Letter 120

(1) Your letter wandered through several little questions, but it settled on one, and asks to have this resolved: how the knowledge of the good and the honorable came to us. For other schools these two are distinct; for us they are merely divided. (2) Let me explain what I mean. Some hold that the good is whatever is useful, and so they pin this name onto riches, and onto a horse, and wine, and a shoe; among them the good is reckoned so cheaply, and sinks all the way down to such squalid things. They hold the honorable to be that in which the principle of right duty is upheld—such as dutifully caring for a father's old age, relieving a friend's poverty, conducting a campaign bravely, delivering a prudent and measured opinion. (3) We, for our part, do indeed treat these as two things, but as two derived from one. Nothing is good except what is honorable; and what is honorable is, in any case, good. I judge it superfluous to add what the difference between them is, since I have said it often. This one thing I will say: nothing seems good to us that anyone can also misuse; and you see for yourself how many people misuse riches, noble birth, and physical strength. Now then I return to the point about which you want to be told: how the first knowledge of the good and the honorable came to us. (4) Nature could not teach us this; she gave us the seeds of knowledge, but she did not give us knowledge. Some say that we stumbled into this knowledge by chance—which is incredible, that the image of virtue presented itself to anyone by accident. To us it seems that observation gathered it, and the comparison among themselves of things often done; by analogy our authorities judge the honorable and the good to be understood. Since the Latin grammarians have granted this word [analogia] citizenship, I do not think it should be condemned—rather, it should be admitted into its own city. I will use it, then, not merely as something received but as something in common use. What this analogy is, I will explain. (5) We knew the health of the body; from this we inferred that there is also some health of the mind. We knew the strength of the body; from these we gathered that there is also a vigor of the mind. Certain kindly deeds, certain humane deeds, certain brave deeds had astonished us; these we began to admire as if they were perfect. Beneath them lay many faults, which the appearance and brilliance of some conspicuous act concealed: these we overlooked. Nature bids us magnify what deserves praise, and there is no one who has not carried renown beyond the truth: from these things, then, we drew the image of an immense good. (6) Fabricius rejected the gold of King Pyrrhus, and judged it greater than a kingdom to be able to despise a king's wealth. The same man, when Pyrrhus's physician promised that he would give the king poison, warned Pyrrhus to beware of treachery. It was the mark of the same character not to be conquered by gold and not to conquer by poison. We admired that immense man whom neither the king's promises nor promises against the king could bend, who clung tenaciously to a noble example, who—what is most difficult—was guiltless in war, who believed that some wrong existed even against enemies, who in the utmost poverty that he had made his glory shrank from riches no differently than from poison. "Live," he said, "by my favor, Pyrrhus, and rejoice in what until now has grieved you—that Fabricius cannot be corrupted." (7) Horatius Cocles alone filled the narrow span of the bridge and ordered that his own way back be cut off behind him, provided the enemy's passage was taken away, and he held out so long against those pressing upon him until the torn-away timbers crashed down in an immense ruin. After he had looked back and felt that his country was out of danger through his own danger, "Let him come, if anyone wishes," he said, "to follow me as I go this way," and he threw himself headlong, no less anxious in that swift channel of the river to come out armed than to come out alive, and, keeping the honor of his victorious arms, he returned as safely as if he had come over the bridge. (8) These deeds, and deeds of this kind, showed us an image of virtue. I will add something that may perhaps seem surprising: evils have sometimes presented the appearance of the honorable, and the best has shone out from its opposite. For there are, as you know, vices that border on virtues, and even in lost and base things there is a resemblance to the upright: so the spendthrift counterfeits the generous man, although it makes a great difference whether someone knows how to give or does not know how to keep. There are many, I tell you, Lucilius, who do not give but fling away: I do not call a man generous who is angry with his own money. Carelessness imitates easygoingness, recklessness imitates courage. (9) This resemblance forced us to pay attention and to distinguish things that are indeed near in appearance but in reality utterly at odds with one another. While observing those whom some outstanding work had made conspicuous, we began to note who had done some deed with a noble spirit and great force—but only once. We saw one man brave in war, timid in the forum, bearing poverty with spirit, infamy abjectly: we praised the deed, we despised the man. (10) Another we saw kindly toward friends, restrained toward enemies, administering both public and private affairs with scrupulous reverence; he did not lack patience in things that had to be endured, nor prudence in things that had to be done. We saw him giving with a full hand where something was to be granted, and where there was toil, persistent and unyielding, relieving his body's weariness by his spirit. Besides, he was always the same and equal to himself in every action, by now good not from deliberation but brought so far by habit that he could not only