Letter 67

[1] To begin with what is common to us all: spring has begun to open, but it is already sliding toward summer, when it ought to be warm, and yet it has only grown mild, and there is still no trusting it; for it often relapses into winter. Do you want to know how unsettled it still is? I do not yet commit myself to a truly cold bath; even now I temper its sharpness. "This," you say, "is to put up with neither hot nor cold." Just so, my Lucilius: by now my time of life is content with its own chill; it scarcely thaws out at midsummer. And so I spend the greater part of my time wrapped in clothes. [2] I am grateful to old age for fastening me to my little couch: and why should I not be grateful to it on this account? Whatever I ought to refuse to do, I am no longer able to do. My conversation is mostly with my books. Whenever your letters happen to arrive, I seem to be with you, and I am so affected in mind that I feel I am not writing back to you but answering you. And so, with regard to this question you raise as well, we will examine together what its nature is, just as if I were talking with you in person. [3] You ask whether every good is to be desired. "If it is a good thing," you say, "to be tortured bravely, to be burned with greatness of soul, to endure illness patiently, it follows that these things are to be desired; yet I see nothing among them worth a prayer. Certainly I know of no one up to now who has paid a vow on the ground that he was flogged with whips, or twisted out of shape by gout, or stretched longer on the rack." [4] Draw distinctions, my Lucilius, among these cases, and you will understand that there is in them something to be desired. I would wish torments to be absent from me; but if they must be endured, I will desire that in them I conduct myself bravely, honorably, and with spirit. Why should I not prefer that no war befall me? Yet if it does befall, I will desire to bear nobly the wounds, the famine, and all that the necessity of war brings. I am not so mad as to long to fall ill; but if I must fall ill, I will desire to do nothing without restraint, nothing in an unmanly way. So it is not the misfortunes that are to be desired, but the virtue by which the misfortunes are borne through. [5] Some of our school think that brave endurance of all such things is not to be desired, though not to be loathed either, since by prayer one ought to seek a good that is pure, tranquil, and set beyond all trouble. I disagree. Why? First, because it cannot be that some thing is indeed good but is not to be desired; next, because if virtue is to be desired, and no good exists without virtue, then every good is to be desired; further, even if [...] brave endurance of torments is to be desired. [6] Even now I ask: surely courage is to be desired? And yet it scorns dangers and challenges them; its most beautiful part, and most worthy of wonder, is this: not to yield to fire, to go to meet wounds, sometimes not even to dodge the weapons but to receive them in the breast. If courage is to be desired, then to bear torments patiently is also to be desired; for this is a part of courage. But separate these things, as I said: there will be nothing to lead you into error. For it is not the suffering of torments that is to be desired, but the suffering of them bravely: it is the "bravely" that I desire, which is virtue. [7] "Yet who ever desired this for himself?" Some prayers are open and declared, when they are made for particular things; others lie hidden, when many things are comprehended in a single prayer. For instance, I pray for myself an honorable life; but an honorable life consists of various actions: it contains the chest of Regulus [the Roman consul reportedly sealed in a spiked barrel by the Carthaginians], the wound that Cato tore open with his own hand, the exile of Rutilius, the poisoned cup that carried Socrates over from prison to heaven. So when I prayed for an honorable life for myself, I prayed also for those things without which life sometimes cannot be honorable. What difference does it make whether you wish this upon someone, or admit that it was a thing to be desired? [9] Decius devoted himself for the republic and, spurring his horse, charged into the midst of the enemy seeking death. Another after him, a rival of his father's valor, with the solemn and by now familiar words [the ritual formula of devotio] rushed into the most densely packed battle line, anxious only for this, that his offering find favor, reckoning a good death a thing to be desired. Do you then doubt whether it is best to die memorably and in some work of virtue? [10] When someone suffers torments bravely, he uses all the virtues. Perhaps one of them is at hand and shows itself most plainly, patience; but there too is courage, of which patience and steadfast suffering and endurance are the branches; there too is prudence, without which no plan is undertaken, which counsels you to bear as bravely as you can what you cannot escape; there too is constancy, which cannot be dislodged from its place and does not give up its purpose to any force that would wrench it away; there too is that inseparable company of the virtues. Whatever is done honorably, a single virtue does, but in accordance with the judgment of the council; yet what is approved by all the virtues, even if it seems to be done by one, is to be desired. [11] What? Do you think that only those things are to be desired which come through pleasure and ease, which are received at doorways decked out for them? There are certain goods of a grim countenance; there are certain prayers that are celebrated not by a crowd offering congratulations, but by men adoring and venerating. [12] Do you then suppose Regulus did not pray that he might reach the Carthaginians? Put on the spirit of a great man and withdraw for a little while from the opinions of the crowd; grasp, as fully as you ought, the vision of virtue, most beautiful and most magnificent, which is to be honored by us not with incense or garlands but with sweat and blood. [13] Look at Marcus Cato, setting his purest hands to that sacred breast and pulling wider the wounds that had not been driven deep enough. Are you, after all, going to say to him, "I wish what you wish" and "This grieves me," or rather, "Good fortune in what you do"? [14] At this point our own Demetrius comes to mind, who calls a life that is secure and free from any assaults of Fortune a dead sea. To have nothing to rouse you, nothing to spur you on, by whose threat and onset you may test the firmness of your mind, but to lie in unshaken ease, that is not tranquillity: it is a dead calm. [15] Attalus the Stoic used to say, "I would rather Fortune keep me in her camp than among her delights. I am tortured, but bravely: it is well. I am killed, but bravely: it is well." Listen to Epicurus, and he will even say, "It is sweet." I shall never put a soft name on a thing so honorable and stern. [16] I am burned, but unconquered: why should this not be desirable? - not because the fire burns me, but because it does not conquer me. Nothing is more excellent than virtue, nothing more beautiful; and whatever is done at its command is both good and to be desired. Farewell.

