>knocked in vain at the door of -poetry when he was sober; or, if we trust Aristotle, no great -genius has ever been without a touch of insanity. The mind cannot -use lofty language, above that of the common herd, unless it -be excited. When it has spurned aside the commonplace environments -of custom, and rises sublime, instinct with sacred fire, then -alone can it chant a song too grand for mortal lips: as long -as it continues to dwell within itself it cannot rise to any -pitch of splendour: it must break away from the beaten track, -and lash itself to frenzy, till it gnaws the curb and rushes -away bearing up its rider to heights whither it would fear to -climb when alone.</p> - -<p>I have now, my beloved Serenus, given you an account of what -things can preserve peace of mind, what things can restore it -to us, what can arrest the vices which secretly undermine it: -yet be assured, that none of these is strong enough to enable -us to retain so fleeting a blessing, unless we watch over our -vacillating mind with intense and unremitting care.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-9.1" id="fn-9.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.1">[1]</a> -Cf. Juv. ii. 150. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-9.2" id="fn-9.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.2">[2]</a> -The chief magistrate of the Greeks. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-9.3" id="fn-9.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.3">[3]</a> -The chief magistrate of the Oscans. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-9.4" id="fn-9.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.4">[4]</a> -The chief magistrate -of the Carthaginians. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-9.5" id="fn-9.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.5">[5]</a> -“Livy himself styled the Alexandrian -library <i lang="la">elegantiae regum curaeque egregium opus</i>: a liberal -encomium, -for which he is pertly criticised by the narrow stoicism of Seneca -(Tranq., ch. ix.), whose wisdom, on this occasion, deviates into -nonsense.”—Gibbon, “Decline and Fall,” ch. li, note. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-9.6" id="fn-9.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.6">[6]</a> -Haase -reads <i lang="la">Ptolemaeus</i>. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-9.7" id="fn-9.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.7">[7]</a> -Caligula. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-9.8" id="fn-9.8"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.8">[8]</a> -It was the duty of the executioner -to fasten a hook to the neck of condemned criminals, by which -they were dragged to the Tiber. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-9.9" id="fn-9.9"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.9">[9]</a> -Caligula. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-9.10" id="fn-9.10"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.10">[10]</a> -The Romans -reckoned twelve hours from sunrise to sunset. These “two hours” -were therefore the two last of the day. -</p> - - -<h2>THE TENTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p288">288</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO -PAULINUS.<a href="#fn-10.1" name="fnref-10.1" id="fnref-10.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a><br /> -</small> -<span class="subtitle">OF THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE.</span></h2> - -<p>I. The greater part of mankind, my Paulinus, complains of the -unkindness of Nature, because we are born only for a short space -of time, and that this allotted period of life runs away so swiftly, -nay so hurriedly, that with but few exceptions men’s life comes -to an end just as they are preparing to enjoy it: nor is it only -the common herd and the ignorant vulgar who mourn over this universal -misfortune, as they consider it to be: this reflection has wrung -complaints even from great men. Hence comes that well-known saying -of physicians, that art is long but life is short: hence arose -that quarrel, so unbefitting a sage, which Aristotle picked with -Nature, because she had indulged animals with such length of -days that some of them lived for ten or fifteen centuries, while -man, although born for many and such great exploits, had the -term of his existence cut so much shorter. We do not have a very -short time assigned to us, but we lose a great deal of it: life -is long enough to carry out the most important projects: we -<span class="pagenum" id="p289">289</span>have an ample portion, if we do but -arrange the whole of it aright: -but when it all runs to waste through luxury and carelessness, -when it is not devoted to any good purpose, then at the last -we are forced to feel that it is all over, although we never -noticed how it glided away. Thus it is: we do not receive a short -life, but we make it a short one, and we are not poor in days, -but wasteful of them. When great and kinglike riches fall into -the hands of a bad master, they are dispersed straightway, but -even a moderate fortune, when bestowed upon a wise guardian, -increases by use: and in like manner our life has great opportunities -for one who knows how to dispose of it to the best advantage. -</p> - -<p>II. Why do we complain of Nature? she has dealt kindly with us. -Life is long enough, if you know how to use it. One man is possessed -by an avarice which nothing can satisfy, another by a laborious -diligence in doing what is totally useless: another is sodden -by wine: another is benumbed by sloth: one man is exhausted by -an ambition which makes him court the good will of -others<a href="#fn-10.2" name="fnref-10.2" id="fnref-10.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a>: -another, through his eagerness as a merchant, is led to visit -every land and every sea by the hope of gain: some are plagued -by the love of soldiering, and are always either endangering -other men’s lives or in trembling for their own: some wear away -their lives in that voluntary slavery, the unrequited service -of great men: many are occupied either in laying claim to other -men’s fortune or in complaining of their own: a great number -have no settled purpose, and are tossed from one new scheme to -another by a rambling, inconsistent, dissatisfied, fickle habit -of mind: some care for no object sufficiently to try to attain -it, but lie lazily yawning until their fate comes upon them: -so that I cannot -<span class="pagenum" id="p290">290</span>doubt the truth of that verse which -the greatest of poets has -dressed in the guise of an oracular response—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“We live a small -part only of our lives.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>But all duration is time, not life: -vices press upon us and surround us on every side, and do not -permit us to regain our feet, or to raise our eyes and gaze upon -truth, but when we are down keep us prostrate and chained to -low desires. Men who are in this condition are never allowed -to come to themselves: if ever by chance they obtain any rest, -they roll to and fro like the deep sea, which heaves and tosses -after a gale, and they never have any respite from their lusts. -Do you suppose that I speak of those whose ills are notorious? -Nay, look at those whose prosperity all men run to see: they -are choked by their own good things. To how many men do riches -prove a heavy burden? how many men’s eloquence and continual -desire to display their own cleverness has cost them their -lives?<a href="#fn-10.3" name="fnref-10.3" id="fnref-10.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> -how many are sallow with constant sensual indulgence? how many -have no freedom left them by the tribe of clients that surges -around them? Look through all these, from the lowest to the highest:—this -man calls his friends to support him, this one is present in -court, this one is the defendant, this one pleads for him, this -one is on the jury: but no one lays claim to his own self, every -one wastes his time over some one else. Investigate those men, -whose names are in every one’s mouth: you will find that they -bear just the same marks: A is devoted to B, and B to C: no one -belongs to himself. Moreover some men are full of most irrational -anger: they complain of the insolence of their chiefs, because -they have not granted them an audience when they wished for it; -as if a man had any right to complain of being so haughtily shut -out by another, when he never has -<span class="pagenum" id="p291">291</span>leisure to give his own conscience a -hearing. This chief of yours, -whoever he is, though he may look at you in an offensive manner, -still will some day look at you, open his ears to your words, -and give you a seat by his side: but you never design to look -upon yourself, to listen to your own grievances. You ought not, -then, to claim these services from another, especially since -while you yourself were doing so, you did not wish for an interview -with another man, but were not able to obtain one with -yourself.<a href="#fn-10.4" name="fnref-10.4" id="fnref-10.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -</p> - -<p>III. Were all the brightest intellects of all time to employ -themselves on this one subject, they never could sufficiently -express their wonder at this blindness of men’s minds: men will -not allow any one to establish himself upon their estates, and -upon the most trifling dispute about the measuring of boundaries, -they betake themselves to stones and cudgels: yet they allow -others to encroach upon -<span class="pagenum" id="p292">292</span>their lives, nay, they themselves -actually lead others in to -take possession of them. You cannot find any one who wants to -distribute his money; yet among how many people does every one -distribute his life? men covetously guard their property from -waste, but when it comes to waste of time, they are most prodigal -of that of which it would become them to be sparing. Let us take -one of the elders, and say to him, “We perceive that you have -arrived at the extreme limits of human life: you are in your -hundredth year, or even older. Come now, reckon up your whole -life in black and white: tell us how much of your time has been -spent upon your creditors, how much on your mistress, how much -on your king, how much on your clients, how much in quarrelling -with your wife, how much in keeping your slaves in order, how -much in running up and down the city on business. Add to this -the diseases which we bring upon us with our own hands, and the -time which has laid idle without any use having been made of -it; you will see that you have not lived as many years as you -count. Look back in your memory and see how often you have been -consistent in your projects, how many days passed as you intended -them to do when you were at your own disposal, how often you -did not change colour and your spirit did not quail, how much -work you have done in so long a time, how many people have without -your knowledge stolen parts of your life from you, how much you -have lost, how large a part has been taken up by useless grief, -foolish gladness, greedy desire, or polite conversation; how -little of yourself is left to you: you will then perceive that -you will die prematurely.” What, then, is the reason of this? -It is that people live as though they would live for ever: you -never remember your human frailty; you never notice how much -of your time has already gone by: you spend it as though you -had an abundant and overflowing store of it, though all the while -that day which you devote <span class="pagenum" id="p293">293</span>to some man -or to some thing is perhaps -your last. You fear everything, like mortals as you are, and -yet you desire everything as if you were immortals. You will -hear many men say, “After my fiftieth year I will give myself -up to leisure: my sixtieth shall be my last year of public office”: -and what guarantee have you that your life will last any longer? -who will let all this go on just as you have arranged it? are -you not ashamed to reserve only the leavings of your life for -yourself, and appoint for the enjoyment of your own right mind -only that time which you cannot devote to any business? How late -it is to begin life just when we have to be leaving it! What -a foolish forgetfulness of our mortality, to put off wholesome -counsels until our fiftieth or sixtieth year, and to choose that -our lives shall begin at a point which few of us ever reach. -</p> - -<p>IV. You will find that the most powerful and highly-placed men -let fall phrases in which they long for leisure, praise it, and -prefer it to all the blessings which they enjoy. Sometimes they -would fain descend from their lofty pedestal, if it could be -safely done: for Fortune collapses by its own weight, without -any shock or interference from without. The late Emperor Augustus, -upon whom the gods bestowed more blessings than on any one else, -never ceased to pray for rest and exemption from the troubles -of empire: he used to enliven his labours with this sweet, though -unreal consolation, that he would some day live for himself alone. -In a letter which he addressed to the Senate, after promising -that his rest shall not be devoid of dignity nor discreditable -to his former glories, I find the following words:—”These things, -however, it is more honourable to do than to promise: but my -eagerness for that time, so earnestly longed for, has led me -to derive a certain pleasure from speaking about it, though the -reality is still far -distant.”<a href="#fn-10.5" name="fnref-10.5" id="fnref-10.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> -He thought leisure so important, -that though -<span class="pagenum" id="p294">294</span>he could not actually enjoy it, yet he -did so by anticipation -and by thinking about it. He, who saw everything depending upon -himself alone, who swayed the fortunes of men and of nations, -thought that his happiest day would be that on which he laid -aside his greatness. He knew by experience how much labour was -involved in that glory that shone through all lands, and how -much secret anxiety was concealed within it: he had been forced -to assert his rights by war, first with his countrymen, next -with his colleagues, and lastly with his own relations, and had -shed blood both by sea and by land: after marching his troops -under arms through Macedonia, Sicily, Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor, -and almost all the countries of the world, when they were weary -with slaughtering Romans he had directed them against a foreign -foe. While he was pacifying the Alpine regions, and subduing -the enemies whom he found in the midst of the Roman empire, while -he was extending its boundaries beyond the Rhine, the Euphrates, -and the Danube, at Rome itself the swords of Murena, Caepio, -Lepidus, Egnatius, and others were being sharpened to slay him. -Scarcely had he escaped from their plot, when his already failing -age was terrified by his daughter and all the noble youths who -were pledged to her cause by adultery with her by way of oath -of fidelity. Then there was Paulus and Antonius’s mistress, a -second time to be <span class="pagenum" id="p295">295</span>feared by Rome: and -when he had cut out these -ulcers from his very limbs, others grew in their place: the empire, -like a body overloaded with blood, was always breaking out somewhere. -For this reason he longed for leisure: all his labours were based -upon hopes and thoughts of leisure: this was the wish of him -who could accomplish the wishes of all other men.</p> - -<p>V. While tossed hither and thither by Catiline and Clodius, Pompeius -and Crassus, by some open enemies and some doubtful friends, -while he struggled with the struggling republic and kept it from -going to ruin, when at last he was banished, being neither able -to keep silence in prosperity nor to endure adversity with patience, -how often must Marcus Cicero have cursed that consulship of his -which he never ceased to praise, and which nevertheless deserved -it? What piteous expressions he uses in a letter to Atticus when -Pompeius the father had been defeated, and his son was recruiting -his shattered forces in Spain? “Do you ask,” writes he, -“what -I am doing here? I am living in my Tusculan villa almost as a -prisoner.” He adds more afterwards, wherein he laments his former -life, complains of the present, and despairs of the future. Cicero -called himself “half a prisoner,” but, by Hercules, the wise -man never would have come under so lowly a title: he never would -be half a prisoner, but would always enjoy complete and entire -liberty, being free, in his own power, and greater than all others: -for what can be greater than the man who is greater than Fortune? -</p> - -<p>VI. When Livius Drusus, a vigorous and energetic man, brought -forward bills for new laws and radical measures of the Gracchus -pattern, being the centre of a vast mob of all the peoples of -Italy, and seeing no way to solve the question, since he was -not allowed to deal with it as he wished, and yet was not free -to throw it up after having once taken part in it, complained -bitterly of his life, which had been -<span class="pagenum" id="p296">296</span>one of unrest from the very -cradle, and said, we are told, that “he was the only person who -had never had any holidays even when he was a boy.” Indeed, while -he was still under age and wearing the praetexta, he had the -courage to plead the cause of accused persons in court, and to -make use of his influence so powerfully that it is well known -that in some causes his exertions gained a verdict. Where would -such precocious ambition stop? You may be sure that one who showed -such boldness as a child would end by becoming a great pest both -in public and in private life: it was too late for him to complain -that he had had no holidays, when from his boyhood he had been -a firebrand and a nuisance in the courts. It is a stock question -whether he committed suicide: for he fell by a sudden wound in -the groin, and some doubted whether his death was caused by his -own hand, though none disputed its having happened most seasonably. -It would be superfluous to mention more who, while others thought -them the happiest of men, have themselves borne true witness -to their own feelings, and have loathed all that they have done -for all the years of their lives: yet by these complaints they -have effected no alteration either in others or in themselves: -for after these words have escaped them their feelings revert -to their accustomed frame. By Hercules, that life of you great -men, even though it should last for more than a thousand years, -is still a very short one: those vices of yours would swallow -up any extent of time: no wonder if this our ordinary span, which, -though Nature hurries on, can be enlarged by common sense, soon -slips away from you: for you do not lay hold of it or hold it -back, and try to delay the swiftest of all things, but you let -it pass as though it were a useless thing and you could supply -its place.</p> - -<p>VII. Among these I reckon in the first place those who devote -their time to nothing but drinking and debauchery: -<span class="pagenum" id="p297">297</span>for no men -are busied more shamefully: the others, although the glory which -they pursue is but a counterfeit, still deserve some credit for -their pursuit of it—though you may tell me of misers, of passionate -men, of men who hate and who even wage war without a cause—yet -all such men sin like men: but the sin of those who are given -up to gluttony and lust is a disgraceful one. Examine all the -hours of their lives: consider how much time they spend in calculation, -how much in plotting, how much in fear, how much in giving and -deceiving flattery, how much in entering into recognizances for -themselves or for others, how much in banquets, which indeed -become a serious business, you will see that they are not allowed -any breathing time either by their pleasures or their pains. -Finally, all are agreed that nothing, neither eloquence nor literature, -can be done properly by one who is occupied with something else; -for nothing can take deep root in a mind which is directed to -some other subject, and which rejects whatever you try to stuff -into it. No man knows less about living than a business man: -there is nothing about which it is more difficult to gain knowledge. -Other arts have many folk everywhere who profess to teach them: -some of them can be so thoroughly learned by mere boys, that -they are able to teach them to others: but one’s whole life must -be spent in learning how to live, and, which may perhaps surprise -you more, one’s whole life must be spent in learning how to die. -Many excellent men have freed themselves from all hindrances, -have given up riches, business, and pleasure, and have made it -their duty to the very end of their lives to learn how to live: -and yet the larger portion of them leave this life confessing -that they do not yet know how to live, and still less know how -to live as wise men. Believe me, it requires a great man and -one who is superior to human frailties not to allow any of his -time to be filched from him: -<span class="pagenum" id="p298">298</span>and therefore it follows that his -life is a very long one, because he devotes every possible part -of it to himself: no portion lies idle or uncultivated, or in -another man’s power; for he finds nothing worthy of being exchanged -for his time, which he husbands most grudgingly. He, therefore, -had time enough: whereas those who gave up a great part of their -lives to the people of necessity had not enough. Yet you need -not suppose that the latter were not sometimes conscious of their -loss: indeed, you will hear most of those who are troubled with -great prosperity every now and then cry out amid their hosts -of clients, their pleadings in court, and their other honourable -troubles, “I am not allowed to live my own life.” Why is he not -allowed? because all those who call upon you to defend them, -take you away from yourself. How many of your days have been -spent by that defendant? by that candidate for office? by that -old woman who is weary with burying her heirs? by that man who -pretends to be ill, in order to excite the greed of those who -hope to inherit his property? by that powerful friend of yours, -who uses you to swell his train, not to be his friend? Balance -your account, and run over all the days of your life; you will -see that only a very few days, and only those which were useless -for any other purpose, have been left to you. He who has obtained -the -<i>fasces</i><a href="#fn-10.6" name="fnref-10.6" id="fnref-10.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> -for which he longed, is eager to get rid of them, -and is constantly saying, “When will this year be over?” another -exhibits public games, and once would have given a great deal -for the chance of doing so, but now “when,” says he, “shall I -escape from this?” another is an advocate who is fought for in -all the courts, and who draws immense audiences, who crowd all -the forum to a far greater distance than they can hear him; “When,” -says he, “will vacation-time come?” Every man hurries through -his life, and -<span class="pagenum" id="p299">299</span>suffers from a yearning for the -future, and a weariness of the -present: but he who disposes of all his time for his own purposes, -who arranges all his days as though he were arranging the plan -of his life, neither wishes for nor fears the morrow: for what -new pleasure can any hour now bestow upon him? he knows it all, -and has indulged in it all even to satiety. Fortune may deal -with the rest as she will, his life is already safe from her: -such a man may gain something, but cannot lose anything: and, -indeed, he can only gain anything in the same way as one who -is already glutted and filled can get some extra food which he -takes although he does not want it. You have no grounds, therefore, -for supposing that any one has lived long, because he has wrinkles -or grey hairs: such a man has not lived long, but has only been -long alive. Why! would you think that a man had voyaged much -if a fierce gale had caught him as soon as he left his port, -and he had been driven round and round the same place continually -by a succession of winds blowing from opposite quarters? such -a man has not travelled much, he has only been much tossed about. -</p> - -<p>VIII. I am filled with wonder when I see some men asking others -for their time, and those who are asked for it most willing to -give it: both parties consider the object for which the time -is given, but neither of them thinks of the time itself, as though -in asking for this one asked for nothing, and in giving it one -gave nothing: we play with what is the most precious of all things: -yet it escapes men’s notice, because it is an incorporeal thing, -and because it does not come before our eyes; and therefore it -is held very cheap, nay, hardly any value whatever is put upon -it. Men set the greatest store upon presents or pensions, and -hire out their work, their services, or their care in order to -gain them: no one values time: they give it much more freely, -as though it cost nothing. Yet you will see these -<span class="pagenum" id="p300">300</span>same people -clasping the knees of their physician as suppliants when they -are sick and in present peril of death, and if threatened with -a capital charge willing to give all that they possess in order -that they may live: so inconsistent are they. Indeed, if the -number of every man’s future years could be laid before him, -as we can lay that of his past years, how anxious those who found -that they had but few years remaining would be to make the most -of them? Yet it is easy to arrange the distribution of a quantity, -however small, if we know how much there is: what you ought to -husband most carefully is that which may run short you know not -when. Yet you have no reason to suppose that they do not know -how dear a thing time is: they are wont to say to those whom -they especially love that they are ready to give them a part -of their own years. They do give them, and know not that they -are giving them; but they give them in such a manner that they -themselves lose them without the others gaining them. They do -not, however, know whence they obtain their supply, and therefore -they are able to endure the waste of what is not seen: yet no -one will give you back your years, no one will restore them to -you again: your life will run its course when once it has begun, -and will neither begin again or efface what it has done. It will -make no disturbance, it will give you no warning of how fast -it flies: it will move silently on: it will not prolong itself -at the command of a king, or at the wish of a nation: as it started -on its first day, so it will run: it will never turn aside, never -delay. What follows, then? Why! you are busy, but life is hurrying -on: death will be here some time or other, and you must attend -to him, whether you will or no.</p> - -<p>IX. Can anything be mentioned which is more insane than the ideas -of leisure of those people who boast of their worldly wisdom? -They live laboriously, in order that -<span class="pagenum" id="p301">301</span>they may live better; they -fit themselves out for life at the expense of life itself, and -cast their thoughts a long way forwards: yet postponement is -the greatest waste of life: it wrings day after day from us, -and takes away the present by promising something hereafter: -there is no such obstacle to true living as waiting, which loses -to-day while it is depending on the morrow. You dispose of that -which is in the hand of Fortune, and you let go that which is -in your own. Whither are you looking, whither are you stretching -forward? everything future is uncertain: live now straightway. -See how the greatest of bards cries to you and sings in wholesome -verse as though inspired with celestial fire:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“The best of wretched -mortals’ days is that<br /> -Which is the first to fly.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Why do you -hesitate, says he, why do you stand back? unless you seize it -it will have fled: and even if you do seize it, it will still -fly. Our swiftness in making use of our time ought therefore -to vie with the swiftness of time itself, and we ought to drink -of it as we should of a fast-running torrent which will not be -always running. The poet, too, admirably satirizes our boundless -thoughts, when he says, not “the first age,” but “the first -day.” -Why are you careless and slow while time is flying so fast, and -why do you spread out before yourself a vision of long months -and years, as many as your greediness requires? he talks with -you about one day, and that a fast-fleeting one. There can, then, -be no doubt that the best days are those which fly first for -wretched, that is, for busy mortals, whose minds are still in -their childhood when old age comes upon them, and they reach -it unprepared and without arms to combat it. They have never -looked forward: they have all of a sudden stumbled upon old age: -they never noticed that it was stealing upon them day by day. -As conversation, or reading, or deep thought deceives travellers, -and they find <span class="pagenum" id="p302">302</span>themselves at their -journey’s end before they knew -that it was drawing near, so in this fast and never-ceasing journey -of life, which we make at the same pace whether we are asleep -or awake, busy people never notice that they are moving till -they are at the end of it.</p> - -<p>X. If I chose to divide this proposition into separate steps, -supported by evidence, many things occur to me by which I could -prove that the lives of busy men are the shortest of all. Fabianus, -who was none of your lecture-room philosophers, but one of the -true antique pattern, used to say, “We ought to fight against -the passions by main force, not by skirmishing, and upset their -line of battle by a home charge, not by inflicting trifling wounds: -I do not approve of dallying with sophisms; they must be crushed, -not merely scratched.” Yet, in order that sinners may be confronted -with their errors, they must be taught, and not merely mourned -for. Life is divided into three parts: that which has been, that -which is, and that which is to come: of these three stages, that -which we are passing through is brief, that which we are about -to pass is uncertain, and that which we have passed is certain: -this it is over which Fortune has lost her rights, and which -can fall into no other man’s power: and this is what busy men -lose: for they have no leisure to look back upon the past, and -even if they had, they take no pleasure in remembering what they -regret: they are, therefore, unwilling to turn their minds to -the contemplation of ill-spent time, and they shrink from reviewing -a course of action whose faults become glaringly apparent when -handled a second time, although they were snatched at when we -were under the spell of immediate gratification. No one, unless -all his acts have been submitted to the infallible censorship -of his own conscience, willingly turns his thoughts back upon -the past. He who has ambitiously desired, haughtily scorned, -passionately vanquished, treacherously deceived, greedily snatched, -or prodigally <span class="pagenum" id="p303">303</span>wasted much, must needs -fear his own memory; yet -this is a holy and consecrated part of our time, beyond the reach -of all human accidents, removed from the dominion of Fortune, -and which cannot be disquieted by want, fear, or attacks of sickness: -this can neither be troubled nor taken away from one: we possess -it for ever undisturbed. Our present consists only of single -days, and those, too, taken one hour at a time: but all the days -of past times appear before us when bidden, and allow themselves -to be examined and lingered over, albeit busy men cannot find -time for so doing. It is the privilege of a tranquil and peaceful -mind to review all the parts of its life: but the minds of busy -men are like animals under the yoke, and cannot bend aside or -look back. Consequently, their life passes away into vacancy, -and as you do no good however much you may pour into a vessel -which cannot keep or hold what you put there, so also it matters -not how much time you give men if it can find no place to settle -in, but leaks away through the chinks and holes of their minds. -Present time is very short, so much so that to some it seems -to be no time at all; for it is always in motion, and runs swiftly -away: it ceases to exist before it comes, and can no more brook -delay than can the universe or the host of heaven, whose unresting -movement never lets them pause on their way. Busy men, therefore, -possess present time, alone, that being so short that they cannot -grasp it, and when they are occupied with many things they lose -even this.</p> - -<p>XI. In a word, do you want to know for how short a time they -live? see how they desire to live long: broken-down old men beg -in their prayers for the addition of a few more years: they pretend -to be younger than they are: they delude themselves with their -own lies, and are as willing to cheat themselves as if they could -cheat Fate at the same time: when at last some weakness reminds -them that they <span class="pagenum" id="p304">304</span>are mortal, they die as -it were in terror: they -may rather be said to be dragged out of this life than to depart -from it. They loudly exclaim that they have been fools and have -not lived their lives, and declare that if they only survive -this sickness they will spend the rest of their lives at leisure: -at such times they reflect how uselessly they have laboured to -provide themselves with what they have never enjoyed, and how -all their toil has gone for nothing: but those whose life is -spent without any engrossing business may well find it ample: -no part of it is made over to others, or scattered here and there; -no part is entrusted to Fortune, is lost by neglect, is spent -in ostentatious giving, or is useless: all of it is, so to speak, -invested at good interest. A very small amount of it, therefore, -is abundantly sufficient, and so, when his last day arrives, -the wise man will not hang back, but will walk with a steady -step to meet death.</p> - -<p>XII. Perhaps you will ask me whom I mean by “busy men”? you need -not think that I allude only to those who are hunted out of the -courts of justice with dogs at the close of the proceedings, -those whom you see either honourably jostled by a crowd of their -own clients or contemptuously hustled in visits of ceremony by -strangers, who call them away from home to hang about their patron’s -doors, or who make use of the praetor’s sales by auction to acquire -infamous gains which some day will prove their own ruin. Some -men’s leisure is busy: in their country house or on their couch, -in complete solitude, even though they have retired from all -men’s society, they still continue to worry themselves: we ought -not to say that such men’s life is one of leisure, but their -very business is sloth. Would you call a man idle who expends -anxious finicking care in the arrangement of his Corinthian bronzes, -valuable only through the mania of a few connoisseurs? and who -passes the greater part of his days among plates of rusty metal? -who sits in the palaestra (shame, that our very vices -<span class="pagenum" id="p305">305</span>should -be foreign) watching boys wrestling? who distributes his gangs -of fettered slaves into pairs according to their age and colour? -who keeps athletes of the latest fashion? Why, do you call those -men idle, who pass many hours at the barber’s while the growth -of the past night is being plucked out by the roots, holding -councils over each several hair, while the scattered locks are -arranged in order and those which fall back are forced forward -on to the forehead? How angry they become if the shaver is a -little careless, as though he were shearing a <i>man</i>! what a white -heat they work themselves into if some of their mane is cut away, -if some part of it is ill-arranged, if all their ringlets do -not lie in regular order! who of them would not rather that the -state were overthrown than that his hair should be ruffled? who -does not care more for the appearance of his head than for his -health? who would not prefer ornament to honour? Do you call -these men idle, who make a business of the comb and looking-glass? -what of those who devote their lives to composing, hearing, and -learning songs, who twist their voices, intended by Nature to -sound best and simplest when used straightforwardly, through -all the turns of futile melodies: whose fingers are always beating -time to some music on which they are inwardly meditating; who, -when invited to serious and even sad business may be heard humming -an air to themselves?