Letter 35

[1] When I urge you so insistently to apply yourself to your studies, I am pleading my own cause: I want to have a friend, and that cannot fall to me unless you go on cultivating yourself as you have begun. For at the moment you love me, but you are not my friend. "What then? Are these two things different from each other?" On the contrary, they are unlike. The one who is a friend loves; the one who loves is not necessarily a friend. And so friendship is always of benefit, while love sometimes even does harm. [2] If for no other reason, make progress for this one: that you may learn to love. Hurry, then, while you make progress for my sake, so that you do not end up having learned it for someone else's benefit. For my part I am already reaping the harvest, when I imagine to myself that we shall be of one mind, and that whatever vigor has slipped away from my time of life will return to me from yours too—though the gap between us is not great. But even so, I want to be glad in the actual fact of it. [3] Joy comes to us even from those we love when they are absent, but it is slight and fleeting; the sight of a man, his presence, and conversation with him hold something of living pleasure—especially if you see not only the one you wish, but such a one as you wish. Bring yourself to me, then, an immense gift, and, that you may press on the harder, consider that you are mortal and that I am old. [4] Hurry to me, but first hurry to yourself. Make progress, and before all else take care of this: that you remain consistent with yourself. Whenever you want to test whether anything has been accomplished, observe whether you want the same things today that you wanted yesterday. A change of will indicates that the mind is adrift, showing itself now here, now there, as the wind has carried it. What is fixed and grounded does not wander: that belongs to the perfected wise man, and to some degree also to the one who is making progress and advancing. What, then, is the difference? The latter is indeed stirred, yet does not move on, but sways in his own place; the former is not even stirred. Farewell.

When I urge you so strongly to your studies, it is my own interest which I am consulting; I want your friendship, and it cannot fall to my lot unless you proceed, as you have begun, with the task of developing yourself. For now, although you love me, you are not yet my friend. “But,” you reply, “are these words of different meaning?” Nay, more, they are totally unlike in meaning. A friend loves you, of course; but one who loves you is not in every case your friend. Friendship, accordingly, is always helpful, but love sometimes even does harm. Try to perfect yourself, if for no other reason, in order that you may learn how to love. Hasten, therefore, in order that, while thus perfecting yourself for my benefit, you may not have learned perfection for the benefit of another. To be sure, I am already deriving some profit by imagining that we two shall be of one mind, and that whatever portion of my strength has yielded to age will return to me from your strength, although there is not so very much difference in our ages. But yet I wish to rejoice in the accomplished fact. We feel a joy over those whom we love, even when separated from them, but such a joy is light and fleeting; the sight of a man, and his presence, and communion with him, afford something of living pleasure; this is true, at any rate, if one not only sees the man one desires, but the sort of man one desires. Give yourself to me, therefore, as a gift of great price, and, that you may strive the more, reflect that you yourself are mortal, and that I am old. Hasten to find me, but hasten to find yourself first. Make progress, and, before all else, endeavour to be consistent with yourself. And when you would find out whether you have accomplished anything, consider whether you desire the same things to-day that you desired yesterday. A shifting of the will indicates that the mind is at sea, heading in various directions, according to the course of the wind. But that which is settled and solid does not wander from its place. This is the blessed lot of the completely wise man, and also, to a certain extent, of him who is progressing and has made some headway. Now what is the difference between these two classes of men? The one is in motion, to be sure, but does not change its position; it merely tosses up and down where it is; the other is not in motion at all. Farewell.

[1] Cum te tam valde rogo ut studeas, meum negotium ago: habere amicum volo, quod contingere mihi, nisi pergis ut coepisti excolere te, non potest. Nunc enim amas me, amicus non es. 'Quid ergo? haec inter se diversa sunt?' immo dissimilia. Qui amicus est amat; qui amat non utique amicus est; itaque amicitia semper prodest, amor aliquando etiam nocet. [2] Si nihil aliud, ob hoc profice, ut amare discas. Festina ergo dum mihi proficis, ne istuc alteri didiceris. Ego quidem percipio iam fructum, cum mihi fingo uno nos animo futuros et quidquid aetati meae vigoris abscessit, id ad me et tua, quamquam non multum abest, rediturum; sed tamen re quoque ipsa esse laetus volo. [3] Venit ad nos ex iis quos amamus etiam absentibus gaudium, sed id leve et evanidum: conspectus et praesentia et conversatio habet aliquid vivae voluptatis, utique si non tantum quem velis sed qualem velis videas. Affer itaque te mihi, ingens munus, et quo magis instes, cogita te mortalem esse, me senem. [4] Propera ad me, sed ad te prius. Profice et ante omnia hoc cura, ut constes tibi. Quotiens experiri voles an aliquid actum sit, observa an eadem hodie velis quae heri: mutatio voluntatis indicat animum natare, aliubi atque aliubi apparere, prout tulit ventus. Non vagatur quod fixum atque fundatum est: istud sapienti perfecto contingit, aliquatenus et proficienti provectoque. Quid ergo interest? hic commovetur quidem, non tamen transit, sed suo loco nutat; ille ne commovetur quidem. Vale.