Letter 29

You ask about our friend Marcellinus and want to know how he is doing. He comes to me rarely, for no reason other than that he is afraid to hear the truth - a danger from which he is now safe, since one ought to speak only to a man who is willing to listen. For this reason there is usually a doubt as to whether Diogenes and the other Cynics, who used an indiscriminate freedom of speech and admonished everyone they met, ought to have done so. [Diogenes of Sinope (4th c. BC) and the Cynics were known for blunt, unsolicited moral rebuke of passersby.] After all, what is the point of scolding the deaf, or those who are mute by nature or by disease? "Why," you say, "should I be sparing of words? They cost nothing. I cannot know whether I will help the man I am warning; this I do know - that I will help someone, if I warn many. One must scatter with an open hand: it cannot be that the man who attempts much does not sometimes succeed." This, my dear Lucilius, I do not think a great man should do: his authority is watered down and carries too little weight with the very people whom he could correct if it were less worn out. The archer ought not to hit the mark only sometimes, but to miss only sometimes; it is no art that arrives at its effect by chance. Wisdom is an art: let it aim at a sure target, let it pick out those who will make progress, and withdraw from those it has given up on - yet not abandon them quickly, but in the very depths of hopelessness try the most extreme remedies. Our Marcellinus I have not yet given up on; even now he can be saved, but only if a hand is stretched out to him quickly. There is, to be sure, the danger that he may drag down the one who stretches it out; there is in him great force of natural talent, but it is already bending toward what is corrupt. Nonetheless I will face this danger and dare to show him his own faults. He will do what he always does: he will call up those witticisms that can draw a laugh even from mourners, and he will joke first against himself, then against us; he will anticipate everything I am going to say. He will rummage through our schools of philosophy and throw in the philosophers' faces their handouts, their mistresses, their gluttony; he will show me one philosopher caught in adultery, another in a tavern, another at court. He will show me that charming philosopher Aristo, who used to lecture while out for a ride - for he had set aside this time for delivering his lessons. When someone asked which school he belonged to, Scaurus said, "At any rate he is no Peripatetic." [The Peripatetics, Aristotle's school, were so named because they discussed philosophy while walking; the joke is that Aristo lectured from a carriage, not on foot.] When Julius Graecinus, an excellent man, was consulted about the same fellow and asked what he thought, he said, "I cannot tell you; for I do not know what he does on foot" - as though he were being asked about a chariot-fighter. [An essedarius fought from a chariot; the quip mocks a philosopher who never lectures while walking.] These hawkers, who would have done more honor to philosophy by neglecting it than they do by peddling it, he will fling in my face. Still, I have resolved to put up with the insults: let him stir laughter in me - I will perhaps stir tears in him; or if he persists in laughing, I shall rejoice, as one does amid misfortunes, that he has been blessed with a cheerful brand of madness. But that cheerfulness does not last long: watch, and you will see the very same men, within a short space of time, laugh most furiously and rage most furiously. My plan is to set upon him and to show him how much greater his worth was when he was thought worth less by the many. His vices, even if I do not cut them out, I will hold in check; they will not stop, but they will perhaps be interrupted - and perhaps they will even stop, if they form the habit of being interrupted. This very thing is not to be despised, since for those who are gravely afflicted a good remission stands in the place of health. While I prepare myself for him, you in the meantime - you who can, who understand from where and to what point you have made your escape, and from that infer how far you are still going to escape - compose your character, lift up your spirit, take a stand against the things you dread; do not count up those who make you afraid. Would it not seem foolish if a man feared a crowd in a place through which the passage admits only one person at a time? In the same way, the approach to your death is not open to many, even though many threaten it. So nature has arranged it: a single person will snatch away your breath, just as a single person gave it. If you had any shame, you would have let me off the final installment; but not even I will conduct myself meanly at the end of the debt, and so I will press upon you what I owe: "I have never wished to please the people; for what I know, the people do not approve, and what the people approve, I do not know." "Who said this?" you ask, as though you did not know whom I am pressing into service. Epicurus; but this same thing all of them will shout at you, from every household - Peripatetics, Academics, Stoics, Cynics. For who can please the people, when virtue pleases him? Popular favor is won by base arts. You would have to make yourself like them: they will not approve of you unless they recognize you as one of their own. But it matters far more to the point what sort of man you seem to yourself than to others; the love of base men cannot be secured except by base means. What, then, will that philosophy - so praised, to be preferred to all arts and possessions - provide? This, of course: that you should prefer to please yourself rather than the people; that you should weigh men's judgments, not count them; that you should live without fear of gods or men; that you should either conquer evils or put an end to them. But if I see you celebrated by the favorable cries of the mob, if a roar and applause greet you as you enter - the trappings of a pantomime show - if throughout the whole city women and boys praise you, why should I not pity you, since I know what road leads to such favor? Farewell.