—such people are not at leisure, but are -busy about trifles. As for their banquets, by Hercules, I cannot -reckon them among their unoccupied times when I see with what -anxious care they set out their plate, how laboriously they arrange -the girdles of their waiters’ tunics, how breathlessly they watch -to see how the cook dishes up the wild boar, with what speed, -when the signal is given, the slave-boys run to perform their -duties, how skilfully birds are carved into pieces of the right -size, how painstakingly wretched youths wipe up the spittings -of drunken men. By these means men seek credit for taste -<span class="pagenum" id="p306">306</span>and -grandeur, and their vices follow them so far into their privacy -that they can neither eat nor drink without a view to effect. -Nor should I count those men idle who have themselves carried -hither and thither in sedans and litters, and who look forward -to their regular hour for taking this exercise as though they -were not allowed to omit it: men who are reminded by some one -else when to bathe, when to swim, when to dine: they actually -reach such a pitch of languid effeminacy as not to be able to -find out for themselves whether they are hungry. I have heard -one of these luxurious folk—if indeed, we ought to give the name -of luxury to unlearning the life and habits of a man—when he -was carried in men’s arms out of the bath and placed in his chair, -say inquiringly, “Am I seated?” Do you suppose that such a man -as this, who did not know when he was seated, could know whether -he was alive, whether he could see, whether he was at leisure? -I can hardly say whether I pity him more if he really did not -know or if he pretended not to know this. Such people do really -become unconscious of much, but they behave as though they were -unconscious of much more: they delight in some failings because -they consider them to be proofs of happiness: it seems the part -of an utterly low and contemptible man to know what he is doing. -After this, do you suppose that playwrights draw largely upon -their imaginations in their burlesques upon luxury: by Hercules, -they omit more than they invent; in this age, inventive in this -alone, such a number of incredible vices have been produced, -that already you are able to reproach the playwrights with omitting -to notice them. To think that there should be any one who had -so far lost his senses through luxury as to take some one else’s -opinion as to whether he was sitting or not? This man certainly -is not at leisure: you must bestow a different title on him: -he is sick, or rather dead: he only is at leisure who feels that -he is at leisure: but this creature is -<span class="pagenum" id="p307">307</span>only half alive, if he -wants some one to tell him what position his body is in. How -can such a man be able to dispose of any time?</p> - -<p>XIII. It would take long to describe the various individuals -who have wasted their lives over playing at draughts, playing -at ball, or toasting their bodies in the sun: men are not at -leisure if their pleasures partake of the character of business, -for no one will doubt that those persons are laborious triflers -who devote themselves to the study of futile literary questions, -of whom there is already a great number in Rome also. It used -to be a peculiarly Greek disease of the mind to investigate how -many rowers Ulysses had, whether the Iliad or the Odyssey was -written first, and furthermore, whether they were written by -the same author, with other matters of the same stamp, which -neither please your inner consciousness if you keep them to yourself, -nor make you seem more learned, but only more troublesome, if -you publish them abroad. See, already this vain longing to learn -what is useless has taken hold of the Romans: the other day I -heard somebody telling who was the first Roman general who did -this or that: Duillius was the first who won a sea-fight, Curius -Dentatus was the first who drove elephants in his triumph: moreover, -these stories, though they add nothing to real glory, do nevertheless -deal with the great deeds of our countrymen: such knowledge is -not profitable, yet it claims our attention as a fascinating -kind of folly. I will even pardon those who want to know who -first persuaded the Romans to go on board ship. It was Claudius, -who for this reason was surnamed Caudex, because any piece of -carpentry formed of many planks was called <i>caudex</i> by the ancient -Romans, for which reason public records are called <i>Codices</i>, and -by old custom the ships which ply on the Tiber with provisions -are called <i>codicariae</i>. Let us also allow that it is to the point -to tell how Valerius Corvinus was the first -<span class="pagenum" id="p308">308</span>to conquer Messana, -and first of the family of the Valerii transferred the name of -the captured city to his own, and was called Messana, and how -the people gradually corrupted the pronunciation and called him -Messalla: or would you let any one find interest in Lucius Sulla -having been the first to let lions loose in the circus, they -having been previously exhibited in chains, and hurlers of darts -having been sent by King Bocchus to kill them? This may be permitted -to their curiosity: but can it serve any useful purpose to know -that Pompeius was the first to exhibit eighteen elephants in -the circus, who were matched in a mimic battle with some convicts? -The leading man in the state, and one who, according to tradition, -was noted among the ancient leaders of the state for his transcendent -goodness of heart, thought it a notable kind of show to kill -men in a manner hitherto unheard of. Do they fight to the death? -that is not cruel enough: are they torn to pieces? that is not -cruel enough: let them be crushed flat by animals of enormous -bulk. It would be much better that such a thing should be forgotten, -for fear that hereafter some potentate might hear of it and envy -its refined barbarity. O, how doth excessive prosperity blind -our intellects! at the moment at which he was casting so many -troops of wretches to be trampled on by outlandish beasts, when -he was proclaiming war between such different creatures, when -he was shedding so much blood before the eyes of the Roman people, -whose blood he himself was soon to shed even more freely, he -thought himself the master of the whole world; yet he afterwards, -deceived by the treachery of the Alexandrians, had to offer himself -to the dagger of the vilest of slaves, and then at last discovered -what an empty boast was his surname of “The Great.” But to return -to the point from which I have digressed, I will prove that even -on this very subject some people expend useless pains. The same -author tells us that <span class="pagenum" id="p309">309</span>Metellus, when he -triumphed after having -conquered the Carthaginians in Sicily, was the only Roman who -ever had a hundred and twenty captured elephants led before his -car: and that Sulla was the last Roman who extended the -pomoerium,<a href="#fn-10.7" name="fnref-10.7" id="fnref-10.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> -which it was not the custom of the ancients to extend on account -of the conquest of provincial, but only of Italian territory. -Is it more useful to know this, than to know that the Mount Aventine, -according to him, is outside of the pomoerium, for one of two -reasons, either because it was thither that the plebeians seceded, -or because when Remus took his auspices on that place the birds -which he saw were not propitious: and other stories without number -of the like sort, which are either actual falsehoods or much -the same as falsehoods? for even if you allow that these authors -speak in all good faith, if they pledge themselves for the truth -of what they write, still, whose mistakes will be made fewer -by such stories? whose passions will be restrained? whom will -they make more brave, more just, or more gentlemanly? My friend -Fabianus used to say that he was not sure that it was not better -not to apply oneself to any studies at all than to become interested -in these.</p> - -<p>XIV. The only persons who are really at leisure are those who -devote themselves to philosophy: and they alone really live: -for they do not merely enjoy their own lifetime, but they annex -every century to their own: all the years which have passed before -them belong to them. Unless we are the most ungrateful creatures -in the world, we shall regard these noblest of men, the founders -of divine schools of thought, as having been born for us, and -having prepared life for us: we are led by the labour of others -to behold most beautiful things which have been brought out of -darkness into light; we are not shut out from any period, we -can make our way into every subject, -<span class="pagenum" id="p310">310</span>and, if only we can summon up -sufficient strength of mind to -overstep the narrow limit of human weakness, we have a vast extent -of time wherein to disport ourselves: we may argue with Socrates, -doubt with Carneades, repose with Epicurus, overcome human nature -with the Stoics, out-herod it with the Cynics. Since Nature allows -us to commune with every age, why do we not abstract ourselves -from our own petty fleeting span of time, and give ourselves -up with our whole mind to what is vast, what is eternal, what -we share with better men than ourselves? Those who gad about -in a round of calls, who worry themselves and others, after they -have indulged their madness to the full, and crossed every patron’s -threshold daily, leaving no open door unentered, after they have -hawked about their interested greetings in houses of the most -various character,—after all, how few people are they able to -see out of so vast a city, divided among so many different ruling -passions: how many will be moved by sloth, self-indulgence, or -rudeness to deny them admittance: how many, after they have long -plagued them, will run past them with feigned hurry? how many -will avoid coming out through their entrance-hall with its crowds -of clients, and will escape by some concealed backdoor? as though -it were not ruder to deceive their visitor than to deny him -admittance!—how -many, half asleep and stupid with yesterday’s debauch, can hardly -be brought to return the greeting of the wretched man who has -broken his own rest in order to wait on that of another, even -after his name has been whispered to them for the thousandth -time, save by a most offensive yawn of his half-opened lips. -We may truly say that those men are pursuing the true path of -duty, who wish every day to consort on the most familiar terms -with Zeno, Pythagoras, Democritus, and the rest of those high -priests of virtue, with Aristotle and with Theophrastus. None -of these men will be -“engaged,”<span class="pagenum" id="p311">311</span> none of these -will fail to send -you away after visiting him in a happier frame of mind and on -better terms with yourself, none of them will let you leave him -empty-handed: yet their society may be enjoyed by all men, and -by night as well as by day.</p> - -<p>XV. None of these men will force you to die, but all of them -will teach you how to die: none of these will waste your time, -but will add his own to it. The talk of these men is not dangerous, -their friendship will not lead you to the scaffold, their society -will not ruin you in expenses: you may take from them whatsoever -you will; they will not prevent your taking the deepest draughts -of their wisdom that you please. What blessedness, what a fair -old age awaits the man who takes these for his patrons! he will -have friends with whom he may discuss all matters, great and -small, whose advice he may ask daily about himself, from whom -he will hear truth without insult, praise without flattery, and -according to whose likeness he may model his own character. We -are wont to say that we are not able to choose who our parents -should be, but that they were assigned to us by chance; yet we -may be born just as we please: there are several families of -the noblest intellects: choose which you would like to belong -to: by your adoption you will not receive their name only, but -also their property, which is not intended to be guarded in a -mean and miserly spirit: the more persons you divide it among -the larger it becomes. These will open to you the path which -leads to eternity, and will raise you to a height from whence -none shall cast you down. By this means alone can you prolong -your mortal life, nay, even turn it into an immortal one. High -office, monuments, all that ambition records in decrees or piles -up in stone, soon passes away: lapse of time casts down and ruins -everything; but those things on which Philosophy has set its -seal are beyond the reach of injury: no age will discard them -or <span class="pagenum" id="p312">312</span>lessen their force, each succeeding -century will add somewhat -to the respect in which they are held: for we look upon what -is near us with jealous eyes, but we admire what is further off -with less prejudice. The wise man’s life, therefore, includes -much: he is not hedged in by the same limits which confine others: -he alone is exempt from the laws by which mankind is governed: -all ages serve him like a god. If any time be past, he recals -it by his memory; if it be present, he uses it; if it be future, -he anticipates it: his life is a long one because he concentrates -all times into it.</p> - -<p>XVI. Those men lead the shortest and unhappiest lives who forget -the past, neglect the present, and dread the future: when they -reach the end of it the poor wretches learn too late that they -were busied all the while that they were doing nothing. You need -not think, because sometimes they call for death, that their -lives are long: their folly torments them with vague passions -which lead them into the very things of which they are afraid: -they often, therefore, wish for death because they live in fear. -Neither is it, as you might think, a proof of the length of their -lives that they often find the days long, that they often complain -how slowly the hours pass until the appointed time arrives for -dinner: for whenever they are left without their usual business, -they fret helplessly in their idleness, and know not how to arrange -or to spin it out. They betake themselves, therefore, to some -business, and all the intervening time is irksome to them; they -would wish, by Hercules, to skip over it, just as they wish to -skip over the intervening days before a gladiatorial contest -or some other time appointed for a public spectacle or private -indulgence: all postponement of what they wish for is grievous -to them. Yet the very time which they enjoy is brief and soon -past, and is made much briefer by their own fault: for they run -from one pleasure to another, and are not able to devote -<span class="pagenum" id="p313">313</span>themselves -consistently to one passion: their days are not long, but odious -to them: on the other hand, how short they find the nights which -they spend with courtezans or over wine? Hence arises that folly -of the poets who encourage the errors of mankind by their myths, -and declare that Jupiter to gratify his voluptuous desires doubled -the length of the night. Is it not adding fuel to our vices to -name the gods as their authors, and to offer our distempers free -scope by giving them deity for an example? How can the nights -for which men pay so dear fail to appear of the shortest? they -lose the day in looking forward to the night, and lose the night -through fear of the dawn.</p> - -<p>XVII. Such men’s very pleasures are restless and disturbed by -various alarms, and at the most joyous moment of all there rises -the anxious thought: “How long will this last?” This frame of -mind has led kings to weep over their power, and they have not -been so much delighted at the grandeur of their position, as -they have been terrified by the end to which it must some day -come. That most arrogant Persian -king,<a href="#fn-10.8" name="fnref-10.8" id="fnref-10.8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> -when his army stretched -over vast plains and could not be counted but only measured, -burst into tears at the thought that in less than a hundred years -none of all those warriors would be alive: yet their death was -brought upon them by the very man who wept over it, who was about -to destroy some of them by sea, some on land, some in battle, -and some in flight, and who would in a very short space of time -put an end to those about whose hundredth year he showed such -solicitude. Why need we wonder at their very joys being mixed -with fear? they do not rest upon any solid grounds, but are disturbed -by the same emptiness from which they spring. What must we suppose -to be the misery of such times as even they acknowledge to be -wretched, when even the joys by which they elevate themselves -and raise themselves above their fellows are of -<span class="pagenum" id="p314">314</span>a mixed character. All the greatest -blessings are enjoyed with -fear, and no thing is so untrustworthy as extreme prosperity: -we require fresh strokes of good fortune to enable us to keep -that which we are enjoying, and even those of our prayers which -are answered require fresh prayers. Everything for which we are -dependent on chance is uncertain: the higher it rises, the more -opportunities it has of falling. Moreover, no one takes any pleasure -in what is about to fall into ruin: very wretched, therefore, -as well as very short must be the lives of those who work very -hard to gain what they must work even harder to keep: they obtain -what they wish with infinite labour, and they hold what they -have obtained with fear and trembling. Meanwhile they take no -account of time, of which they will never have a fresh and larger -supply: they substitute new occupations for old ones, one hope -leads to another, one ambition to another: they do not seek for -an end to their wretchedness, but they change its subject. Do -our own preferments trouble us? nay, those of other men occupy -more of our time. Have we ceased from our labours in canvassing? -then we begin others in voting. Have we got rid of the trouble -of accusation? then we begin that of judging. Has a man ceased -to be a judge? then he becomes an examiner. Has he grown old -in the salaried management of other people’s property? then he -becomes occupied with his own. Marius is discharged from military -service; he becomes consul many times: Quintius is eager to reach -the end of his dictatorship; he will be called a second time -from the plough: Scipio marched against the Carthaginians before -he was of years sufficient for so great an undertaking; after -he has conquered Hannibal, conquered Antiochus, been the glory -of his own consulship and the surety for that of his brother, -he might, had he wished it, have been set on the same pedestal -with Jupiter; but civil factions will vex the saviour of the -state, and he who when <span class="pagenum" id="p315">315</span>a young man -disdained to receive divine -honours, will take pride as an old man in obstinately remaining -in exile. We shall never lack causes of anxiety, either pleasurable -or painful: our life will be pushed along from one business to -another: leisure will always be wished for, and never enjoyed. -</p> - -<p>XVIII. Whefore, my dearest Paulinus, tear yourself away from -the common herd, and since you have seen more rough weather than -one would think from your age, betake yourself at length to a -more peaceful haven: reflect what waves you have sailed through, -what storms you have endured in private life, and brought upon -yourself in public. Your courage has been sufficiently displayed -by many toilsome and wearisome proofs; try how it will deal with -leisure: the greater, certainly the better part of your life, -has been given to your country; take now some part of your time -for yourself as well. I do not urge you to practise a dull or -lazy sloth, or to drown all your fiery spirit in the pleasures -which are dear to the herd: that is not rest: you can find greater -works than all those which you have hitherto so manfully carried -out, upon which you may employ yourself in retirement and security. -You manage the revenues of the entire world, as unselfishly as -though they belonged to another, as laboriously as if they were -your own, as scrupulously as though they belonged to the public: -you win love in an office in which it is hard to avoid incurring -hatred; yet, believe me, it is better to understand your own -mind than to understand the corn-market. Take away that keen -intellect of yours, so well capable of grappling with the greatest -subjects, from a post which may be dignified, but which is hardly -fitted to render life happy, and reflect that you did not study -from childhood all the branches of a liberal education merely -in order that many thousand tons of corn might safely be entrusted -to your charge: you have <span class="pagenum" id="p316">316</span>given us -promise of something greater -and nobler than this. There will never be any want of strict -economists or of laborious workers: slow-going beasts of burden -are better suited for carrying loads than well-bred horses, whose -generous swiftness no one would encumber with a heavy pack. Think, -moreover, how full of risk is the great task which you have undertaken: -you have to deal with the human stomach: a hungry people will -not endure reason, will not be appeased by justice, and will -not hearken to any prayers. Only just a few days ago, when G. -Caesar perished, grieving for nothing so much (if those in the -other world can feel grief) as that the Roman people did not -die with him, there was said to be only enough corn for seven -or eight days’ consumption: while he was making bridges with -ships<a href="#fn-10.9" name="fnref-10.9" id="fnref-10.9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> and -playing with the resources of the empire, want of -provisions, the worst evil that can befall even a besieged city, -was at hand: his imitation of a crazy outlandish and misproud -king very nearly ended in ruin, famine, and the general revolution -which follows famine. What must then have been the feelings of -those who had the charge of supplying the city with corn, who -were in danger of stoning, of fire and sword, of Gaius himself? -With consummate art they concealed the vast internal evil by -which the state was menaced, and were quite right in so doing; -for some diseases must be cured without the patient’s knowledge: -many have died through discovering what was the matter with them. -</p> - -<p>XIX. Betake yourself to these quieter, safer, larger fields of -action: do you think that there can be any comparison between -seeing that corn is deposited in the public -<span class="pagenum" id="p317">317</span>granary without being stolen by the -fraud or spoilt by the carelessness -of the importer, that it does not suffer from damp or overheating, -and that it measures and weighs as much as it ought, and beginning -the study of sacred and divine knowledge, which will teach you -of what elements the gods are formed, what are their pleasures, -their position, their form? to what changes your soul has to -look forward? where Nature will place us when we are dismissed -from our bodies? what that principle is which holds all the heaviest -particles of our universe in the middle, suspends the lighter -ones above, puts fire highest of all, and causes the stars to -rise in their courses, with many other matters, full of marvels? -Will you -not<a href="#fn-10.10" name="fnref-10.10" id="fnref-10.10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> -cease to grovel on earth and turn your mind’s -eye on these themes? nay, while your blood still flows swiftly, -before your knees grow feeble, you ought to take the better path. -In this course of life there await you many good things, such -as love and practice of the virtues, forgetfulness of passions, -knowledge of how to live and die, deep repose. The position of -all busy men is unhappy, but most unhappy of all is that of those -who do not even labour at their own affairs, but have to regulate -their rest by another man’s sleep, their walk by another man’s -pace, and whose very love and hate, the freest things in the -world, are at another’s bidding. If such men wish to know how -short their lives are, let them think how small a fraction of -them is their own.</p> - -<p>XX. When, therefore, you see a man often wear the purple robes -of office, and hear his name often repeated in the forum, do -not envy him: he gains these things by losing so much of his -life. Men throw away all their years in order to have one year -named after them as consul: some lose their lives during the -early part of the struggle, and never reach the height to which -they aspired: -<span class="pagenum" id="p318">318</span>some after having submitted to a -thousand indignities in order -to reach the crowning dignity, have the miserable reflexion that -the only result of their labours will be the inscription on their -tombstone. Some, while telling off extreme old age, like youth, -for new aspirations, have found it fail from sheer weakness amid -great and presumptuous enterprises. It is a shameful ending, -when a man’s breath deserts him in a court of justice, while, -although well stricken in years, he is still striving to gain -the sympathies of an ignorant audience for some obscure litigant: -it is base to perish in the midst of one’s business, wearied -with living sooner than with working; shameful, too, to die in -the act of receiving payments, amid the laughter of one’s long-expectant -heir. I cannot pass over an an instance which occurs to me: Turannius -was an old man of the most painstaking exactitude, who after -entering upon his ninetieth year, when he had by G. Caesar’s -own act been relieved of his duties as collector of the revenue, -ordered himself to be laid out on his bed and mourned for as -though he were dead. The whole house mourned for the leisure -of its old master, and did not lay aside its mourning until his -work was restored to him. Can men find such pleasure in dying -in harness? Yet many are of the same mind: they retain their -wish for labour longer than their capacity for it, and fight -against their bodily weakness; they think old age an evil for -no other reason than because it lays them on the shelf. The law -does not enrol a soldier after his fiftieth year, or require -a senator’s attendance after his sixtieth: but men have more -difficulty in obtaining their own consent than that of the law -to a life of leisure. Meanwhile, while they are plundering and -being plundered, while one is disturbing another’s repose, and -all are being made wretched alike, life remains without profit, -without pleasure, without any intellectual progress: no one keeps -death well before his eyes, no one refrains from -far-reaching<span class="pagenum" id="p319">319</span> -hopes. Some even arrange things which lie beyond their own lives, -such as huge sepulchral buildings, the dedication of public works, -and exhibitions to be given at their funeral-pyre, and ostentatious -processions: but, by Hercules, the funerals of such men ought -to be conducted by the light of torches and wax -tapers,<a href="#fn-10.11" name="fnref-10.11" id="fnref-10.11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> -as -though they had lived but a few days.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.1" id="fn-10.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.1">[1]</a> -“On croit que ce -Paulin étoit frère de Pauline, épouse de Sénéque.” —La Grange. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.2" id="fn-10.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.2">[2]</a> -“L’un se consume en projets d’ambition, dont le succès depend -du suffrage de l’autrui.”—La Grange. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.3" id="fn-10.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.3">[3]</a> -“Combien d’orateurs -qui s’épuisent de sang et de forces pour faire montrer de leur -génie!”—La Grange. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.4" id="fn-10.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.4">[4]</a> -“Pour vous, jamais vous ne daignâtes vous -regarder seulement, ou vous entendre. Ne faites pas non plus -valoir votre condescendance a écouter les autres. Lorsque vous -vous y prêtez, ce n’est pas que vous aimiez a vous communiquer -aux autres; c’est que vous craignez de vous trouver avec -vous-même.”—La -Grange.</p> -<blockquote><p class="footnote">“It is a folly therefore beyond Sence,<br /> - When great men will not give us Audience<br /> - To count them proud; how dare we call it pride<br /> - When we the same have to ourselves deny’d.<br /><br /> - Yet they how great, how proud so e’re, have bin<br /> - Sometimes so courteous as to call thee in.<br /> - And hear thee speak; but thou could’st nere afford<br /> - Thyself the leisure of a look or word.<br /><br /> - Thou should’st not then herein another blame,<br /> - Because when thou thyself do’st do the same.<br /> - Thou would’st not be with others, but we see<br /> - Plainly thou can’st not with thine own self be.”</p></blockquote> -<blockquote><p class="footnote">“L. ANNAEUS -SENECA, the Philosopher, his book of the Shortness of Life, translated -into an English Poem. Imprinted at London, by William Goldbird, -for the Author, mdclxiii.”</p></blockquote> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.5" id="fn-10.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.5">[5]</a> -“Dans une lettre qu’il envoya -au Sénat apres avoir promis que son -repos n’aura rièn indigne -de la gloire de ses premières années, il ajoute: Mais l’execution -y mettra un prix, que ne peuvent y mettre les promesses. J’obeis -cependant a la vive passion que j’ai, de me voir a ce temps si -désiré; et puisque l’heureuse situation d’affaires m’en tient -encore éloigné, j’ai voulu du moins me satisfaire en partie, -par la douceur que je trouve à vous en parler.”—La Grange.</p> -<blockquote><p class="footnote">“Such -words I find. But these things rather ought<br /> - Be done, then said; yet so far hath the thought<br /> - Of that wish’d time prevail’d, that though the glad<br /> - Fruition of the thing be not yet had.<br /> - Yet I,” &c.</p></blockquote> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.6" id="fn-10.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.6">[6]</a> -Fasces, the rods carried by the <i>lictors</i> as symbols -of office. See Smith’s “Diet, of Antiquities,” <i>s.v.</i> -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.7" id="fn-10.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.7">[7]</a> -See Smith’s -“Dict. of Antiquities.” -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.8" id="fn-10.8"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.8">[8]</a> -Xerxes. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.9" id="fn-10.9"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.9">[9]</a> -“Sénéque parle ici du -pont que Caligula fit construire sur le golphe de Baies, l’an -de Rome 791, 40 de J. C. . . . . rassembla et fit entrer dans -la construction de son pont tous les vaisseaux qui se trouverent -dans les ports d’Italie et des contrées voisines. Il n’excepta -pas même ceux qui etoient destinés a y apporter des grains étrangers,” -&c.—LaGrange. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.10" id="fn-10.10"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.10">[10]</a> -For <i>vis tu</i> see Juv. v., vis tu consuetis, -&c. Mayor’s note. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-10.11" id="fn-10.11"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.11">[11]</a> -As those of children were. -</p> - - -<h2>THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p320">320</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO HIS MOTHER, HELVIA.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">OF CONSOLATION.</span></h2> - -<p>I. My best of mothers, I have often felt eager to console you, -and have as often checked that impulse. Many things urged me -to make the attempt: in the first place, I thought that if, though -I might not be able to restrain your tears, yet that if I could -even wipe them away, I should set myself free from all my own -sorrows: then I was quite sure that I should rouse you from your -grief with more authority if I had first shaken it off myself. -I feared, too, lest Fortune, though overcome by me, might nevertheless -overcome some one of my family. Then I endeavoured to crawl and -bind up your wounds in the best way I could, holding my hand -over my own wound; but then again other considerations occurred -to me which held me back: I knew that I must not oppose your -grief during its first transports, lest my very attempts at consolation -might irritate it, and add fuel to it: for in diseases, also, -there is nothing more hurtful than medicine applied too soon. -I waited, therefore, until it exhausted itself by its own violence, -and being weakened by time, so that it was able to bear remedies, -would allow itself to be handled and - -<span class="pagenum" id="p321">321</span>touched. Beside this, while turning -over all the works which -the greatest geniuses have composed, for the purpose of soothing -and pacifying grief, I could not find any instance of one who -had offered consolation to his relatives, while he himself was -being sorrowed over by them. Thus, the subject being a new one, -I hesitated and feared that instead of consoling, I might embitter -your grief. Then there was the thought that a man who had only -just raised his head after burying his child, and who wished -to console his friends, would require to use new phrases not -taken from our common every-day words of comfort: but every sorrow -of more than usual magnitude must needs prevent one’s choosing -one’s words, seeing that it often prevents one’s using one’s -very voice. However this may be, I will make the attempt, not -trusting in my own genius, but because my consolation will be -most powerful since it is I who offer it. You never would deny -me anything, and I hope, though all grief is obstinate, that -you will surely not refuse me this request, that you will allow -me to set bounds to your sorrow.</p> - -<p>II. See how far I have presumed upon your indulgence: I have -no doubts about my having more power over you than your grief, -than which nothing has more power over the unhappy. In order, -therefore, to avoid encountering it straightway, I will at first -take its part and offer it every encouragement: I will rip up -and bring to light again wounds already scarred. Some one may -say, “What sort of consolation is this, for a man to rake up -buried evils, and to bring all its sorrows before a mind which -scarcely can bear the sight of one?” but let him reflect that -diseases which are so malignant that they do but gather strength -from ordinary remedies, may often be cured by the opposite treatment: -I will, therefore, display before your grief all its woes and -miseries: this will be to effect a cure, not by soothing measures, -but by cautery and <span class="pagenum" id="p322">322</span>the knife. What -shall I gain by this? I shall -make the mind that could overcome so many sorrows, ashamed to -bewail one wound more in a body so full of scars. Let those whose -feeble minds have been enervated by a long period of happiness, -weep and lament for many days, and faint away on receiving the -slightest blow: but those whose years have all been passed amid -catastrophes should bear the severest losses with brave and unyielding -patience. Continual misfortune has this one advantage, that it -ends by rendering callous those whom it is always scourging. -Ill fortune has given you no respite, and has not left even your -birthday free from the bitterest grief: you lost your mother -as soon as you were born, nay, while you were being born, and -you came into life, as it were, an outcast: you grew up under -a step-mother, whom you made into a mother by all the obedience -and respect which even a real daughter could have bestowed upon -her: and even a good step-mother costs every one dear. You lost -your most affectionate uncle, a brave and excellent man, just -when you were awaiting his return: and, lest Fortune should weaken -its blows by dividing them, within a month you lost your beloved -husband, by whom you had become the mother of three children. -This sorrowful news was brought you while you were already in -mourning, while all your children were absent, so that all your -misfortunes seemed to have been purposely brought upon you at -a time when your grief could nowhere find any repose. I pass -over all the dangers and alarms which you have endured without -any respite: it was but the other day that you received the bones -of three of your grandchildren in the bosom from which you had -sent them forth: less than twenty days after you had buried my -child, who perished in your arms and amid your kisses, you heard -that I had been exiled: you wanted only this drop in your cup, -to have to weep for those who still lived. -<span class="pagenum" id="p323">323</span></p> - -<p>III. The last wound is, I admit, the severest that you have ever -yet sustained: it has not merely torn the skin, but has pierced -you to the very heart: yet as recruits cry aloud when only slightly -wounded, and shudder more at the hands of the surgeon than at -the sword, while veterans even when transfixed allow their hurts -to be dressed without a groan, and as patiently as if they were -in some one else’s body, so now you ought to offer yourself courageously -to be healed. Lay aside lamentations and wailings, and all the -usual noisy manifestations of female sorrow: you have gained -nothing by so many misfortunes, if you have not learned how to -suffer. Now, do I seem not to have spared you? nay, I have not -passed over any of your sorrows, but have placed them all together -in a mass before you.</p> - -<p>IV. I have done this by way of a heroic remedy: for I have determined -to conquer this grief of yours, not merely to limit it; and I -shall conquer it, I believe, if in the first place I can prove -that I am not suffering enough to entitle me to be called unhappy, -let alone to justify me in rendering my family unhappy: and, -secondly, if I can deal with your case and prove that even your -misfortune, which comes upon you entirely through me, is not -a severe one.