Letter 118

(1) You demand more frequent letters from me. Let us compare our accounts: you will not be able to settle the debt. We had in fact agreed that yours should come first: that you should write, and I should answer. But I will not be difficult; I know that you can safely be trusted on credit. So I will give in advance, and yet I will not do what Cicero, that most eloquent of men, tells Atticus to do, namely that 'even if he has no subject, he should write whatever comes to his mouth.' (2) I can never lack something to write about, even if I pass over all those matters that fill Cicero's letters: which candidate is in difficulty; who is fighting with borrowed resources and who with his own; who seeks the consulship trusting in Caesar, who in Pompey, who in his own strongbox; how harsh a moneylender Caecilius is, from whom his own relatives cannot pry loose a coin for less than one percent a month. It is better to handle one's own ills than another's, to examine oneself and see for how many things one is a candidate, and then to cast no vote for them. (3) This, my dear Lucilius, is the splendid thing, this is what brings security and freedom: to seek nothing and to pass by the whole electoral assembly of Fortune. How pleasant do you think it is, when the tribes have been summoned, when the candidates hang anxiously about their temples and one promises money outright, another conducts his business through a go-between, another wears away with kisses the very hands he will refuse to let anyone touch once elected, while all stand thunderstruck awaiting the herald's voice, to stand idle and watch that marketplace, neither buying nor selling anything? (4) How much greater the joy enjoyed by the man who looks on, free of care, not at the elections for praetor or consul, but at those great contests in which some seek yearly offices, others perpetual powers, others the favorable outcomes of wars and their triumphs, others riches, others marriages and children, others their own safety and that of their kin! What greatness of soul it is to be the only one to seek nothing, to beg from no one, and to say: 'Fortune, I have nothing to do with you; I do not make myself available to you. I know that in your hands men like Cato are rejected and men like Vatinius are made. I ask for nothing.' This is to make Fortune a private citizen. (5) We may therefore write back and forth on these themes, and always treat this subject as fresh, as we look around at so many thousands of restless men who, in order to gain something destructive, struggle through evils toward evil and seek what they will soon have to flee, or even come to loathe. (6) For who, once he attained it, was satisfied with what had seemed too much to him while he prayed for it? Happiness is not, as men suppose, a greedy thing, but a paltry one; and so it satisfies no one. You believe those things lofty because you lie far beneath them; but to the man who has reached them they are lowly. I am lying if he is not still seeking to climb higher: that which you think the summit is only a step. (7) Now ignorance of the truth afflicts all men badly. Deceived by report, they are carried toward these things as though they were goods; then, once they have attained them and suffered much, they see that they are evils, or empty, or smaller than they had hoped; and the greater part marvel from a distance at things that deceive, and to the crowd good things are taken to be great things. (8) So that this may not happen to us as well, let us ask what the good is. Its interpretation has varied; each has expressed it differently. Some define it thus: 'The good is that which invites the mind, which calls it to itself.' To this the immediate objection is: what if it invites, but invites to ruin? You know how many evils are alluring. Now the true and the merely true-seeming differ from each other. Thus what is good is joined to the true; for nothing is good unless it is true. But what invites and entices us is true-seeming: it creeps up, it stirs us, it draws us on. (9) Some have defined it thus: 'The good is that which arouses a desire for itself, or which arouses the impulse of a mind reaching out toward it.' And the same objection applies to this; for many things arouse the mind's impulse that are sought to the seeker's harm. Better are those who defined it thus: 'The good is that which arouses the mind's impulse toward itself in accordance with nature, and is to be sought only when it has begun to be worth seeking.' By now it is also honorable; for this is what is to be sought without qualification. (10) The very point reminds me to state what the difference is between the good and the honorable. They have something mingled together and inseparable: there can be no good unless something honorable is in it, and the honorable is in any case good. What, then, is the difference between the two? The honorable is the perfect good, by which the happy life is completed, and by contact with which other goods too come into being. (11) What I mean is this: there are certain things neither good nor bad, such as military service, an embassy, the administration of justice. When these are conducted honorably, they begin to be good and pass from the doubtful class into the good. The good comes into being through partnership with the honorable; the honorable is good in itself. The good flows from the honorable; the honorable exists from itself. What is good could have been bad; what is honorable could not have been anything but good. (12) Some have offered this definition: 'The good is that which is in accordance with nature.' Mark what I say: what is good is in accordance with nature; but it does not follow at once that what is in accordance with nature is also good. Many things indeed agree