act rightly but could not act except rightly. (11) We understood that in him virtue was perfect. We divided this into its parts: the desires had to be reined in, fears suppressed, things to be done foreseen, things owed apportioned. We grasped self-restraint, courage, prudence, justice, and we gave to each its own function. From what, then, did we come to understand virtue? Its order revealed it to us, and its propriety and steadfastness and the harmony of all its actions among themselves and a greatness lifting itself above all else. From this was understood that blessed life flowing along with favoring current, entirely its own master. (12) How, then, did this very thing become apparent to us? I will tell you. Never did that perfect man, who had attained virtue, curse Fortune; never did he receive what befell him with grief; believing himself a citizen and soldier of the universe, he undertakes his labors as if they were commands. Whatever had happened, he did not spurn it as an evil borne in upon him by chance, but as something assigned to him. "Whatever this is," he says, "it is mine; it is harsh, it is hard—in this very thing let us work hard." (13) Of necessity, then, he appeared great, who never groaned at evils, never complained of his fate; he made many understand him, and he shone forth no differently than a light in darkness, and he turned the minds of all toward himself, since he was calm and gentle, equally fair to human and divine matters. (14) He had a mind that was perfect and brought to its own highest point, above which there is nothing except the mind of God, from which a part has flowed down even into this mortal breast; and that breast is never more divine than when it reflects on its mortality and knows that man was born for this—that he might complete his life—and that this body is not a home but a lodging, and indeed a brief lodging, which must be left behind when you see that you are a burden to your host. (15) The greatest proof, I tell you, my Lucilius, of a mind coming from a loftier seat is if it judges these things in which it is engaged to be lowly and cramped, if it does not fear to depart; for he knows where he is bound who remembers whence he came. Do we not see how many discomforts harass us, how ill this body suits us? (16) Now we complain of the head, now of the belly, now of the chest and throat; at one time the nerves trouble us, at another the feet; now diarrhea, now a flux of phlegm; sometimes there is too much blood, sometimes too little: we are assailed from this side and that and driven out. This is what usually happens to those who live in another's dwelling. (17) But we, having been allotted a body so rotten, nonetheless set before ourselves eternal things, and as far as a human lifespan can be stretched, so far do we lay claim in hope, content with no amount of money, no amount of power. What can be done more shameless than this, what more foolish? Nothing is enough for those who are going to die—indeed, for those who are dying; for daily we stand nearer to the end, and every hour pushes us toward that place from which we must fall. (18) See in what great blindness our mind is: this thing that I call future is happening this very moment, and a great part of it has already been done; for the time we have lived is in the same place where it was before we lived. But we are mistaken when we fear the last day, since each single day contributes just as much toward death. That step does not produce the weariness in which we fail, but merely declares it; the last day arrives at death, but every day approaches it; she plucks at us, she does not snatch us. Therefore the great mind, conscious of its better nature, indeed takes pains to conduct itself honorably and diligently in the station where it is posted, but judges none of these things that are around it to be its own, but uses them as things lent, a foreigner and one hastening on. (19) When we saw someone of such steadfastness, how could the image of an uncommon nature not steal over us? especially if, as I said, an evenness showed this greatness to be true. The genuine tenor endures; false things do not last. Some men are by turns Vatinii, by turns Catos; and at one moment Curius is not stern enough for them, Fabricius not poor enough, Tubero not frugal enough or content with cheap things; at another they challenge Licinus in wealth, Apicius in banquets, Maecenas in luxuries. (20) The greatest sign of a sick mind is fluctuation and the constant tossing back and forth between a pretense of virtues and a love of vices. [...] (21) Many men are such as Horatius Flaccus describes this one: never the same, not even like himself; so far does he stray into the opposite direction. Did I say many? It is close to being all. There is no one who does not daily change both his plan and his prayer: now he wants to have a wife, now a mistress; now he wants to rule, now he behaves so that no slave may be more obsequious; now he expands himself to the point of envy, now he sinks down and shrinks below the lowliness of those who are truly humble; now he scatters money, now he grabs it. (22) Thus a foolish mind is most clearly convicted: one man comes forth and then another, and—than which I judge nothing more shameful—he is unequal to himself. Consider it a great thing to play one man. But except for the wise man no one plays a single role; the rest of us are of many shapes. Now we will seem to you thrifty and serious, now wasteful and frivolous; we keep changing our mask and putting on one contrary to the one we have taken off. Demand this, then, of yourself: that you keep yourself, right to the end, the kind of man you have set out to be. Bring it about that you can be praised; if not, that you can at least be recognized. Of someone you saw yesterday it may rightly be said, "Who is this man?"—so great is the change. Farewell.