</p> - -<p>The point to which I shall first address myself is that of which -your motherly love longs to hear, I mean, that I am not suffering: -if I can, I will make it clear to you that the events by which -you think that I am overwhelmed, are not unendurable: if you -cannot believe this, I at any rate shall be all the more pleased -with myself for being happy under circumstances which could make -most men miserable. You need not believe what others say about -me: that you may not be puzzled by any uncertainty as to what -to think, I distinctly tell you that I am not miserable: I will -add, for your greater comfort, that it is not possible for me -to be made miserable.</p> - -<p>V. We are born to a comfortable position enough, if we -<span class="pagenum" id="p324">324</span>do not -afterwards lose it: the aim of Nature has been to enable us to -live well without needing a vast apparatus to enable us to do -so: every man is able by himself to make himself happy. External -circumstances have very little importance either for good or -for evil: the wise man is neither elated by prosperity nor depressed -by adversity; for he has always endeavoured to depend chiefly -upon himself and to derive all his joys from himself. Do I, then, -call myself a wise man? far from it: for were I able to profess -myself wise, I should not only say that I was not unhappy, but -should avow myself to be the most fortunate of men, and to be -raised almost to the level of a god: as it is, I have applied -myself to the society of wise men, which suffices to lighten -all sorrows, and, not being as yet able to rely upon my own strength, -I have betaken myself for refuge to the camp of others, of those, -namely, who can easily defend both themselves and their friends. -They have ordered me always to stand as it were on guard, and -to mark the attacks and charges of Fortune long before she delivers -them; she is only terrible to those whom she catches unawares; -he who is always looking out for her assault, easily sustains -it: for so also an invasion of the enemy overthrows those by -whom it is unexpected, but those who have prepared themselves -for the coming war before it broke out, stand in their ranks -fully equipped and repel with ease the first, which is always -the most furious onset. I never have trusted in Fortune, even -when she seemed most peaceful. I have accepted all the gifts -of wealth, high office, and influence, which she has so bountifully -bestowed upon me, in such a manner that she can take them back -again without disturbing me: I have kept a great distance between -them and myself: and therefore she has taken them, not painfully -torn them away from me. No man loses anything by the frowns of -Fortune unless he has been deceived by her smiles: those who -have <span class="pagenum" id="p325">325</span>enjoyed her bounty as though it -were their own heritage -for ever, and who have chosen to take precedence of others because -of it, lie in abject sorrow when her unreal and fleeting delights -forsake their empty childish minds, that know nothing about solid -pleasure: but he who has not been puffed up by success, does -not collapse after failure: he possesses a mind of tried constancy, -superior to the influences of either state; for even in the midst -of prosperity he has experimented upon his powers of enduring -adversity. Consequently I have always believed that there was -no real good in any of those things which all men desire: I then -found that they were empty, and merely painted over with artificial -and deceitful dyes, without containing anything within which -corresponds to their outside: I now find nothing so harsh and -fearful as the common opinion of mankind threatened me with in -this which is known as adversity: the word itself, owing to the -prevalent belief and ideas current about it, strikes somewhat -unpleasantly upon one’s ears, and thrills the hearers as something -dismal and accursed, for so hath the vulgar decreed that it should -be: but a great many of the decrees of the vulgar are reversed -by the wise.</p> - -<p>VI. Setting aside, then, the verdict of the majority, who are -carried away by the first appearance of things and the usual -opinion about them, let us consider what is meant by exile: clearly -a changing from one place to another. That I may not seem to -be narrowing its force, and taking away its worst parts, I must -add, that this changing of place is accompanied by poverty, disgrace, -and contempt. Against these I will combat later on: meanwhile -I wish to consider what there is unpleasant in the mere act of -changing one’s place of abode.</p> - -<p>”It is unbearable,” men say, “to lose one’s native -land.” Look, -I pray you, on these vast crowds, for whom all the countless -roofs of Rome can scarcely find shelter: the -<span class="pagenum" id="p326">326</span>greater part of -those crowds have lost their native land: they have flocked hither -from their country towns and colonies, and in fine from all parts -of the world. Some have been brought by ambition, some by the -exigencies of public office, some by being entrusted with embassies, -some by luxury which seeks a convenient spot, rich in vices, -for its exercise, some by their wish for a liberal education, -others by a wish to see the public shows. Some have been led -hither by friendship, some by industry, which finds here a wide -field for the display of its powers. Some have brought their -beauty for sale, some their eloquence: people of every kind assemble -themselves together in Rome, which sets a high price both upon -virtues and vices. Bid them all to be summoned to answer to their -names, and ask each one from what home he has come: you will -find that the greater part of them have left their own abodes, -and journeyed to a city which, though great and beauteous beyond -all others, is nevertheless not their own. Then leave this city, -which may be said to be the common property of all men, and visit -all other towns: there is not one of them which does not contain -a large proportion of aliens. Pass away from those whose delightful -situation and convenient position attracts many settlers: examine -wildernesses and the most rugged islands, Sciathus and Seriphus, -Gyarus and Corsica: you will find no place of exile where some -one does not dwell for his own pleasure. What can be found barer -or more precipitous on every side than this rock? what more barren -in respect of food? what more uncouth in its inhabitants? more -mountainous in its configuration? or more rigorous in its climate? -yet even here there are more strangers than natives. So far, -therefore, is the mere change of place from being irksome, that -even this place has allured some away from their country. I find -some writers who declare that mankind has a natural itch for -change of abode and alteration of -<span class="pagenum" id="p327">327</span>domicile: for the mind of man -is wandering and unquiet; it never stands still, but spreads -itself abroad and sends forth its thoughts into all regions, -known or unknown; being nomadic, impatient of repose, and loving -novelty beyond everything else. You need not be suprised at this, -if you reflect upon its original source: it is not formed from -the same elements as the heavy and earthly body, but from heavenly -spirit: now heavenly things are by their nature always in motion, -speeding along and flying with the greatest swiftness. Look at -the luminaries which light the world: none of them stands still. -The sun is perpetually in motion, and passes from one quarter -to another, and although he revolves with the entire heaven, -yet nevertheless he has a motion in the contrary direction to -that of the universe itself, and passes through all the constellations -without remaining in any: his wandering is incessant, and he -never ceases to move from place to place. All things continually -revolve and are for ever changing; they pass from one position -to another in accordance with natural and unalterable laws: after -they have completed a certain circuit in a fixed space of time, -they begin again the path which they had previously trodden. -Be not surprised, then, if the human mind, which is formed from -the same seeds as the heavenly bodies, delights in change and -wandering, since the divine nature itself either takes pleasure -in constant and exceeding swift motion or perhaps even preserves -its existence thereby.</p> - -<p>VII. Come now, turn from divine to human affairs: you will see -that whole tribes and nations have changed their abodes. What -is the meaning of Greek cities in the midst of barbarous districts? -or of the Macedonian language existing among the Indians and -the Persians? Scythia and all that region which swarms with wild -and uncivilized tribes boasts nevertheless Achaean cities along -the shores of the Black Sea. Neither the rigours of eternal winter, -<span class="pagenum" id="p328">328</span>nor the character of men as savage as -their climate, has prevented -people migrating thither. There is a mass of Athenians in Asia -Minor. Miletus has sent out into various parts of the world citizens -enough to populate seventy-five cities. That whole coast of Italy -which is washed by the Lower Sea is a part of what once was “Greater -Greece.” Asia claims the Tuscans as her own: there are Tyrians -living in Africa, Carthaginians in Spain; Greeks have pushed -in among the Gauls, and Gauls among the Greeks. The Pyrenees -have proved no barrier to the Germans: human caprice makes its -way through pathless and unknown regions: men drag along with -them their children, their wives, and their aged and worn-out -parents. Some have been tossed hither and thither by long wanderings, -until they have become too wearied to choose an abode, but have -settled in whatever place was nearest to them: others have made -themselves masters of foreign countries by force of arms: some -nations while making for parts unknown have been swallowed up -by the sea: some have established themselves in the place in -which they were originally stranded by utter destitution. Nor -have all men had the same reasons for leaving their country and -for seeking for a new one: some have escaped from their cities -when destroyed by hostile armies, and having lost their own lands -have been thrust upon those of others: some have been cast out -by domestic quarrels: some have been driven forth in consequence -of an excess of population, in order to relieve the pressure -at home: some have been forced to leave by pestilence, or frequent -earthquakes, or some unbearable defects of a barren soil: some -have been seduced by the fame of a fertile and over-praised clime. -Different people have been led away from their homes by different -causes; but in all cases it is clear that nothing remains in -the same place in which it was born: the movement of the human -race is perpetual: in this vast world some changes -<span class="pagenum" id="p329">329</span>take place -daily. The foundations of new cities are laid, new names of nations -arise, while the former ones die out, or become absorbed by more -powerful ones. And yet what else are all these general migrations -but the banishments of whole peoples? Why should I lead you through -all these details? what is the use of mentioning Antenor the -founder of Padua, or Evander who established his kingdom of Arcadian -settlers on the banks of the Tiber? or Diomedes and the other -heroes, both victors and vanquished, whom the Trojan war scattered -over lands which were not their own? It is a fact that the Roman -Empire itself traces its origin back to an exile as its founder, -who, fleeing from his country after its conquest, with what few -relics he had saved from the wreck, had been brought to Italy -by hard necessity and fear of his conqueror, which bade him seek -distant lands. Since then, how many colonies has this people -sent forth into every province? wherever the Roman conquers, -there he dwells. These migrations always found people eager to -take part in them, and veteran soldiers desert their native hearths -and follow the flag of the colonists across the sea. The matter -does not need illustrations by any more examples: yet I will -add one more which I have before my eyes: this very -island<a href="#fn-11.1" name="fnref-11.1" id="fnref-11.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> -has often changed its inhabitants. Not to mention more ancient -events, which have become obscure from their antiquity, the Greeks -who inhabit Marseilles at the present day, when they left Phocaea, -first settled here, and it is doubtful what drove them hence, -whether it was the rigour of the climate, the sight of the more -powerful land of Italy, or the want of harbours on the coast: -for the fact of their having placed themselves in the midst of -what were then the most savage and uncouth tribes of Gaul proves -that they were not driven hence by the ferocity of the natives. -Subsequently -<span class="pagenum" id="p330">330</span>the Ligurians came over into this same -island, and also the -Spaniards,<a href="#fn-11.2" name="fnref-11.2" id="fnref-11.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> -which is proved by the resemblance of their customs: for they -wear the same head-coverings and the same sort of shoes as the -Cantabrians, and some of their words are the same: for by association -with Greeks and Ligurians they have entirely lost their native -speech. Hither since then have been brought two Roman colonies, -one by Marius, the other by Sulla: so often has the population -of this barren and thorny rock been changed. In fine, you will -scarcely find any land which is still in the hands of its original -inhabitants: all peoples have become confused and intermingled: -one has come after another: one has wished for what another scorned: -some have been driven out of the land which they took from another. -Thus fate has decreed that nothing should ever enjoy an uninterrupted -course of good fortune.</p> - -<p>VIII. Varro, that most learned of all the Romans, thought that -for the mere change of place, apart from the other evils attendant -on exile, we may find a sufficient remedy in the thought that -wherever we go we always have the same Nature to deal with. Marcus -Brutus thought that there was sufficient comfort in the thought -that those who go into exile are permitted to carry their virtues -thither with them. Though one might think that neither of these -alone were able to console an exile, yet it must be confessed -that when combined they have great power: for how very little -it is that we lose! whithersoever we betake ourselves two most -excellent things will accompany us, namely, a common Nature and -our own especial virtue. Believe me, this is the work of whoever -was the Creator of the universe, whether he be an all-powerful -deity, an incorporeal mind which effects vast works, a divine -spirit by which all things from the greatest to the smallest -are equally pervaded, or -<span class="pagenum" id="p331">331</span>fate and an unalterable connected -sequence of events, this, I -say, is its work, that nothing above the very lowest can ever -fall into the power of another: all that is best for a man’s -enjoyment lies beyond human power, and can neither be bestowed -or taken away: this world, the greatest and the most beautiful -of Nature’s productions, and its noblest part, a mind which can -behold and admire it, are our own property, and will remain with -us as long as we ourselves endure. Let us therefore briskly and -cheerfully hasten with undaunted steps whithersoever circumstances -call us: let us wander over whatever countries we please; no -place of banishment can be found in the whole world in which -man cannot find a home. I can raise my eyes from the earth to -the sky in one place as well as in another; the heavenly bodies -are everywhere equally near to mankind: accordingly, as long -as my eyes are not deprived of that spectacle of which they never -can have their fill, as long as I am allowed to gaze on the sun -and moon, to dwell upon the other stars, to speculate upon their -risings and settings, their periods, and the reasons why they -move faster or slower, to see so many stars glittering throughout -the night, some fixed, some not moving in a wide orbit but revolving -in their own proper track, some suddenly diverging from it, some -dazzling our eyes by a fiery blaze as though they were falling, -or flying along drawing after them a long trail of brilliant -light: while I am permitted to commune with these, and to hold -intercourse, as far as a human being may, with all the company -of heaven, while I can raise my spirit aloft to view its kindred -sparks above, what does it matter upon what soil I tread?</p> - -<p>IX. “But this country does not produce beautiful or fruit-bearing -trees; it is not watered by the courses of large or navigable -rivers; it bears nothing which other nations would covet, since -its produce barely suffices to support its inhabitants: no precious -marbles are quarried here, no veins <span class="pagenum" id="p332">332</span>of -gold and silver are dug -out.” What of that! It must be a narrow mind that takes pleasure -in things of the earth: it ought to be turned away from them -to the contemplation of those which can be seen everywhere, which -are equally brilliant everywhere: we ought to reflect, also, -that these vulgar matters by a mistaken perversion of ideas prevent -really good things reaching us: the further men stretch out their -porticos, the higher they raise their towers, the more widely -they extend their streets, the deeper they sink their retreats -from the heats of summer, the more ponderous the roofs with which -they cover their banqueting halls, the more there will be to -obstruct their view of heaven. Fortune has cast you into a country -in which there is no lodging more splendid than a cottage: you -must indeed have a poor spirit, and one which seeks low sources -of consolation, if you endure this bravely because you have seen -the cottage of Romulus: say, rather, “Should that lowly barn -be entered by the virtues, it will straightway become more beautiful -than any temple, because within it will be seen justice, self-restraint, -prudence, love, a right division of all duties, a knowledge of -all things on earth and in heaven. No place can be narrow, if -it contains such a company of the greatest virtues; no exile -can be irksome in which one can be attended by these companions. -Brutus, in the book which he wrote upon virtue, says that he -saw Marcellus in exile at Mytilene, living as happily as it is -permitted to man to live, and never keener in his pursuit of -literature than at that time. He consequently adds the reflexion: -‘I seemed rather to be going into exile myself when I had to -return without him, than to be leaving him in exile.’ O how much -more fortunate was Marcellus at that time, when Brutus praised -him for his exile, than when Rome praised him for his consulship! -what a man that must have been who made any one think himself -exiled because he was leaving him in exile! what a man that -<span class="pagenum" id="p333">333</span>must -have been who attracted the admiration of one whom even his friend -Cato admired! Brutus goes on to say:— ‘Gaius Caesar sailed past -Mytilene without landing, because he could not bear to see a -fallen man.’ The Senate did indeed obtain his recall by public -petition, being so anxious and sorrowful the while, that you -would have thought that they all were of Brutus’s mind that day, -and were not pleading the cause of Marcellus, but their own, -that they might not be sent into exile by being deprived of him: -yet he gained far greater glory on the day when Brutus could -not bear to leave him in exile, and Caesar could not bear to -see him: for each of them bore witness to his worth: Brutus grieved, -and Caesar blushed at going home without Marcellus. Can you doubt -that so great a man as Marcellus frequently encouraged himself -to endure his exile patiently in some such terms as these: “The -loss of your country is no misery to you: you have so steeped -yourself in philosophic lore, as to know that all the world is -the wise man’s country? What! was not this very man who banished -you absent from his country for ten successive years? he was, -no doubt, engaged in the extension of the empire, but for all -that he was absent from his country. Now see how his presence -is required in Africa, which threatens to re-kindle the war, -in Spain which is nursing up again the strength of the broken -and shattered opposite faction, in treacherous Egypt, in fine, -in all the parts of the world, for all are watching their opportunity -to seize the empire at a disadvantage. Which will he go to meet -first? which part of the universal conspiracy will he first oppose? -His victory will drag him through every country in the world. -Let nations look up to him and worship him: do thou live satisfied -with the admiration of Brutus.”</p> - -<p>X. Marcellus, then, nobly endured his exile, and his change of -place made no change in his mind, even though it was accompanied -by poverty, in which every man who <span class="pagenum" id="p334">334</span>has -not fallen into the madness -of avarice and luxury, which upset all our ideas, sees no harm. -Indeed, how very little is required to keep a man alive? and -who, that has any virtue whatever, will find this fail him? -As for myself, I do not feel that I have lost my wealth, but -my occupation: the wants of the body are few: it wants protection -from the cold, and the means of allaying hunger and thirst: all -desires beyond these are vices, not necessities. There is no -need for prying into all the depths of the sea, for loading one’s -stomach with heaps of slaughtered animals, or for tearing up -shell-fish<a href="#fn-11.3" name="fnref-11.3" id="fnref-11.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> -from the unknown shore of the furthest sea: may -the gods and goddesses bring ruin upon those whose luxury transcends -the bounds of an empire which is already perilously wide. They -want to have their ostentatious kitchens supplied with game from -the other side of the Phasis, and though Rome has not yet obtained -satisfaction from the Parthians, they are not ashamed to obtain -birds from them: they bring together from all regions everything, -known or unknown, to tempt their fastidious palate: food, which -their stomach, worn out with delicacies, can scarcely retain, -is brought from the most distant ocean: they vomit that they -may eat, and eat that they may vomit, and do not even deign to -digest the banquets which they ransack the globe to obtain. If -a man despises these things, what harm can poverty do him? If -he desires them, then poverty even does him good, for he is cured -in spite of himself, and though he will not receive remedies -even upon compulsion, yet while he is unable to fulfil his wishes -he is as though he had them not. Gaius Caesar, whom in my opinion -Nature produced in order to show what unlimited vice would be -capable of when combined with unlimited power, dined one day -at a cost of ten millions of sesterces: and though in this he -had the -<span class="pagenum" id="p335">335</span>assistance of the intelligence of all -his subjects, yet he could -hardly find how to make one dinner out of the tribute-money of -three provinces. How unhappy are they whose appetite can only -be aroused by costly food! and the costliness of food depends -not upon its delightful flavour and sweetness of taste, but upon -its rarity and the difficulty of procuring it: otherwise, if -they chose to return to their sound senses, what need would they -have of so many arts which minister to the stomach? of so great -a commerce? of such ravaging of forests? of such ransacking of -the depths of the sea? Food is to be found everywhere, and has -been placed by Nature in every part the world, but they pass -it by as though they were blind, and wander through all countries, -cross the seas, and excite at a great cost the hunger which they -might allay at a small one. One would like to say: Why do you -launch ships? why do you arm your hands for battle both with -men and wild beasts? why do you run so riotously hither and thither? -why do you amass fortune after fortune? Are you unwilling to -remember how small our bodies are? is it not frenzy and the wildest -insanity to wish for so much when you can contain so little? -Though you may increase your income, and extend the boundaries -of your property, yet you never can enlarge your own bodies: -when your business transactions have turned out well, when you -have made a successful campaign, when you have collected the -food for which you have hunted through all lands, you will have -no place in which to bestow all these superfluities. Why do you -strive to obtain so much? Do you think that our ancestors, whose -virtue supports our vices even to the present day, were unhappy, -though they dressed their food with their own hands, though the -earth was their bed, though their roofs did not yet glitter with -gold, nor their temples with precious stones? and so they used -then to swear with scrupulous honesty by earthenware -<span class="pagenum" id="p336">336</span>gods; those -who called these gods to witness would go back to the enemy for -certain death rather than break their -word.<a href="#fn-11.4" name="fnref-11.4" id="fnref-11.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -Do you suppose -that our dictator who granted an audience to the ambassadors -of the Samnites, while he roasted the commonest food before the -fire himself with that very hand with which he had so often smitten -the enemy, and with which he had placed his laurel wreath upon -the lap of Capitolian Jove, enjoyed life less than the Apicius -who lived in our own days, whose habits tainted the entire century, -who set himself up as a professor of gastronomy in that very -city from which philosophers once were banished as corrupters -of youth? It is worth while to know his end. After he had spent -a hundred millions of sesterces on his kitchen, and had wasted -on each single banquet a sum equal to so many presents from the -reigning emperors, and the vast revenue which he drew from the -Capitol, being overburdened with debt, he then for the first -time was forced to examine his accounts: he calculated that he -would have ten millions left of his fortune, and, as though he -would live a life of mere starvation on ten millions, put an -end to his life by poison. How great must the luxury of that -man have been, to whom ten millions signified want? Can you think -after this that the amount of money necessary to make a fortune -depends upon its actual extent rather than on the mind of the -owner? Here was a man who shuddered at the thought of a fortune -of ten million sesterces, and escaped by poison from a prospect -which other men pray for. Yet, for a mind so diseased, that last -draught of his was the most wholesome: he was really eating and -drinking poisons when he was not only enjoying, but boasting -of his enormous banquets, when he was flaunting his vices, when -he was causing his country to follow his example, when he was -inviting youths to imitate him, albeit youth is quick -<span class="pagenum" id="p337">337</span>to learn evil, without being provided -with a model to copy. This -is what befalls those who do not use their wealth according to -reason, which has fixed limits, but according to vicious fashion, -whose caprices are boundless and immeasurable. Nothing is sufficient -for covetous desire, but Nature can be satisfied even with scant -measure. The poverty of an exile, therefore, causes no inconvenience, -for no place of exile is so barren as not to produce what is -abundantly sufficient to support a man.</p> - -<p>XI. Next, need an exile regret his former dress and house? If -he only wishes for these things because of their use to him, -he will want neither roof nor garment, for it takes as little -to cover the body as it does to feed it: Nature has annexed no -difficult conditions to anything which man is obliged to do. -If, however, he sighs for a purple robe steeped in floods of -dye, interwoven with threads of gold and with many coloured artistic -embroideries, then his poverty is his own fault, not that of -Fortune: even though you restored to him all that he has lost, -you would do him no good; for he would have more unsatisfied -ambitions, if restored, than he had unsatisfied wants when he -was an exile. If he longs for furniture glittering with silver -vases, plate which boasts the signature of antique artists, bronze -which the mania of a small clique has rendered costly, slaves -enough to crowd however large a house, purposely overfed horses, -and precious stones of all countries: whatever collections he -may make of these, he never will satisfy his insatiable appetite, -any more than any amount of liquor will quench a thirst which -arises not from the need of drink but from the burning heat within -a man; for this is not thirst but disease. Nor does this take -place only with regard to money and food, but every want which -is caused by vice and not by necessity is of this nature: however -much you supply it with you do not quench it but intensify it. -He who restrains himself within the limits prescribed by -<span class="pagenum" id="p338">338</span>nature, -will not feel poverty; he who exceeds them will always be poor, -however great his wealth may be. Even a place of exile suffices -to provide one with necessaries; whole kingdoms do not suffice -to provide one with superfluities. It is the mind which makes -men rich: this it is that accompanies them into exile, and in -the most savage wildernesses, after having found sufficient sustenance -for the body, enjoys its own overflowing resources: the mind -has no more connexion with money than the immortal gods have -with those things which are so highly valued by untutored intellects, -sunk in the bondage of the flesh. Gems, gold, silver, and vast -polished round tables are but earthly dross, which cannot be -loved by a pure mind that is mindful of whence it came, is unblemished -by sin, and which, when released from the body, will straightway -soar aloft to the highest heaven: meanwhile, as far as it is -permitted by the hindrances of its mortal limbs and this heavy -clog of the body by which it is surrounded, it examines divine -things with swift and airy thought. From this it follows that -no free-born man, who is akin to the gods, and fit for any world -and any age, can ever be in exile: for his thoughts are directed -to all the heavens and to all times past and future: this trumpery -body, the prison and fetter of the spirit, may be tossed to this -place or to that; upon it tortures, robberies, and diseases may -work their will: but the spirit itself is holy and eternal, and -upon it no one can lay hands.</p> - -<p>XII. That you may not suppose that I merely use the maxims of -the philosophers to disparage the evils of poverty, which no -one finds terrible, unless he thinks it so; consider in the first -place how many more poor people there are than rich, and yet -you will not find that they are sadder or more anxious than the -rich: nay, I am not sure that they are not happier, because they -have fewer things to distract their minds. From these poor men, -who often are not <span class="pagenum" id="p339">339</span>unhappy at their -poverty, let us pass to the -rich. How many occasions there are on which they are just like -poor men! When they are on a journey their baggage is cut down, -whenever they are obliged to travel fast their train of attendants -is dismissed. When they are serving in the army, how small a -part of their property can they have with them, since camp discipline -forbids superfluities! Nor is it only temporary exigences or -desert places that put them on the same level as poor men: they -have some days on which they become sick of their riches, dine -reclining on the ground, put away all their gold and silver plate, -and use earthenware. Madmen! they are always afraid of this for -which they sometimes wish. O how dense a stupidity, how great -an ignorance of the truth they show when they flee from this -thing and yet amuse themselves by playing with it! Whenever I -look back to the great examples of antiquity, I feel ashamed -to seek consolation for my poverty, now that luxury has advanced -so far in the present age, that the allowance of an exile is -larger than the inheritance of the princes of old. It is well -known that Homer had one slave, that Plato had three, and that -Zeno, who first taught the stern and masculine doctrine of the -Stoics, had none: yet could any one say that they lived wretchedly -without himself being thought a most pitiable wretch by all men? -Menenius Agrippa, by whose mediation the patricians and plebeians -were reconciled, was buried by public subscription. Attilius -Regulus, while he was engaged in scattering the Carthaginians -in Africa, wrote to the Senate that his hired servant had left -him, and that consequently his farm was deserted: whereupon it -was decreed that as long as Regulus was absent, it should be -cultivated at the expense of the state. Was it not worth his -while to have no slave, if thereby he obtained the Roman people -for his farm-bailiff? Scipio’s daughters received their dowries -from the Treasury, because <span class="pagenum" id="p340">340</span>their -father had left them none: by -Hercules, it was right for the Roman people to pay tribute to -Scipio for once, since he had exacted it for ever from Carthage. -O how happy were those girls’ husbands, who had the Roman people -for their father-in-law. Can you think that those whose daughters -dance in the ballet, and marry with a settlement of a million -sesterces, are happier than Scipio, whose children received their -dowry of old-fashioned brass money from their guardian the Senate? -Can any one despise poverty, when she has such a noble descent -to boast of? can an exile be angry at any privation, when Scipio -could not afford a portion for his daughters, Regulus could not -afford a hired labourer, Menenius could not afford a funeral? -when all these men’s wants were supplied in a manner which rendered -them a source of additional honour? Poverty, when such men as -these plead its cause, is not only harmless, but positively attractive. -</p> - -<p>XIII. To this one may answer: “Why do you thus ingeniously divide -what can indeed be endured if taken singly, but which all together -are overwhelming? Change of place can be borne if nothing more -than one’s place be changed: poverty can be borne if it be without -disgrace, which is enough to cow our spirits by itself.” If any -one were to endeavour to frighten me with the number of my misfortunes, -I should answer him as follows: If you have enough strength to -resist any one part of your ill-fortune, you will have enough -to resist it all. If virtue has once hardened your mind, it renders -it impervious to blows from any quarter: if avarice, that greatest -pest of the human race, has left it, you will not be troubled -by ambition: if you regard the end of your days not as a punishment, -but as an ordinance of nature, no fear of anything else will -dare to enter the breast which has cast out the fear of death. -If you consider sexual passion to have been bestowed on mankind -not for the sake of pleasure, but for -<span class="pagenum" id="p341">341</span>the continuance of the -race, all other desires will pass harmlessly by one who is safe -even from this secret plague, implanted in our very bosoms. Reason -does not conquers vices one by one, but all together: if reason -is defeated, it is utterly defeated once for all. Do you suppose -that any wise man, who relies entirely upon himself, who has -set himself free from the ideas of the common herd, can be wrought -upon by disgrace? A disgraceful death is worse even than disgrace: -yet Socrates bore the same expression of countenance with which -he had rebuked thirty tyrants, when he entered the prison and -thereby took away the infamous character of the place; for the -place which contained Socrates could not be regarded as a prison. -Was any one ever so blind to the truth as to suppose that Marcus -Cato was disgraced by his double defeat in his candidature for -the praetorship and the consulship? that disgrace fell on the -praetorship and consulship which Cato honoured by his candidature. -No one is despised by others unless he be previously despised -by himself: a grovelling and abject mind may fall an easy prey -to such contempt: but he who stands up against the most cruel -misfortunes, and overcomes those evils by which others would -have been crushed—such a man, I say, turns his misfortunes into -badges of honour, because we are so constituted as to admire -nothing so much as a man who bears adversity bravely. At Athens, -when Aristides was being led to execution, every one who met -him cast down his eyes and groaned, as though not merely a just -man but justice herself was being put to death. Yet one man was -found who spat in his face: he might have been disturbed at this, -since he knew it could only be a foul-mouthed fellow that would -have the heart to do so; he, however, wiped his face, and with -a smile asked the magistrate who accompanied him to warn that -man not to open his mouth so rudely again. To act thus was to -treat contumely itself <span class="pagenum" id="p342">342</span>with contempt. -I know that some say that -there is nothing more terrible than disgrace, and that they would -prefer death. To such men I answer that even exile is often accompanied -by no disgrace whatever: if a great man falls, he remains a great -man after his fall, you can no more suppose that he is disgraced -than when people tread upon the walls of a ruined temple, which -the pious treat with as much respect as when they were standing. -</p> - -<p>XIV. Since, then, my dearest mother, you have no reason for endless -weeping on my account, it follows that your tears must flow on -your own: there are two causes for this, either your having lost -my protection, or your not being able to bear the mere fact of -separation. The first of these I shall only touch upon lightly, -for I know that your heart loves nothing belonging to your children -except themselves. Let other mothers look to that, who make use -of their sons’ authority with a woman’s passion, who are ambitious -through their sons because they cannot bear office themselves, -who spend their sons’ inheritance, and yet are eager to inherit -it, and who weary their sons by lending their eloquence to others: -you have always rejoiced exceedingly in the successes of your -sons, and have made no use of them whatever: you have always -set bounds to our generosity, although you set none to your own: -you, while a minor under the power of the head of the family, -still used to make presents to your wealthy sons: you managed -our inheritances with as much care as if you were working for -your own, yet refrained from touching them as scrupulously as -if they belonged to strangers: you have spared to use our influence, -as though you enjoyed other means of your own, and you have taken -no part in the public offices to which we have been elected beyond -rejoicing in our success and paying our expenses: your indulgence -has never been tainted by any thought of profit, and you cannot -regret the loss of your son for a reason which never had any -weight with you before his exile. <span class="pagenum" id="p343">343</span></p> - -<p>XV. All my powers of consolation must be directed to the other -point, the true source of your maternal grief. You say, “I am -deprived of the embraces of my darling son, I cannot enjoy the -pleasure of seeing him and of hearing him talk. Where is he at -whose sight I used to smooth my troubled brow, in whose keeping -I used to deposit all my cares? Where is his conversation, of -which I never could have enough? his studies, in which I used -to take part with more than a woman’s eagerness, with more than -a mother’s familiarity? Where are our meetings? the boyish delight -which he always showed at the sight of his mother?” To all this -you add the actual places of our merrymakings and conversation, -and, what must needs have more power to move you than anything -else, the traces of our late social life, for Fortune treated -you with the additional cruelty of allowing you to depart on -the very third day before my ruin, without a trace of anxiety, -and not fearing anything of the kind. It was well that we had -been separated by a vast distance: it was well that an absence -of some years had prepared you to bear this blow: you came home, -not to take any pleasure in your son, but to get rid of the habit -of longing for him. Had you been absent long before, you would -have borne it more bravely, as the very length of your absence -would have moderated your longing to see me: had you never gone -away, you would at any rate have gained one last advantage in -seeing your son for two days longer: as it was, cruel Fate so -arranged it that you were not present with me during my good -fortune, and yet have not become accustomed to my absence. But -the harder these things are to bear, the more virtue you must -summon to your aid, and the more bravely you must struggle as -it were with an enemy whom you know well, and whom you have already -often conquered. This blood did not flow from a body previously -unhurt: you have been struck through the scar of an old wound. -<span class="pagenum" id="p344">344</span></p> - -<p>XVI. You have no grounds for excusing yourself on the ground -of being a woman, who has a sort of right to weep without restraint, -though not without limit. For this reason our ancestors allotted -a space of ten months’ mourning for women who had lost their -husbands, thus settling the violence of a woman’s grief by a -public ordinance. They did not forbid them to mourn, but they -set limits to their grief: for while it is a foolish weakness -to give way to endless grief when you lose one of those dearest -to you, yet it shows an unnatural hardness of heart to express -no grief at all: the best middle course between affection and -hard common sense is both to feel regret and to restrain it. -You need not look at certain women whose sorrow, when once begun, -has been ended only by death: you know some who after the loss -of their sons have never laid aside the garb of mourning: you -are constitutionally stronger than these, and from you more is -required. You cannot avail yourself of the excuse of being a -woman, for you have no womanish vices. Unchastity, the greatest -evil of the age, has never classed you with the majority of women; -you have not been tempted either by gems or by pearls; riches -have not allured you into thinking them the greatest blessing -that man can own; respectably brought up as you were in an old-fashioned -and strict household, you have never been led astray by that -imitation of others which is so full of danger even to virtuous -women. You have never been ashamed of your fruitfulness as though -it were a reproach to your youth: you never concealed the signs -of pregnancy as though it were an unbecoming burden, nor did -you ever destroy your expected child within your womb after the -fashion of many other women, whose attractions are to be found -in their beauty alone. You never defiled your face with paints -or cosmetics: you never liked clothes which showed the figure -as plainly as though it were naked: your sole ornament has been -a consummate <span class="pagenum" id="p345">345</span>loveliness which no time -can impair, your greatest -glory has been your modesty. You cannot, therefore, plead your -womanhood as an excuse for your grief, because your virtues have -raised you above it: you ought to be as superior to womanish -tears as you are to womanish vices. Even women would not allow -you to pine away after receiving this blow, but would bid you -quickly and calmly go through the necessary amount of mourning, -and then to arise and shake it off: I mean, if you are willing -to take as your models those women whose eminent virtue has given -them a place among even great men. Misfortune reduced the number -of Cornelia’s children from twelve to two: if you count the number -of their deaths, Cornelia had lost ten: if you weigh them, she -had lost the Gracchi: nevertheless, when her friends were weeping -around her and using too bitter imprecations against her fate, -she forbade them to blame fortune for having -deprived<a href="#fn-11.5" name="fnref-11.5" id="fnref-11.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> -her -of her sons the Gracchi. Such ought to have been the mother of -him who, when speaking in the Forum, said, “Would you speak evil -of the mother who bore me?” The mother’s speech seems to me to -show a far greater spirit: the son set a high value on the birth -of the Gracchi; the mother set an equal value on their deaths. -Rutilia followed her son Cotta into exile, and was so passionately -attached to him that she could bear exile better than absence -from him; nor did she return home before her son did so: after -he had been restored, and had been raised to honour in the republic, -she bore his death as bravely as she had borne his exile. No -one saw any traces of tears upon her cheeks after she had buried -her son: she displayed her courage when he was banished, her -wisdom when he died: she allowed no -<span class="pagenum" id="p346">346</span>considerations either to interfere -with her affection, or to -force her to protract a useless and foolish mourning. These are -the women with whom I wish you to be numbered: you have the best -reasons for restraining and suppressing your sorrow as they did, -because you have always imitated their lives.</p> - -<p>XVII. I am aware that this is a matter which is not in our power, -and that none of the passions, least of all that which arises -from grief, are obedient to our wishes; indeed, it is overbearing -and obstinate, and stubbornly rejects all remedies: we sometimes -wish to crush it, and to swallow our emotion, but, nevertheless, -tears flow over our carefully arranged and made-up countenance. -Sometimes we occupy our minds with public spectacles and shows -of gladiators; but during the very sights by which it is amused, -the mind is wrung by slight touches of sorrow. It is better, -therefore, to conquer it than to cheat it; for a grief which -has been deceived and driven away either by pleasure or by business -rises again, and its period of rest does but give it strength -for a more terrible attack; but a grief which has been conquered -by reason is appeased for ever. I shall not, then, give you the -advice which so many, I know, adopt, that you should distract -your thoughts by a long journey, or amuse them by a beautiful -one; that you should spend much of your time in the careful examination -of accounts, and the management of your estate, and that you -should keep constantly engaging in new enterprises: all these -things avail but little, and do not cure, but merely obstruct -our sorrow. I had rather it should be brought to an end than -that it should be cheated: and, therefore, I would fain lead -you to the study of philosophy, the true place of refuge for -all those who are flying from the cruelty of Fortune: this will -heal your wounds and take away all your sadness: to this you -would now have to apply yourself, even though you -<span class="pagenum" id="p347">347</span>had never done -so before; but as far as my father’s old-fashioned strictness -permitted, you have gained a superficial, though not a thorough -knowledge of all liberal studies. Would that my father, most -excellent man that he was, had been less devoted to the customs -of our ancestors, and had been willing to have you thoroughly -instructed in the elements of philosophy, instead of receiving -a mere smattering of it! I should not now need to be providing -you with the means of struggling against Fortune, but you would -offer them to me: but he did not allow you to pursue your studies -far, because some women use literature to teach them luxury instead -of wisdom. Still, thanks to your keen intellectual appetite, -you learned more than one could have expected in the time: you -laid the foundations of all good learning: now return to them: -they will render you safe, they will console you, and charm you. -If once they have thoroughly entered into your mind, grief, anxiety, -the distress of vain suffering will never gain admittance thither: -your breast will not be open to any of these; against all other -vices it has long been closed. Philosophy is your most trustworthy -guardian, and it alone can save you from the attacks of Fortune. -</p> - -<p>XVIII. Since, however, you require something to lean upon until -you can reach that haven of rest which philosophy offers to you, -I wish in the meantime to point out to you the consolations which -you have. Look at my two brothers—while they are safe, you have -no grounds for complaint against Fortune; you can derive pleasure -from the virtues of each of them, different as they are; the -one has gained high office by attention to business, the other -has philosophically despised it. Rejoice in the great place of -one of your sons, in the peaceful retirement of the other, in -the filial affection of both. I know my brothers’ most secret -motives: the one adorns his high office in order to confer lustre -upon you, the <span class="pagenum" id="p348">348</span>other has withdrawn from -the world into his life -of quiet and contemplation, that he may have full enjoyment of -your society. Fortune has consulted both your safety and your -pleasure in her disposal of your two sons: you may be protected -by the authority of the one, and delighted by the literary leisure -of the other. They will vie with one another in dutiful affection -to you, and the loss of one son will be supplied by the love -of two others. I can confidently promise that you will find nothing -wanting in your sons except their number. Now, then, turn your -eyes from them to your grandchildren; to Marcus, that most engaging -child, whose sight no sorrow can withstand. No grief can be so -great or so fresh in any one’s bosom as not to be charmed away -by his presence. Where are the tears which his joyousness could -not dry? whose heart is so nipped by sorrow that his animation -would not cause it to dilate? who would not be rendered mirthful -by his playfulness? who would not be attracted and made to forget -his gloomy thoughts by that prattle to which no one can ever -be weary of listening? I pray the gods that he may survive us: -may all the cruelty of fate exhaust itself on me and go no further; -may all the sorrow destined for my mother and my grandmother -fall upon me; but let all the rest flourish as they do now: I -shall make no complaints about my childlessness or my exile, -if only my sacrifice may be received as a sufficient atonement, -and my family suffer nothing more. Hold in your bosom Novatilla, -who soon will present you with great-grandchildren, she whom -I had so entirely adopted and made my own, that, now that she -has lost me, she seems like an orphan, even though her father -is alive. Love her for my sake as well as for her own: Fortune -has lately deprived her of her mother: your affection will be -able to prevent her really feeling the loss of the mother whom -she mourns. Take this opportunity of forming and strengthening -her principles; nothing sinks <span class="pagenum" id="p349">349</span>so -deeply into the mind as the -teaching which we receive in our earliest years; let her become -accustomed to hearing your discourses; let her character be moulded -according to your pleasure: she will gain much even if you give -her nothing more than your example. This continually recurring -duty will be a remedy in itself: for when your mind is full of -maternal sorrow, nothing can distract it from its grief except -either philosophic argument or honourable work. I should count -your father among your greatest consolations, were he not absent: -as it is, judge from your affection for me what his affection -is for you, and then you will see how much more just it is that -you should be preserved for him than that you should be sacrificed -to me. Whenever your keenest paroxysms of grief assail you and -bid you give way to them, think of your father. By giving him -so many grandchildren and great-grandchildren you have made yourself -no longer his only daughter; but you alone can crown his prosperous -life by a happy end: as long as he is alive it is impiety for -you to regret having been born.</p> - -<p>XIX. I have hitherto said nothing of your chief source of consolation, -your sister, that most faithful heart which shares all your sorrows -as fully as your own, and who feels for all of us like a mother. -With her you have mingled your tears, on her bosom you have tasted -your first repose: she always feels for your troubles, and when -I am in the case she does not grieve for you alone. It was in -her arms that I was carried into Rome: by her affectionate and -motherly nursing I regained my strength after a long period of -sickness: she enlarged her influence to obtain the office of -quaestor for me, and her fondness for me made her conquer a shyness -which at other times made her shrink from speaking to, or loudly -greeting her friends. Neither her retired mode of life, nor her -country-bred modesty, at a time when so many women display such -boldness of manner, her placidity, nor her habits of solitary -seclusion <span class="pagenum" id="p350">350</span>prevented her from becoming -actually ambitious on my -account. Here, my dearest mother, is a source from which you -may gain true consolation: join yourself, as far as you are able, -to her, bind yourself to her by the closest embraces. Those who -are in sorrow are wont to flee from those who are dearest to -them, and to seek liberty for the indulgence of their grief: -do you let her share your every thought: if you wish to nurse -your grief, she will be your companion, if you wish to lay it -aside she will bring it to an end. If, however, I rightly understand -the wisdom of that most perfect woman, she will not suffer you -to waste your life in unprofitable mourning, and will tell you -what happened in her own instance, which I myself witnessed. -During a sea-voyage she lost a beloved husband, my uncle, whom -she married when a maiden; she endured at the same time grief -for him and fear for herself, and at last, though shipwrecked, -nevertheless rescued his body from the vanquished tempest. How -many noble deeds are unknown to fame! If only she had had the -simple-minded ancients to admire her virtues, how many brilliant -intellects would have vied with one another in singing the praises -of a wife who forgot the weakness of her sex, forgot the perils -of the sea, which terrify even the boldest, exposed herself to -death in order to lay him in the earth, and who was so eager -to give him decent burial that she cared nothing about whether -she shared it or no. All the poets have made the -wife<a href="#fn-11.6" name="fnref-11.6" id="fnref-11.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> famous -who gave herself to death instead of her husband: my aunt did -more when she risked her life in order to give her husband a -tomb: it shows greater love to endure the same peril for a less -important end. After this, no one need wonder that for sixteen -years, during which her husband governed the province of Egypt, -she was never beheld in public, never admitted any of the natives -to her house, never -<span class="pagenum" id="p351">351</span>begged any favour of her husband, and -never allowed anyone to -beg one of her. Thus it came to pass that a gossiping province, -ingenious in inventing scandal about its rulers, in which even -the blameless often incurred disgrace, respected her as a singular -example of -uprightness,<a href="#fn-11.7" name="fnref-11.7" id="fnref-11.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> -never made free with her name,—a remarkable -piece of self-restraint among a people who will risk everything -rather than forego a jest,—and that at the present time it hopes -for another governor’s wife like her, although it has no reasonable -expectation of ever seeing one. It would have been greatly to -her credit if the province had approved her conduct for a space -of sixteen years: it was much more creditable to her that it -knew not of her existence. I do not remind you of this in order -to celebrate her praises, for to take such scanty notice of them -is to curtail them, but in order that you may understand the -magnanimity of a woman who has not yielded either to ambition -or to avarice, those twin attendants and scourges of authority, -who, when her ship was disabled and her own death was impending, -was not restrained by fear from keeping fast hold of her husband’s -dead body, and who sought not how to escape from the wreck, but -how to carry him out of it with her. You must now show a virtue -equal to hers, recall your mind from grief, and take care that -no one may think that you are sorry that you have borne a son. -</p> - -<p>XX. However, since it is necessary, whatever you do, that your -thoughts should sometimes revert to me, and that I should now -be present to your mind more often than your other children, -not because they are less dear to you, but because it is natural -to lay one’s hands more often upon a place that pains one; learn -how you are to think of me: I am as joyous and cheerful as in -my best days: indeed these -<span class="pagenum" id="p352">352</span>days are my best, because my mind is -relieved from all pressure -of business and is at leisure to attend to its own affairs, and -at one time amuses itself with lighter studies, at another eagerly -presses its inquiries into its own nature and that of the universe: -first it considers the countries of the world and their position: -then the character of the sea which flows between them, and the -alternate ebbings and flowings of its tides; next it investigates -all the terrors which hang between heaven and earth, the region -which is torn asunder by thunderings, lightnings, gusts of wind, -vapour, showers of snow and hail. Finally, having traversed every -one of the realms below, it soars to the highest heaven, enjoys -the noblest of all spectacles, that of things divine, and, remembering -itself to be eternal, reviews all that has been and all that -will be for ever and ever.</p> - - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-11.1" id="fn-11.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-11.1">[1]</a> -Corsica. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-11.2" id="fn-11.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-11.2">[2]</a> -Seneca himself was of Spanish extraction. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-11.3" id="fn-11.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-11.3">[3]</a> -Qu., oysters -from Britain. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-11.4" id="fn-11.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-11.4">[4]</a> -The allusion is evidently to Regulus. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-11.5" id="fn-11.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-11.5">[5]</a> -I -think Madvig’s <i>ademisset</i> spoils the sense. <i>Dedisset</i> means: -“when -you bid me mourn the loss of the Gracchi you bid me blame fortune -for having given me such sons.” “’Tis better to have loved and -lost than to have never loved at all.”—J. E. B. M. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-11.6" id="fn-11.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-11.6">[6]</a> -Alcestis. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-11.7" id="fn-11.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-11.7">[7]</a> -The context shows that <i>sanctitas</i> is opposed to “rapacity,” -“taking bribes,” like the Celaeno of Juv. viii.—J. E. B. M. -</p> - - -<h2>THE TWELFTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES<span class="pagenum" id="p353">353</span><br /> -OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA,<br /> -<small>ADDRESSED TO POLYBIUS.</small><br /> -<span class="subtitle">OF CONSOLATION.</span></h2> - -<p>I. .... compared with ours is firm and lasting; but if you transfer -it to the domain of Nature, which destroys everything and calls -everything back to the place from whence it came, it is transitory. -What, indeed, have mortal hands made that is not mortal? The -seven wonders of the world, and any even greater wonders which -the ambition of later ages has constructed, will be seen some -day levelled with the ground. So it is: nothing lasts for ever, -few things even last for long: all are susceptible of decay in -one way or another. The ways in which things come to an end are -manifold, but yet everything that has a beginning has an end -also. Some threaten the world with death, and, though you may -think the thought to be impious, this entire universe, containing -gods and men and all their works will some day be swept away -and plunged a second time into its original darkness and chaos. -Weep, if you can, after this, over the loss of any individual -life! Can we mourn the ashes of Carthage, Numantia, Corinth, -or any city that has fallen from a high estate, when we know -that the world must perish, albeit it has no place -<span class="pagenum" id="p354">354</span>into which -it can fall. Weep, if you can, because Fate has not spared you, -she who some day will dare to work so great a wickedness! Who -can be so haughtily and peevishly arrogant as to expect that -this law of nature by which everything is brought to an end will -be set aside in his own case, and that his own house will be -exempted from the ruin which menaces the whole world itself? -It is, therefore, a great consolation to reflect that what has -happened to us has happened to every one before us and will happen -to every one after us. In my opinion, nature has made her cruellest -acts affect all men alike, in order that the universality of -their lot might console them for its hardship.</p> - -<p>II. It will also be no small assistance to you to reflect that -grief can do no good either to him whom you have lost or to yourself, -and you would not wish to protract what is useless: for if we -could gain anything by sorrow, I should not refuse to bestow -upon your misfortunes whatever tears my own have left at my disposal: -I would force some drops to flow from these eyes, exhausted as -they are with weeping over my own domestic afflictions, were -it likely to be of any service to you. Why do you hesitate? let -us lament together, and I will even make this quarrel my -own:—“Fortune, -whom every one thinks most unjust, you seemed hitherto to have -restrained yourself from attacking one who by your favour had -become the object of such universal respect that—rare distinction -for any one—his prosperity had excited no jealousy: but now, -behold! you have dealt him the cruellest wound which, while Caesar -lives, he could receive, and after reconnoitring him from all -sides you have discovered that on this point alone he was exposed -to your strokes. What else indeed could you have done to him? -should you take away his wealth? he never was its slave: now -he has even as far as possible put it away from him, and the -chief thing that he has gained by his unrivalled facilities -<span class="pagenum" id="p355">355</span>for -amassing money has been to despise it. Should you take away his -friends? you knew that he was of so loveable a disposition that -he could easily gain others to replace those whom he might lose: -for of all the powerful officers of the Imperial household he -seems to me to be the only one whom all men wish to have for -their friend without considering how advantageous his friendship -would be. Should you take away his reputation? it is so firmly -established, that even you could not shake it. Should you take -away his health? you knew that his mind was so grounded on philosophical -studies, in whose schools he was born as well as bred, that it -would rise superior to any sufferings of the body. Should you -take away his breath? how small an injury would that be to him? -fame promised his genius one of the longest of lives: he himself -has taken care that his better part should remain alive, and -has guarded himself against death by the composition of his admirable -works of eloquence: as long as literature shall be held in any -honour, as long as the vigour of the Latin or the grace of the -Greek language shall endure, he will flourish together with their -greatest writers, with whose genius he has measured, or, if his -modesty will not let me say this, has connected his own. This, -then, was the only means you could devise of doing him a great -injury. The better a man is, the more frequently he is wont to -suffer from your indiscriminate rage, you who are to be feared -even when you are bestowing benefits upon one. How little it -would have cost you to avert this blow from one upon whom your -favours seemed to be conferred according to some regular plan, -and not to be flung at random in your wonted fashion!”</p> - -<p>III. Let us add, if you please, to these grounds of complaint -the disposition of the youth himself, cut off in the midst of -its first growth. He was worthy to be your brother: you most -certainly did not deserve to be given -<span class="pagenum" id="p356">356</span>any pain through your brother, -even though he had been unworthy. All men alike bear witness -to his merits: he is regretted for your sake, and is praised -for his own. He had no qualities which you would not be glad -to recognize. You would indeed have been good to a worse brother, -but to him your fraternal love was given all the more freely -because in him it found so fitting a field for its exercise. -No one ever was made to feel his influence by receiving wrongs -at his hands, he never used the fact of your being his brother -to threaten any one: he had moulded his character after the pattern -of your modesty, and reflected how great a glory and how great -a burden you were to your family: the burden he was able to sustain; -but, O pitiless Fate, always unjust to virtue—before your brother -could taste the happiness of his position, he was called away. -I am well aware that I express my feelings inadequately; for -nothing is harder than to find words which adequately represent -great grief: still, let us again lament for him, if it be of -any use to do so:—“What did you mean, Fortune, by being so unjust -and so savage? did you so soon repent you of your favour? What -cruelty it was to fall upon brothers, to break up so loving a -circle by so deadly an attack; why did you bring mourning into -a house so plenteously stocked with admirable youths, in which -no brother came short of the high standard of the rest, and without -any cause pluck one of them away? So, then, scrupulous innocency -of life, old-fashioned frugality, the power of amassing vast -wealth wielded with the greatest self-denial, a true and imperishable -love of literature, a mind free from the least spot of sin, all -avail nothing: Polybius is in mourning, and, warned by the fate -of one brother what he may have to dread for the rest, he fears -for the very persons who soothe his grief. O shame! Polybius -is in mourning, and mourns even though he still enjoys the favour -of Caesar. No doubt, Fortune, what you aimed at in -<span class="pagenum" id="p357">357</span>your impotent -rage was to prove that no one could be protected from your attacks, -not even by Caesar himself.”</p> - -<p>IV. We might go on blaming fate much longer, but we cannot alter -it: it stands harsh and inexorable: no one can move it by reproaches, -by tears, or by justice. Fate never spares any one, never makes -allowances to any one. Let us, then, refrain from unprofitable -tears: for our grief will carry us away to join him sooner than -it will bring him back to us: and if it tortures us without helping -us, we ought to lay it aside as soon as possible, and restore -the tone of our minds after their indulgence in that vain solace -and the bitter luxury of woe: for unless reason puts an end to -our tears, fortune will not do so. Look around, I pray you, upon -all mortals: everywhere there is ample and constant reason for -weeping: one man is driven to daily labour by toilsome poverty, -another is tormented by never-resting ambition, another fears -the very riches that he once wished for, and suffers from the -granting of his own prayer: one man is made wretched by loneliness, -another by labour, another by the crowds which always besiege -his antechamber. This man mourns because he has children, that -one because he has lost them. Tears will fail us sooner than -causes for shedding them. Do you not see what sort of a life -it must be that Nature has promised to us men when she makes -us weep as soon as we are born? We begin life in this fashion, -and all the chain of years that follow it is in harmony with -it. Thus we pass our lives, and consequently we ought to be sparing -in doing what we have to do so often, and when we look back upon -the mass of sorrows that hangs over us, we ought, if not to end -our tears, at any rate to reserve them. There is nothing that -we ought to husband more carefully than this, which we are so -often obliged to expend.</p> - -<p>V. It will also be no small assistance to you to consider that -there is no one to whom your grief is more offensive -<span class="pagenum" id="p358">358</span>than he -upon whom it is nominally bestowed: he either does not wish you -to suffer or does not understand why you suffer. There is, therefore, -no reason for a service which is useless if it is not felt by -him who is the object of it, and which is displeasing to him -if it is. I can boldly affirm that there is no one in the whole -world who derives any pleasure from your tears. What then? do -you suppose that your brother has a feeling against you which -no one else has, that he wishes you to be injured by your self-torture, -that he desires to separate you from the business of your life, -that is, from philosophy and from Caesar? that is not likely: -for he always gave way to you as a brother, respected you as -a parent, courted you as a superior. He wishes to be fondly remembered -by you, but not to be a source of agony to you. Why, then, should -you insist upon pining away with a grief which, if the dead have -any feelings, your brother wishes to bring to an end? If it were -any other brother about whose affection there could be any question, -I should put all this vaguely, and say, “If your brother wishes -you to be tortured with endless mourning, he does not deserve -such affection: if he does not wish it, dismiss the grief which -affects you both: an unnatural brother ought not, a good brother -would not wish to be so mourned for,” but with one whose brotherly -love has been so clearly proved, we may be quite sure that nothing -could hurt him more than that you should be hurt by his loss, -that it should agonize you, that your eyes, most undeserving -as they are of such a fate, should be by the same cause continually -filled and drained of never-ceasing tears.</p> - -<p>Nothing however will restrain your loving nature from these useless -tears so effectually as the reflexion that you ought to show -your brothers an example by bearing this outrage of fortune bravely. -You ought to imitate great generals in times of disaster, when -they are careful to affect <span class="pagenum" id="p359">359</span>a cheerful -demeanour, and conceal -misfortunes by a counterfeited joyousness, lest, if the soldiers -saw their leader cast down, they should themselves become dispirited. -This must now be done by you also. Put on a countenance that -does not reflect your feelings, and if you possibly can, cast -out conceal it within you and hide it away so that it may not -be seen, and take care that your brothers, who will think everything -honourable that they see you doing, imitate you in this and take -courage from the sight of your looks. It is your duty to be both -their comfort and their consoler; but you will have no power -to check their grief if you humour your own.</p> - -<p>VI. It may also keep you from excessive grief if you remind yourself -that nothing which you do can be done in secret: all men agree -in regarding you as an important personage, and you must keep -up this character: you are encompassed by all that mass of offerers -of consolation who all are peering into your mind to learn how -much strength it has to resist grief, and whether you merely -know how to avail yourself cunningly of prosperity, or whether -you can also bear adversity with a manly spirit: the expression -of your very eyes is watched. Those who are able to conceal their -feelings may indulge them more freely; but you are not free to -have any secresy: your fortune has set you in so brilliant a -position, that nothing which you do can be hid: all men will -know how you have borne this wound of yours, whether you laid -down your arms at the first shock or whether you stood your ground. -Long ago the love of Caesar raised you, and your own literary -pursuits brought you, to the highest rank in the state: nothing -vulgar, nothing mean befits you: yet what can be meaner or more -womanish than to make oneself a victim to grief? Although your -sorrow is as great as that of your brothers, yet you may not -indulge it as much as they: the ideas which the public have formed -about your philosophic <span class="pagenum" id="p360">360</span>learning and -your character make many -things impossible for you. Men demand much, and expect much from -you: you ought not to have drawn all eyes upon yourself, if you -wished to be allowed to act as you pleased: as it is, you must -make good that of which you have given promise. All those, who -praise the works of your genius, who make copies of them, who -need your genius if they do not need your fortune, are as guards -set over your mind: you cannot, therefore, ever do anything unworthy -of the character of a thorough philosopher and sage, without -many men feeling sorry that they ever admired you. You may not -weep beyond reason: nor is this the only thing that you may not -do: you may not so much as remain asleep after daybreak, or retreat -from the noisy troubles of public business to the peaceful repose -of the country, or refresh yourself with a pleasure tour when -wearied by constant attendance to the duties of your toilsome -post, or amuse yourself with beholding various shows, or even -arrange your day according to your own wish. Many things are -forbidden to you which are permitted to the poorest beggars that -lie about in holes and corners. A great fortune is a great slavery; -you may not do anything according to your wish: you must give -audiences to all those thousands of people, you must take charge -of all those petitions: you must cheer yourself up, in order -that all this mass of business which flows hither from every -part of the world may be offered in due order for the consideration -of our excellent emperor. I repeat, you yourself are forbidden -to weep, that you may be able to listen to so many weeping petitioners: -your own tears must be dried, in order that the tears of those -who are in peril and who desire to obtain the gracious pardon -of the kindest-hearted of Caesars may be dried.