with nature, but are so paltry that the name of good does not suit them; for they are slight and to be despised. There is no good, however small, that is to be despised; for as long as it is trifling, it is not good: once it has begun to be good, it is not trifling. From what, then, is the good recognized? If it is perfectly in accordance with nature. (13) 'You admit,' you say, 'that the good is in accordance with nature; this is its proper characteristic. You also admit that other things, too, are indeed in accordance with nature but are not goods. How then is the one a good when these are not? How does it arrive at a different characteristic, when the foremost attribute common to both is to be in accordance with nature?' (14) By its very magnitude, of course. Nor is this anything new, that certain things are changed by growing. He was an infant; he has become a young man: his characteristic becomes different; for the one is non-rational, the other rational. Certain things by their increase pass not only into something greater but into something else. (15) 'What becomes greater,' he says, 'does not become something else. Whether you fill a flask or a vat with wine makes no difference: in both the characteristic of wine remains. And a small and a large weight of honey do not differ in flavor.' You are offering different examples; for in these the quality is the same, and however much they are increased, it remains. (16) Certain things, when enlarged, endure within their kind and their characteristic; certain others, after many increases, are at last turned by the final addition, which stamps upon them a new condition different from the one they were in. One stone makes the arch: the one that wedged the leaning sides together and bound them by coming between them. Why does the topmost addition accomplish the most, though it is slight? Because it does not increase but completes. (17) Certain things in their progress shed their earlier form and pass into a new one. When the mind has long pursued something and, following its magnitude, has grown weary, it begins to call it infinite; and this has become something far other than it was when it seemed great but finite. In the same way we conceived of something as difficult to cut: at last, as this difficulty grew, it was found to be uncuttable. So from what could scarcely and with effort be moved we advanced to the immovable. By the same reasoning, something was in accordance with nature: its magnitude transferred this into another characteristic and made it good. Farewell.

You have been demanding more frequent letters from me. But if we compare the accounts, you will not be on the credit side. We had indeed made the agreement that your part came first, that you should write the first letters, and that I should answer. However, I shall not be disagreeable; I know that it is safe to trust you, so I shall pay in advance, and yet not do as the eloquent Cicero bids Atticus do: “Even if you have nothing to say, write whatever enters your head.” For there will always be something for me to write about, even omitting all the kinds of news with which Cicero fills his correspondence: what candidate is in difficulties, who is striving on borrowed resources and who on his own; who is a candidate for the consulship relying on Caesar, or on Pompey, or on his own strong-box; what a merciless usurer is Caecilius, out of whom his friends cannot screw a penny for less than one per cent each month. But it is preferable to deal with one’s own ills, rather than with another’s—to sift oneself and see for how many vain things one is a candidate, and cast a vote for none of them. This, my dear Lucilius, is a noble thing, this brings peace and freedom—to canvass for nothing, and to pass by all the elections of Fortune. How can you call it enjoyable, when the tribes are called together and the candidates are making offerings in their favourite temples—some of them promising money gifts and others doing business by means of an agent, or wearing down their hands with the kisses of those to whom they will refuse the least finger-touch after being elected—when all are excitedly awaiting the announcement of the herald, do you call it enjoyable, I say, to stand idle and look on at this Vanity Fair without either buying or selling? How much greater joy does one feel who looks without concern, not merely upon the election of a praetor or of a consul, but upon that great struggle in which some are seeking yearly honours, and others permanent power, and others the triumph and the prosperous outcome of war, and others riches, or marriage and offspring, or the welfare of themselves and their relatives! What a great-souled action it is to be the only person who is canvassing for nothing, offering prayers to no man, and saying: “Fortune, I have nothing to do with you. I am not at your service. I know that men like Cato are spurned by you, and men like Vatinius made by you. I ask no favours.” This is the way to reduce Fortune to the ranks. These, then, are the things about which we may write in turn, and this is the ever fresh material which we may dig out as we scan the restless multitudes of men, who, in order to attain something ruinous, struggle on through evil to evil, and seek that which they must presently shun or even find surfeiting. For who was ever satisfied, after attainment, with that which loomed up large as he prayed for it? Happiness is not, as men think, a greedy thing; it is a lowly thing; for that reason it never gluts a man’s desire. You deem lofty the objects you seek, because you are on a low level and hence far away from them; but they are mean in the sight of him who has reached them. And I am very much mistaken if he does not desire to climb still higher; that which you regard