If I may begin with a commonplace remark, spring is gradually disclosing itself; but though it is rounding into summer, when you would expect hot weather, it has kept rather cool, and one cannot yet be sure of it. For it often slides back into winter weather. Do you wish to know how uncertain it still is? I do not yet trust myself to a bath which is absolutely cold; even at this time I break its chill. You may say that this is no way to show the endurance either of heat or of cold; very true, dear Lucilius, but at my time of life one is at length contented with the natural chill of the body. I can scarcely thaw out in the middle of summer. Accordingly, I spend most of the time bundled up; and I thank old age for keeping me fastened to my bed. Why should I not thank old age on this account? That which I ought not to wish to do, I lack the ability to do. Most of my converse is with books. Whenever your letters arrive, I imagine that I am with you, and I have the feeling that I am about to speak my answer, instead of writing it. Therefore let us together investigate the nature of this problem of yours, just as if we were conversing with one another. You ask me whether every good is desirable. You say: “If it is a good to be brave under torture, to go to the stake with a stout heart, to endure illness with resignation, it follows that these things are desirable. But I do not see that any of them is worth praying for. At any rate I have as yet known of no man who has paid a vow by reason of having been cut to pieces by the rod, or twisted out of shape by the gout, or made taller by the rack.” My dear Lucilius, you must distinguish between these cases; you will then comprehend that there is something in them that is to be desired. I should prefer to be free from torture; but if the time comes when it must be endured, I shall desire that I may conduct myself therein with bravery, honour, and courage. Of course I prefer that war should not occur; but if war does occur, I shall desire that I may nobly endure the wounds, the starvation, and all that the exigency of war brings. Nor am I so mad as to crave illness; but if I must suffer illness, I shall desire that I may do nothing which shows lack of restraint, and nothing that is unmanly. The conclusion is, not that hardships are desirable, but that virtue is desirable, which enables us patiently to endure hardships. Certain of our school, think that, of all such qualities, a stout endurance is not desirable,—though not to be deprecated either—because we ought to seek by prayer only the good which is unalloyed, peaceful, and beyond the reach of trouble. Personally, I do not agree with them. And why? First, because it is impossible for anything to be good without being also desirable. Because, again, if virtue is desirable, and if nothing that is good lacks virtue, then everything good is desirable. And, lastly, because a brave endurance even under torture is desirable. At this point I ask you: Is not bravery desirable? And yet bravery despises and challenges danger. The most beautiful and most admirable part of bravery is that it does not shrink from the stake, advances to meet wounds, and sometimes does not even avoid the spear, but meets it with opposing breast. If bravery is desirable, so is patient endurance of torture; for this is a part of bravery. Only sift these things, as I have suggested; then there will be nothing which can lead you astray. For it is not mere endurance of torture, but brave endurance, that is desirable. I therefore desire that “brave” endurance; and this is virtue. “But,” you say, “who ever desired such a thing for himself?” Some prayers are open and outspoken, when the requests are offered specifically; other prayers are indirectly expressed, when they include many requests under one title. For example, I desire a life of honour. Now a life of honour includes various kinds of conduct; it may include the chest in which Regulus was confined, or the wound of Cato which was torn open by Cato’s own hand, or the exile of Rutilius, or the cup of poison which removed Socrates from gaol to heaven. Accordingly, in praying for a life of honour, I have prayed also for those things without which, on some occasions, life cannot be honourable O thrice and four times blest were they Who underneath the lofty walls of Troy Met happy death before their parents’ eyes! What does it matter whether you offer this prayer for some individual, or admit that it was