</p> - -<p>VII. These reflexions will serve you as partial remedies for -your grief, but if you wish to forget it altogether, remember -Caesar: think with what loyalty, with what -<span class="pagenum" id="p361">361</span>industry you are bound -to requite the favours which he has shown you: you will then -see that you can no more sink beneath your burden than could -he of whom the myths tells us, he whose shoulders upheld the -world. Even Caesar, who may do all things, may not do many things -for this very reason: his watchfulness protects all men’s sleep, -his labour guarantees their leisure, his toil ensures their pleasures, -his work preserves their holidays. On the day on which Caesar -devoted his services to the universe, he lost them for himself, -and like the planets which ever unrestingly pursue their course, -he can never halt or attend to any affair of his own. After a -certain fashion this prohibition is imposed upon you also; you -may not consider your own interests, or devote yourself to your -own studies: while Caesar owns the world, you cannot allow either -joy or grief, or anything else to occupy any part of you: you -owe your entire self to Caesar. Add to this that, since you have -always declared that Caesar was dearer to you than your own life, -you have no right to complain of misfortune as long as Caesar -is alive: while he is safe all your friends are alive, you have -lost nothing, your eyes ought not only to be dry, but glad. In -him is your all, he stands in the place of all else to you: you -are not grateful enough for your present happy state (which God -forbid that one of your most wise and loyal disposition should -be) if you permit yourself to weep at all while Caesar is safe. -</p> - -<p>VIII. I will now point out to you yet another remedy, of a more -domestic, though not of a more efficacious character. Your sorrow -is most to be feared when you have retired to your own home: -for as long as your divinity is before your eyes, it can find -no means of access to you, but Caesar will possess your entire -being; when you have left his presence, grief, as though it then -had an opportunity of attack, will lie in ambush for you in your -loneliness, and creep by degrees over your mind as it rests from -its labours. <span class="pagenum" id="p362">362</span>You ought not, therefore, -to allow any moment to -be unoccupied by literary pursuits: at such times let literature -repay to you the debt which your long and faithful love has laid -upon it, let it claim you for its high priest and worshipper: -at such times let -Homer<a href="#fn-12.1" name="fnref-12.1" id="fnref-12.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> and -Virgil be much in your company, -those poets to whom the human race owes as much as every one -owes to you, and they especially, because you have made them -known to a wider circle than that for which they wrote. All time -which you entrust to their keeping will be safe. At such times, -as far as you are able, compile an account of your Caesar’s acts, -that they may be read by all future ages in a panegyric written -by one of his own household: for he himself will afford you both -the noblest subject and the noblest example for putting together -and composing a history. I dare not go so far as to advise you -to write in your usual elegant style a version of Aesop’s fables, -a work which no Roman intellect has hitherto attempted. It is -hard, no doubt, for a mind which has received so rude a shock -to betake itself so quickly to these livelier pursuits: but if -it is able to pass from more serious studies to these lighter -ones, you must regard it as a proof that it has recovered its -strength, and is itself again. In the former case, although it -may suffer and hang back, still it will be led on by the serious -nature of the subject under consideration to take an interest -in it: but, unless it has thoroughly recovered, it will not endure -to treat of subjects which must be written of in a cheerful spirit. -You ought, therefore, first to exercise your mind upon grave -studies, and then to enliven it with gayer ones. -<span class="pagenum" id="p363">363</span></p> - -<p>IX. It will also be a great solace to you if you often ask yourself: -“Am I grieving on my own account or on that of him who is gone? -if on my own, I have no right to boast of my affectionate sensibility; -grief is only excusable as long as it is honourable; but when -it is only caused by personal interests, it no longer springs -from tenderness: nothing can be less becoming to a good man than -to make a calculation about his grief for his brother. If I grieve -on his account, I must necessarily take one of the two following -views: if the dead retain no feeling whatever, my brother has -escaped from all the troubles of life, has been restored to the -place which he occupied before his birth, and, being free from -every kind of ill, can neither fear, nor desire, nor suffer: -what madness then for me never to cease grieving for one who -will never grieve again? If the dead have any feeling, then my -brother is now like one who has been let out of a prison in which -he has long been confined, who at last is free and his own master, -and who enjoys himself, amuses himself with viewing the works -of Nature, and looks down from above the earth upon all human -things, while he looks at things divine, whose meaning he has -long sought in vain, from a much nearer standpoint. Why then -am I wasting away with grief for one who is either in bliss or -non-existent? it would be envy to weep for one who is in bliss, -it would be madness to weep for one who has no existence whatever.” -Are you affected by the thought that he appears to have been -deprived of great blessings just at the moment when they came -crowding upon him? after thinking how much he has lost, call -to mind how much more he has ceased to fear: anger will never -more wring his heart, disease will not crush him, suspicion will -not disquiet him, the gnawing pain of envy which we feel at the -successes of others will not attend him, terror will not make -him wretched, the fickleness of fortune who quickly transfers -her favours from one man <span class="pagenum" id="p364">364</span>to another -will not alarm him. If you -reckon it up properly, he has been spared more than he has lost. -He will not enjoy wealth, or your influence at Court, or his -own: he will not receive benefits, and will not confer them: -do you imagine him to be unhappy, because he has lost these things, -or happy because he does not miss them? Believe me, he who does -not need good fortune is happier than he on whom it attends: -all those good things which charm us by the attractive but unreal -pleasures which they afford, such as money, high office, influence, -and many other things which dazzle the stupid greed of mankind, -require hard labour to keep, are regarded by others with bitter -jealousy, and are more of a menace than an advantage to those -who are bedecked and encumbered by them. They are slippery and -uncertain; one never can enjoy them in comfort; for, even setting -aside anxiety about the future, the present management of great -prosperity is an uneasy task. If we are to believe some profound -seekers after truth, life is all torment: we are flung, as it -were, into this deep and rough sea, whose tides ebb and flow, -at one time raising us aloft by sudden accessions of fortune, -at another bringing down low by still greater losses, and for -ever tossing us about, never letting us rest on firm ground. -We roll and plunge upon the waves, and sometimes strike against -one another, sometimes are shipwrecked, always are in terror. -For those who sail upon this stormy sea, exposed as it is to -every gale, there is no harbour save death. Do not, then, grudge -your brother his rest: he has at last become free, safe, and -immortal: he leaves surviving him Caesar and all his family, -yourself, and his and your brothers. He left Fortune before she -had ceased to regard him with favour, while she stood still by -him, offering him gifts with a full hand. He now ranges free -and joyous through the boundless heavens; he has left this poor -and low-lying region, and has soared -<span class="pagenum" id="p365">365</span>upwards to that place, whatever -it may be, which receives in its happy bosom the souls which -have been set free from the chains of matter: he now roams there -at liberty, and enjoys with the keenest delight all the blessings -of Nature. You are mistaken! your brother has not lost the light -of day, but has obtained a more enduring light: whither he has -gone, we all alike must go: why then do we weep for his fate? -He has not left us, but has gone on before us. Believe me, there -is great happiness in a happy death. We cannot be sure of anything -even for one whole day: since the truth is so dark and hard to -come at, who can tell whether death came to your brother out -of malice or out of kindness?</p> - -<p>X. One who is as just in all things as you are, must find comfort -in the thought that no wrong has been done you by the loss of -so noble a brother, but that you have received a benefit by having -been permitted for so long a time to enjoy his affection. He -who will not allow his benefactor to choose his own way of bestowing -a gift upon him, is unjust: he who does not reckon what he receives -as gain, and yet reckons what he gives back again as loss, is -greedy: he who says that he has been wronged, because his pleasure -has come to an end, is ungrateful: he who thinks that we gain -nothing from good things beyond the present enjoyment of them, -is a fool, because he finds no pleasure in past joys, and does -not regard those which are gone as his most certain possessions, -since he need not fear that they will come to an end. A man limits -his pleasures too narrowly if he believes that he enjoys those -things only which he touches and sees, if he counts the having -enjoyed them for nothing: for all pleasure quickly leaves us, -seeing that it flows away, flits across our lives, and is gone -almost before it has come. We ought, therefore, to make our mind -travel back over past time, to bring back whatever we once took -pleasure in, and frequently to ruminate over it -<span class="pagenum" id="p366">366</span>in our thoughts: -the remembrance of pleasures is truer and more trustworthy than -their reality. Regard it, then, among your greatest blessings -that you have had an excellent brother: you need not think for -how much longer you might have had him, but for how long you -did have him. Nature gave him to you, as she gives others to -other brothers, not as an absolute property, but as a loan: afterwards -when she thought proper she took him back again, and followed -her own rules of action, instead of waiting until you had indulged -your love to satiety. If any one were to be indignant at having -to repay a loan of money, especially if he had been allowed to -use it without having to pay any interest, would he not be thought -an unreasonable man? Nature gave your brother his life, just -as she gave you yours: exercising her lawful rights, she has -chosen to ask one of you to repay her loan before the other: -she cannot be blamed for this, for you knew the conditions on -which you received it: you must blame the greedy hopes of mortal -men’s minds, which every now and then forget what Nature is, -and never remember their own lot unless reminded of it. Rejoice, -then, that you have had so good a brother, and be grateful for -having had the use and enjoyment of him, though it was for a -shorter time than you wished. Reflect that what you have had -of him was most delightful, that your having lost him is an accident -common to mankind. There is nothing more inconsistent than that -a man should grieve that so good a brother was not long enough -with him, and should not rejoice that he nevertheless has been -with him.</p> - -<p>XI. “But,” you say, “he was taken away unexpectedly.” -Every -man is deceived by his own willingness to believe what he wishes, -and he chooses to forget that those whom he loves are mortal: -yet Nature gives us clear proofs that she will not suspend her -laws in favour of any one: the funeral processions of our friends -and of strangers alike <span class="pagenum" id="p367">367</span>pass daily -before our eyes, yet we take -no notice of them, and when an event happens which our whole -life warns us will some day happen, we call it sudden. This is -not, therefore, the injustice of fate, but the perversity and -insatiable universal greediness of the human mind, which is indignant -at having to leave a place to which it was only admitted on sufferance. -How far more righteous was he who, on hearing of the death of -his son, made a speech worthy of a great man, saying: “When I -begat him, I knew that he would die some day.” Indeed, you need -not be surprised at the son of such a man being able to die bravely. -He did not receive the tidings of his son’s death as news: for -what is there new in a man’s dying, when his whole life is merely -a journey towards death? “When I begat him, I knew that he would -die some day,” said he: and then he added, what showed even more -wisdom and courage, “It was for this that I brought him up.” -It is for this that we have all been brought up: every one who -is brought into life is intended to die. Let us enjoy what is -given to us, and give it back when it is asked for: the Fates -lay their hands on some men at some times, and on other men at -other times, but they will never pass any one by altogether. -Our mind ought always to be on the alert, and while it ought -never to fear what is certain to happen, it ought always to be -ready for what may happen at any time. Why need I tell you of -generals and the children of generals, of men ennobled by many -consulships and triumphs, who have succumbed to pitiless fate? -whole kingdoms together with their kings, whole nations with -all their component tribes, have all submitted to their doom. -All men, nay, all things look forward to an end of their days: -yet all do not come to the same end: one man loses his life in -the midst of his career, another at the very beginning of it, -another seems hardly able to free himself from it when worn out -with extreme old age, and eager to <span class="pagenum" id="p368">368</span>be -released: we are all going -to the same place, but we all go thither at different times, -I know not whether it is more foolish not to know the law of -mortality, or more presumptuous to refuse to obey it. Come, take -into your hands the -poems<a href="#fn-12.2" name="fnref-12.2" id="fnref-12.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> of -whichever you please of those -two authors upon whom your genius has expended so much labour, -whom you have so well paraphrased, that although the structure -of the verse be removed, its charm nevertheless is preserved; -for you have transferred them from one language to another so -well as to effect the most difficult matter of all, that of making -all the beauties of the original reappear in a foreign speech: -among their works you will find no volume which will not offer -you numberless instances of the vicissitudes of human life, of -the uncertainty of events, and of tears shed for various reasons. -Read with what fire you have thundered out their swelling phrases: -you will feel ashamed of suddenly failing and falling short of -the elevation of their magnificent language. Do not commit the -fault of making every one, who according to his ability admires -your writings, ask how so frail a mind can have formed such stable -and well-connected ideas.</p> - -<p>XII. Turn yourself away from these thoughts which torment you, -and look rather at those numerous and powerful sources of consolation -which you possess: look at your excellent brothers, look at your -wife and your son. It is to guarantee the safety of all these -that -Fortune<a href="#fn-12.3" name="fnref-12.3" id="fnref-12.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> -has struck you in this quarter: you have -many left in whom you can take comfort. Guard yourself from the -shame of letting all men think that a single grief has more power -with you than these many consolations. You see all of them cast -down into the same despondency as yourself, and you know that -they cannot help you, nay, that on the other hand they look to -<span class="pagenum" id="p369">369</span>you to encourage them: wherefore, -the less learning and the less -intellect they possess, the more vigorously you ought to withstand -the evil which has fallen upon you all. The very fact of one’s -grief being shared by many persons acts as a consolation, because -if it be distributed among such a number the share of it which -falls upon you must be small. I shall never cease to recall your -thoughts to Caesar. While he governs the earth, and shows how -far better the empire may be maintained by kindnesses than by -arms, while he presides over the affairs of mankind, there is -no danger of your feeling that you have lost anything: in this -fact alone you will find ample help and ample consolation; raise -yourself up, and fix your eyes upon Caesar whenever tears rise -to them; they will become dry on beholding that greatest and -most brilliant light; his splendour will attract them and firmly -attach them to himself, so that they are able to see nothing -else. He whom you behold both by day and by night, from whom -your mind never deviates to meaner matters, must occupy your -thoughts and be your defence against Fortune; indeed, so kind -and gracious as he is towards all his followers that he has already, -I doubt not, laid many healing balms upon this wound of yours, -and furnished you with many antidotes for your sorrow. Why, even -had he done nothing of the kind, is not the mere sight and thought -of Caesar in itself your greatest consolation? May the gods and -goddesses long spare him to the earth: may he rival the deeds -of the Emperor Augustus, and surpass him in length of days! as -long as he remains among mortals, may he never be reminded that -any of his house are mortal: may he train up his son by long -and faithful service to be the ruler of the Roman people, and -see him share his father’s power before he succeeds to it: may -the day on which his kindred shall claim him for heaven be far -distant, and may our grandchildren alone be alive to see it. -<span class="pagenum" id="p370">370</span></p> - -<p>XIII. Fortune, refrain your hands from him, and show your power -over him only in doing him good: allow him to heal the long sickness -from which mankind has suffered; to replace and restore whatever -has been shattered by the frenzy of our late sovereign: may this -star, which has shed its rays upon a world overthrown and cast -into darkness, ever shine brightly: may he give peace to Germany, -open Britain to us, and lead through the city triumphs, both -over the nations whom his fathers conquered, and over new ones. -Of these his clemency, the first of his many virtues, gives me -hopes of being a spectator: for he has not so utterly cast me -down that he will never raise me up again; nay, he has not cast -me down at all; rather he has supported me when I was struck -by evil fortune and was tottering, and has gently used his godlike -hand to break my headlong fall: he pleaded with the Senate on -my behalf, and not only gave me my life but even begged it for -me. He will see to my cause: let him judge my cause to be such -as he would desire; let his justice pronounce it good or his -clemency so regard it: his kindness to me will be equal in either -case, whether he knows me to be innocent or chooses that I should -be thought so. Meanwhile it is a great comfort to me for my own -miseries to behold his pardons travelling throughout the world: -even from the corner in which I am confined his mercy has unearthed -and restored to light many exiles who had been buried and forgotten -here for long years, and I have no fear that I alone shall be -passed over by it. He best knows the time at which he ought to -show favour to each man: I will use my utmost efforts to prevent -his having to blush when he comes to me. O how blessed is your -clemency, Caesar, which makes exiles live more peacefully during -your reign than princes did in that of Gaius! We do not tremble -or expect the fatal stroke every hour, nor are we terrified whenever -a ship comes in sight: you have set bounds to the cruelty of -Fortune towards <span class="pagenum" id="p371">371</span>us, and have given us -present peace and hopes -of a happier future. You may indeed be sure that those thunderbolts -alone are just which are worshipped even by those who are struck -by them.</p> - -<p>XIV. Thus this prince, who is the universal consoler of all men, -has, unless I am altogether mistaken, already revived your spirit -and applied more powerful remedies to so severe a wound than -I can: he has already strengthened you in every way: his singularly -retentive memory has already furnished you with all the examples -which will produce tranquillity: his practised eloquence has -already displayed before you all the precepts of sages. No one -therefore could console you as well as he: when he speaks his -words have greater weight, as though they were the utterances -of an oracle: his divine authority will crush all the strength -of your grief. Think, then, that he speaks to you as -follows:—“Fortune -has not chosen you as the only man in the world to receive so -severe a blow: there is no house in all the earth, and never -has been one, that has not something to mourn for: I will pass -over examples taken from the common herd, which, while they are -of less importance, are also endless in number, and I will direct -your attention to the Calendar and the State Chronicles. Do you -see all these images which fill the hall of the Caesars? there -is not one of these men who was not especially afflicted by domestic -sorrows: no one of those men who shine there as the ornament -of the ages was not either tortured by grief for some of his -family or most bitterly mourned for by those whom he left behind. -Why need I remind you of Scipio Africanus, who heard the news -of his brother’s death when he was himself in exile? he who saved -his brother from prison could not save him from his fate. Yet -all men saw how impatient Africanus’s brotherly affection was -even of equal law: on the same day on which Scipio Africanus -rescued his brother from the <span class="pagenum" id="p372">372</span>hands of -the apparitor, he, although -not holding any office, protested against the action of the tribune -of the people. He mourned for his brother as magnanimously as -he had defended him. Why need I remind you of Scipio -Aemilianus,<a href="#fn-12.4" name="fnref-12.4" id="fnref-12.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -who almost at one and the same time beheld his father’s triumph -and the funeral of his two brothers? yet, although a stripling -and hardly more than a boy, he bore the sudden bereavement which -befel his family at the very time of Paulus’s triumph with all -the courage which beseemed one who was born that Rome might not -be without a Scipio and that she might be without a Carthage. -</p> - -<p>XV. Why should I speak of the intimacy of the two Luculli, which -was broken only by their death? or of the Pompeii? whom the cruelty -of Fortune did not even allow to perish by the same catastrophe; -for Sextus Pompeius in the first place survived his -sister,<a href="#fn-12.5" name="fnref-12.5" id="fnref-12.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> -by whose death the firmly knit bond of peace in the Roman empire -was broken, and he also survived his noble brother, whom Fortune -had raised so high in order that she might cast him down from -as great a height as she had already cast down his father; yet -after this great misfortune Sextus Pompeius was able not only -to endure his grief but even to make war. Innumerable instances -occur to me of brothers who were separated by death: indeed on -the other hand we see very few pairs of brothers growing old -together: however, I shall content myself with examples from -my own family. No one can be so devoid of feeling or of reason -as to complain of Fortune’s having thrown him into mourning when -he learns that she has coveted the tears of the Caesars themselves. -The Emperor Augustus lost his darling sister Octavia, and though -Nature destined him for heaven, yet she did not relax her laws -to spare him from mourning while on earth: nay, he suffered every -kind of bereavement, -<span class="pagenum" id="p373">373</span> losing his sister’s -son,<a href="#fn-12.6" name="fnref-12.6" id="fnref-12.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> who -was intended to be his -heir. In fine, not to mention his sorrows in detail, he lost -his son-in-law, his children, and his grandchildren, and, while -he remained among men, no mortal was more often reminded that -he was a man. Yet his mind, which was able to bear all things, -bore all these heavy sorrows, and the blessed Augustus was the -conqueror, not only of foreign nations, but also of his own sorrows. -Gaius -Caesar,<a href="#fn-12.7" name="fnref-12.7" id="fnref-12.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> -the grandson of the blessed Augustus, my maternal -great uncle, in the first years of manhood, when Prince of the -Roman Youth, as he was preparing for the Parthian war, lost his -darling brother -Lucius<a href="#fn-12.8" name="fnref-12.8" id="fnref-12.8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> -who was also ‘Prince of the Roman Youth,’ -and suffered more thereby in his mind than he did afterwards -in his body, though he bore both afflictions with the greatest -piety and fortitude. Tiberius Caesar, my paternal uncle, lost -his younger brother Drusus -Germanicus,<a href="#fn-12.9" name="fnref-12.9" id="fnref-12.9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> -my father, when he -was opening out the innermost fastnesses of Germany, and bringing -the fiercest tribes under the dominion of the Roman empire; he -embraced him and received his last kiss, but he nevertheless -restrained not only his own grief but that of others, and when -the whole army, not merely sorrowful but heartbroken, claimed -the corpse of their Drusus for themselves, he made them grieve -only as it became Romans to grieve, -<span class="pagenum" id="p374">374</span>and taught them that they must observe -military discipline not -only in fighting but also in mourning. He could not have checked -the tears of others had he not first repressed his own.</p> - -<p>XVI. “Marcus Antonius, my grandfather, who was second to none -save his conqueror, received the news of his brother’s execution -at the very time when the state was at his disposal, and when, -as a member of the triumvirate, he saw no one in the world superior -to himself in power, nay, when, with the exception of his two -colleagues, every man was subordinate to himself. O wanton Fortune, -what sport you make for yourself out of human sorrows! At the -very time when Marcus Antonius was enthroned with power of life -and death over his countrymen, Marcus Antonius’s brother was -being led to his death: yet Antonius bore this cruel wound with -the same greatness of mind with which he had endured all his -other crosses; and he mourned for his brother by offering the -blood of twenty legions to his manes. However, to pass by all -other instances, not to speak of the other deaths which have -occurred in my own house. Fortune has twice assailed me through -the death of a brother; she has twice learned that she could -wound me but could not overthrow me. I lost my brother Germanicus, -whom I loved in a manner which any one will understand if he -thinks how affectionate brothers love one another; yet I so restrained -my passion of grief as neither to leave undone anything which -a good brother could be called upon to do, nor yet to do anything -which a sovereign could be blamed for doing.”</p> - -<p>Think, then, that our common parent quotes these instances to -you, and that he points out to you how nothing is respected or -held inviolable by Fortune, who actually dares to send out funeral -processions from the very house in which she will have to look -for gods: so let no one be surprised at her committing any act -of cruelty <span class="pagenum" id="p375">375</span>or injustice; for how could -she show any humanity -or moderation in her dealings with private families, when her -pitiless fury has so often hung the very -throne<a href="#fn-12.10" name="fnref-12.10" id="fnref-12.10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> -itself with -black? She will not change her habits even though reproached, -not by my voice alone, but by that of the entire nation: she -will hold on her course in spite of all prayers and complaints. -Such has Fortune always been, and such she ever will be in connexion -with human affairs: she has never shrunk from attacking anything, -and she will never let anything alone: she will rage everywhere -terribly, as she has always been wont to do: she will dare to -enter for evil purposes into those houses whose entrance lies -through the temples of the gods, and will hang signs of mourning -upon laurelled door-posts. However, if she has not yet determined -to destroy the human race: if she still looks with favour upon -the Roman nation, may our public and private prayers prevail -upon her to regard as sacred from her violence this prince, whom -all men think to be sacred, who has been granted them by heaven -to give them rest after their misfortunes: let her learn clemency -from him, and let the mildest of all sovereigns teach her mildness. -</p> - -<p>XVII. You ought, therefore, to fix your eyes upon all the persons -whom I have just mentioned, who have either been deified or were -nearly related to those who have been deified, and when Fortune -lays her hands upon you to bear it calmly, seeing that she does -not even respect those by whose names we swear. It is your duty -to imitate their constancy in enduring and triumphing over suffering, -as far as it is permitted to a mere man to follow in the footsteps -of the immortals. Albeit in all other matters rank and birth -make great distinctions between men, yet virtue is open to all; -she despises no one provided he thinks himself -<span class="pagenum" id="p376">376</span>worthy to possess her. Surely you -cannot do better than follow -the example of those who, though they might have been angry at -not being exempt from this evil, nevertheless have decided to -regard this, the only thing which brings them down to the level -of other men, not as a wrong done to themselves, but as the law -of our mortal nature, and to bear what befals them without undue -bitterness and wrath, and yet in no base or cowardly spirit: -for it is not human not to feel our sorrows, while it is unmanly -not to bear them. When I glance through the roll of all the Caesars -whom fate has bereaved of sisters or brothers, I cannot pass -over that one who is unworthy to figure on the list of Caesars, -whom Nature produced to be the ruin and the shame of the human -race, who utterly wrecked and destroyed the state which is now -recovering under the gentle rule of the most benign of princes. -On losing his sister Drusilla, Gaius Caesar, a man who could -neither mourn nor rejoice as becomes a prince, shrank from seeing -and speaking to his countrymen, was not present at his sister’s -funeral, did not pay her the conventional tribute of respect, -but tried to forget the sorrows caused by this most distressing -death by playing at dice in his Alban villa, and by sitting on -the judgment-seat, and the like customary engagements. What a -disgrace to the Empire! a Roman emperor solaced himself by gambling -for his grief at the loss of his sister! This same Gaius, with -frantic levity, at one time let his beard and hair grow long, -at another wandered aimlessly along the coast of Italy and Sicily. -He never clearly made up his mind whether he wished his sister -to be mourned for or to be worshipped, and during all the time -that he was raising temples and -shrines<a href="#fn-12.11" name="fnref-12.11" id="fnref-12.11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> -in her honour he -punished those who did not manifest sufficient -<span class="pagenum" id="p377">377</span> sorrow with the most cruel -tortures:<a href="#fn-12.12" name="fnref-12.12" id="fnref-12.12"><sup>[12]</sup></a> -for his mind was -so ill-balanced, that he was as much cast down by adversity as -he was unbecomingly elated and puffed up by success. Far be it -from every Roman to follow such an example, either to divert -his mind from his grief by unreasonable amusements, to stimulate -it by unseemly squalor and neglect, or to be so inhuman as to -console himself by taking pleasure in the sufferings of others. -</p> - -<p>XVIII. You, however, need change none of your ordinary habits, -since you have taught yourself to love those studies which, while -they are pre-eminently fitted for perfecting our happiness, at -the same time teach us how we may bear misfortune most lightly, -and which are at the same time a man’s greatest honour and greatest -comfort. Now, therefore, immerse yourself even more deeply in -your studies, now surround your mind with them like fortifications, -so that grief may not find any place at which it can gain entrance. -At the same time, prolong the remembrance of your brother by -inserting some memoir of him among your other writings: for that -is the only sort of monument that can be erected by man which -no storm can injure, no time destroy. The others, which consist -of piles of stone, masses of marble, or huge mounds of earth -heaped on high, cannot preserve his memory for long, because -they themselves perish; but the memorials which genius raises -are everlasting. Lavish these upon your brother, embalm him in -these: you will do better to immortalise him by an everlasting -work of genius than to mourn over him with useless grief. As -for Fortune herself, although I cannot just now -<span class="pagenum" id="p378">378</span>plead her cause before you, because -all that she has given us -is now hateful to you, because she has taken something away from -you, yet I will plead her cause as soon as time shall have rendered -you a more impartial judge of her action: indeed she has bestowed -much upon you to make amends for the injury which she has done -you, and she will give more hereafter by way of atonement for -it: and, after all, it was she herself who gave you this brother -whom she has taken away. Forbear, then, to display your abilities -against your own self, or to take part with your grief against -yourself: your eloquence, can, no doubt, make trifles appear -great, and, conversely, can disparage and depreciate great things -until they seem the merest trifles; but let it reserve those -powers and use them on some other subject, and at the present -time devote its entire strength to the task of consoling you. -Yet see whether even this task be not unnecessary. Nature demands -from us a certain amount of grief, our imagination adds some -more to it; but I will never forbid you to mourn at all. I know, -indeed, that there are some men, whose wisdom is of a harsh rather -than a brave character, who say that the wise man never would -mourn. It seems to me that they never can have been in the position -of mourners, for otherwise their misfortune would have shaken -all their haughty philosophy out of them, and, however much against -their will, would have forced them to confess their sorrow. Reason -will have done enough if she does but cut off from our grief -all that is superfluous and useless: as for her not allowing -us to grieve at all, that we ought neither to expect nor to wish -for. Let her rather restrain us within the bounds of a chastened -grief, which partakes neither of indifference nor of madness, -and let her keep our minds in that attitude which becomes affection -without excitement: let your tears flow, but let them some day -cease to flow: groan as deeply as you will, but let your -<span class="pagenum" id="p379">379</span>groans -cease some day: regulate your conduct so that both philosophers -and brothers may approve of it. Make yourself feel pleasure in -often thinking about your brother, talk constantly about him, -and keep him ever present in your memory; which you cannot succeed -in doing unless you make the remembrance of him pleasant rather -than sad: for it is but natural that the mind should shrink from -a subject which it cannot contemplate without sadness. Think -of his retiring disposition, of his abilities for business, his -diligence in carrying it out, his loyalty to his word. Tell other -men of all his sayings and doings, and remind your own self of -them: think how good he was and how great you hoped he might -become: for what success is there which you might not safely -have wagered that such a brother would win?</p> - -<p>I have thrown together these reflexions in the best way that -I could, for my mind is dimmed and stupefied with the tedium -of my long exile: if, therefore, you should find them unworthy -of the consideration of a person of your intelligence, or unable -to console you in your grief, remember how impossible it is for -one who is full of his own sorrows to find time to minister to -those of others, and how hard it is to express oneself in the -Latin language, when all around one hears nothing but a rude -foreign jargon, which even barbarians of the more civilised sort -regard with disgust.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.1" id="fn-12.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.1">[1]</a> -“The Latins had four versions of Homer (Fabric, tom. i. 1. ii. -ch. 3, p. 297), yet, in spite of the phraises of Seneca, Consol, -ch. 26 (viii.), they appear to have been more successful in imitating -than in translating the Greek poets.”—Gibbon’s “Decline -and Fall,” -ch. 41, ad init., note. Polybius had made a prose translation -of Homer, and a prose paraphrase of Virgil. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.2" id="fn-12.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.2">[2]</a> -See note <i>ante</i>, -ch. viii. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.3" id="fn-12.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.3">[3]</a> -“Fortune hath parted stakes with thee, in taking -away thy brother, and leaving thee all the rest in securitie -and safetie.”—Lodge. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.4" id="fn-12.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.4">[4]</a> -See “On Benefits,” v. 16. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.5" id="fn-12.