as the top is merely a rung on the ladder. Now all men suffer from ignorance of the truth; deceived by common report, they make for these ends as if they were good, and then, after having won their wish, and suffered much, they find them evil, or empty, or less important than they had expected. Most men admire that which deceives them at a distance, and by the crowd good things are supposed to be big things. Now, lest this happen also in our own case, let us ask what is the Good. It has been explained in various ways; different men have described it in different ways. Some define it in this way. “That which attracts and calls the spirit to itself is a Good.” But the objection at once comes up—what if it does attract, but straight to ruin? You know how seductive many evils are. That which is true differs from that which looks like the truth; hence the Good is connected with the true, for it is not good unless it is also true. But that which attracts and allures, is only like the truth; it steals your attention, demands your interest, and draws you to itself. Therefore, some have given this definition: “That is good which inspires desire for itself, or rouses towards itself the impulse of a struggling soul.” There is the same objection to this idea; for many things rouse the soul’s impulses, and yet the search for them is harmful to the seeker. The following definition is better: “That is good which rouses the soul’s impulse towards itself in accordance with nature, and is worth seeking only when it begins to be thoroughly worth seeking.” It is by this time an honourable thing; for that is a thing completely worth seeking. The present topic suggests that I state the difference between the Good and the honourable. Now they have a certain quality which blends with both and is inseparable from either: nothing can be good unless it contains an element of the honourable, and the honourable is necessarily good. What, then, is the difference between these two qualities? The honourable is the perfect Good, and the happy life is fulfilled thereby; through its influence other things also are rendered good. I mean something like this: there are certain things which are neither good nor bad—as military or diplomatic service, or the pronouncing of legal decisions. When such pursuits have been honourably conducted, they begin to be good, and they change over from the “indifferent” class into the Good. The Good results from partnership with the honourable, but the honourable is good in itself. The Good springs from the honourable, but the latter from itself. What is good might have been bad; what is honourable could never have been anything but good. Some have defined as follows: “That is good which is according to nature.” Now attend to my own statement: that which is good is according to nature, but that which is according to nature does not also become immediately good; for many things harmonize with nature, but are so petty that it is not suitable to call them good. For they are unimportant and deserve to be despised. But there is no such thing as a very small and despicable good, for, as long as it is scanty, it is not good, and when it begins to be good, it ceases to be scanty. How, then, can the Good be recognized? Only if it is completely according to nature. People say: “You admit that that which is good is according to nature; for this is its peculiar quality. You admit, too, that there are other things according to nature, which, however, are not good. How then can the former be good, and the latter not? How can there be an alteration in the peculiar quality of a thing, when each has, in common with the other, the special attribute of being in accord with nature?” Surely because of its magnitude. It is no new idea that certain objects change as they grow. A person, once a child, becomes a youth; his peculiar quality is transformed; for the child could not reason, but the youth possesses reason. Certain things not only grow in size as they develop, but grow into something else. Some reply: “But that which becomes greater does not necessarily become different. It matters not at all whether you pour wine into a flask or into a vat; the wine keeps its peculiar quality in both vessels. Small and large quantities of honey are not distinct in taste.” But these are different cases which you mention; for wine and honey have a uniform quality; no matter how much the quantity is enlarged, the quality is the same. For some things endure according to their kind and their peculiar qualities, even when they are enlarged. There are others, however, which, after many increments, are altered by the last addition; there is stamped upon them a new character, different from that of yore. One stone makes an archway—the stone which wedges the leaning sides and holds the arch together by its position in the middle. And why does the last addition, although very slight, make a great deal of difference? Because it does not increase; it fills up. Some things, through development, put off their former shape and are altered into a new figure. When the mind has for a long time developed some idea, and in the attempt to grasp its magnitude has become weary, that thing begins to be called “infinite.” And then this has become something far different from what it was when it seemed great but finite. In the same way we have thought of something as difficult to divide; at the very end, as the task grows more and more hard, the thing is found to be “indivisible.” Similarly, from that which could scarcely or with difficulty be moved we have advanced on and on—until we reach the “immovable.” By the same reasoning a certain thing was according to nature; its greatness has altered it into some other peculiar quality and has rendered it a Good. Farewell.