desirable in the past? Decius sacrificed himself for the State; he set spurs to his horse and rushed into the midst of the foe, seeking death. The second Decius, rivalling his father’s valour, reproducing the words which had become sacred and already household words, dashed into the thickest of the fight, anxious only that his sacrifice might bring omen of success, and regarding a noble death as a thing to be desired. Do you doubt, then, whether it is best to die glorious and performing some deed of valour? When one endures torture bravely, one is using all the virtues. Endurance may perhaps be the only virtue that is on view and most manifest; but bravery is there too, and endurance and resignation and long-suffering are its branches. There, too, is foresight; for without foresight no plan can be undertaken; it is foresight that advises one to bear as bravely as possible the things one cannot avoid. There also is steadfastness, which cannot be dislodged from its position, which the wrench of no force can cause to abandon its purpose. There is the whole inseparable company of virtues; every honourable act is the work of one single virtue, but it is in accordance with the judgment of the whole council. And that which is approved by all the virtues, even though it seems to be the work of one alone, is desirable. What? Do you think that those things only are desirable which come to us amid pleasure and ease, and which we bedeck our doors to welcome? There are certain goods whose features are forbidding. There are certain prayers which are offered by a throng, not of men who rejoice, but of men who bow down reverently and worship. Was it not in this fashion, think you, that Regulus prayed that he might reach Carthage? Clothe yourself with a hero’s courage, and withdraw for a little space from the opinions of the common man. Form a proper conception of the image of virtue, a thing of exceeding beauty and grandeur; this image is not to be worshipped by us with incense or garlands, but with sweat and blood. Behold Marcus Cato, laying upon that hallowed breast his unspotted hands, and tearing apart the wounds which had not gone deep enough to kill him! Which, pray, shall you say to him: “I hope all will be as you wish,” and “I am grieved,” or shall it be “Good fortune in your undertaking!”? In this connexion I think of our friend Demetrius, who calls an easy existence, untroubled by the attacks of Fortune, a “Dead Sea.” If you have nothing to stir you up and rouse you to action, nothing which will test your resolution by its threats and hostilities; if you recline in unshaken comfort, it is not tranquillity; it is merely a flat calm. The Stoic Attalus was wont to say: “I should prefer that Fortune keep me in her camp rather than in the lap of luxury. If I am tortured, but bear it bravely, all is well; if I die, but die bravely, it is also well.” Listen to Epicurus; he will tell you that it is actually pleasant. I myself shall never apply an effeminate word to an act so honourable and austere. If I go to the stake, I shall go unbeaten. Why should I not regard this as desirable—not because the fire, burns me, but because it does not overcome me? Nothing is more excellent or more beautiful than virtue; whatever we do in obedience to her orders is both good and desirable. Farewell.

[1] Ut a communibus initium faciam, ver aperire se coepit, sed iam inclinatum in aestatem, quo tempore calere debebat, intepuit nec adhuc illi fides est; saepe enim in hiemem revolvitur. Vis scire quam dubium adhuc sit? nondum me committo frigidae verae, adhuc rigorem eius infringo. 'Hoc est' inquis 'nec calidum nec frigidum pati.' Ita est, mi Lucili: iam aetas mea contenta est suo frigore; vix media regelatur aestate. Itaque maior pars in vestimentis degitur. [2] Ago gratias senectuti quod me lectulo affixit: quidni gratias illi hoc nomine agam? Quidquid debebam nolle, non possum. Cum libellis mihi plurimus sermo est. Si quando intervenerunt epistulae tuae, tecum esse mihi videor et sic afficior animo tamquam tibi non rescribam sed respondeam. Itaque et de hoc quod quaeris, quasi colloquar tecum, quale sit una scrutabimur. [3] Quaeris an omne bonum optabile sit. 