Letter 82

[1] I have now stopped worrying about you. "And which of the gods," you ask, "have you accepted as your guarantor?" One, of course, who deceives no one: a mind that loves what is upright and good. The better part of you is in safekeeping. Fortune can do you an injury; but what matters more, I do not fear that you will do one to yourself. Go on as you have begun, and settle yourself calmly into this manner of life, not softly. [2] I would rather have it go hard with me than soft -- and here take "hard" the way ordinary people usually mean it: harsh, rough, laborious. We often hear the lives of certain men praised, men who are envied: "He lives softly"; but what they are saying is, "He is soft." For the mind is gradually made effeminate and dissolves into a likeness of the leisure and laziness in which it lies. What then? Is it not better for a man even to grow rigid [hardened, callused]? * * * Besides, these same delicate types fear the very thing to which they have made their own life resemble. There is a great difference between leisure and a tomb. [3] "What then?" you say. "Is it not better even to lie idle like this than to be tossed about in those whirlpools of obligations?" Both conditions are detestable, both the cramped contraction and the torpor. In my view, the man who lies among perfumes is as dead as the one dragged off by the hook [the hook used to drag the bodies of the executed]; leisure without literature is death and the burial of a living man. [4] And then, what good is it to have withdrawn? As if the causes of our anxieties did not pursue us across the seas! What hiding place is there that the fear of death does not enter? What repose of life is so well fortified, so drawn up to the heights, that pain does not terrify it? Wherever you have hidden yourself, human evils will clamor all around you. Many things are outside us that circle around to deceive or to press upon us; many are within us that seethe in the very midst of solitude. [5] We must surround ourselves with philosophy, an impregnable wall, which Fortune, though she assaults it with many siege engines, does not break through. The mind stands on unassailable ground when it has abandoned external things and asserts its freedom in its own citadel; below it every weapon falls. Fortune does not have, as we suppose, long arms: she seizes no one except the man clinging to her. [6] Therefore let us recoil from her as far as we can; and only knowledge of oneself and of nature will make this possible. Let a man know where he is going and where he came from, what is good for him and what is evil, what he should seek and what he should avoid, and what that reason is which distinguishes the things to be pursued from those to be fled, by which the madness of the desires is tamed and the savagery of the fears is curbed. [7] Some people think they have repressed these things by themselves, even without philosophy; but when some accident has caught them off their guard, a late confession is wrung from them; their grand words fall away when the torturer has demanded their hand, when death has drawn nearer. You could say to such a man: "It was easy for you to challenge evils while they were absent: look, here is the pain you said was bearable; here is the death against which you said many spirited things; the whips are cracking, the sword flashes; [8] But constant meditation will make all this firm, if you have trained not your words but your mind, if you have prepared yourself against death -- against which the man who tries to persuade you by quibbles that death is no evil will not encourage you nor lift you up. For I take pleasure, Lucilius, best of men, in laughing at the Greek absurdities, which, though I marvel at this, I have not yet shaken off. [9] Our own Zeno uses this chain of reasoning: "No evil is glorious; but death is glorious; therefore death is not an evil." Bravo! I have been freed from fear; after this I shall not hesitate to stretch out my neck. Will you not speak more sternly, instead of making a dying man laugh? I could not easily tell you, by Hercules, which was the more foolish: the man who thought he had extinguished the fear of death by this little argument, or the man who tried to refute it, as if it had any bearing on the matter. [10] For the latter set up an opposite syllogism, born from the fact that we place death among the indifferent things, which the Greeks call adiaphora. "Nothing indifferent," he says, "is glorious; but death is glorious; therefore death is not indifferent." You see where this syllogism slips in its error: death is not glorious, but to die bravely is glorious. And when you say, "Nothing indifferent is glorious," I grant it to you, but with the proviso that I say nothing is glorious except in connection with indifferent things; for I call indifferent (that is, neither good nor evil) such things as sickness, pain, poverty, exile, death. [11] None of these is glorious in itself, yet nothing is glorious without them. For it is not poverty that is