(1) Exigis a me frequentiores epistulas. Rationes conferamus: soluendonon eris. Conuenerat quidem ut tua priora essent: tu scriberes, ego rescriberem. Sed non ero difficilis: bene credi tibi scio. Itaque in anticessum dabonec faciam quod Cicero, uir disertissimus, facere Atticum iubet, ut etiam'si rem nullam habebit, quod in buccam uenerit scribat'. (2) Numquam potestdeesse quod scribam, ut omnia illa quae Ciceronis implent epistulas transeam:quis candidatus laboret; quis alienis, quis suis uiribus pugnet; quis consulatumfiducia Caesaris, quis Pompei, quis arcae petat; quam durus sit feneratorCaecilius, a quo minoris centesimis propinqui nummum mouere non possint. Sua satius est mala quam aliena tractare, se excutere et uidere quam multarumrerum candidatus sit, et non suffragari. (3) Hoc est, mi Lucili, egregium,hoc securum ac liberum, nihil petere et tota fortunae comitia transire. Quam putas esse iucundum tribubus uocatis, cum candidati in templis suispendeant et alius nummos pronuntiet, alius per sequestrem agat, alius eorummanus osculis conterat quibus designatus contingendam manum negaturus est,omnes attoniti uocem praeconis expectent, stare otiosum et spectare illasnundinas nec ementem quicquam nec uendentem? (4) Quanto hic maiore gaudiofruitur qui non praetoria aut consularia comitia securus intuetur, sedmagna illa in quibus alii honores anniuersarios petunt, alii perpetuaspotestates, alii bellorum euentus prosperos triumphosque, alii diuitias,alii matrimonia ac liberos, alii salutem suam suorumque! Quanti animi resest solum nihil petere, nulli supplicare, et dicere, 'nihil mihi tecum,fortuna; non facio mei tibi copiam. Scio apud te Catones repelli, Vatiniosfieri. Nihil rogo. ' Hoc est priuatam facere fortunam. (5) Licet ergo haec in uicem scribere et hanc semper integram egereremateriam circumspicientibus tot milia hominum inquieta, qui ut aliquidpestiferi consequantur per mala nituntur in malum petuntque mox fugiendaaut etiam fastidienda. (6) Cui enim adsecuto satis fuit quod optanti nimiumuidebatur? Non est, ut existimant homines, auida felicitas sed pusilla;itaque neminem satiat. Tu ista credis excelsa quia longe ab illis iaces;ei uero qui ad illa peruenit humilia sunt. Mentior nisi adhuc quaerit escendere:istud quod tu summum putas gradus est. (7) Omnes autem male habet ignorantiaueri. Tamquam ad bona feruntur decepti rumoribus, deinde mala esse autinania aut minora quam sperauerint adepti ac multa passi uident; maiorquepars miratur ex interuallo fallentia, et uulgo bona pro magnis sunt. (8) Hoc ne nobis quoque eueniat, quaeramus quid sit bonum. Varia eiusinterpretatio fuit, alius illud aliter expressit. Quidam ita finiunt: 'bonumest quod inuitat animos, quod ad se uocat'. Huic statim opponitur: quidsi inuitat quidem sed in perniciem? scis quam multa mala blanda sint. Verumet ueri simile inter se differunt. Ita quod bonum est uero iungitur; nonest enim bonum nisi uerum est. At quod inuitat ad se et adlicefacit uerisimile est: subrepit, sollicitat, adtrahit. (9) Quidam ita finierunt: 'bonumest quod adpetitionem sui mouet, uel quod impetum animi tendentis ad semouet. ' Et