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.5">[5]</a> -Scipio -Africanus minor, the son of Paulus Aemilius. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.6" id="fn-12.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.6">[6]</a> -Marcellus. See -“Virgil’s well-known lines, Aen. VI., 869, <i>sqq</i>., and -“Consolatio -ad Marciam,” 2. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.7" id="fn-12.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.7">[7]</a> -G. Caesar, d. at Limyra, a.d. 4. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.8" id="fn-12.8"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.8">[8]</a> -Lucius -Caesar, d. at Marseilles, A.D. 2. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.9" id="fn-12.9"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.9">[9]</a> -Drusus died by a fall from -his horse, B.C. 9. “A monument was erected in his honour at Moguntiacum -(Mayence), and games and military spectacles were exhibited there -on the anniversary of his death. An altar had already been raised -in his honour on the banks of the Lippe.” Tac. Ann. ii. 7. “The -soldiers began now to regard themselves as a distinct people, -with rites and heroes of their own. Augustus required them to -surrender the body of their beloved chief as a matter of discipline.” -Merivale, ch. 36. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.10" id="fn-12.10"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.10">[10]</a> -<i>Pulvinaria</i>. See note, ch. xvii. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.11" id="fn-12.11"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.11">[11]</a> -<i>Pulvinaria</i>. -This word properly means “a couch made of cushions, and spread -over with a splendid covering, for the gods or persons who received -divine honours.” -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-12.12" id="fn-12.12"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.12">[12]</a> -Merivale, following Suetonius and Dion -Cassius, says: “He declared that if any man dared to mourn for -his sister’s death, he should be punished, for she had become -a goddess: if any one ventured to rejoice at her deification, -he should be punished also, for she was dead.” The passage in -the text, he remarks, gives a less extravagant turn to the story. -</p> - - -<h2><small>THE FIRST BOOK OF THE DIALOGUE OF L. ANNAEUS -<span class="pagenum" id="p380">380</span><br /> -SENECA, ADDRESSED TO NERO CAESAR.</small><br /> -<span class="shiftdown">ON CLEMENCY.</span></h2> - -<p>I. I have determined to write a book upon clemency, Nero Caesar, -in order that I may as it were serve as a mirror to you, and -let you see yourself arriving at the greatest of all pleasures. -For although the true enjoyment of good deeds consists in the -performance of them, and virtues have no adequate reward beyond -themselves, still it is worth your while to consider and investigate -a good conscience from every point of view, and afterwards to -cast your eyes upon this enormous mass of mankind— quarrelsome, -factious, and passionate as they are; likely, if they could throw -off the yoke of your government, to take pleasure alike in the -ruin of themselves and of one another —and thus to commune with -yourself:—“Have I of all mankind been chosen and thought fit -to perform the office of a god upon earth? I am the arbiter of -life and death to mankind: it rests with me to decide what lot -and position in life each man possesses: fortune makes use of -my mouth to announce what she bestows on each man: cities and -nations are moved to joy by my words: no region -<span class="pagenum" id="p381">381</span>anywhere can -flourish without my favour and good will: all these thousands -of swords now restrained by my authority, would be drawn at a -sign from me: it rests with me to decide which tribes shall be -utterly exterminated, which shall be moved into other lands, -which shall receive and which shall be deprived of liberty, what -kings shall be reduced to slavery and whose heads shall be crowned, -what cities shall be destroyed and what new ones shall be founded. -In this position of enormous power I am not tempted to punish -men unjustly by anger, by youthful impulse, by the recklessness -and insolence of men, which often overcomes the patience even -of the best regulated minds, not even that terrible vanity, so -common among great sovereigns, of displaying my power by inspiring -terror. My sword is sheathed, nay, fixed in its sheath: I am -sparing of the blood even of the lowest of my subjects: a man -who has nothing else to recommend him, will nevertheless find -favour in my eyes because he is a man. I keep harshness concealed, -but I have clemency always at hand: I watch myself as carefully -as though I had to give an account of my actions to those laws -which I have brought out of darkness and neglect into the light -of day. I have been moved to compassion by the youth of one culprit, -and the age of another: I have spared one man because of his -great place, another on account of his insignificance: when I -could find no reason for showing mercy, I have had mercy upon -myself. I am prepared this day, should the gods demand it, to -render to them an account of the human race.” You, Caesar, can -boldly say that everything which has come into your charge has -been kept safe, and that the state has neither openly nor secretly -suffered any loss at your hands. You have coveted a glory which -is most rare, and which has been obtained by no emperor before -you, that of innocence. Your remarkable goodness is not thrown -away, nor is it ungratefully or spitefully undervalued. Men feel -<span class="pagenum" id="p382">382</span>gratitude towards you: no one person -ever was so dear to another -as you are to the people of Rome, whose great and enduring benefit -you are. You have, however, taken upon yourself a mighty burden: -no one any longer speaks of the good times of the late Emperor -Augustus, or the first years of the reign of Tiberius, or proposes -for your imitation any model outside yourself: yours is a pattern -reign. This would have been difficult had your goodness of heart -not been innate, but merely adopted for a time; for no one can -wear a mask for long, and fictitious qualities soon give place -to true ones. Those which are founded upon truth, and which, -so to speak, grow out of a solid basis, only become greater and -better as time goes on. The Roman people were in a state of great -hazard as long as it was uncertain how your -generous<a href="#fn-13.1" name="fnref-13.1" id="fnref-13.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> -disposition -would turn out; now, however, the prayers of the community are -sure of an answer, for there is no fear that you should suddenly -forget your own character. Indeed, excess of happiness makes -men greedy, and our desires are never so moderate as to be bounded -by what they have obtained: great successes become the stepping-stones -to greater ones, and those who have obtained more than they hoped, -entertain even more extravagant hopes than before; yet by all -your countrymen we hear it admitted that they are now happy, -and moreover, that nothing can be added to the blessings that -they enjoy, except that they should be eternal. Many circumstances -force this admission from them, although it is the one which -men are least willing to make: we enjoy a profound and prosperous -peace, the power of the law has been openly asserted in the sight -of all men, and raised beyond the reach of any violent interference: -the form of our government is so happy, as to contain all the -essentials of liberty except the power of destroying itself. -It is -<span class="pagenum" id="p383">383</span>nevertheless your clemency which is -most especially admired by -the high and low alike: every man enjoys or hopes to enjoy the -other blessings of your rule according to the measure of his -own personal good fortune, whereas from your clemency all hope -alike: no one has so much confidence in his own innocence, as -not to feel glad that in your presence stands a clemency which -is ready to make allowance for human errors.</p> - -<p>II. I know, however, that there are some who imagine that clemency -only saves the life of every villain, because clemency is useless -except after conviction, and alone of all the virtues has no -function among the innocent. But in the first place, although -a physician is only useful to the sick, yet he is held in honour -among the healthy also; and so clemency, though she be invoked -by those who deserve punishment, is respected by innocent people -as well. Next, she can exist also in the person of the innocent, -because sometimes misfortune takes the place of crime; indeed, -clemency not only succours the innocent, but often the virtuous, -since in the course of time it happens that men are punished -for actions which deserve praise. Besides this, there is a large -part of mankind which might return to virtue if the hope of pardon -were not denied them. Yet it is not right to pardon indiscriminately; -for when no distinction is made between good and bad men, disorder -follows, and all vices break forth; we must therefore take care -to distinguish those characters which admit of reform from those -which are hopelessly depraved. Neither ought we to show an indiscriminate -and general, nor yet an exclusive clemency; for to pardon every -one is as great cruelty as to pardon none; we must take a middle -course; but as it is difficult to find the true mean, let us -be careful, if we depart from it, to do so upon the side of humanity. -</p> - -<p>III. But these matters will be treated of better in their own -place. I will now divide this whole subject into -<span class="pagenum" id="p384">384</span>three parts. -The first will be of gentleness of -temper:<a href="#fn-13.2" name="fnref-13.2" id="fnref-13.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> -the second will -be that which explains the nature and disposition of clemency; -for since there are certain vices which have the semblance of -virtue, they cannot be separated unless you stamp upon them the -marks which distinguish them from one another: in the third place -we shall inquire how the mind may be led to practise this virtue, -how it may strengthen it, and by habit make it its own.</p> - -<p>That clemency, which is the most humane of virtues, is that which -best befits a man, is necessarily an axiom, not only among our -own sect, which regards man as a social animal, born for the -good of the whole community, but even among those philosophers -who give him up entirely to pleasure, and whose words and actions -have no other aim than their own personal advantage. If man, -as they argue, seeks for quiet and repose, what virtue is there -which is more agreeable to his nature than clemency, which loves -peace and restrains him from violence? Now clemency becomes no -one more than a king or a prince; for great power is glorious -and admirable only when it is beneficent; since to be powerful -only for mischief is the power of a pestilence. That man’s greatness -alone rests upon a secure foundation, whom all men know to be -as much on their side as he is above them, of whose watchful -care for the safety of each and all of them they receive daily -proofs, at whose approach they do not fly in terror, as though -some evil and dangerous animal had sprung out from its den, but -flock to him as they would to the bright and health-giving sunshine. -They are perfectly ready to fling themselves upon the swords -of conspirators in his defence, to offer their bodies if his -only path to safety must be formed of corpses: they protect his -sleep by nightly watches, they -<span class="pagenum" id="p385">385</span>surround him and defend him on every -side, and expose themselves -to the dangers which menace him. It is not without good reason -that nations and cities thus agree in sacrificing their lives -and property for the defence and the love of their king whenever -their leader’s safety demands it; men do not hold themselves -cheap, nor are they insane when so many thousands are put to -the sword for the sake of one man, and when by so many deaths -they save the life of one man alone, who not unfrequently is -old and feeble. Just as the entire body is commanded by the mind, -and although the body be so much larger and more beautiful while -the mind is impalpable and hidden, and we are not certain as -to where it is concealed, yet the hands, feet, and eyes work -for it, the skin protects it; at its bidding we either lie still -or move restlessly about; when it gives the word, if it be an -avaricious master, we scour the sea in search of gain, or if -it be ambitious we straightway place our right hand in the flames -like Mucius, or leap into the pit like Curtius, so likewise this -enormous multitude which surrounds one man is directed by his -will, is guided by his intellect, and would break and hurl itself -into ruin by its own strength, if it were not upheld by his wisdom. -</p> - -<p>IV. Men therefore love their own safety, when they draw up vast -legions in battle on behalf of one man, when they rush to the -front, and expose their breasts to wounds, for fear that their -leader’s standards should be driven back. He is the bond which -fastens the commonwealth together, he is the breath of life to -all those thousands, who by themselves would become merely an -encumbrance and a source of plunder if that directing mind were -withdrawn:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>Bees have but one mind, till their king doth die,<br /> - But when he dies, disorderly they fly.</p></blockquote> - - <p>Such a misfortune will -be the end of the peace of Rome, it will wreck the prosperity -of this great people; the nation <span class="pagenum" id="p386">386</span>will -be free from this danger -as long as it knows how to endure the reins: should it ever break -them, or refuse to have them replaced if they were to fall off -by accident, then this mighty whole, this complex fabric of government -will fly asunder into many fragments, and the last day of Rome’s -empire will be that upon which it forgets how to obey. For this -reason we need not wonder that princes, kings, and all other -protectors of a state, whatever their titles may be, should be -loved beyond the circle of their immediate relatives; for since -right-thinking men prefer the interests of the state to their -own, it follows that he who bears the burden of state affairs -must be dearer to them than their own friends. Indeed, the emperor -long ago identified himself so thoroughly with the state, that -neither of them could be separated without injury to both, because -the one requires power, while the other requires a head.</p> - -<p>V. My argument seems to have wandered somewhat far from the subject, -but, by Hercules, it really is very much to the point. For if, -as we may infer from what has been said, you are the soul of -the state, and the state is your body, you will perceive, I imagine, -how necessary clemency is; for when you appear to spare another, -you are really sparing yourself. You ought therefore to spare -even blameworthy citizens, just as you spare weakly limbs; and -when blood-letting becomes necessary, you must hold your hand, -lest you should cut deeper than you need. Clemency therefore, -as I said before, naturally befits all mankind, but more especially -rulers, because in their case there is more for it to save, and -it is displayed upon a greater scale. Cruelty in a private man -can do but very little harm; but the ferocity of princes is war. -Although there is a harmony between all the virtues, and no one -is better or more honourable than another, yet some virtues befit -some persons better than <span class="pagenum" id="p387">387</span>others. -Magnanimity befits all mortal -men, even the humblest of all; for what can be greater or braver -than to resist ill fortune? Yet this virtue of magnanimity occupies -a wider room in prosperity, and shows to greater advantage on -the judgment seat than on the floor of the court. On the other -hand, clemency renders every house into which it is admitted -happy and peaceful; but though it is more rare, it is on that -account even more admirable in a palace. What can be more remarkable -than that he whose anger might be indulged without fear of the -consequences, whose decision, even though a harsh one, would -be approved even by those who were to suffer by it, whom no one -can interrupt, and of whom indeed, should he become violently -enraged, no one would dare to beg for mercy, should apply a check -to himself and use his power in a better and calmer spirit, reflecting: -“Any one may break the law to kill a man, no one but I can break -it to save him”? A great position requires a great mind, for -unless the mind raises itself to and even above the level of -its station, it will degrade its station and draw it down to -the earth; now it is the property of a great mind to be calm -and tranquil and to look down upon outrages and insults with -contempt. It is a womanish thing to rage with passion; it is -the part of wild beasts, and that, too, not of the most noble -ones, to bite and worry the fallen. Elephants and lions pass -by those whom they have struck down; inveteracy is the quality -of ignoble animals. Fierce and implacable rage does not befit -a king, because he does not preserve his superiority over the -man to whose level he descends by indulging in rage; but if he -grants their lives and honours to those who are in jeopardy and -who deserve to lose them, he does what can only be done by an -absolute ruler; for life may be torn away even from those who -are above us in station, but can never be granted save to those -who are below us. To save men’s lives -<span class="pagenum" id="p388">388</span>is the privilege of the -loftiest station, which never deserves admiration so much as -when it is able to act like the gods, by whose kindness good -and bad men alike are brought into the world. Thus a prince, -imitating the mind of a god, ought to look with pleasure on some -of his countrymen because they are useful and good men, while -he ought to allow others to remain to fill up the roll; he ought -to be pleased with the existence of the former, and to endure -that of the latter.</p> - -<p>VI. Look at this city of Rome, in which the widest streets become -choked whenever anything stops the crowds which unceasingly pour -through them like raging torrents, in which the people streaming -to three theatres demand the roads at the same time, in which -the produce of the entire world is consumed, and reflect what -a desolate waste it would become if only those were left in it -whom a strict judge would acquit. How few magistrates are there -who ought not to be condemned by the very same laws which they -administer? How few prosecutors are themselves faultless? I imagine, -also, that few men are less willing to grant pardon, than those -who have often had to beg it for themselves. We have all of us -sinned, some more deeply than others, some of set purpose, some -either by chance impulse or led away by the wickedness of others; -some of us have not stood bravely enough by our good resolutions, -and have lost our innocence, although unwillingly and after a -struggle; nor have we only sinned, but to the very end of our -lives we shall continue to sin. Even if there be any one who -has so thoroughly cleansed his mind that nothing can hereafter -throw him into disorder or deceive him, yet even he has reached -this state of innocence through sin.</p> - -<p>VII. Since I have made mention of the gods, I shall state the -best model on which a prince may mould his life to be, that he -deal with his countrymen as he would that -<span class="pagenum" id="p389">389</span>the gods may deal with -himself. Is it then desirable that the gods should show no mercy -upon sins and mistakes, and that they should harshly pursue us -to our ruin? In that case what king will be safe? Whose limbs -will not be torn asunder and collected by the soothsayers? If, -on the other hand, the gods are placable and kind, and do not -at once avenge the crimes of the powerful with thunderbolts, -is it not far more just that a man set in authority over other -men should exercise his power in a spirit of clemency and should -consider whether the condition of the world is more beauteous -and pleasant to the eyes on a fine calm day, or when everything -is shaken with frequent thunder-claps and when lightning flashes -on all sides! Yet the appearance of a peaceful and constitutional -reign is the same as that of the calm and brilliant sky. A cruel -reign is disordered and hidden in darkness, and while all shake -with terror at the sudden explosions, not even he who caused -all this disturbance escapes unharmed. It is easier to find excuses -for private men who obstinately claim their rights; possibly -they may have been injured, and their rage may spring from their -wrongs; besides this, they fear to be despised, and not to return -the injuries which they have received looks like weakness rather -than clemency; but one who can easily avenge himself, if he neglects -to do so, is certain to gain praise for goodness of heart. Those -who are born in a humble station may with greater freedom exercise -violence, go to law, engage in quarrels, and indulge their angry -passions; even blows count for little between two equals; but -in the case of a king, even loud clamour and unmeasured talk -are unbecoming.</p> - -<p>VIII. You think it a serious matter to take away from kings the -right of free speech which the humblest enjoy. “This,” you say, -“is to be a subject, not a king.” What, do you not find that -we have the command, you the -subjection?<span class="pagenum" id="p390">390</span> Your position is quite -different to that of those who lie hid in the crowd which they -never leave, whose very virtues cannot be manifested without -a long struggle, and whose vices are shrouded in obscurity; rumour -catches up your acts and sayings, and therefore no persons ought -to be more careful of their reputation than those who are certain -to have a great one, whatsoever one they may have deserved. How -many things there are that you may not do which, thanks to you, -we may do! I am able to walk alone without fear in any part of -Rome whatever, although no companion accompanies me, though there -is no guard at my house no sword by my side. You must live armed -in the peace which you -maintain.<a href="#fn-13.3" name="fnref-13.3" id="fnref-13.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> -You cannot stray away from -your position; it besets you, and follows you with mighty pomp -wherever you go. This slavery of not being able to sink one’s -rank belongs to the highest position of all; yet it is a burden -which you share with the gods. They too are held fast in heaven, -and it is no more possible for them to come down than it is -safe<a href="#fn-13.4" name="fnref-13.4" id="fnref-13.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> -for you; you are chained to your lofty pinnacle. Of our movements -few persons are aware; we can go forth and return home and change -our dress without its being publicly known; but you are no more -able to hide yourself than the sun. A strong light is all around -you, the eyes of all are turned towards it. Do you think you -are leaving your house? nay, you are dawning upon the world. -You cannot speak without all nations everywhere hearing your -voice; you cannot be angry, without making everything tremble, -because you can strike no one without shaking all around him. -Just as thunderbolts when they fall endanger few men but terrify -all, so the chastisement inflicted by great potentates terrify -more widely than they injure, and that for good reasons; for -in the case of one whose power is absolute, men do not think -of what he has done, so much as of what he may do. Add to this -that -<span class="pagenum" id="p391">391</span>private men endure wrongs more tamely, -because they have already -endured others; the safety of kings on the other hand is more -surely founded on kindness, because frequent punishment may crush -the hatred of a few, but excites that of all. A king ought to -wish to pardon while he has still grounds for being severe; if -he acts otherwise, just as lopped trees sprout forth again with -numberless boughs, and many kinds of crops are cut down in order -that they may grow more thickly, so a cruel king increases the -number of his enemies by destroying them; for the parents and -children of those who are put to death, and their relatives and -friends, step into the place of each victim.</p> - -<p>IX. I wish to prove the truth of this by an example drawn from -your own family. The late Emperor Augustus was a mild prince, -if in estimating his character one reckons from the era of his -reign; yet he appealed to arms while the state was shared among -the triumvirate. When he was just of your age, at the end of -his twenty-second year, he had already hidden daggers under the -clothes of his friends, he had already conspired to assassinate -Marcus Antonius, the consul, he had already taken part in the -proscription. But when he had passed his -sixtieth<a href="#fn-13.5" name="fnref-13.5" id="fnref-13.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> -year, and -was staying in -<span class="pagenum" id="p392">392</span>Gaul, intelligence was brought to him -that Lucius Cinna, a dull -man, was plotting against him: the plot was betrayed by one of -the conspirators, who told him where, when, and in what manner -Cinna meant to attack him. Augustus determined to consult his -own safety against this man, and ordered a council of his own -friends to be summoned. He passed a disturbed night, reflecting -that he would be obliged to condemn to death a youth of noble -birth, who was guilty of no crime save this one, and who was -the grandson of Gnaeus Pompeius. He, who had sat at dinner and -heard M. -Antonius<a href="#fn-13.6" name="fnref-13.6" id="fnref-13.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> -read aloud his edict for the proscription, -could not now bear to put one single man to death. With groans -he kept at intervals making various inconsistent -exclamations:—“What! -shall I allow my assassin to walk about at his ease while I am -racked by fears? Shall the man not be punished who has plotted -not merely to slay but actually to sacrifice at the altar” (for -the conspirators intended to attack him when he was sacrificing), -“now when there is peace by land and sea, that life which so -many civil wars have sought in vain, which has passed unharmed -through so many battles of fleets and armies?”</p> - -<p>Then, after an interval of silence, he would say to himself in -a far louder, angrier tone than he had used to Cinna, “Why do -you live, if it be to so many men’s advantage that you should -die? Is there no end to these executions? to this bloodshed? -I am a figure set up for nobly-born youths to sharpen their swords -on. Is life worth having, if so many must perish to prevent my -losing it?” At last his wife Livia interrupted him, saying: “Will -you take a woman’s -<span class="pagenum" id="p393">393</span>advice? Do as the physicians do, who, -when the usual remedies -fail, try their opposites. Hitherto you have gained nothing by -harsh measures: Salvidienus has been followed by Lepidus, Lepidus -by Muraena, Muraena by Caepio, and Caepio by Egnatius, not to -mention others of whom one feels ashamed of their having dared -to attempt so great a deed. Now try what effect clemency will -have: pardon Lucius Cinna. He has been detected, he cannot now -do you any harm, and he can do your reputation much good.” Delighted -at finding some one to support his own view of the case, he thanked -his wife, straightway ordered his friends, whose counsel he had -asked for, to be told that he did not require their advice, and -summoned Cinna alone. After ordering a second seat to be placed -for Cinna, he sent every one else out of the room, and said:—“The -first request which I have to make of you is, that you will -not interrupt me while I am speaking to you: that you will not -cry out in the middle of my address to you: you shall be allowed -time to speak freely in answer to me. Cinna, when I found you -in the enemy’s camp, you who had not become but were actually -born my enemy, I saved your life, and restored to you the whole -of your father’s estate. You are now so prosperous and so rich, -that many of the victorious party envy you, the vanquished one: -when you were a candidate for the priesthood I passed over many -others whose parents had served with me in the wars, and gave -it to you: and now, after I have deserved so well of you, you -have made up your mind to kill me.” When at this word the man -exclaimed that he was far from being so insane, Augustus replied, -“You do not keep your promise, Cinna; it was agreed upon between -us that you should not interrupt me. I repeat, you are preparing -to kill me.” He then proceeded to tell him of the place, the -names of his accomplices, the day, the way in which they had -arranged to do the deed, and which of them was to give the fatal -stab. <span class="pagenum" id="p394">394</span>When he saw Cinna’s eyes -fixed upon the ground, and that -he was silent, no longer because of the agreement, but from consciousness -of his guilt, he said, “What is your intention in doing this? -is it that you yourself may be emperor? The Roman people must -indeed be in a bad way if nothing but my life prevents your ruling -over them. You cannot even maintain the dignity of your own house: -you have recently been defeated in a legal encounter by the superior -influence of a freedman: and so you can find no easier task than -to call your friends to rally round you against Caesar. Come, -now, if you think that I alone stand in the way of your ambition; -will Paulus and Fabius Maximus, will the Cossi and the Servilii -and all that band of nobles, whose names are no empty pretence, -but whose ancestry really renders them illustrious—will they -endure that you should rule over them?” Not to fill up the greater -part of this book by repeating the whole of his speech—for he -is known to have spoken for more than two hours, lengthening -out this punishment, which was the only one which he intended -to inflict—he said at last: “Cinna, I grant you your life for -the second time: when I gave it you before you were an open enemy, -you are now a secret plotter and -parricide.<a href="#fn-13.7" name="fnref-13.7" id="fnref-13.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> -From this day -forth let us be friends: let us try which of us is the more sincere, -I in giving you your life, or you in owing your life to me.” -After this he of his own accord bestowed the consulship upon -him, complaining of his not venturing to offer himself as a candidate -for that office, and found him ever afterwards his most grateful -and loyal adherent. Cinna made the emperor his sole heir, and -no one ever again formed any plot against him.</p> - -<p>X. Your great-great-grandfather spared the vanquished: for whom -could he have ruled over, had he not spared them? He recruited -Sallustius, the Cocoeii, the Deillii, and the whole -<span class="pagenum" id="p395">395</span>inner circle of his court from the -camp of his opponents. Soon -afterwards his clemency gave him a Domitius, a Messala, an Asinius, -a Cicero, and all the flower of the state. For what a long time -he waited for Lepidus to die: for years he allowed him to retain -all the insignia of royalty, and did not allow the office of -pontifex maximus to be conferred upon himself until after Lepidus’s -death; for he wished it to be called a honourable office rather -than a spoil stripped from a vanquished foe. It was this clemency -which made him end his days in safety and security: this it was -which rendered him popular and beloved, although he had laid -his hands on the neck of the Romans when they were still unused -to bearing the yoke: this gives him even at the present day a -reputation such as hardly any prince has enjoyed during his own -lifetime. We believe him to be a god, and not merely because -we are bidden to do so. We declare that Augustus was a good emperor, -and that he was well worthy to bear his parent’s name, for no -other reason than because he did not even show cruelty in avenging -personal insults, which most princes feel more keenly than actual -injuries; because he smiled at scandalous jests against himself, -because it was evident that he himself suffered when he punished -others, because he was so far from putting to death even those -whom he had convicted of intriguing with his daughter, that when -they were banished he gave them passports to enable them to travel -more safely. When you know that there will be many who will take -your quarrel upon themselves, and will try to gain your favour -by the murder of your enemies, you do indeed pardon them if you -not only grant them their lives but ensure that they shall not -lose them.</p> - -<p>XI. Such was Augustus when an old man, or when growing old: in -his youth he was hasty and passionate, and did many things upon -which he looked back with regret. No one will venture to compare -the rule of the <span class="pagenum" id="p396">396</span>blessed Augustus to -the mildness of your own, -even if your youth be compared with his more than ripe old age: -he was gentle and placable, but it was after he had dyed the -sea at Actium with Roman blood; after he had wrecked both the -enemy’s fleet and his own at Sicily; after the holocaust of Perusia -and the proscriptions. But I do not call it clemency to be wearied -of cruelty; true clemency, Caesar, is that which you display, -which has not begun from remorse at its past ferocity, on which -there is no stain, which has never shed the blood of your countrymen: -this, when combined with unlimited power, shows the truest self-control -and all-embracing love of the human race as of one’s self, not -corrupted by any low desires, any extravagant ideas, or any of -the bad examples of former emperors into trying, by actual experiment, -how great a tyranny you would be allowed to exercise over his -countrymen, but inclining rather to blunting your sword of empire. -You, Caesar, have granted us the boon of keeping our state free -from bloodshed, and that of which you boast, that you have not -caused one single drop of blood to flow in any part of the world, -is all the more magnanimous and marvellous because no one ever -had the power of the sword placed in his hands at an earlier -age. Clemency, then, makes princes safer as well as more respected, -and is a glory to empires besides being their most trustworthy -means of preservation. Why have legitimate sovereigns grown old -on the throne, and bequeathed their power to their children and -grandchildren, while the sway of despotic usurpers is both hateful -and shortlived l? What is the difference between the tyrant and -the king—for their outward symbols of authority and their powers -are the same—except it be that tyrants take delight in cruelty, -whereas kings are only cruel for good reasons and because they -cannot help -it.<a href="#fn-13.8" name="fnref-13.8" id="fnref-13.8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> -<span class="pagenum" id="p397">397</span></p> - -<p>XII. “What, then,” say you, “do not kings also put men to -death?” -They do, but only when that measure is recommended by the public -advantage: tyrants enjoy cruelty. A tyrant differs from a king -in deeds, not in title: for the elder Dionysius deserves to be -preferred before many kings, and what can prevent our styling -Lucius Sulla a tyrant, since he only left off slaying because -he had no more enemies to slay? Although he laid down his dictatorship -and resumed the garb of a private citizen, yet what tyrant ever -drank human blood as greedily as he, who ordered seven thousand -Roman citizens to be butchered, and who, on hearing the shrieks -of so many thousands being put to the sword as he sat in the -temple of Bellona, said to the terror-stricken Senate, “Let us -attend to our business, Conscript Fathers; it is only a few disturbers -of the public peace who are being put to death by my orders.” -In saying this he did not lie: they really seemed few to Sulla. -But we shall speak of Sulla presently, when we consider how we -ought to feel anger against our enemies, at any rate when our -own countrymen, members of the same community as ourselves, have -been torn away from it and assumed the name of enemies: in the -meanwhile, as I was saying, clemency is what makes the great -distinction between kings and tyrants. Though each of them may -be equally fenced around by armed soldiers, nevertheless the -one uses his troops to safeguard the peace of his kingdom, the -other uses them to quell great hatred by great terror: and yet -he does not look with any confidence upon those to whose hands -he entrusts himself. He is driven in opposite directions by conflicting -passions: for since he is hated because he is feared, he wishes -to be feared because he is <span class="pagenum" id="p398">398</span>hated: and -he acts up to the spirit -of that odious verse, which has cast so many headlong from their -thrones—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“Why, let them hate me, if they fear me -too!”—</p></blockquote> - -<p>not knowing -how frantic men become when their hatred becomes excessive: for -a moderate amount of fear restrains men, but a constant and keen -apprehension of the worst tortures rouses up even the most grovelling -spirits to deeds of reckless courage, and causes them to hesitate -at nothing. Just so a string stuck full of -feathers<a href="#fn-13.9" name="fnref-13.9" id="fnref-13.9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> -will prevent -wild beasts escaping: but should a horseman begin to shoot at -them from another quarter, they will attempt to escape over the -very thing that scared them, and will trample the cause of their -alarm underfoot. No courage is so great as that which is born -of utter desperation. In order to keep people down by terror, -you must grant them a certain amount of security, and let them -see that they have far more to hope for than to fear: for otherwise, -if a man is in equal peril whether he sits still or takes action, -he will feel actual pleasure in risking his life, and will fling -it away as lightly as though it were not his own.