praised, but the man whom poverty does not subdue or bend down; it is not exile that is praised, but the man -- Rutilius [P. Rutilius Rufus, the upright statesman exiled in 92 BC after a politically motivated conviction] -- who went into exile with a braver face than the man who sent him there; it is not pain that is praised, but the man whom pain compelled to nothing; no one praises death, but rather the man whose death took away his spirit before it could throw it into disorder. [12] All these things are not in themselves honorable or glorious, but whatever among them virtue has approached and handled, it makes honorable and glorious: they lie in the middle. It makes all the difference whether wickedness or virtue has laid a hand on them; for that same death which is glorious in Cato is at once base and shameful in Brutus. For this is the Brutus who, when, about to die, he sought to delay his death, withdrew to relieve his bowels, and, when called to die and ordered to offer his neck, said, "I will offer it -- so may I live!" What madness it is to flee when you cannot go back! "I will offer it," he said, "so may I live!" He nearly added, "even under Antony!" What a man, fit to be handed over to life! [13] But, as I had begun to say, you see that death itself is neither an evil nor a good: Cato used it most honorably, Brutus most shamefully. Anything that has no beauty of its own takes it on when virtue is added. We call a bedroom bright, yet the very same room is utterly dark at night; [14] the day pours light into it, the night takes it away: so it is with those things we call indifferent and middle -- riches, strength, beauty, honors, kingship -- and on the other hand death, exile, ill health, pains, and whatever else we dread more or less; it is wickedness or virtue that gives them the name of good or evil. A lump of metal is in itself neither hot nor cold: thrown into the furnace it grew hot, plunged into water it grew cold. Death is honorable through that which is honorable, that is, virtue and a mind that despises external things. [15] There is also, Lucilius, a great distinction among these things which we call middle. For death is not indifferent in the same way as whether you keep your hair even or uneven: death is among those things which are indeed not evils, yet have the appearance of an evil. There is self-love and an implanted will to persist and to preserve oneself, and a loathing of dissolution, * * * because death seems to snatch many goods away from us and to lead us out of this abundance of things to which we have grown accustomed. This too estranges us from death: that we already know these present things, while what we are about to pass over to we do not know -- of what sort it is -- and we shudder at the unknown. There is besides a natural fear of darkness, into which death is believed to lead us. [16] And so, even if death is indifferent, it is nevertheless not something that can easily be disregarded: the mind must be toughened by great exercise so that it can endure the sight and the approach of death. Death ought to be despised more than it usually is; for we have believed many things about it; the talents of many have competed to increase its bad name; the prison of the underworld has been described, and the region oppressed by perpetual night, in which Even once you have persuaded yourself that these are mere fables and that nothing remains for the dead to fear, another fear creeps up: for men fear being among the dead below just as much as being nowhere at all. [17] Against these things which a long-standing conviction pours over us, why should it not be glorious to endure death bravely, and rank among the greatest works of the human mind? A mind that will never rise to virtue if it has believed death to be an evil; but will rise if it considers it indifferent. The nature of things does not allow that anyone should approach with a great spirit something he judges to be an evil: he will come sluggishly and hesitantly. But nothing is glorious that is done by one who is unwilling and reluctant; virtue does nothing because it is compelled. [18] Add now that nothing is done honorably except when the whole mind has applied itself and been present to it, and has resisted with no part of itself. But where one approaches an evil either from fear of worse evils or in hope of goods so great that it is worth swallowing the endurance of one evil to reach them, the judgments of the agent are at variance with each other: on this side there is what bids him carry out his intentions, on that what holds him back and makes him flee from a thing suspect and dangerous; and so he is torn in opposite directions. If this is so, the glory perishes; for virtue carries out its decisions with a mind in concord, and does not fear what it is doing. [19] You will not advance more boldly if you have believed those things to be evils. This must be plucked out of your breast; otherwise the suspicion that delays the impulse will make you hesitate; you will be shoved into