Your letter roamed over several little problems, but finally dwelt upon this alone, asking for explanation: “How do we acquire a knowledge of that which is good and that which is honourable?” In the opinion of other schools, these two qualities are distinct; among our followers, however, they are merely divided. This is what I mean: Some believe the Good to be that which is useful; they accordingly bestow this title upon riches, horses, wine, and shoes; so cheaply do they view the Good, and to such base uses do they let it descend. They regard as honourable that which agrees with the principle of right conduct —such as taking dutiful care of an old father, relieving a friend’s poverty, showing bravery on a campaign, and uttering prudent and well-balanced opinions. We, however, do make the Good and the honourable two things, but we make them out of one: only the honourable can be good; also, the honourable is necessarily good. I hold it superfluous to add the distinction between these two qualities, inasmuch as I have mentioned it so many times. But I shall say this one thing—that we regard nothing as good which can be put to wrong use by any person. And you see for yourself to what wrong uses many men put their riches, their high position, or their physical powers. To return to the matter on which you desire information: “How we first acquire the knowledge of that which is good and that which is honourable.” Nature could not teach us this directly; she has given us the seeds of knowledge, but not knowledge itself. Some say that we merely happened upon this knowledge; but it is unbelievable that a vision of virtue could have presented itself to anyone by mere chance. We believe that it is inference due to observation, a comparison of events that have occurred frequently; our school of philosophy hold that the honourable and the good have been comprehended by analogy. Since the word “analogy” has been admitted to citizen rank by Latin scholars, I do not think that it ought to be condemned, but I do think it should be brought into the citizenship which it can justly claim. I shall, therefore, make use of the word, not merely as admitted, but as established. Now what this “analogy” is, I shall explain. We understood what bodily health was: and from this basis we deduced the existence of a certain mental health also. We knew, too, bodily strength, and from this basis we inferred the existence of mental sturdiness. Kindly deeds, humane deeds, brave deeds, had at times amazed us; so we began to admire them as if they were perfect. Underneath, however, there were many faults, hidden by the appearance and the brilliancy of certain conspicuous acts; to these we shut our eyes. Nature bids us amplify praiseworthy things: everyone exalts renown beyond the truth. And thus from such deeds we deduced the conception of some great good. Fabricius rejected King Pyrrhus’s gold, deeming it greater than a king’s crown to be able to scorn a king’s money. Fabricius also, when the royal physician promised to give his master poison, warned Pyrrhus to beware of a plot. The selfsame man had the resolution to refuse either to be won over by gold or to win by poison. So we admired the hero, who could not be moved by the promises of the king or against the king, who held fast to a noble ideal, and who—is anything more difficult?—was in war sinless; for he believed that wrongs could be committed even against an enemy, and in that extreme poverty which he had made his glory, shrank from receiving riches as he shrank from using poison. “Live,” he cried, “O Pyrrhus, thanks to me, and rejoice, instead of grieving as you have done till now, that Fabricius cannot be bribed!” Horatius Cocles blocked the narrow bridge alone, and ordered his retreat to be cut off, that the enemy’s path might be destroyed; then he long withstood his assailants until the crash of the beams, as they collapsed with a huge fall, rang in his ears. When he looked back and saw that his country, through his own danger, was free from danger, “Whoever,” he cried, “wishes to pursue me this way, let him come!” He plunged headlong, taking as great care to come out armed from the midst of the dashing river-channel as he did to come out unhurt; he returned, preserving the glory of his conquering weapons, as safely as if he had come back over the bridge. These deeds and others of the same sort have revealed to us a picture of virtue. I will add something which may perhaps astonish