huic idem opponitur; multa enim impetum animi mouent quae petanturpetentium malo. Melius illi qui ita finierunt: 'bonum est quod ad se impetumanimi secundum naturam mouet et ita demum petendum est cum coepit esseexpetendum'. Iam et honestum est; hoc enim est perfecte petendum. (10) Locus ipse me admonet ut quid intersit inter bonum honestumque dicam. Aliquidinter se mixtum habent et inseparabile: nec potest bonum esse nisi cuialiquid honesti inest, et honestum utique bonum est. Quid ergo inter duointerest? Honestum est perfectum bonum, quo beata uita completur, cuiuscontactu alia quoque bona fiunt. (11) Quod dico talest: sunt quaedam nequebona neque mala, tamquam militia, legatio, iurisdictio. Haec cum honesteadministrata sunt, bona esse incipiunt et ex dubio in bonum transeunt. Bonum societate honesti fit, honestum per se bonum est;bonum ex honestofluit, honestum ex se est. Quod bonum est malum esse potuit; quod honestumest nisi bonum esse non potuit. (12) Hanc quidam finitionem reddiderunt: 'bonum est quod secundum naturamest'. Adtende quid dicam: quod bonum, est secundum naturam: non protinusquod secundum naturam est etiam bonum est. Multa naturae quidem consentiunt,sed tam pusilla sunt ut non conueniat illis boni nomen; leuia enim sunt,contemnenda. Nullum est minimum contemnendum bonum; nam quamdiu exiguumest bonum non est: cum bonum esse coepit, non est exiguum. Unde adcognoscitur bonum? si perfecte secundum naturam est. (13) 'Fateris' inquis 'quod bonumest secundum naturam esse; haec eius proprietas est. Fateris et alia secundum naturam quidem esse sed bona non esse. Quomodo ergo illud bonum est cumhaec non sint? quomodo ad aliam proprietatem peruenit cum utrique praecipuum illud commune sit, secundum naturam esse? ' (14) Ipsa scilicet magnitudine. Nec hoc nouum est, quaedam crescendo mutari. Infans fuit; factus est pubes:alia eius proprietas fit; ille enim inrationalis est, hic rationalis. Quaedamincremento non tantum in maius exeunt sed in aliud. (15) 'Non fit' inquit'aliud quod maius fit. Utrum lagonam an dolium impleas uino, nihil refert:in utroque proprietas uini est. Et exiguum mellis pondus et magnum saporenon differt. ' Diuersa ponis exempla; in istis enim eadem qualitas est;quamuis augeantur, manet. (16) Quaedam amplificata in suo genere et insua proprietate perdurant; quaedam post multa incrementa ultima demum uertitadiectio et nouam illis aliamque quam in qua fuerunt condicionem inprimit. Unus lapis facit fornicem, ille qui latera inclinata cuneauit et interuentusuo uinxit. Summa adiectio quare plurimum facit uel exigua? quia non augetsed implet. (17) Quaedam processu priorem exuunt formam et in nouam transeunt. Ubi aliquid animus diu protulit et magnitudinem eius sequendo lassatusest, infinitum coepit uocari; quod longe aliud factum est quam fuit cummagnum uideretur sed finitum. Eodem modo aliquid difficulter secari cogitauimus:nouissime crescente hac difficultate insecabile inuentum est. Sic ab eoquod uix et aegre mouebatur processimus ad inmobile. Eadem ratione aliquidsecundum naturam fuit: hoc in aliam proprietatem magnitudo sua transtulitet bonum fecit. Vale.