what ought to be attacked. ... that the one is true, but the other, set against it, is deceptive and false. I do not reduce these matters to the law of dialectic and to those knots of a thoroughly decrepit craft: I judge that this whole sort of thing must be thrown out -- the sort by which the man questioned thinks he is being entrapped and, led to a confession, answers one thing while thinking another. For the sake of truth we must act more straightforwardly; against fear, more bravely. [20] These very things which they tangle up I would rather untie and unfold, so as to persuade, not to impose. When a general is about to lead his army into battle line to meet death for their wives and children, how will he exhort them? I give you the Fabii, transferring an entire war of the republic onto a single household. I show you the Spartans posted in the very narrows of Thermopylae: they hope for neither victory nor return; that place is to be their tomb. [21] How do you exhort them to receive the destruction of a whole nation with their bodies thrown forward, and to yield up their lives rather than their position? Will you say, "What is evil is not glorious; death is glorious; therefore death is not an evil"? What an effective speech! Who, after this, would hesitate to throw himself onto the enemy's hostile blades and die standing? But how bravely that Leonidas addressed them! "So," he said, "fellow soldiers, breakfast as men who will dine among the dead." The food did not swell in their mouths, did not stick in their throats, did not slip from their hands: they cheerfully pledged themselves both to breakfast and to dinner. [22] What of that Roman commander, who, when soldiers had been sent to seize a position and were about to go through an enormous army of the enemy, addressed them thus: "It is necessary to go there, fellow soldiers, from where it is not necessary to return"? You see how simple and commanding virtue is: which of mortals can your verbal entrapments make braver, which can they make more upright? They break the spirit, which should never be less contracted and forced into petty and thorny matters than when it is being marshaled for something great. [23] Not three hundred men, but all mortals ought to have the fear of death taken from them. How do you teach them that it is not an evil? How do you overcome the opinions of a whole lifetime, with which infancy is steeped from the very start? What aid do you find for human weakness? What do you say to set men aflame so that they rush into the midst of dangers? With what speech do you turn aside this consensus of fearing, with what powers of intellect do you turn aside the conviction of the human race that stands braced against you? Are you composing captious arguments for me and stringing together petty little questions? Great monsters are struck down with great weapons. [24] That savage serpent in Africa, more terrible to the Roman legions than the war itself, they assailed in vain with arrows and slings: it was not vulnerable even to the Pythian [a great catapult or bolt, named for its destructive power]. Since its enormous size, solid to match the vastness of its body, threw back the iron and whatever human hands had hurled, it was at last broken by stones the size of millstones. And do you hurl such tiny missiles against death? Do you meet a lion with an awl? What you say is sharp: nothing is sharper than an ear of grain; yet subtlety itself renders certain things useless and ineffective. Farewell.

I have already ceased to be anxious about you. “Whom then of the gods,” you ask, “have you found as your voucher?” A god, let me tell you, who deceives no one,—a soul in love with that which is upright and good. The better part of yourself is on safe ground. Fortune can inflict injury upon you; what is more pertinent is that I have no fears lest you do injury to yourself. Proceed as you have begun, and settle yourself in this way of living, not luxuriously, but calmly. I prefer to be in trouble rather than in luxury; and you had better interpret the term “in trouble” as popular usage is wont to interpret it: living a “hard,” “rough,” “toilsome” life. We are wont to hear the lives of certain men praised as follows, when they are objects of unpopularity: “So-and-So lives luxuriously”; but by this they mean: “He is softened by luxury.” For the soul is made womanish by degrees, and is weakened until it matches the ease and laziness in which it lies. Lo, is it not better for one who is really a man even to become hardened? Next, these same dandies fear that which they have made their own lives resemble. Much difference is there between lying idle and lying buried! “But,” you say, “is it not better even to lie idle than to whirl round in these eddies of business distraction?” Both extremes are to be deprecated—both tension and sluggishness. I hold that he who lies on a perfumed couch is no less dead than he who is dragged along by the executioner’s hook. Leisure without study is death; it is a tomb for the living