you: evil things have sometimes offered the appearance of what is honourable, and that which is best has been manifested through, its opposite. For there are, as you know, vices which are next-door to virtues; and even that which is lost and debased can resemble that which is upright. So the spendthrift falsely imitates the liberal man—although it matters a great deal whether a man knows how to give, or does not know how to save, his money. I assure you, my dear Lucilius, there are many who do not give, but simply throw away; and I do not call a man liberal who is out of temper with his money. Carelessness looks like ease, and rashness like bravery. This resemblance has forced us to watch carefully and to distinguish between things which are by outward appearance closely connected, but which actually are very much at odds with one another; and in watching those who have become distinguished as a result of some noble effort, we have been forced to observe what persons have done some deed with noble spirit and lofty impulse, but have done it only once. We have marked one man who is brave in war and cowardly in civil affairs, enduring poverty courageously and disgrace shamefacedly; we have praised the deed but we have despised the man. Again, we have marked another man who is kind to his friends and restrained towards his enemies, who carries on his political and his personal business with scrupulous devotion, not lacking in longsuffering where there is anything that must be endured, and not lacking in prudence when action is to be taken. We have marked him giving with lavish hand when it was his duty to make a payment, and, when he had to toil, striving resolutely and lightening his bodily weariness by his resolution. Besides, he has always been the same, consistent in all his actions, not only sound in his judgment but trained by habit to such an extent that he not only can act rightly, but cannot help acting rightly. We have formed the conception that in such a man perfect virtue exists. We have separated this perfect virtue into its several parts. The desires had to be reined in, fear to be suppressed, proper actions to be arranged, debts to be paid; we therefore included self-restraint, bravery, prudence, and justice—assigning to each quality its special function. How then have we formed the conception of virtue? Virtue has been manifested to us by this man’s order, propriety, steadfastness, absolute harmony of action, and a greatness of soul that rises superior to everything. Thence has been derived our conception of the happy life, which flows along with steady course, completely under its own control. How then did we discover this fact? I will tell you: that perfect man, who has attained virtue, never cursed his luck, and never received the results of chance with dejection; he believed that he was citizen and soldier of the universe, accepting his tasks as if they were his orders. Whatever happened, he did not spurn it, as if it were evil and borne in upon him by hazard; he accepted it as if it were assigned to be his duty. “Whatever this may be,” he says, “it is my lot; it is rough and it is hard, but I must work diligently at the task.” Necessarily, therefore, the man has shown himself great who has never grieved in evil days and never bewailed his destiny; he has given a clear conception of himself to many men; he has shone forth like a light in the darkness and has turned towards himself the thoughts of all men, because he was gentle and calm and equally compliant with the orders of man and of God. He possessed perfection of soul, developed to its highest capabilities, inferior only to the mind of God—from whom a part flows down even into this heart of a mortal. But this heart is never more divine than when it reflects upon its mortality, and understands that man was born for the purpose of fulfilling his life, and that the body is not a permanent dwelling, but a sort of inn (with a brief sojourn at that) which is to be left behind when one perceives that one is a burden to the host. The greatest proof, as I maintain, my dear Lucilius, that the soul proceeds from loftier heights, is if it judges its present situation lowly and narrow, and is not afraid to depart. For he who remembers whence he has come knows whither he is to depart. Do we not see how many discomforts drive us wild, and how ill-assorted is our fellowship with the flesh? We complain at one time of our headaches, at another of our