'Si bonum est' inquis 'fortiter torqueri et magno animo uri et patienter aegrotare, sequitur ut ista optabilia sint; nihil autem video ex istis voto dignum. Neminem certe adhuc scio eo nomine votum solvisse quod flagellis caesus esset aut podagra distortus aut eculeo longior factus.' [4] Distingue, mi Lucili, ista, et intelleges esse in iis aliquid optandum. Tormenta abesse a me velim; sed si sustinenda fuerint, ut me in illis fortiter, honeste, animose geram optabo. Quidni ego malim non incidere bellum? sed si inciderit, ut vulnera, ut famem et omnia quae bellorum necessitas affert generose feram optabo. Ton sum tam demens ut aegrotare cupiam; sed si aegrotandum fuerit, ut nihil intemperanter, nihil effeminate faciam optabo. Ita non incommoda optabilia sunt, sed virtus qua perferuntur incommoda. [5] Quidam ex nostris existimant omnium istorum fortem tolerantiam non esse optabilem, sed ne abominandam quidem, quia voto purum bonum peti debet et tranquillum et extra molestiam positum. Ego dissentio. Quare? primum quia fieri non potest ut aliqua res bona quidem sit sed optabilis non sit; deinde si virtus optabilis est, nullum autem sine virtute bonum, et omne bonum optabile est; deinde etiam si *** tormentorum fortis patientia optabilis est. [6] Etiam nunc interrogo: nempe fortitudo optabilis est? Atqui pericula contemnit et provocat; pulcherrima pars eius maximeque mirabilis illa est, non cedere ignibus, obviam ire vulneribus, interdum tela ne vitare quidem sed pectore excipere. Si fortitudo optabilis est, et tormenta patienter ferre optabile est; hoc enim fortitudinis pars est. Sed separa ista, ut dixi: nihil erit quod tibi faciat errorem. Non enim pati tormenta optabile est, sed pati fortiter: illud opto 'fortiter', quod est virtus. [7] 'Quis tamen umquam hoc sibi optavit?' Quaedam vota aperta et professa sunt, cum particulatim fiunt; quaedam latent, cum uno voto multa comprensa sunt. Tamquam opto mihi vitam honestam; vita autem honesta actionibus variis constat: in hac es Reguli arca, Catonis scissum manu sua vulnus, Rutili exsilium, calix venenatus qui Socraten transtulit e carcere in caelum. Ita cum optavi mihi vitam honestam, et haec optavi sine quibus interdum honesta non potest esse. Quid interest, optes hoc alicui an optabile fuisse fatearis? [9] Decius se pro re publica devovit et in medios hostes concitato equo mortem petens irruit. Alter post hunc, paternae virtutis aemulus, conceptis sollemnibus ac iam familiaribus verbis in aciem confertissimam incucurrit, de hoc sollicitus tantum, ut litaret, optabilem rem putans bonam mortem. Dubitas ergo an optimum sit memorabilem mori et in aliquo opere virtutis? [10] Cum aliquis tormenta fortiter patitur, omnibus virtutibus utitur. Fortasse una in promptu sit et maxime appareat, patientia; ceterum illic est fortitudo, cuius patientia et perpessio et tolerantia rami sunt; illic est prudentia, sine qua nullum initur consilium, quae suadet quod effugere non possis quam fortissime ferre; illic est constantia, quae deici loco non potest et propositum nulla vi extorquente dimittit; illic est individuus ille comitatus virtutum. Quidquid honeste fit una virtus facit, sed ex consilii sententia; quod autem ab omnibus virtutibus comprobatur, etiam si ab una fieri videtur, optabile est. [11] Quid? tu existimas ea tantum optabilia esse quae per voluptatem et otium veniunt, quae excipiuntur foribus ornatis? Sunt quaedam tristis vultus bona; sunt quaedam vota quae non gratulantium coetu, sed adorantium venerantiumque celebrantur. [12] Ita tu non putas Regulum optasse ut ad Poenos perveniret? Indue magni viri animum et ab opinionibus vulgi secede paulisper; cape, quantam debes, virtutis pulcherrimae ac magnificentissimae speciem, quae nobis non ture nec sertis, sed sudore ct sanguine colenda est. [13] Aspice M. Catonem sacro illi pectori purissimas manus admoventem et vulnera parum alte demissa laxantem. Utrum tandem illi dicturus es 'vellem quae velles' et 'moleste fero' an 'feliciter quod agis'? [14] Hoc loco mihi Demetrius noster occurrit, qui vitam securam et sine ullis fortunae incursionibus mare mortuum vocat. Nihil habere ad quod exciteris, ad quod te concites, cuius denuntiatione et incursu firmitatem animi tui temptes, sed in otio inconcusso iacere non est tranquillitas: malacia est. [15] Attalus Stoicus dicere solebat, 'malo me fortuna in castris suis quam in deliciis habeat. Torqueor, sed fortiter: bene est. Occidor, sed fortiter: bene est.' Audi Epicurum, dicet et 'dulce est'. Ego tam honestae rei ac severae numquam molle nomen imponam. [16] Uror, sed invictus: quidni hoc optabile sit? - non quod urit me ignis, sed quod non vincit. Nihil est virtute praestantius, nihil pulchrius; et bonum est et optabile quidquid ex huius geritur imperio. Vale.