man. What then is the advantage of retirement? As if the real causes of our anxieties did not follow us across the seas! What hiding-place is there, where the fear of death does not enter? What peaceful haunts are there, so fortified and so far withdrawn that pain does not fill them with fear? Wherever you hide yourself, human ills will make an uproar all around. There are many external things which compass us about, to deceive us or to weigh upon us; there are many things within which, even amid solitude, fret and ferment. Therefore, gird yourself about with philosophy, an impregnable wall. Though it be assaulted by many engines, Fortune can find no passage into it. The soul stands on unassailable ground, if it has abandoned external things; it is independent in its own fortress; and every weapon that is hurled falls short of the mark. Fortune has not the long reach with which we credit her; she can seize none except him that clings to her. Let us then recoil from her as far as we are able. This will be possible for us only through knowledge of self and of the world of Nature. The soul should know whither it is going and whence it came, what is good for it and what is evil, what it seeks and what it avoids, and what is that Reason which distinguishes between the desirable and the undesirable, and thereby tames the madness of our desires and calms the violence of our fears. Some men flatter themselves that they have checked these evils by themselves even without the aid of philosophy; but when some accident catches them off their guard, a tardy confession of error is wrung from them. Their boastful words perish from their lips when the torturer commands them to stretch forth their hands, and when death draws nearer! You might say to such a man: “It was easy for you to challenge evils that were not near-by; but here comes pain, which you declared you could endure; here comes death, against which you uttered many a courageous boast! The whip cracks, the sword flashes: Ah now, Aeneas, thou must needs be stout And strong of heart!” This strength of heart, however, will come from constant study, provided that you practise, not with the tongue but with the soul, and provided that you prepare yourself to meet death. To enable yourself to meet death, you may expect no encouragement or cheer from those who try to make you believe, by means of their hair-splitting logic, that death is no evil. For I take pleasure, excellent Lucilius, in poking fun at the absurdities of the Greeks, of which, to my continual surprise, I have not yet succeeded in ridding myself. Our master Zeno uses a syllogism like this: “No evil is glorious; but death is glorious; therefore death is no evil.” A cure, Zeno! I have been freed from fear; henceforth I shall not hesitate to bare my neck on the scaffold. Will you not utter sterner words instead of rousing a dying man to laughter? Indeed, Lucilius, I could not easily tell you whether he who thought that he was quenching the fear of death by setting up this syllogism was the more foolish, or he who attempted to refute it, just as if it had anything to do with the matter! For the refuter himself proposed a counter-syllogism, based upon the proposition that we regard death as “indifferent,”—one of the things which the Greeks call ἀδιάφορα. “Nothing,” he says, “that is indifferent can be glorious; death is glorious; therefore death is not indifferent.” You comprehend the tricky fallacy which is contained in this syllogism: mere death is, in fact, not glorious; but a brave death is glorious. And when you say: “Nothing that is indifferent is glorious,” I grant you this much, and declare that nothing is glorious except as it deals with indifferent things. I classify as “indifferent,”—that is, neither good nor evil—sickness, pain, poverty, exile, death. None of these things is intrinsically glorious; but nothing can be glorious apart from them. For it is not poverty that we praise, it is the man whom poverty cannot humble or bend. Nor is it exile that we praise, it is the man who withdraws into exile in the spirit in which he would have sent another into exile. It is not pain that we praise, it is the man whom pain has not coerced. One praises not death, but the man whose soul death takes away before it can confound it. All these things are in themselves neither honourable nor glorious; but any one of them that virtue has visited and touched is made honourable and glorious by virtue; they merely lie in between, and the decisive question is only whether wickedness or virtue has laid hold upon them. For instance, the death which in Cato’s case is glorious, is in the case of Brutus forthwith base and disgraceful. For this Brutus, condemned to death, was trying to obtain postponement; he withdrew a moment in order to ease himself; when summoned to die and ordered to bare his throat, he exclaimed: “I will bare my throat, if only I may live!” What madness it is to run away, when it is impossible to turn back! “I will bare my throat, if only I may live!” He came very