bad digestions, at another of our hearts and our throats. Sometimes the nerves trouble us, sometimes the feet; now it is diarrhoea, and again it is catarrh; we are at one time full-blooded, at another anaemic; now this thing troubles us, now that, and bids us move away: it is just what happens to those who dwell in the house of another. But we, to whom such corruptible bodies have been allotted, nevertheless set eternity before our eyes, and in our hopes grasp at the utmost space of time to which the life of man can be extended, satisfied with no income and with no influence. What can be more shameless or foolish than this? Nothing is enough for us, though we must die some day, or rather, are already dying; for we stand daily nearer the brink, and every hour of time thrusts us on towards the precipice over which we must fall. See how blind our minds are! What I speak of as in the future is happening at this minute, and a large portion of it has already happened; for it consists of our past lives. But we are mistaken in fearing the last day, seeing that each day, as it passes, counts just as much to the credit of death. The failing step does not produce, it merely announces, weariness. The last hour reaches, but every hour approaches, death. Death wears us away, but does not whirl us away. For this reason the noble soul, knowing its better nature, while taking care to conduct itself honourably and seriously at the post of duty where it is placed, counts none of these extraneous objects as its own, but uses them as if they were a loan, like a foreign visitor hastening on his way. When we see a person of such steadfastness, how can we help being conscious of the image of a nature so unusual? Particularly if, as I remarked, it was shown to be true greatness by its consistency. It is indeed consistency that abides; false things do not last. Some men are like Vatinius or like Cato by turns; at times they do not think even Curius stern enough, or Fabricius poor enough, or Tubero sufficiently frugal and contented with simple things; while at other times they vie with Licinus in wealth, with Apicius in banqueting, or with Maecenas in daintiness. The greatest proof of an evil mind is unsteadiness, and continued wavering between pretence of virtue and love of vice. He’d have sometimes two hundred slaves at hand And sometimes ten. He’d speak of kings and grand Moguls and naught but greatness. Then he’d say: “Give me a three-legged table and a tray Of good clean salt, and just a coarse-wove gown To keep the cold out.” If you paid him down (So sparing and content!) a million cool, In five short days he’d be a penceless fool. The men I speak of are of this stamp; they are like the man whom Horatius Flaccus describes—a man never the same, never even like himself; to such an extent does he wander off into opposites. Did I say many are so? It is the case with almost all. Everyone changes his plans and prayers day by day. Now he would have a wife, and now a mistress; now he would be king, and again he strives to conduct himself so that no slave is more cringing; now he puffs himself up until he becomes unpopular; again, he shrinks and contracts into greater humility than those who are really unassuming; at one time he scatters money, at another he steals it. That is how a foolish mind is most clearly demonstrated: it shows first in this shape and then in that, and is never like itself—which is, in my opinion, the most shameful of qualities. Believe me, it is a great rôle—to play the rôle of one man. But nobody can be one person except the wise man; the rest of us often shift our masks. At times you will think us thrifty and serious, at other times wasteful and idle. We continually change our characters and play a part contrary to that which we have discarded. You should therefore force yourself to maintain to the very end of life’s drama the character which you assumed at the beginning. See to it that men be able to praise you; if not, let them at least identify you. Indeed, with regard to the man whom you saw but yesterday, the question may properly be asked: “Who is he?” So great a change has there been! Farewell.

