Letter 111

[1] You have asked me what sophismata [Greek for fallacious arguments, captious puzzles of logic] are called in Latin. Many have tried to fasten a name on them, but none has stuck; clearly, because the thing itself was not accepted among us and was not in common use, the name too met resistance. The one Cicero used, however, seems to me most fitting: he calls them cavillationes [quibbles, captious sophistries]. [2] Whoever has surrendered himself to these does indeed weave crafty little puzzles, but for the rest he makes no progress toward life: he becomes neither braver, nor more temperate, nor more elevated in spirit. But the man who has practiced philosophy as his own remedy becomes vast in mind, full of confidence, unconquerable, and greater the closer you come to him. [3] This is what happens with great mountains, whose height appears less to those gazing from afar: when you have drawn near, then it becomes plain how high their summits stand. Such is the true philosopher, my Lucilius, true in deeds, not in tricks. He stands on a height, admirable, towering, of genuine magnitude; he does not raise himself on the soles of his feet nor walk on his toes after the manner of those who prop up their stature by deceit and want to seem taller than they are; he is content with his own greatness. [4] And why should he not be content with having grown to a height that Fortune's hand cannot reach? Therefore he is both above human affairs and equal to himself in every state of things, whether life proceeds on a favorable course, or whether it is tossed about and travels through adverse and difficult straits: this steadfastness those quibbles I was speaking of a moment ago cannot supply. The mind toys with such things, it does not advance, and it drags philosophy down from her summit to the level plain. [5] Nor would I forbid you ever to engage in these things, but only then, when you wish to do nothing. Yet they have this worst quality in them: they create a certain sweetness for themselves, and they hold and detain the mind, drawn in by the appearance of subtlety, when so great a mass of matters calls us, when a whole life is scarcely sufficient to learn this one thing: to despise life. "To govern it?" you say. That is the second task; for no one has governed life well except the man who had first despised it. Farewell.

You have asked me to give you a Latin word for the Greek sophismata. Many have tried to define the term, but no name has stuck. This is natural, inasmuch as the thing itself has not been admitted to general use by us; the name, too, has met with opposition. But the word which Cicero used seems to me most suitable: he calls them cavillationes. If a man has surrendered himself to them, he weaves many a tricky subtlety, but makes no progress toward real living; he does not thereby become braver, or more restrained, or loftier of spirit. He, however, who has practised philosophy to effect his own cure, becomes high-souled, full of confidence, invincible, and greater as you draw near him. This phenomenon is seen in the case of high mountains, which appear less lofty when beheld from afar, but which prove clearly how high the peaks are when you come near them; such, my dear Lucilius, is our true philosopher, true by his acts and not by his tricks. He stands in a high place, worthy of admiration, lofty, and really great. He does not stretch himself or walk on tiptoe like those who seek to improve their height by deceit, wishing to seem taller than they really are; he is content with his own greatness. And why should he not be content with having grown to such a height that Fortune cannot reach her hands to it? He is therefore above earthly things, equal to himself under all conditions,—whether the current of life runs free, or whether he is tossed and travels on troubled and desperate seas; but this steadfastness cannot be gained through such hair-splittings as I have just mentioned. The mind plays with them, but profits not a whit; the mind in such cases is simply dragging philosophy down from her heights to the level ground. I would not forbid you to practise such exercises occasionally; but let it be at a time when you wish to do nothing. The worst feature, however, that these indulgences present is that they acquire a sort of self-made charm, occupying and holding the soul by a show of subtlety; although such weighty matters claim our attention, and a whole life seems scarcely sufficient to learn the single principle of despising life. “What? Did you not mean ‘control’ instead of ‘despise’”? No; “controlling” is the second task; for no one has controlled his life aright unless he has first learned to despise it. Farewell.

[1] Quid vocentur Latine sophismata quaesisti a me. Multi temptaverunt illis nomen inponere, nullum haesit; videlicet, quia res ipsa non recipiebatur a nobis nec in usu erat, nomini quoque repugnatum est. Aptissimum tamen videtur mihi quo Cicero usus est: 'cavillationes' vocat. [2] Quibus quisquis se tradidit quaestiunculas quidem vafras nectit, ceterum ad vitam nihil proficit: neque fortior fit neque temperantior neque elatior. At ille qui philosophiam in remedium suum exercuit ingens fit animo, plenus fiduciae, inexsuperabilis et maior adeunti. [3] Quod in magnis evenit montibus, quorum proceritas minus apparet longe intuentibus: cum accesseris, tunc manifestum fit quam in arduo summa sint. Talis est, mi Lucili, verus et rebus, non artificiis philosophus. In edito stat, admirabilis, celsus, magnitudinis verae; non exsurgit in plantas nec summis ambulat digitis eorum more qui mendacio staturam adiuvant longioresque quam sunt videri volunt; contentus est magnitudine sua. [4] Quidni contentus sit eo usque crevisse quo manus fortuna non porrigit? Ergo et supra humana est et par sibi in omni statu rerum, sive secundo cursu vita procedit, sive fluctuatur et <it> per adversa ac difficilia: hanc constantiam cavillationes istae de quibus paulo ante loquebar praestare non possunt. Ludit istis animus, non proficit, et philosophiam a fastigio suo deducit in planum. [5] Nec te prohibuerim aliquando ista agere, sed tunc cum voles nihil agere. Hoc tamen habent in se pessimum: dulcedinem quandam sui faciunt et animum specie subtilitatis inductum tenent ac morantur, cum tanta rerum moles vocet, cum vix tota vita sufficiat ut hoc unum discas, vitam contemnere. 'Quid regere?' inquis. Secundum opus est; nam nemo illam bene rexit nisi qui contempserat. Vale.