</p> - -<p>XIII. A calm and peaceful king trusts his guards, because he -makes use of them to ensure the common safety of all his subjects, -and his soldiers, who see that the security of the state depends -upon their labours, cheerfully undergo the severest toil and -glory in being the protectors of the father of their country: -whereas your harsh and murderous tyrant must needs be disliked -even by his own janissaries. No man can expect willing and loyal -service from those whom he uses like the rack and the axe, as -instruments of torture and death, to whom he casts men as he -would cast them to wild beasts. No prisoner at the bar is so -full of agony and anxiety as a tyrant; for while he dreads both -gods and men because they have witnessed, -<span class="pagenum" id="p399">399</span>and will avenge his crimes, he has at -the same time so far committed -himself to this course of action that he is not able to alter -it. This is perhaps the very worst quality of cruelty: a man -must go on exercising it, and it is impossible for him to retrace -his steps and start in a better path; for crimes must be safeguarded -by fresh crimes. Yet who can be more unhappy than he who is actually -compelled to be a villain? How greatly he ought to be pitied: -I mean, by himself, for it would be impious for others to pity -a man who has made use of his power to murder and ravage, who -has rendered himself mistrusted by every one at home and abroad, -who fears the very soldiers to whom he flees for safety, who -dare not rely upon the loyalty of his friends or the affection -of his children: who, whenever he considers what he has done, -and what he is about to do, and calls to mind all the crimes -and torturings with which his conscience is burdened, must often -fear death, and yet must often wish for it, for he must be even -more hateful to himself than he is to his subjects. On the other -hand, he who takes an interest in the entire state, who watches -over every department of it with more or less care, who attends -to all the business of the state as well as if it were his own, -who is naturally inclined to mild measures, and shows, even when -it is to his advantage to punish, how unwilling he is to make -use of harsh remedies; who has no angry or savage feelings, but -wields his authority calmly and beneficially, being anxious that -even his subordinate officers shall be popular with his countrymen, -who thinks his happiness complete if he can make the nation share -his prosperity, who is courteous in language, whose presence -is easy of access, who looks obligingly upon his subjects, who -is disposed to grant all their reasonable wishes, and does not -treat their unreasonable wishes with harshness—such a prince -is loved, protected, and worshipped by his whole empire. Men -talk of such a one in private in the same -<span class="pagenum" id="p400">400</span>words which they use -in public: they are eager to bring up families under his reign, -and they put an end to the childlessness which public misery -had previously rendered general: every one feels that he will -indeed deserve that his children should be grateful to him for -having brought them into so happy an age. Such a prince is rendered -safe by his own beneficence; he has no need of guards, their -arms serve him merely as decorations.</p> - -<p>XIV. What, then, is his duty? It is that of good parents, who -sometimes scold their children goodnaturedly, sometimes threaten -them, and sometimes even flog them. No man in his senses disinherits -his son for his first offence: he does not pass this extreme -sentence upon him unless his patience has been worn out by many -grievous wrongs, unless he fears that his son will do something -worse than that which he punishes him for having done; before -doing this he makes many attempts to lead his son’s mind into -the right way while it is still hesitating between good and evil -and has only taken its first steps in depravity; it is only when -its case is hopeless that he adopts this extreme measure. No -one demands that people should be executed until after he has -failed to reform them. This which is the duty of a parent, is -also that of the prince whom with no unmeaning flattery we call -“The Father of our Country.” Other names are given as titles -of honour: we have styled some men “The -Great,” “The Fortunate,” -or “The August,” and have thus satisfied their passion for grandeur -by bestowing upon them all the dignity that we could: but when -we style a man “The Father of his Country” we give him to understand -that we have entrusted him with a father’s power over us, which -is of the mildest character, for a father takes thought for his -children and subordinates his own interests to theirs. It is -long before a father will cut off a member of his own body: even -after he has cut it off he longs to replace it, and in cutting -it off he laments <span class="pagenum" id="p401">401</span>and hesitates much -and long: for he who condemns -quickly is not far from being willing to condemn; and he who -inflicts too great punishment comes very near to punishing unjustly. -</p> - -<p>XV. Within my own recollection the people stabbed in the forum -with their writing-styles a Roman knight named Tricho, because -he had flogged his son to death: even the authority of Augustus -Caesar could hardly save him from the angry clutches of both -fathers and sons: but every one admired Tarius, who, on discovering -that his son meditated parricide, tried him, convicted him, and -was then satisfied with punishing him by exile, and that, too, -to that pleasant place of exile, Marseilles, where he made him -the same yearly allowance which he had done while he was innocent: -the result of this generosity was that even in a city where every -villain finds some one to defend him, no one doubted that he -was justly condemned, since even the father who was unable to -hate him, nevertheless had condemned him. In this very same instance -I will give you an example of a good prince, which you may compare -with a good father. Tarius, when about to sit in judgement on -his son, invited Augustus Caesar to assist in trying him: Augustus -came into his private house, sat beside the father, took part -in another man’s family council, and did not say, “Nay, let him -rather come to my house,” because if he had done so, the trial -would have been conducted by Caesar and not by the father. When -the cause had been heard, after all that the young man pleaded -in his own defence and all that was alleged against him had been -thoroughly discussed, the emperor begged that each man would -write his sentence (instead of pronouncing it aloud), in order -that they might not all follow Caesar in giving sentence: then, -before the tablets were opened, he declared that if Tarius, who -was a rich man, made him his heir, he would not accept the bequest. -One might say “It showed a paltry mind in him -<span class="pagenum" id="p402">402</span>to fear that people -would think that he condemned the son in order to enable himself -to inherit the estate.” I am of a contrary opinion—any one of -us ought to have sufficient trust in the consciousness of his -own integrity to defend him against calumny, but princes must -take great pains to avoid even the appearance of evil. He swore -that he would not accept the property. On that day Tarius lost -two heirs to his estate, but Caesar gained the liberty of forming -an unbiassed judgement: and when he had proved that his severity -was disinterested, a point of which a prince should never lose -sight, he gave sentence that the son should be banished to whatever -place the father might choose. He did not sentence him to the -sack and the snakes, or to prison, because he thought, not of -who it was upon whom he was passing sentence, but of who it was -with whom he was sitting in judgement: he said that a father -ought to be satisfied with the mildest form of punishment for -his stripling son, who had been seduced into a crime which he -had attempted so faintheartedly as to be almost innocent of it, -and that he ought to be removed from Rome and out of his father’s -sight.</p> - -<p>XVI. How worthy was he to be invited by fathers to join their -family councils: how worthy to be made co-heir with innocent -children! This is the sort of clemency which befits a prince; -wherever he goes, let him make every one more charitable. In -the king’s sight, no one ought to be so despicable that he should -not notice whether he lives or dies: be his character what it -may, he is a part of the empire. Let us take examples for great -kingdoms from smaller ones. There are many forms of royalty: -a prince reigns over his subjects, a father over his children, -a teacher over his scholars, a tribune or centurion over his -soldiers. Would not he, who constantly punished his children -by beating them for the most trifling faults, be thought the -worst of fathers? Which is worthier to impart -<span class="pagenum" id="p403">403</span>a liberal education: -he who flays his scholars alive if their memory be weak, or if -their eyes do not run quickly along the lines as they read, or -he who prefers to improve and instruct them by kindly warnings -and moral influence? If a tribune or a centurion is harsh, he -will make men deserters, and one cannot blame them for desertion. -It is never right to rule a human being more harshly and cruelly -than we rule dumb animals; yet a skilled horse-breaker will not -scare a horse by frequent blows, because he will become timid -and vicious if you do not soothe him with pats and caresses. -So also a huntsman, both when he is teaching puppies to follow -the tracks of wild animals, and when he uses dogs already trained -to drive them from their lairs and hunt them, does not often -threaten to beat them, for, if he does, he will break their spirit, -and make them stupid and currish with fear; though, on the other -hand, he will not allow them to roam and range about unrestrained. -The same is the case with those who drive the slower draught -cattle, which, though brutal treatment and wretchedness is their -lot from their birth, still, by excessive cruelty may be made -to refuse to draw.</p> - -<p>XVII. No creature is more self-willed, requires more careful -management, or ought to be treated with greater indulgence than -man. What, indeed, can be more foolish than that we should blush -to show anger against dogs or beasts of burden, and yet wish -one man to be most abominably ill-treated by another? We are -not angry with diseases, but apply remedies to them: but this -also is a disease of the mind, and requires soothing medicine -and a physician who is anything but angry with his patient. It -is the part of a bad physician to despair of effecting a cure: -he, to whom the care of all men’s well-being is entrusted, ought -to act like a good physician, and not be in a hurry to give up -hope or to declare that the symptoms are mortal: he should wrestle -with vices, withstand them, reproach -<span class="pagenum" id="p404">404</span>some with their distemper, -and deceive others by a soothing mode of treatment, because he -will cure his patient more quickly and more thoroughly if the -medicines which he administers escape his notice: a prince should -take care not only of the recovery of his people, but also that -their scars should be honourable. Cruel punishments do a king -no honour: for who doubts that he is able to inflict them? but, -on the other hand, it does him great honour to restrain his powers, -to save many from the wrath of others, and sacrifice no one to -his own.</p> - -<p>XVIII. It is creditable to a man to keep within reasonable bounds -in his treatment of his slaves. Even in the case of a human chattel -one ought to consider, not how much one can torture him with -impunity, but how far such treatment is permitted by natural -goodness and justice, which prompts us to act kindly towards -even prisoners of war and slaves bought for a price (how much -more towards free-born, respectable gentlemen?), and not to treat -them with scornful brutality as human chattels, but as persons -somewhat below ourselves in station, who have been placed under -our protection rather than assigned to us as servants. Slaves -are allowed to run and take sanctuary at the statue of a god, -though the laws allows a slave to be ill-treated to any extent, -there are nevertheless some things which the common laws of life -forbid us to do to a human being. Who does not hate Vedius -Pollio<a href="#fn-13.10" name="fnref-13.10" id="fnref-13.10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> -more even than his own slaves did, because he used to fatten -his lampreys with human blood, and ordered those who had offended -him in any way to be cast into his fish-pond, or rather snake-pond? -That -<span class="pagenum" id="p405">405</span>man deserved to die a thousand deaths, -both for throwing his -slaves to be devoured by the lampreys which he himself meant -to eat, and for keeping lampreys that he might feed them in such -a fashion. Cruel masters are pointed at with disgust in all parts -of the city, and are hated and loathed; the wrong-doings of kings -are enacted on a wider theatre: their shame and unpopularity -endures for ages: yet how far better it would have been never -to have been born than to be numbered among those who have been -born to do their country harm!</p> - -<p>XIX. Nothing can be imagined which is more becoming to a sovereign -than clemency, by whatever title and right he may be set over -his fellow citizens. The greater his power, the more beautiful -and admirable he will confess his clemency to be: for there is -no reason why power should do any harm, if only it be wielded -in accordance with the laws of nature. Nature herself has conceived -the idea of a king, as you may learn from various animals, and -especially from bees, among whom the king’s cell is the roomiest, -and is placed in the most central and safest part of the hive; -moreover, he does no work, but employs himself in keeping the -others up to their work. If the king be lost, the entire swarm -disperses: they never endure to have more than one king at a -time, and find out which is the better by making them fight with -one another: moreover the king is distinguished by his statelier -appearance, being both larger and more brilliantly coloured than -the other bees. The most remarkable distinction, however, is -the following: bees are very fierce, and for their size are the -most pugnacious of creatures, and leave their stings in the wounds -which they make, but the king himself has no sting: nature does -not wish him to be savage or to seek revenge at so dear a rate, -and so has deprived him of his weapon and disarmed his rage. -She has offered him as a pattern to great sovereigns: for she -is wont to practise <span class="pagenum" id="p406">406</span>herself in small -matters, and to scatter -abroad tiny models of the hugest structures. We ought to be ashamed -of not learning a lesson in behaviour from these small creatures, -for a man, who has so much more power of doing harm than they, -ought to show a correspondingly greater amount of self-control. -Would that human beings were subject to the same law, and that -their anger destroyed itself together with its instrument, so -that they could only inflict a wound once, and would not make -use of the strength of others to carry out their hatreds: for -their fury would soon grow faint if it carried its own punishment -with it, and could only give rein to its violence at the risk -of death. Even as it is, however, no one can exercise it with -safety, for he must needs feel as much fear as he hopes to cause, -he must watch every one’s movements, and even when his enemies -are not laying violent hands upon him he must bear in mind that -they are plotting to do so, and he cannot have a single moment -free from alarm. Would any one endure to live such a life as -this, when he might enjoy the privileges of his high station -to the general joy of all men, without injuring any one, and -for that very reason have no one to fear? for it is a mistake -to suppose that the king can be safe in a state where nothing -is safe from the king: he can only purchase a life without anxiety -for himself by guaranteeing the same for his subjects. He need -not pile up lofty citadels, escarp steep hills, cut away the -sides of mountains, and fence himself about with many lines of -walls and towers: clemency will render a king safe even upon -an open plain. The one fortification which cannot be stormed -is the love of his countrymen. What can be more glorious than -a life which every one spontaneously and without official pressure -hopes may last long? to excite men’s fears, not their hopes, -if one’s health gives way a little? to know that no one holds -anything so dear that he would not be glad to give it in exchange -for the health of his sovereign? “O, may -<span class="pagenum" id="p407">407</span>no evil befall him!” -they would cry: “he must live for his own sake, not only for -ours: his constant proofs of goodness have made him belong to -the state instead of the state belonging to him.” Who would dare -to plot any danger to such a king? Who would not rather, if he -could, keep misfortune far from one under whom justice, peace, -decency, security and merit flourish, under whom the state grows -rich with an abundance of all good things, and looks upon its -ruler in the same spirit of adoration and respect with which -we should look upon the immortal gods, if they allowed us to -behold them as we behold him? Why! does not that man come very -close to the gods who acts in a god-like manner, and who is beneficent, -open-handed, and powerful for good? Your aim and your pride ought -to lie in being thought the best, as well as the greatest of -mankind.</p> - -<p>XX. A prince generally inflicts punishment for one of two reasons: -he wishes either to assert his own rights or those of another. -I will first discuss the case in which he is personally concerned, -for it is more difficult for him to act with moderation when -he acts under the impulse of actual pain than when he merely -does so for the sake of the example. It is unnecessary in this -place to remind him to be slow to believe what he hears, to ferret -out the truth, to show favour to innocence, and to bear in mind -that to prove it is as much the business of the judge as that -of the prisoner; for these considerations are connected with -justice, not with clemency: what we are now encouraging him to -do is not to lose control over his feelings when he receives -an unmistakeable injury, and to forego punishing it if he possibly -can do so with safety, if not, to moderate the severity of the -punishment, and to show himself far more unwilling to forgive -wrongs done to others than those done to himself: for, just as -the truly generous man is not he who gives away what belongs -to others, but he who deprives himself of what he gives to another, -so also I should not call a prince clement -<span class="pagenum" id="p408">408</span>who looked goodnaturedly -upon a wrong done to someone else, but one who is unmoved even -by the sting of a personal injury, who understands how magnanimous -it is for one whose power is unlimited to allow himself to be -wronged, and that there is no more noble spectacle than that -of a sovereign who has received an injury without avenging it. -</p> - -<p>XXI. Vengeance effects two purposes: it either affords compensation -to the person to whom the wrong was done, or it ensures him against -molestation for the future. A prince is too rich to need compensation, -and his power is too evident for him to require to gain a reputation -for power by causing any one to suffer. I mean, when he is attacked -and injured by his inferiors, for if he sees those who once were -his equals in a position of inferiority to himself he is sufficiently -avenged. A king may be killed by a slave, or a serpent, or an -arrow: but no one can be saved except by some one who is greater -than him whom he saves. He, therefore, who has the power of giving -and of taking away life ought to use such a great gift of heaven -in a spirited manner. Above all, if he once obtains this power -over those who he knows were once on a level with himself, he -has completed his revenge, and done all that he need to towards -the punishment of his adversary: for he who owes his life to -another must have lost it, and he who has been cast down from -on high and lies at his enemy’s feet with his kingdom and his -life depending upon the pleasure of another, adds to the glory -of his preserver if he be allowed to live, and increases his -reputation much more by remaining unhurt than if he were put -out of the way. In the former case he remains as an everlasting -testimony to the valour of his conqueror; whereas if led in the -procession of a triumph he would have soon passed out of -sight.<a href="#fn-13.11" name="fnref-13.11" id="fnref-13.11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> -If, however, his kingdom also may be safely left in his hands -<span class="pagenum" id="p409">409</span>and he himself replaced upon the -throne from which he has fallen, -such a measure confers an immense increase of lustre on him who -scorned to take anything from a conquered king beyond the glory -of having conquered him. To do this is to triumph even over one’s -own victory, and to declare that one has found nothing among -the vanquished which it was worth the victor’s while to take. -As for his countrymen, strangers, and persons of mean condition, -he ought to treat them with all the less severity because it -costs so much less to overcome them. Some you would be glad to -spare, against some you would disdain to assert your rights, -and would forbear to touch them as you would to touch little -insects which defile your hands when you crush them: but in the -case of men upon whom all eyes are fixed, whether they be spared -or condemned, you should seize the opportunity of making your -clemency widely known.</p> - -<p>XXII. Let us now pass on to the consideration of wrongs done -to others, in avenging which the law has aimed at three ends, -which the prince will do well to aim at also: they are, either -that it may correct him whom it punishes, or that his punishment -may render other men better, or that, by bad men being put out -of the way, the rest may live without fear. You will more easily -correct the men themselves by a slight punishment, for he who -has some part of his fortune remaining untouched will behave -less recklessly; on the other hand, no one cares about respectability -after he has lost it: it is a species of impunity to have nothing -left for punishment to take away. It is conducive, however, to -good morals in a state, that punishment should seldom be inflicted: -for where there is a multitude of sinners men become familiar -with sin, shame is less felt when shared with a number of fellow-criminals, -and severe sentences, if frequently pronounced, lose the influence -which constitutes their chief power as remedial measures. A good -king establishes a good standard of morals for his -<span class="pagenum" id="p410">410</span>kingdom and -drives away vices if he is long-suffering with them, not that -he should seem to encourage them, but to be very unwilling and -to suffer much when he is forced to chastise them. Clemency in -a sovereign even makes men ashamed to do wrong: for punishment -seems far more grievous when inflicted by a merciful man.</p> - -<p>XXIII. Besides this, you will find that sins which are frequently -punished are frequently committed. Your father sewed up more -parricides in sacks during five years, than we hear of in all -previous centuries. As long as the greatest of crimes remained -without any special law, children were much more timid about -committing it. Our wise ancestors, deeply skilled in human nature, -preferred to pass over this as being a wickedness too great for -belief, and beyond the audacity of the worst criminal, rather -than teach men that it might be done by appointing a penalty -for doing it: parricides, consequently, were unknown until a -law was made against them, and the penalty showed them the way -to the crime. Filial affection soon perished, for since that -time we have seen more men punished by the sack than by the cross. -Where men are seldom punished innocence becomes the rule, and -is encouraged as a public benefit. If a state thinks itself innocent, -it will be innocent: it will be all the more angry with those -who corrupt the general simplicity of manners if it sees that -they are few in number. Believe me, it is a dangerous thing to -show a state how great a majority of bad men it contains.</p> - -<p>XXIV. A proposal was once made in the Senate to distinguish slaves -from free men by their dress: it was then discovered how dangerous -it would be for our slaves to be able to count our numbers. Be -assured that the same thing would be the case if no one’s offence -is pardoned: it will quickly be discovered how far the number -of bad men exceeds that of the good. Many executions are as disgraceful -to a sovereign as many funerals are to a physician: -<span class="pagenum" id="p411">411</span>one who governs -less strictly is better obeyed. The human mind is naturally self-willed, -kicks against the goad, and sets its face against authority; -it will follow more readily than it can be led. As well-bred -and high-spirited horses are best managed with a loose rein, -so mercy gives men’s minds a spontaneous bias towards innocence, -and the public think that it is worth observing. Mercy, therefore, -does more good than severity.</p> - -<p>XXV, Cruelty is far from being a human vice, and is unworthy -of man’s gentle mind: it is mere bestial madness to take pleasure -in blood and wounds, to cast off humanity and transform oneself -into a wild beast of the forest. Pray, Alexander, what is the -difference between your throwing Lysimachus into a lion’s den -and tearing his flesh with your own teeth? it is you that have -the lion’s maw, and the lion’s fierceness. How pleased you would -be if you had claws instead of nails, and jaws that were capable -of devouring men! We do not expect of you that your hand, the -sure murderer of your best friends, should restore health to -any one; or that your proud spirit, that inexhaustible source -of evil to all nations, should be satisfied with anything short -of blood and slaughter: we rather call it mercy that your friend -should have a human being chosen to be his butcher. The reason -why cruelty is the most hateful of all vices is that it goes -first beyond the ordinary limits, and then beyond those of humanity; -that it devises new kinds of punishments, calls ingenuity to -aid it in inventing devices for varying and lengthening men’s -torture, and takes delight in their sufferings: this accursed -disease of the mind reaches its highest pitch of madness when -cruelty itself turns into pleasure, and the act of killing a -man becomes enjoyment. Such a ruler is soon cast down from his -throne; his life is attempted by poison one day and by the sword -the next; he is exposed to as many dangers as there are men to -whom he is dangerous, and he <span class="pagenum" id="p412">412</span>is -sometimes destroyed by the plots -of individuals, and at others by a general insurrection. Whole -communities are not roused to action by unimportant outrages -on private persons; but cruelty which takes a wider range, and -from which no one is safe, becomes a mark for all men’s weapons. -Very small snakes escape our notice, and the whole country does -not combine to destroy them; but when one of them exceeds the -usual size and grows into a monster, when it poisons fountains -with its spittle, scorches herbage with its breath, and spreads -ruin wherever it crawls, we shoot at it with military engines. -Trifling evils may cheat us and elude our observation, but we -gird up our loins to attack great ones. One sick person does -not so much as disquiet the house in which he lies; but when -frequent deaths show that a plague is raging, there is a general -outcry, men take to flight and shake their fists angrily at the -very gods themselves. If a fire breaks out under one single roof, -the family and the neighbours pour water upon it; but a wide -conflagration which has consumed many houses must be smothered -under the ruins of a whole quarter of a city.</p> - -<p>XXVI. The cruelty even of private men has sometimes been revenged -by their slaves in spite of the certainty that they will be crucified: -whole kingdoms and nations when oppressed by tyrants or threatened -by them, have attempted their destruction. Sometimes their own -guards have risen in revolt, and have used against their master -all the deceit, disloyalty, and ferocity which they have learned -from him. What, indeed, can he expect from those whom he has -taught to be wicked? A bad man will not long be obedient, and -will not do only as much evil as he is ordered. But even if the -tyrant may be cruel with safety, how miserable his kingdom must -be: it must look like a city taken by storm, like some frightful -scene of general panic. Everywhere sorrow, anxiety, disorder; -men dread even their own pleasures; they cannot even dine with -one another in safety <span class="pagenum" id="p413">413</span>when they have -to keep watch over their -tongues even when in their cups, nor can they safely attend the -public shows when informers are ready to find grounds for their -impeachment in their behaviour there. Although the spectacles -be provided at an enormous expense, with royal magnificence and -with world-famous artists, yet who cares for amusement when he -is in prison? Ye gods! what a miserable life it is to slaughter -and to rage, to delight in the clanking of chains, and to cut -off one’s countrymen’s heads, to cause blood to flow freely wherever -one goes, to terrify people, and make them flee away out of one’s -sight! It is what would happen if bears or lions were our masters, -if serpents and all the most venomous creatures were given power -over us. Even these animals, devoid of reason as they are, and -accused by us of cruel ferocity, spare their own kind, and wild -beasts themselves respect their own likeness: but the fury of -tyrants does not even stop short at their own relations, and -they treat friends and strangers alike, only becoming more violent -the more they indulge their passions. By insensible degrees he -proceeds from the slaughter of individuals to the ruin of nations, -and thinks it a sign of power to set roofs on fire and to plough -up the sites of ancient cities: he considers it unworthy of an -emperor to order only one or two people to be put to death, and -thinks that his cruelty is unduly restrained if whole troops -of wretches are not sent to execution together. True happiness, -on the other hand; consists in saving many men’s lives, in calling -them back from the very gates of death, and in being so merciful -as to deserve a civic -crown.<a href="#fn-13.12" name="fnref-13.12" id="fnref-13.12"><sup>[12]</sup></a> -No decoration is more worthy -or more becoming to a prince’s rank than that crown “for saving -the lives of fellow-citizens”: not trophies torn from a vanquished -enemy, not -<span class="pagenum" id="p414">414</span>chariots wet with their savage -owner’s blood, not spoils captured -in war. This power which saves men’s lives by crowds and by nations, -is godlike: the power of extensive and indiscrimate massacre -is the power of downfall and conflagration.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.1" id="fn-13.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.1">[1]</a> -<i>Nobilis</i>. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.2" id="fn-13.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.2">[2]</a> -The text is corrupt. I have followed Gertz’s -conjectural emendation, <i>mansuefactionis</i>, but I believe that Lipsius -is right in thinking that a great deal more than one word has -been lost here. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.3" id="fn-13.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.3">[3]</a> -<i>Pace</i>. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.4" id="fn-13.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.4">[4]</a> -Tutum. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.5" id="fn-13.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.5">[5]</a> -Gertz reads <i>sexagesimum</i>, -his sixtieth year, which he calls “the not very audacious conjecture -of Wesseling,” and adds that he does so because of the words -at the beginning of chap. xi. and the authority of Dion Cassius. -The ordinary reading is <i>quadragesimum</i>, “his fortieth year,” -and -this is the date to which Cinna’s conspiracy is referred to by -Merivale, “History of the Romans under the Empire,” vol. iv. -ch, 37. “A plot,” he says, “was formed for his destruction, at -the head of which was Cornelius Cinna, described as a son of -Faustus Sulla by a daughter of the Great Pompeius.” The story -of Cinna’s conspiracy is told by Seneca, de Clem, i, 9, and Dion -iv. 14, foll. They agree in the main fact; but Seneca is our -authority for the details of the interview between Augustus and -his enemy, while Dion has doubtless invented his long conversation -between the emperor and Livia. Seneca, however, calls the conspirator -Lucius, and places the event in the fortieth year of Augustus -(A.D. 731), the scene in Gaul: Dion, on the other, gives the -names of Gnaeus, and supposes the circumstances to have occured -twenty-six years later, and at Rome. It may be observed that -a son of Faustus Sulla must have been at least fifty at this -latter date, nor do we know why he should bear the name of Cinna, -though an adoption is not impossible. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.6" id="fn-13.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.6">[6]</a> -See Shakespeare’s “Julius -Caesar,” Act IV, Sc. 1. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.7" id="fn-13.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.7">[7]</a> -In allusion to the title of “Father -of his country,” bestowed by the Senate upon Augustus. See Merivale, -ch. 33. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.8" id="fn-13.8"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.8">[8]</a> -This whole comparison, which reads so meaninglessly -both in Latin and in English, is borrowed from the eternal declamations -of Plutarch -and the Greek philosophers about βασιλεῖς and τύραννοι. -See Plutarch, Lives of Philopoemen and Aratus, Plato, Gorgias -and Politicus; Arnold, “Appendix to Thucydides,” vol. i., and -“Dictionary of Antiquities,” <i>s.v.</i> -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.9" id="fn-13.9"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.9">[9]</a> -De lra, ii. 11. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.10" id="fn-13.10"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.10">[10]</a> -Vedius -Pollio had a villa on the mountain now called Punta di Posilippo, -which projects into the sea between Naples and Puteoli, which -he left to Augustus, and which was afterwards possessed by the -Emperor Trajan. He was a freedman by birth, and remarkable for -nothing except his riches and his cruelty. Cf. Dion Cassius, -liv. 23; Pliny, H. N. ix. 23; and Seneca, “On Anger,” iii. 40, -2. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.11" id="fn-13.11"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.11">[11]</a> -The conquered princes who were led through Rome in triumphs -were as a rule put to death when the procession was over. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-13.12" id="fn-13.12"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.12">[12]</a> -The “civic” crown of oak-leaves was bestowed on him who had saved -the life of a fellow-citizen in war. It was bestowed upon Augustus, -and after him upon the other emperors, as preservers of the state. -</p> - - -<h2><small>THE SECOND BOOK OF THE DIALOGUE OF L. ANNAEUS<span class="pagenum" id="p415">415</span><br /> -SENECA, ADDRESSED TO NERO CAESAR.</small><br /> -<span class="shiftdown">ON CLEMENCY.</span></h2> - -<p>I. I have been especially led to write about clemency, Nero Caesar, -by a saying of yours, which I remember having heard with admiration -and which I afterwards told to others: a noble saying, showing -a great mind and great gentleness, which suddenly burst from -you without premeditation, and was not meant to reach any ears -but your own, and which displayed the conflict which was raging -between your natural goodness and your imperial duties. Your -prefect Burrus, an excellent man who was born to be the servant -of such an emperor as you are, was about to order two brigands -to be executed, and was pressing you to write their names and -the grounds on which they were to be put to death: this had often -been put off, and he was insisting that it should then be done. -When he reluctantly produced the document and put it into your -equally reluctant hands, you exclaimed: “Would that I had never -learned my letters!” O what a speech, how worthy to be heard -by all nations, both those who dwell within the Roman Empire, -those who enjoy a debatable independence upon its borders, and -those who either in will or in deed fight against it! It is a -speech which ought to be spoken <span class="pagenum" id="p416">416</span>before -a meeting of all mankind, -whose words all kings and princes ought to swear to obey: a speech -worthy of the days of human innocence, and worthy to bring back -that golden age. Now in truth we ought all to agree to love righteousness -and goodness; covetousness, which is the root of all evil, ought -to be driven away, piety and virtue, good faith and modesty ought -to resume their interrupted reign, and the vices which have so -long and so shamefully ruled us ought at last to give way to -an age of happiness and purity.