You have been inquiring about our friend Marcellinus and you desire to know how he is getting along. He seldom comes to see me, for no other reason than that he is afraid to hear the truth, and at present he is removed from any danger of hearing it; for one must not talk to a man unless he is willing to listen. That is why it is often doubted whether Diogenes and the other Cynics, who employed an undiscriminating freedom of speech and offered advice to any who came in their way, ought to have pursued such a plan. For what if one should chide the deaf or those who are speechless from birth or by illness? But you answer: “Why should I spare words? They cost nothing. I cannot know whether I shall help the man to whom I give advice; but I know well that I shall help someone if I advise many. I must scatter this advice by the handful. It is impossible that one who tries often should not sometime succeed.” This very thing, my dear Lucilius, is, I believe, exactly what a great-souled man ought not to do; his influence is weakened; it has too little effect upon those whom it might have set right if it had not grown so stale. The archer ought not to hit the mark only sometimes; he ought to miss it only sometimes. That which takes effect by chance is not an art. Now wisdom is an art; it should have a definite aim, choosing only those who will make progress, but withdrawing from those whom it has come to regard as hopeless,—yet not abandoning them too soon, and just when the case is becoming hopeless trying drastic remedies. As to our friend Marcellinus, I have not yet lost hope. He can still be saved, but the helping hand must be offered soon. There is indeed danger that he may pull his helper down; for there is in him a native character of great vigour, though it is already inclining to wickedness. Nevertheless I shall brave this danger and be bold enough to show him his faults. He will act in his usual way; he will have recourse to his wit,—the wit that can call forth smiles even from mourners. He will turn the jest, first against himself, and then against me. He will forestall every word which I am about to utter. He will quiz our philosophic systems; he will accuse philosophers of accepting doles, keeping mistresses, and indulging their appetites. He will point out to me one philosopher who has been caught in adultery, another who haunts the cafes, and another who appears at court. He will bring to my notice Aristo, the philosopher of Marcus Lepidus, who used to hold discussions in his carriage; for that was the time which he had taken for editing his researches, so that Scaurus said of him when asked to what school he belonged: “At any rate, he isn’t one of the Walking Philosophers.” Julius Graecinus, too, a man of distinction, when asked for an opinion on the same point, replied: “I cannot tell you; for I don’t know what he does when dismounted,” as if the query referred to a chariot-gladiator. It is mountebanks of that sort, for whom it would be more creditable to have left philosophy alone than to traffic in her, whom Marcellinus will throw in my teeth. But I have decided to put up with taunts; he may stir my laughter, but I perchance shall stir him to tears; or, if he persist in his jokes, I shall rejoice, so to speak, in the midst of sorrow, because he is blessed with such a merry sort of lunacy. But that kind of merriment does not last long. Observe such men, and you will note that within a short space of time they laugh to excess and rage to excess. It is my plan to approach him and to show him how much greater was his worth when many thought it less. Even though I shall not root out his faults, I shall put a check upon them; they will not cease, but they will stop for a time; and perhaps they will even cease, if they get the habit of stopping. This is a thing not to be despised, since to men who are seriously stricken the blessing of relief is a substitute for health. So while I prepare myself to deal with Marcellinus, do you in the meantime, who are able, and who understand whence and whither you have made your way, and who for that reason have an inkling of the distance yet to go, regulate your character, rouse your courage, and stand firm in the face of things which have terrified you. Do not count the number of those who inspire fear in you. Would you not regard as foolish one who was afraid of a multitude in a place where only one at a time could pass? Just so, there are not many who have access to you to slay you, though there are many who threaten you with death. Nature has so ordered it that, as only one has given you life, so only one will take it away. If you had any shame, you would have let me off from paying the last instalment. Still, I shall not be niggardly either, but shall discharge my debts to the last penny and force upon you what I still owe: “I have never wished to cater to the crowd; for what I know, they do not approve, and what they approve, I do not know.” “Who said this?” you ask, as if you were ignorant whom I am pressing into service; it is Epicurus. But this same watchword rings in your ears from every sect,—Peripatetic, Academic, Stoic, Cynic. For who that is pleased by virtue can please the crowd? It takes trickery to win popular approval; and you must needs make yourself like unto them; they will withhold their approval if they do not recognize you as one of themselves. However, what you think of yourself is much more to the point than what others think of you. The favour of ignoble men can be won only by ignoble means. What benefit, then, will that vaunted philosophy confer, whose praises we sing, and which, we are told, is to be preferred to every art and every possession? Assuredly, it will make you prefer to please yourself rather than the populace, it will make you weigh, and not merely count, men’s judgments, it will make you live without fear of gods or men, it will make you either overcome evils or end them. Otherwise, if I see you applauded by popular acclamation, if your entrance upon the scene is greeted by a roar of cheering and clapping,—marks of distinction meet only for actors,—if the whole state, even the women and children, sing your praises, how can I help pitying you? For I know what pathway leads to such popularity. Farewell.