(1) Epistula tua per plures quaestiunculas uagata est sed in una constititet hanc expediri desiderat, quomodo ad nos boni honestique notitia peruenerit. Haec duo apud alios diuersa sunt, apud nos tantum diuisa. (2) Quid sithoc dicam. Bonum putant esse aliqui id quod utile est. Itaque hoc et diuitiiset equo et uino et calceo nomen inponunt; tanta fit apud illos boni uilitaset adeo in sordida usque descendit. Honestum putant cui ratio recti officiiconstat, tamquam pie curatam patris senectutem, adiutam amici paupertatem,fortem expeditionem, prudentem moderatamque sententiam. (3) <nos> istaduo quidem facimus, sed ex uno. Nihil est bonum nisi quod honestum est;quod honestum, est utique bonum. Superuacuum iudico adicere quid interista discriminis sit, cum saepe dixerim. Hoc unum dicam, nihil nobis uideri<bonum> quo quis et male uti potest; uides autem diuitiis, nobilitate,uiribus quam multi male utantur. Nunc ergo ad id reuertor de quo desideras dici, quomodo ad nos primaboni honestique notitia peruenerit. (4) Hoc nos natura docere non potuit:semina nobis scientiae dedit, scientiam non dedit. Quidam aiunt nos innotitiam incidisse, quod est incredibile, uirtutis alicui speciem casuoccucurrisse. Nobis uidetur obseruatio collegisse et rerum saepe factaruminter se conlatio; per analogian nostri intellectum et honestum et bonumiudicant. Hoc uerbum cum Latini grammatici ciuitate donauerint, ego damnandumnon puto, <immo> in ciuitatem suam redigendum. Utar ergo illo non tantumtamquam recepto sed tamquam usitato. Quae sit haec analogia dicam. (5) Noueramus corporis sanitatem: ex hac cogitauimus esse aliquam et animi. Noueramus uires corporis: ex his collegimus esse et animi robur. Aliquabenigna facta, aliqua humana, aliqua fortia nos obstupefecerant: haec coepimustamquam perfecta mirari. Suberant illis multa uitia quae species conspicuialicuius facti fulgorque celabat: haec dissimulauimus. Natura iubet augere laudanda, nemo non gloriam ultra uerum tulit: ex his ergo speciem ingentis boni traximus. (6) Fabricius Pyrrhi regis aurum reppulit maiusque regno iudicauit regias opes posse contemnere. Idem medico Pyrrhi promittente uenenum se regi daturum monuit Pyrrhum caueret insidias. Eiusdem animi fuit auro non uinci, ueneno non uincere. Admirati sumus ingentem uirum quem non regis, non contra regem promissa flexissent, boni exempli tenacem,quod difficillimum est, in bello innocentem, qui aliquod esse crederetetiam in hostes nefas, qui in summa paupertate quam sibi decus feceratnon aliter refugit diuitias quam uenenum. 'Viue' inquit 'beneficio meo,Pyrrhe, et gaude quod adhuc dolebas, Fabricium non posse corrumpi. ' (7) Horatius Cocles solus impleuit pontis angustias adimique a tergo sibi reditum,dummodo iter hosti auferretur, iussit et tam diu prementibus restitit donecreuulsa ingenti ruina tigna sonuerunt. Postquam respexit et extra periculumesse patriam periculo suo sensit, 'ueniat, si quis uult' inquit 'sic euntemsequi' iecitque se in praeceps et non minus sollicitus in illo rapido alueo fluminis ut armatus quam ut saluus exiret, retento armorum uictricium decoretam tutus redit quam si ponte uenisset. (8) Haec et eiusmodi facta imaginem nobis ostendere uirtutis. Adiciam quod mirum fortasse uideatur: mala interdum speciem honestiobtulere et optimum ex contrario enituit. Sunt enim, ut scis, uirtutibusuitia confinia, et perditis quoque ac turpibus recti similitudo est: sic mentitur prodigus liberalem, cum plurimum intersit utrum quis dare sciatan seruare nesciat. Multi, inquam, sunt, Lucili, qui non donant sed proiciunt:non uoco ego liberalem pecuniae suae iratum. Imitatur neglegentia facilitatem,temeritas fortitudinem. (9) Haec nos similitudo coegit adtendere et distinguerespecie quidem uicina, re autem plurimum inter se dissidentia. Dum obseruamuseos quos insignes egregium opus fecerat, coepimus adnotare quis rem aliquam generoso animo fecisset et magno impetu, sed semel. Hunc uidimus in bellofortem, in foro timidum, animose paupertatem ferentem, humiliter infamiam: factum laudauimus, contempsimus uirum. (10) Alium uidimus aduersus amicosbenignum, aduersus inimicos temperatum, et publica et priuata sancte acreligiose administrantem; non deesse ei in iis quae toleranda erant patientiam,in iis quae agenda prudentiam. Vidimus ubi tribuendum esset plena manudantem, ubi laborandum, pertinacem et obnixum et lassitudinem corporisanimo subleuantem. Praeterea idem erat semper et in omni actu par sibi,iam non consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus ut non tantum recte facereposset, sed nisi recte facere non posset. (11) Intelleximus in illo perfectamesse uirtutem. Hanc in partes diuisimus: oportebat cupiditates refrenari,metus conprimi, facienda prouideri, reddenda distribui: conprehendimustemperantiam, fortitudinem, prudentiam, iustitiam et suum cuique dedimusofficium. Ex quo ergo uirtutem intelleximus? ostendit illam nobis ordoeius et decor et constantia et omnium inter se actionum concordia et magnitudosuper omnia efferens sese. Hinc intellecta est illa beata uita secundo defluens cursu, arbitrii sui tota. (12) Quomodo ergo hoc ipsum nobis apparuit? dicam. Numquam uir ille perfectus adeptusque uirtutem fortunae maledixit,numquam accidentia tristis excepit, ciuem esse se uniuersi et militem credenslabores uelut imperatos subit. Quidquid inciderat non tamquam malum aspernatusest et in se casu delatum, sed quasi delegatum sibi. 