</p> - -<p>II. To a great extent, Caesar, we may hope and expect that this -will come to pass. Let your own goodness of heart be gradually -spread and diffused throughout the whole body of the empire, -and all parts of it will mould themselves into your likeness. -Good health proceeds from the head into all the members of the -body: they are all either brisk and erect, or languid and drooping, -according as their guiding spirit blooms or withers. Both Romans -and allies will prove worthy of this goodness of yours, and good -morals will return to all the world: your hands will everywhere -find less to do. Allow me to dwell somewhat upon this saying -of yours, not because it is a pleasant subject for your ears -(indeed, this is not my way; I would rather offend by telling -the truth than curry favour by flattery). What, then, is my reason? -Besides wishing that you should be as familiar as possible with -your own good deeds and good words, in order that what is now -untutored impulse may grow into matured decision, I remember -that many great but odious sayings have become part of human -life and are familiar in men’s mouths, such as that celebrated -“Let them hate me, provided that they fear me,” which is like -that Greek verse, έμοῦ θανόντος γαῖα μιχθήτω πνρί, in which -a man bids the earth perish in flame after he is dead, and others -of the like sort. I know not how it is, but certainly human ingenuity -seems to have found it <span class="pagenum" id="p417">417</span>easier to find -emphatic and ardent expression -for monstrous and cynical sentiments: I have never hitherto heard -any spirited saying from a good and gentle person. What, then, -is the upshot of all this? It is that, albeit seldom and against -your will, and after much hesitation, you sometimes nevertheless -must write that which made you hate your letters, but that you -ought to do so with great hesitation and after many postponements, -even as you now do.</p> - -<p>III. But lest the plausible word “mercy” should sometimes deceive -us and lead us into the opposite extreme, let us consider what -mercy is, what its qualities are, and within what limits it is -confined.</p> - -<p>Mercy is “a restraining of the mind from vengeance when it is -in its power to avenge itself,” or it is “gentleness shown by -a powerful man in fixing the punishment of a weaker one.” It -is safer to have more than one definition, since one may not -include the whole subject, and may, so to speak, lose its cause: -mercy, therefore, may likewise be termed a tendency towards mildness -in inflicting punishment. It is possible to discover certain -inconsistencies in the definition which comes nearer the truth -than all the rest, which is to call mercy “self-restraint, which -remits some part of a fine which it deserves to receive and which -is due to it.” To this it will be objected that no virtue ever -gives any man less than his due. However, all men understand -mercy to consist in coming short of the penalty which might with -justice be inflicted.</p> - -<p>IV. The unlearned think that its opposite is strictness: but -no virtue is the opposite of another virtue. What, then, is the -opposite of mercy? Cruelty: which is nothing more than obstinacy -in exacting punishments. “But,” say you, “some men do not exact -punishments, and nevertheless are cruel, such as those who kill -the strangers whom they meet, not in order to rob them, but for -killing’s sake, and men who are not satisfied with killing, but -kill <span class="pagenum" id="p418">418</span>with savage tortures, like the -famous -Busiris,<a href="#fn-14.1" name="fnref-14.1" id="fnref-14.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> -and Procrustes, -and pirates who flog their captives and burn them alive.” This -appears to be cruelty: but as it is not the result of vengeance -(for it has received no wrong), and is not excited by any offence -(for no crime has preceded it), it does not come within our definition, -which was limited to “extravagance in exacting the penalties -of wrongdoing.” We may say that this is not cruelty, but ferocity, -which finds pleasure in savagery: or we may call it madness; -for madness is of various kinds, and there is no truer madness -than that which takes to slaughtering and mutilating human beings. -I shall, therefore, call those persons cruel who have a reason -for punishing but who punish without moderation, like Phalaris, -who is not said to have tortured innocent men, but to have tortured -criminals with inhuman and incredible barbarity. We may avoid -hairsplitting by defining cruelty to be “a tendency of the mind -towards harsh measures.” Mercy repels cruelty and bids it be -far from her: with strictness she is on terms of amity.</p> - -<p>At this point it is useful to inquire into what pity is; for -many praise it as a virtue, and say that a good man is full of -pity. This also is a disease of the mind. Both of these stand -close to mercy and to strictness, and both ought to be avoided, -lest under the name of strictness we be led into cruelty, and -under the name of mercy into pity. It is less dangerous to make -the latter mistake, but both lead us equally far away from the -truth.</p> - -<p>V. Just as the gods are worshipped by religion, but are dishonoured -by superstition, so all good men will show mercy and mildness, -but will avoid pity, which is a vice incident to weak minds which -cannot endure the sight of another’s sufferings. It is, therefore, -most commonly -<span class="pagenum" id="p419">419</span>found in the worst people; there are -old women and -girls<a href="#fn-14.2" name="fnref-14.2" id="fnref-14.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> -who are affected by the tears of the greatest criminals, and -who, if they could, would let them out of prison. Pity considers -a man’s misfortunes and does not consider to what they are due: -mercy is combined with reason. I know that the doctrine of the -Stoics is unpopular among the ignorant as being excessively severe -and not at all likely to give kings and princes good advice; -it is blamed because it declares that the wise man knows not -how to feel pity or to grant pardon. These doctrines, if taken -separately, are indeed odious, for they appear to give men no -hope of repairing their mistakes but exact a penalty for every -slip. If this were true, how can it be true wisdom to bid us -put off human feeling, and to exclude us from mutual help, that -surest haven of refuge against the attacks of Fortune? But no -school of philosophy is more gentle and benignant, none is more -full of love towards man or more anxious to promote the happiness -of all, seeing that its maxims are, to be of service and assistance -to others, and to consult the interests of each and all, not -of itself alone. Pity is a disorder of the mind caused by the -sight of other men’s miseries, or it is a sadness caused by the -evils with which it believes others to be undeservedly afflicted: -but the wise man cannot be affected by any disorder: his mind -is calm, and nothing can possibly happen to ruffle it. Moreover, -nothing becomes a man more than magnanimity: but magnanimity -cannot coexist with sorrow. Sorrow overwhelms men’s minds, casts -them down, contracts them: now this cannot happen to the wise -man even in his greatest misfortunes, but he will beat back the -rage of Fortune and triumph over it: he will -<span class="pagenum" id="p420">420</span>always retain the same calm, -undisturbed expression of countenance, -which he never could do were he accessible to sorrow.</p> - -<p>VI. Add to this, that the wise man provides for the future and -always has a distinct plan of action ready: yet nothing clear -and true can flow from a disturbed source. Sorrow is awkward -at reviewing the position of affairs, at devising useful expedients, -avoiding dangerous courses, and weighing the merits of fair and -just ones: therefore the wise man will not feel pity, because -this cannot happen to a man unless his mind is disturbed. He -will do willingly and highmindedly all that those who feel pity -are wont to do; he will dry the tears of others, but will not -mingle his own with them; he will stretch out his hand to the -shipwrecked mariner, will offer hospitality to the exile, and -alms to the needy—not in the offensive way in which most of those -who wish to be thought tender-hearted fling their bounty to those -whom they assist and shrink from their touch, but as one man -would give another something out of the common stock—he will -restore children to their weeping mothers, will loose the chains -of the captive, release the gladiator from his bondage, and even -bury the carcase of the criminal, but he will perform all this -with a calm mind and unaltered expression of countenance. Thus -the wise man will not pity men, but will help them and be of -service to them, seeing that he is born to be a help to all men -and a public benefit, of which he will bestow a share upon every -one. He will even grant a proportional part of his bounty to -those sufferers who deserve blame and correction; but he will -much more willingly help those whose troubles and adversities -are caused by misfortune. Whenever he is able he will interpose -between Fortune and her victims: for what better employment can -he find for his wealth or his strength than in setting up again -what chance has overthrown? He will not show or feel any -<span class="pagenum" id="p421">421</span>disgust -at a man’s having withered legs, or a flabby wrinkled skin, or -supporting his aged body upon a staff; but he will do good to -those who deserve it, and will, like a god, look benignantly -upon all who are in trouble. Pity borders upon misery: it is -partly composed of it and partly derived from it. You know that -eyes must be weak, if they fill with rheum at the sight of another’s -blearedness, just as it is not real merriment but hysteria which -makes people laugh because others laugh, and yawn whenever others -open their jaws: pity is a defect in the mind of people who are -extraordinarily affected by suffering, and he who requires a -wise man to exhibit it is not far from requiring him to lament -and groan when strangers are buried.</p> - -<p>VII. But why should he not -pardon?<a href="#fn-14.3" name="fnref-14.3" id="fnref-14.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> -Let us decide by exact -definition this other slippery matter, the true nature of pardon, -and we shall then perceive that the wise man ought not to grant -it. Pardon is the remitting of a deserved punishment. The reasons -why the wise man ought not to grant this remission are given -at length by those of whom this question is specially asked: -I will briefly say, as though it were no concern of mine to decide -this point, “A man grants pardon to one whom he ought to punish: -now the wise man does nothing which he ought not to do, and omits -to [do] nothing which he ought to do: he does not, therefore, remit -any punishment which he ought to exact. But the wise man will -bestow upon you in a more honourable way that which you wish -to obtain by pardon, for he will make allowances for you, will -consult your interests, and will correct your bad habits: he -will act just as though he were pardoning you, but nevertheless -he will not pardon you, because he who pardons admits that in -so doing he has neglected a part of -<span class="pagenum" id="p422">422</span>his duty. He will only punish some -people by reprimanding them, -and will inflict no further penalty if he considers that they -are of an age which admits of reformation: some people who are -undeniably implicated in an odious charge he will acquit, because -they were deceived into committing, or were not sober when they -committed the offence with which they are charged: he will let -his enemies depart unharmed, sometimes even with words of commendation, -if they have taken up arms to defend their honour, their covenants -with others, their freedom, or on any other honourable ground. -All these doings come under the head of mercy, not of pardon. -Mercy is free to come to what decision it pleases: she gives -her decision, not under any statute, but according to equity -and goodness: she may acquit the defendant, or impose what damages -she pleases. She does not do any of these things as though she -were doing less than justice requires, but as though the justest -possible course were that which she adopts. On the other hand, -to pardon is not to punish a man whom you have decided ought -to be punished; pardon is the remission of a punishment which -ought to be inflicted. The first advantage which mercy has over -it is that she does not tell those whom she lets off that they -ought to have suffered: she is more complete, more honourable -than pardon.”</p> - -<p>In my opinion, this is a mere dispute about words, and we are -agreed about the thing itself. The wise man will remit many penalties, -and will save many who are wicked, but whose wickedness is not -incurable. He will act like good husbandmen, who do not cultivate -only straight and tall trees, but also apply props to straighten -those which have been rendered crooked by various causes; they -trim some, lest the luxuriance of their boughs should hinder -their upward growth, they nurse those which have been -<span class="pagenum" id="p423">423</span>weakened -by being planted in an unsuitable position, and they give air -to those which are overshadowed by the foliage of others. The -wise man will see the several treatments suitable to several -dispositions, and how what is crooked may be straightened. . -. .</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-14.1" id="fn-14.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-14.1">[1]</a> -A king of Egypt, who sacrificed strangers, and was himself slain by Hercules. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-14.2" id="fn-14.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-14.2">[2]</a> -“Three or four wenches where I stood, cried ‘Alas, good soul!—’ -and forgave him with all their hearts: but there’s no heed to be taken -of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no -less.”—“Julius Caesar,” act i. sc. 2. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-14.3" id="fn-14.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-14.3">[3]</a> -See above, chap. v. -</p> - - -<p class="center">THE END.</p> - -<h2>INDEX.<span class="pagenum" id="p425">425</span></h2> - -<div class="hangingindent"> - -<p>A</p> - -<p>Alexander the Great, <a href="#p78">78</a>, <a href="#p98">98</a>, -<a href="#p135">135</a>, <a href="#p141">141</a>, <a href="#p411">411</a>.</p> - -<p>Alexandria, Library of, <a href="#p270">270</a>.</p> - -<p>Anger, <a href="#p48">48</a>; signs of, <a href="#p49">49</a>; results of, -<a href="#p50">50</a>; definitions of, <a href="#p50">50</a><i>n</i>; animals -not subject to, -<a href="#p52">52</a>; not natural, <a href="#p54">54</a>; should be resisted -at the beginning, <a href="#p57">57</a>; examples of its results, -<a href="#p60">60</a>; not necessary -against enemies, <a href="#p60">60</a>; nor useful, <a href="#p63">63</a>; not -necessary for punishment, -<a href="#p68">68</a>; contrasted with reason, <a href="#p69">69</a>; creates -vain-glory, but not magnanimity, -<a href="#p73">73</a>; cannot act without the approval of the mind, -<a href="#p77">77</a>; contrasted -with ferocity, <a href="#p80">80</a>; the wise man will never be angry, -<a href="#p81">81</a>; anger -and fear, <a href="#p87">87</a>; anger ought to be done away with, -<a href="#p88">88</a>; must never -become a habit, <a href="#p90">90</a>; remedies for, <a href="#p93">93</a>; some -men more prone to, -than others, <a href="#p93">93</a>; influence of education, -<a href="#p95">95</a>; and of prosperity, -<a href="#p96">96</a>; cause of, <a href="#p97">97</a>; effect of trifles, -<a href="#p99">99</a>; delay the best remedy, -<a href="#p104">104</a>; anger caused by ignorance or arrogance, -<a href="#p106">106</a>; or by desire -for revenge, <a href="#p108">108</a>; its hideousness and danger, -<a href="#p111">111</a>; its power, -<a href="#p114">114</a>; contrasted with other vices and passions, -<a href="#p116">116</a>; how to avoid -it, <a href="#p120">120</a>; examples of anger indulged in, Cambyses, -<a href="#p131">131</a>, <a href="#p139">139</a>; Astyages, -<a href="#p133">133</a>; Darius, <a href="#p135">135</a>; Xerxes, -<a href="#p135">135</a>; Alexander, <a href="#p135">135</a>; Lysimachus, -<a href="#p136">136</a>; -Caligula, <a href="#p137">137</a>, <a href="#p139">139</a>; Rhinocolura, -<a href="#p138">138</a>; Cyrus, <a href="#p139">139</a>; examples of -anger controlled, Antigonus, <a href="#p140">140</a>; Philip, -<a href="#p141">141</a>; Augustus, <a href="#p142">142</a>; -how injuries ought to be bourne, <a href="#p144">144</a>; better to heal than to -avenge them, <a href="#p146">146</a>; the evils of anger, -<a href="#p147">147</a>; its trifling beginnings, -<a href="#p149">149</a>; money, <a href="#p151">151</a>; other causes, -<a href="#p152">152</a>; value of self-examination, -<a href="#p154">154</a>; how to soothe the anger of others, -<a href="#p156">156</a>; Augustus and Vedius, -<a href="#p158">158</a>; anger should be got rid of altogether, -<a href="#p159">159</a>.</p> - -<p>Animals, anger in, <a href="#p49">49</a>, <a href="#p52">52</a>.</p> - -<p>Antigonus (monophthalmus), <a href="#p141">141</a>.</p> - -<p>Antisthenes, <a href="#p45">45</a>.</p> - -<p>Antonius, M., <a href="#p374">374</a>, <a href="#p391">391</a>.</p> - -<p>Aristides, <a href="#p341">341</a>.</p> - -<p>Aristotle, <a href="#p51">51</a><i>n</i>, <a href="#p52">52</a>, -<a href="#p58">58</a>, <a href="#p68">68</a>, <a href="#p118">118</a>, -<a href="#p135">135</a>, <a href="#p287">287</a>, <a href="#p288">288</a>.</p> - -<p>Apicius, the glutton, <a href="#p217">217</a>, <a href="#p336">336</a>.</p> - -<p>Asinius Pollio, <a href="#p142">142</a>, <a href="#p285">285</a>.</p> - -<p>Astyages, King of Persia, <a href="#p133">133</a>.</p> - -<p>Augustus. <i>See</i> Caesar. <span class="pagenum" id="p426">426</span></p> - -<p>Avarice, conquered by anger, <a href="#p114">114</a>.</p> - -<p>Athenodorus, quoted, <a href="#p259">259</a>, <a href="#p265">265</a>.</p> - -<p>B</p> - -<p>Bees, <a href="#p405">405</a>.</p> - -<p>Bibulus, L., <a href="#p181">181</a>.</p> - -<p>Bion, quoted, <a href="#p267">267</a>, <a href="#p282">282</a>.</p> - -<p>Books, should be bought to read, not for show, <a href="#p270">270</a>.</p> - -<p>Brutus, L. Junius, <a href="#p183">183</a>.</p> - -<p>Brutus, M. Junius, <a href="#p330">330</a>.</p> - -<p>Burrus, prefect of Nero, <a href="#p415">415</a>.</p> - -<p>C</p> - -<p>Caelius (Antipater), <a href="#p125">125</a>.</p> - -<p>Caesar, Augustus, <a href="#p142">142</a>, <a href="#p158">158</a>, -<a href="#p165">165</a>, <a href="#p182">182</a>, <a href="#p293">293</a>, -<a href="#p372">372</a>, <a href="#p391">391</a>, <a href="#p393">393</a>, -<a href="#p401">401</a>. -</p> - -<p>Caesar, Claudius, <a href="#p360">360</a>, <a href="#p369">369</a>, -<a href="#p370">370</a>.</p> - -<p>Caesar, Gaius (Caligula), <a href="#p44">44</a>, <a href="#p74">74</a>, -<a href="#p109">109</a>, <a href="#p137">137</a>, <a href="#p140">140</a>, -<a href="#p276">276</a>, <a href="#p280">280</a>, <a href="#p316">316</a>, -<a href="#p334">334</a>, <a href="#p376">376</a>.</p> - -<p>Caesar, Gaius, grandson of Augustus, <a href="#p373">373</a>.</p> - -<p>Caesar, Gaius Julius, <a href="#p98">98</a>, <a href="#p149">149</a>, -<a href="#p181">181</a>, <a href="#p333">333</a>.</p> - -<p>Caesar, Germanicus, brother of Claudius, <a href="#p374">374</a>.</p> - -<p>Caesar, Lucius, grandson of Augustus, <a href="#p373">373</a>.</p> - -<p>Caesar, Nero, <a href="#p382">382</a>, <a href="#p396">396</a>, -<a href="#p415">415</a>.</p> - -<p>Caesar, Tiberius, <a href="#p11">11</a>, <a href="#p182">182</a>, -<a href="#p373">373</a>.</p> - -<p>Caligula. <i>See</i> Caesar, Gaius.</p> - -<p>Calmness, a sign of wisdom, <a href="#p27">27</a>.</p> - -<p>Cambyses, <a href="#p131">131</a>, <a href="#p139">139</a>.</p> - -<p>Cato, M., <a href="#p5">5</a>, <a href="#p7">7</a>, <a href="#p10">10</a>, -<a href="#p23">23</a>, <a href="#p31">31</a>, <a href="#p40">40</a>, -<a href="#p108">108</a>, <a href="#p156">156</a>, <a href="#p192">192</a>, -<a href="#p196">196</a>, <a href="#p228">228</a>, <a href="#p285">285</a>, -<a href="#p286">286</a>, <a href="#p341">341</a>.</p> - -<p>Chaerea, <a href="#p44">44</a>.</p> - -<p>Chrysippus, <a href="#p242">242</a>, <a href="#p247">247</a>, -<a href="#p248">248</a>, <a href="#p252">252</a>.</p> - -<p>Cicero, <a href="#p192">192</a>, <a href="#p274">274</a>, -<a href="#p295">295</a>.</p> - -<p>Cimber, Tillius, <a href="#p149">149</a>.</p> - -<p>Cinna, L., <a href="#p392">392</a>.</p> - -<p>Claudius Caudex, <a href="#p307">307</a>, </p> - -<p>Cleanthes, <a href="#p247">247</a>, <a href="#p252">252</a>.</p> - -<p>Clemency, <a href="#p380">380</a>; becomes no one more than a king, -<a href="#p384">384</a>, <a href="#p386">386</a>; clemency -of Augustus, <a href="#p391">391</a>; and of Nero, <a href="#p396">396</a>; -distinguishes between kings -and tyrants, <a href="#p397">397</a>; makes a king beloved, -<a href="#p399">399</a>; Tarius, <a href="#p401">401</a>; clemency -towards slaves, <a href="#p404">404</a>; the king-bee, <a href="#p405">405</a>; -clemency in inflicting -punishment, <a href="#p407">407</a>; makes men ashamed to do wrong, -<a href="#p410">410</a>; clemency -of Nero, <a href="#p415">415</a>; definitions of Mercy, <a href="#p417">417</a>; -of cruelty, <a href="#p417">417</a>; of -pity, <a href="#p418">418</a>; of pardon, <a href="#p421">421</a>.</p> - -<p>Clitus, killed by Alexander, <a href="#p135">135</a>.</p> - -<p>Cloelia, <a href="#p183">183</a>.</p> - -<p>Comfort, excess of, <a href="#p13">13</a>.</p> - -<p>Consolation, <a href="#p162">162</a>, <a href="#p320">320</a>, -<a href="#p353">353</a>.</p> - -<p>Contempt, <a href="#p36">36</a>.</p> - -<p>Cordus, A. Cremutius, <a href="#p162">162</a>, <a href="#p196">196</a>, -<a href="#p197">197</a>.</p> - -<p>Cornelia, wife of L. Drusus, <a href="#p183">183</a>.</p> - -<p>Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, <a href="#p183">183</a>, -<a href="#p345">345</a>.</p> - -<p>Corvinus, M. Valerius, <a href="#p307">307</a>.</p> - -<p>Cotta, C. Aurelius, <a href="#p345">345</a>.</p> - -<p>Courage, aims high, <a href="#p18">18</a>; born of desperation, -<a href="#p398">398</a>.</p> - -<p>Cruelty, caused by anger, <a href="#p80">80</a>; cannot be left off, if once -begun, -<a href="#p399">399</a>; inhumanity of, <a href="#p411">411</a>; shown in kings, -<a href="#p411">411</a>; and in private -men, <a href="#p412">412</a>; the opposite of mercy, <a href="#p417">417</a>. -</p> - -<p>Cyrus (the elder), <a href="#p139">139</a>.</p> - -<p>D</p> - -<p>Darius, <a href="#p135">135</a>.</p> - -<p>Death, quickness of, <a href="#p21">21</a>; not an evil, -<a href="#p23">23</a>; a release from pain, -<a href="#p190">190</a>. <a href="#p191">191</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="p427">427</span></p> - -<p>Delay, a remedy for anger, <a href="#p104">104</a>, <a href="#p115">115</a>, -<a href="#p129">129</a>; and for grief, <a href="#p172">172</a>. -</p> - -<p>Demetrius the Cynic, quoted, <a href="#p7">7</a>, <a href="#p16">16</a>.</p> - -<p>Demetrius Poliorcetes, <a href="#p28">28</a>.</p> - -<p>Demochares (Parrhesiastes), <a href="#p141">141</a> <a href="#p142">142</a>. -</p> - -<p>Democritus, <a href="#p18">18</a>, <a href="#p85">85</a>, -<a href="#p122">122</a>, <a href="#p255">255</a>, <a href="#p278">278</a>.</p> - -<p>Dentatus, Curius, <a href="#p264">264</a>, <a href="#p307">307</a>.</p> - -<p>Desperation, breeds courage, <a href="#p398">398</a>.</p> - -<p>Diodorus, the Epicurean, <a href="#p255">255</a>.</p> - -<p>Diogenes, the Cynic, <a href="#p225">225</a>, <a href="#p267">267</a>, -<a href="#p268">268</a>,</p> - -<p>Diogenes, the Stoic, <a href="#p156">156</a>,</p> - -<p>Dionysius, of Syracuse, <a href="#p186">186</a>, <a href="#p397">397</a>, -</p> - -<p>Drusilla, <a href="#p376">376</a>.</p> - -<p>Drusus, Livius, <a href="#p183">183</a>, <a href="#p295">295</a>.</p> - -<p>Drusus, N. Claudius, senior, <a href="#p373">373</a>.</p> - -<p>Drusus, N. Claudius, <a href="#p166">166</a>, <a href="#p169">169</a>.</p> - -<p>Duillius, C. <a href="#p307">307</a>.</p> - -<p>E</p> - -<p>Education, should be carefully regulated, <a href="#p95">95</a>.</p> - -<p>Epicurus, and Epicureans, <a href="#p41">41</a>, <a href="#p42">42</a>, -<a href="#p218">218</a>, <a href="#p219">219</a>, <a href="#p242">242</a>, -<a href="#p248">248</a>.</p> - -<p>Exile, <a href="#p325">325</a>.</p> - -<p>F</p> - -<p>Fabianus (Papirius), quoted, <a href="#p302">302</a>, -<a href="#p309">309</a>.</p> - -<p>Fabius (Cunctator), <a href="#p61">61</a>, <a href="#p106">106</a>.</p> - -<p>Fabricius, <a href="#p7">7</a>, <a href="#p8">8</a>.</p> - -<p>Fear, felt by those who inspire it, <a href="#p87">87</a>; in moderation -restrains -men, <a href="#p398">398</a>.</p> - -<p>Ferocity, contrasted with anger, <a href="#p80">80</a>; and with cruelty, -<a href="#p418">418</a>.</p> - -<p>Firmness, the, of a wise man, <a href="#p22">22</a>, <i>sqq</i>.</p> - -<p>Friendship, <a href="#p265">265</a>. </p> - -<p>G</p> - -<p>Good, the highest, definition of, <a href="#p208">208</a>. -<a href="#p212">212</a>, <a href="#p215">215</a>, <a href="#p221">221</a>, -<a href="#p244">244</a>.</p> - -<p>Gracchi, the, <a href="#p183">183</a>, <a href="#p345">345</a>.</p> - -<p>Grief, examples of, <a href="#p165">165</a>; extreme grief unnatural, -<a href="#p171">171</a>; cured -by time, <a href="#p172">172</a>; counterfeited, <a href="#p282">282</a>; -should be countered by reason, -<a href="#p346">346</a>; its unprofitableness, <a href="#p357">357</a>; cannot -co-exist with magnanimity, -<a href="#p419">419</a>.</p> - -<p>H</p> - -<p>Hannibal, <a href="#p61">61</a>, <a href="#p78">78</a>, -<a href="#p80">80</a>.</p> - -<p>Happiness, <a href="#p204">204</a>; how to gain it, <a href="#p206">206</a>; -definitions of, <a href="#p208">208</a>; in -connexion with pleasure, <a href="#p211">211</a>; consists in virtue, -<a href="#p222">222</a>; excess -makes men greedy, <a href="#p382">382</a>.</p> - -<p>Harpagus, <a href="#p133">133</a>.</p> - -<p>Heraclitus, <a href="#p85">85</a>.</p> - -<p>Hieronymus, quoted, <a href="#p71">71</a>.</p> - -<p>Hippias, <a href="#p98">98</a>.</p> - -<p>I</p> - -<p>Injury, cannot touch a wise man, <a href="#p25">25</a>, -<a href="#p32">32</a>, <a href="#p41">41</a>, <a href="#p42">42</a>; -distinguished -from insult, <a href="#p27">27</a>, <a href="#p35">35</a>; can be endured, -<a href="#p144">144</a>.</p> - -<p>Insult, distinguished from injury, <a href="#p27">27</a>, -<a href="#p35">35</a>; how received by Diogenes -and Cato, <a href="#p156">156</a>.</p> - -<p>Irascibility, contrasted with anger, <a href="#p53">53</a>, -<a href="#p71">71</a>.</p> - -<p>J</p> - -<p>Julia Augusta (title of Livia), <a href="#p168">168</a>.</p> - -<p>K</p> - -<p>Kanus, Julius, <a href="#p280">280</a>, <a href="#p281">281</a>. -</p> - -<p>L<span class="pagenum" id="p428">428</span></p> - -<p>Laberius, quoted, <a href="#p87">87</a>.</p> - -<p>Lacedaemonians, the, <a href="#p13">13</a>.</p> - -<p>Leisure, advantages of, <a href="#p240">240</a>, <i>sqq</i>.</p> - -<p>Life, shortness of, <a href="#p160">160</a>, <a href="#p161">161</a>, -<a href="#p175">175</a>, <a href="#p193">193</a>, <a href="#p288">288</a>; its -misery, <a href="#p175">175</a>; -three kinds of, <a href="#p248">248</a>; divided into three parts, -<a href="#p302">302</a>.</p> - -<p>Livia, wife of Augustus (afterwards Julia Augusta), <a href="#p165">165</a>, -<a href="#p168">168</a>, -<a href="#p392">392</a>.</p> - -<p>Livius, T., quoted, <a href="#p74">74</a>, <a href="#p270">270</a>.</p> - -<p>Love, conquered by anger, <a href="#p114">114</a>.</p> - -<p>Lucretia. <a href="#p183">183</a>.</p> - -<p>Lucretius, quoted, <a href="#p258">258</a>.</p> - -<p>Luxury, <a href="#p218">218</a>, <a href="#p306">306</a>.</p> - -<p>Lysimachus, <a href="#p136">136</a>, <a href="#p411">411</a>.</p> - -<p>M</p> - -<p>Maecenas, <a href="#p9">9</a>.</p> - -<p>Magnanimity, repels insult, <a href="#p36">36</a>; not caused by anger, -<a href="#p73">73</a>, <a href="#p122">122</a>; does not feel blows, -<a href="#p144">144</a>; befits all men, <a href="#p387">387</a>; cannot -co-exist -with sorrow, <a href="#p419">419</a>.</p> - -<p>Marcellus, M. Claudius, <a href="#p332">332</a>.</p> - -<p>Marcellus, M. Claudius, son of Octavia, <a href="#p165">165</a>, -<a href="#p373">373</a>.</p> - -<p>Mercy, inclines men to innocence, <a href="#p411">411</a>; definitions of, -<a href="#p417">417</a>; distinguished -from pardon, <a href="#p422">422</a>.</p> - -<p>Metellus, L. Caecilius, <a href="#p309">309</a>.</p> - -<p>Mindyrides, the Sybarite, <a href="#p99">99</a>.</p> - -<p>Misfortunes, how regarded by the wise man, <a href="#p3">3</a>; are to the -advantage -of those to whom they happen, <a href="#p6">6</a>; are the test of brave men, -<a href="#p11">11</a>, -<a href="#p12">12</a>, <a href="#p17">17</a>; generally come unexpectedly, -<a href="#p173">173</a>; attack all alike, -<a href="#p178">178</a>; alleviated by habit, <a href="#p271">271</a>, -<a href="#p322">322</a>.</p> - -<p>Money, evils of, <a href="#p151">151</a>. <i>See</i> Riches.</p> - -<p>Mucius, <a href="#p7">7</a>. </p> - -<p>N</p> - -<p>Nero. <i>See</i> Caesar.</p> - -<p>Nomentanus, <a href="#p217">217</a>.</p> - -<p>O</p> - -<p>Octavia, sister of Augustus, <a href="#p165">165</a>, -<a href="#p372">372</a>.</p> - -<p>Oeobazus, <a href="#p135">135</a>.</p> - -<p>Ovid, quoted, <a href="#p18">18</a>, <a href="#p52">52</a>, -<a href="#p84">84</a>, <a href="#p228">228</a>.</p> - -<p>P</p> - -<p>Pardon, definition of, <a href="#p421">421</a>.</p> - -<p>Pastor, <a href="#p109">109</a>.</p> - -<p>Paulus, L. Aemilius, <a href="#p180">180</a>.</p> - -<p>Peace of mind, definition of, <a href="#p122">122</a>, -<a href="#p255">255</a>; how to attain it, etc., -<a href="#p255">255</a>, <i>sqq</i>.</p> - -<p>Peripatetics, the, <a href="#p50">50</a><i>n</i>.</p> - -<p>Phaethon, <a href="#p18">18</a>.</p> - -<p>Phalaris, <a href="#p418">418</a>.</p> - -<p>Philip, of Macedon, <a href="#p141">141</a>, <a href="#p142">142</a>.</p> - -<p>Philip, physician of Alexander, <a href="#p98">98</a></p> - -<p>Pisistratus, <a href="#p128">128</a>.</p> - -<p>Piso, Gnaeus, <a href="#p70">70</a>.</p> - -<p>Pity, definition of, <a href="#p418">418</a>, <a href="#p419">419</a>; -borders on misery, <a href="#p421">421</a>.</p> - -<p>Plato, <a href="#p55">55</a>, <a href="#p72">72</a>, <a href="#p95">95</a>, -<a href="#p97">97</a>, <a href="#p129">129</a>, <a href="#p198">198</a> -<a href="#p286">286</a>.</p> - -<p>Pleasure, has no connexion with virtue, <a href="#p211">211</a>, -<a href="#p212">212</a>; belongs to -good and bad alike, <a href="#p213">213</a>; not the aim of virtue, -<a href="#p214">214</a>; pleasures -of bad men, <a href="#p216">216</a>; and of the wise, <a href="#p217">217</a>; -the Epicurean doctrine, -<a href="#p218">218</a>; all pleasure is short-lived, <a href="#p365">365</a>. -</p> - -<p>Pollio, Asinius, <a href="#p142">142</a>, <a href="#p285">285</a>.</p> - -<p>Pollio, Vedius, <a href="#p158">158</a>, <a href="#p402">402</a>.</p> - -<p>Pompeius, <a href="#p78">78</a><i>n</i>, <a href="#p98">98</a>, -<a href="#p150">150</a>, <a href="#p181">181</a>, <a href="#p192">192</a>, -<a href="#p276">276</a>, <a href="#p308">308</a>.</p> - -<p>Pompeius, Sextus, <a href="#p372">372</a>.</p> - -<p>Posidonius, his definition of anger, <a href="#p50">50</a><i>n</i>. -<span class="pagenum" id="p429">429</span></p> - -<p>Poverty, <a href="#p333">333</a>; no inconvenience to an exile, -<a href="#p337">337</a>.</p> - -<p>Praexaspes, <a href="#p131">131</a>.</p> - -<p>Predestination, <a href="#p194">194</a>.</p> - -<p>Property, <a href="#p267">267</a>. <i>See</i> Riches.</p> - -<p>Prosperity, <a href="#p4">4</a>, <a href="#p10">10</a>; fosters anger, -<a href="#p96">96</a>.</p> - -<p>Providence, <a href="#p1">1</a>, <i>sqq</i>.</p> - -<p>Publilius, quoted, <a href="#p275">275</a>.</p> - -<p>Pulvillus, <a href="#p179">179</a>.</p> - -<p>Punishment, why inflicted, <a href="#p407">407</a>; should not be frequent, -<a href="#p410">410</a>. -</p> - -<p>Pythagoras, <a href="#p126">126</a>.</p> - -<p>Pythias, <a href="#p135">135</a>.</p> - -<p>R</p> - -<p>Rage, does not befit kings, <a href="#p317">317</a>.</p> - -<p>Reason, only strong apart from the passions, <a href="#p56">56</a>; its -power, -<a href="#p69">69</a>; contrasted with anger, <a href="#p70">70</a>; cannot -overcome some habits, -<a href="#p80">80</a>.</p> - -<p>Regulus, <a href="#p7">7</a>, <a href="#p9">9</a>, <a href="#p339">339</a>. -</p> - -<p>Relaxation, necessity for, <a href="#p285">285</a>.</p> - -<p>Revenge, a cause of anger, <a href="#p108">108</a>, <a href="#p146">146</a>; -has two effects, <a href="#p408">408</a>.</p> - -<p>Rhinocolura, why so called, <a href="#p138">138</a>.</p> - -<p>Riches, how regarded by the wise man, <a href="#p229">229</a>; and by the -fool, -<a href="#p235">235</a>; better never to possess, than to lose, -<a href="#p267">267</a>.</p> - -<p>Rutilia, mother of C. Cotta, <a href="#p345">345</a>.</p> - -<p>Rutilius, <a href="#p7">7</a>, <a href="#p8">8</a>, <a href="#p196">196</a>. -</p> - -<p>S</p> - -<p>Scipio Africanus, <a href="#p61">61</a>, <a href="#p371">371</a>.</p> - -<p>Scipio Africanus Minor, <a href="#p61">61</a>, <a href="#p180">180</a>, -<a href="#p285">285</a>, <a href="#p339">339</a>, <a href="#p372">372</a>.</p> - -<p>Sejanus, <a href="#p162">162</a>, <a href="#p182">182</a>, -<a href="#p196">196</a>, <a href="#p197">197</a>, <a href="#p276">276</a>.</p> - -<p>Self-examination, value of, <a href="#p154">154</a>, <a href="#p206">206</a>, -<a href="#p264">264</a>.</p> - -<p>Self-love, <a href="#p106">106</a>.</p> - -<p>Sextius, Q., a Stoic, <a href="#p113">113</a>, <a href="#p154">154</a>. </p> - -<p>Socrates, <a href="#p7">7</a>, <a href="#p9">9</a>, <a href="#p31">31</a>, -<a href="#p45">45</a>, <a href="#p65">65</a>, <a href="#p128">128</a>, -<a href="#p130">130</a>, <a href="#p196">196</a>, <a href="#p234">234</a>, -<a href="#p236">236</a>, <a href="#p238">238</a>, <a href="#p262">262</a>, -<a href="#p285">285</a>, <a href="#p341">341</a>.</p> - -<p>Sorrow. <i>See</i> Grief.</p> - -<p>Stilbo, <a href="#p28">28</a>.</p> - -<p>Stoics and Stoicism, <a href="#p22">22</a>, <a href="#p23">23</a>, -<a href="#p41">41</a>, <a href="#p42">42</a>, <a href="#p50">50</a><i>n</i>, -<a href="#p94">94</a>, <a href="#p207">207</a>, <a href="#p218">218</a>, -<a href="#p241">241</a>, -<a href="#p242">242</a>, <a href="#p248">248</a>, <a href="#p419">419</a>.</p> - -<p>Sulkiness, a form of irascibility, <a href="#p53">53</a>.</p> - -<p>Sulla, L., <a href="#p8">8</a>, <a href="#p73">73</a>, <a href="#p78">78</a>, -<a href="#p110">110</a>, <a href="#p179">179</a>, <a href="#p309">309</a>, -<a href="#p397">397</a>.</p> - -<p>Suspicion, a cause of anger, <a href="#p99">99</a>.</p> - -<p>T</p> - -<p>Tarius, <a href="#p401">401</a>.</p> - -<p>Telesphorus, the Rhodian, <a href="#p136">136</a>.</p> - -<p>Theodorus, (Cyrenaicus), <a href="#p279">279</a>.</p> - -<p>Theophrastus, quoted, <a href="#p62">62</a>, <a href="#p64">64</a>.</p> - -<p>Thrift, advantage of, <a href="#p269">269</a>.</p> - -<p>Tillius Cimber, <a href="#p149">149</a>.</p> - -<p>Timagenes, <a href="#p142">142</a>.</p> - -<p>Trifles, anger caused by, <a href="#p99">99</a>, <a href="#p100">100</a>, -<a href="#p106">106</a>, <a href="#p149">149</a>, <a href="#p152">152</a>.</p> - -<p>Triumphus, <a href="#p11">11</a>.</p> - -<p>Turannius, <a href="#p318">318</a>.</p> - -<p>Tyrant, compared with king, <a href="#p396">396</a>, <a href="#p397">397</a>. -</p> - -<p>V</p> - -<p>Valerius, Asiaticus, <a href="#p44">44</a>.</p> - -<p>Valour, greedy of danger, <a href="#p11">11</a>.</p> - -<p>Varro, M. Terentius, <a href="#p330">330</a>.</p> - -<p>Vatinius, <a href="#p43">43</a>.</p> - -<p>Vedius Pollio, <a href="#p158">158</a>, <a href="#p402">402</a>.</p> - -<p>Vengeance, <a href="#p408">408</a>. <i>See</i> Revenge.</p> - -<p>Virgil, quoted, <a href="#p112">112</a>, <a href="#p185">185</a>, -<a href="#p241">241</a>.</p> - -<p>Virtue, not given by fortune, <a href="#p28">28</a>; its natural function to -rejoice, -<a href="#p81">81</a>; is infectious, <a href="#p124">124</a>; has no connexion -with pleasure, <a href="#p211">211</a>, -<a href="#p212">212</a>; and does not aim at it, <a href="#p214">214</a>, -<a href="#p215">215</a>; is a sure guide, <a href="#p219">219</a>; -brings true happiness, <a href="#p222">222</a>; should be -reverenced,<span class="pagenum" id="p430">430</span> <a href="#p237">237</a>; -cannot -be hidden, <a href="#p260">260</a>, <a href="#p262">262</a>.</p> - -<p>Volesus, cruelty of, <a href="#p81">81</a>.</p> - -<p>W</p> - -<p>Weakness of mind, a cause of anger, <a href="#p62">62</a>.</p> - -<p>Wine, <a href="#p286">286</a>. </p> - -<p>X</p> - -<p>Xanthippe, wife of Socrates, <a href="#p45">45</a>.</p> - -<p>Xerxes, <a href="#p26">26</a>, <a href="#p135">135</a>, -<a href="#p313">313</a>.</p> - -<p>Z</p> - -<p>Zeno, <a href="#p68">68</a>, <a href="#p242">242</a>, -<a href="#p247">247</a>, <a href="#p252">252</a>, <a href="#p279">279</a>. </p> -</div> - -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR DIALOGUES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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