[1] De Marcellino nostro quaeris et vis scire quid agat. Raro ad nos venit, non ulla alia ex causa quam quod audire verum timet, a quo periculo iam abest; nulli enim nisi audituro dicendum est. Ideo de Diogene nec minus de aliis Cynicis qui libertate promiscua usi sunt et obvios <quosque> monuerunt dubitari solet an hoc facere debuerint. Quid enim, si quis surdos obiurget aut natura morbove mutos? [2] 'Quare' inquis 'verbis parcam? gratuita sunt. Non possum scire an ei profuturus sim quem admoneo: illud scio, alicui me profuturum, si multos admonuero. Spargenda manus est: non potest fieri ut non aliquando succedat multa temptanti.' [3] Hoc, mi Lucili, non existimo magno viro faciendum: diluitur eius auctoritas nec habet apud eos satis ponderis quos posset minus obsolefacta corrigere. Sagittarius non aliquando ferire debet, sed aliquando deerrare; non est ars quae ad effectum casu venit. Sapientia ars est: certum petat, eligat profecturos, ab iis quos desperavit recedat, non tamen cito relinquat et in ipsa desperatione extrema remedia temptet. [4] Marcellinum nostrum ego nondum despero; etiam nunc servari potest, sed si cito illi manus porrigitur. Est quidem periculum ne porrigentem trahat; magna in illo ingeni vis est, sed iam tendentis in pravum. Nihilominus adibo hoc periculum et audebo illi mala sua ostendere. [5] Faciet quod solet: advocabit illas facetias quae risum evocare lugentibus possunt, et in se primum, deinde in nos iocabitur; omnia quae dicturus sum occupabit. Scrutabitur scholas nostras et obiciet philosophis congiaria, amicas, gulam; [6] ostendet mihi alium in adulterio, alium in popina, alium in aula; ostendet mihi lepidum philosophum Aristonem, qui in gestatione disserebat - hoc enim ad edendas operas tempus exceperat. De cuius secta cum quaereretur, Scaurus ait 'utique Peripateticus non est'. De eodem cum consuleretur Iulius Graecinus, vir egregius, quid sentiret, 'non possum' inquit 'tibi dicere; nescio enim quid de gradu faciat', tamquam de essedario interrogaretur. [7] Hos mihi circulatores qui philosophiam honestius neglexissent quam vendunt in faciem ingeret. Constitui tamen contumelias perpeti: moveat ille mihi risum, ego fortasse illi lacrimas movebo, aut si ridere perseverabit, gaudebo tamquam in malis quod illi genus insaniae hilare contigerit. Sed non est ista hilaritas longa: observa, videbis eosdem intra exiguum tempus acerrime ridere et acerrime rabere. [8] Propositum est aggredi illum et ostendere quanto pluris fuerit cum multis minoris videretur. Vitia eius etiam si non excidero, inhibebo; non desinent, sed intermittent fortasse autem et desinent, si intermittendi consuetudinem fecerint. Non est hoc ipsum fastidiendum, quoniam quidem graviter affectis sanitatis loco est bona remissio. [9] Dum me illi paro, tu interim, qui potes, qui intellegis unde quo evaseris et ex eo suspicaris quousque sis evasurus, compone mores tuos, attolle animum, adversus formidata consiste; numerare eos noli qui tibi metum faciunt. Nonne videatur stultus, si quis multitudinem eo loco timeat per quem transitus singulis est? aeque ad tuam mortem multis aditus non est licet illam multi minentur. Sic istuc natura disposuit: spiritum tibi tam unus eripiet quam unus dedit. [10] Si pudorem haberes, ultimam mihi pensionem remisisses; sed ne ego quidem me sordide geram in finem aeris alieni et tibi quod debeo impingam. 'Numquam volui populo placere; nam quae ego scio non probat populus, quae probat populus ego nescio.' [11] 'Quis hoc?' inquis, tamquam nescias cui imperem. Epicurus; sed idem hoc omnes tibi ex omni domo conclamabunt, Peripatetici, Academici, Stoici, Cynici. Quis enim placere populo potest cui placet virtus? malis artibus popularis favor quaeritur. Similem te illis facias oportet: non probabunt nisi agnoverint. Multo autem ad rem magis pertinet qualis tibi videaris quam aliis; conciliari nisi turpi ratione amor turpium non potest. [12] Quid ergo illa laudata et omnibus praeferenda artibus rebusque philosophia praestabit? scilicet ut malis tibi placere quam populo, ut aestimes iudicia, non numeres, ut sine metu deorum hominumque vivas, ut aut vincas mala aut finias. Ceterum, si te videro celebrem secundis vocibus vulgi, si intrante te clamor et plausus, pantomimica ornamenta, obstrepuerint, si tota civitate te feminae puerique laudaverint, quidni ego tui miserear, cum sciam quae via ad istum favorem ferat? Vale. Seneca the YoungerThe Latin Library The Classics Page