'Hoc qualecumque est'inquit 'meum est; asperum est, durum est, in hoc ipso nauemus operam. '(13) Necessario itaque magnus apparuit qui numquam malis ingemuit, numquamde fato suo questus est; fecit multis intellectum sui et non aliter quamin tenebris lumen effulsit aduertitque in se omnium animos, cum esset placiduset lenis, humanis diuinisque rebus pariter aequus. (14) Habebat perfectumanimum et ad summam sui adductum, supra quam nihil est nisi mens dei, exquo pars et in hoc pectus mortale defluxit; quod numquam magis diuinumest quam ubi mortalitatem suam cogitat et scit in hoc natum hominem, utuita defungeretur, nec domum esse hoc corpus sed hospitium, et quidem breuehospitium, quod relinquendum est ubi te grauem esse hospiti uideas. (15) Maximum, inquam, mi Lucili, argumentum est animi ab altiore sedeuenientis, si haec in quibus uersatur humilia iudicat et angusta, si exirenon metuit; scit enim quo exiturus sit qui unde uenerit meminit. Non uidemusquam multa nos incommoda exagitent, quam male nobis conueniat hoc corpus? (16) Nunc de capite, nunc de uentre, nunc de pectore ac faucibus querimur;alias nerui nos, alias pedes uexant, nunc deiectio, nunc destillatio; aliquandosuperest sanguis, aliquando deest: hinc atque illinc temptamur et expellimur. Hoc euenire solet in alieno habitantibus. (17) At nos corpus tam putresortiti nihilominus aeterna proponimus et in quantum potest aetas humanaprotendi, tantum spe occupamus, nulla contenti pecunia, nulla potentia. Quid hac re fieri inpudentius, quid stultius potest? Nihil satis est morituris,immo morientibus; cotidie enim propius ab ultimo stamus, et illo unde nobiscadendum est hora nos omnis inpellit. (18) Vide in quanta caecitate mensnostra sit: hoc quod futurum dico cum maxime fit, et pars eius magna iamfacta est; nam quod uiximus tempus eo loco est quo erat antequam uiximus. Erramus autem qui ultimum timemus diem, cum tantumdem in mortem singuliconferant. Non ille gradus lassitudinem facit in quo deficimus, sed illeprofitetur; ad mortem dies extremus peruenit, accedit omnis; carpit nosilla, non corripit. Ideo magnus animus conscius sibi melioris naturae datquidem operam ut in hac statione qua positus est honeste se atque industriegerat, ceterum nihil horum quae circa sunt suum iudicat, sed ut commodatisutitur, peregrinus et properans. (19) Cum aliquem huius uideremus constantiae, quidni subiret nos speciesnon usitatae indolis? utique si hanc, ut dixi, magnitudinem ueram esseostendebat aequalitas. Vero tenor permanet, falsa non durant. Quidam alternisVatinii, alternis Catones sunt; et modo parum illis seuerus est Curius,parum pauper Fabricius, parum frugi et contentus uilibus Tubero, modo Licinumdiuitis, Apicium cenis, Maecenatem delicis prouocant. (20) Maximum indiciumest malae mentis fluctuatio et inter simulationem uirtutum amoremque uitiorumadsidua iactatio. (is) (21) Homines multi tales sunt qualem hunc describit Horatius Flaccus, numquameundem, ne similem quidem sibi; adeo in diuersum aberrat. Multos dixi? prope est ut omnes sint. Nemo non cotidie et consilium mutat et uotum:modo uxorem uult habere, modo amicam, modo regnare uult, modo id agit nequis sit officiosior seruus, modo dilatat se usque ad inuidiam, modo subsiditet contrahitur infra humilitatem uere iacentium, nunc pecuniam spargit,nunc rapit. (22) Sic maxime coarguitur animus inprudens: alius prodit atquealius et, quo turpius nihil iudico, inpar sibi est. Magnam rem puta unumhominem agere. Praeter sapientem autem nemo unum agit, ceteri multiformessumus. Modo frugi tibi uidebimur et graues, modo prodigi et uani; mutamussubinde personam et contrariam ei sumimus quam exuimus. Hoc ergo a te exige,ut qualem institueris praestare te, talem usque ad exitum serues; efficeut possis laudari, si minus, ut adgnosci. De aliquo quem here uidisti meritodici potest 'hic qui est? ': tanta mutatio est. Vale.