near saying also: “even under Antony!” This fellow deserved indeed to be consigned to life! But, as I was going on to remark, you see that death in itself is neither an evil nor a good; Cato experienced death most honourably, Brutus most basely. Everything, if you add virtue, assumes a glory which it did not possess before. We speak of a sunny room, even though the same room is pitch-dark at night. It is the day which fills it with light, and the night which steals the light away; thus it is with the things which we call indifferent and “middle,” like riches, strength, beauty, titles, kingship, and their opposites,—death, exile, ill-health, pain, and all such evils, the fear of which upsets us to a greater or less extent; it is the wickedness or the virtue that bestows the name of good or evil. An object is not by its own essence either hot or cold; it is heated when thrown into a furnace, and chilled when dropped into water. Death is honourable when related to that which is honourable; by this I mean virtue and a soul that despises the worst hardships. Furthermore, there are vast distinctions among these qualities which we call “middle.” For example, death is not so indifferent as the question whether your hair should be worn evenly or unevenly. Death belongs among those things which are not indeed evils, but still have in them a semblance of evil; for there are implanted in us love of self, a desire for existence and self-preservation, and also an abhorrence of dissolution, because death seems to rob us of many goods and to withdraw us from the abundance to which we have become accustomed. And there is another element which estranges us from death: we are already familiar with the present, but are ignorant of the future into which we shall transfer ourselves, and we shrink from the unknown. Moreover, it is natural to fear the world of shades, whither death is supposed to lead. Therefore, although death is something indifferent, it is nevertheless not a thing which we can easily ignore. The soul must be hardened by long practice, so that it may learn to endure the sight and the approach of death. Death ought to be despised more than it is wont to be despised. For we believe too many of the stories about death. Many thinkers have striven hard to increase its ill repute; they have portrayed the prison in the world below and the land overwhelmed by everlasting night, where Within his blood-stained cave Hell’s warder huge Doth sprawl his ugly length on half-crunched bones, And terrifies the disembodied ghosts With never-ceasing bark. Even if you can win your point and prove that these are mere stories and that nothing is left for the dead to fear, another fear steals upon you. For the fear of going to the underworld is equalled by the fear of going nowhere. In the face of these notions, which long-standing opinion has dinned in our ears, how can brave endurance of death be anything else than glorious, and fit to rank among the greatest accomplishments of the human mind? For the mind will never rise to virtue if it believes that death is an evil; but it will so rise if it holds that death is a matter of indifference. It is not in the order of nature that a man shall proceed with a great heart to a destiny which he believes to be evil; he will go sluggishly and with reluctance. But nothing glorious can result from unwillingness and cowardice; virtue does nothing under compulsion. Besides, no deed that a man does is honourable unless he has devoted himself thereto and attended to it with all his heart, rebelling against it with no portion of his being. When, however, a man goes to face an evil, either through fear of worse evils or in the hope of goods whose attainment is of sufficient moment to him that he can swallow the one evil which he must endure,—in that case the judgment of the agent is drawn in two directions. On the one side is the motive which bids him carry out his purpose; on the other, the motive which restrains him and makes him flee from something which has aroused his apprehension or leads to danger. Hence he is torn in different directions; and if this happens, the glory of his act is gone. For virtue accomplishes its plans only when the spirit is in harmony with itself. There is no element of fear in any of its actions. Yield not to evils, but, still braver, go Where’er thy fortune shall allow. You cannot “still braver go,” if you are persuaded that those things are the real evils. Root out this idea from your soul; otherwise your apprehensions will remain undecided and will thus check the impulse to action. You will be pushed into that towards which you ought to advance like a soldier. Those of our school, it is true, would have men think that Zeno’s syllogism is correct, but that the second I mentioned, which is set up against his, is deceptive and wrong. But I for my part decline to reduce such questions to a matter of dialectical rules or to the subtleties of an utterly worn-out system. Away, I say, with all that sort of thing, which makes a man feel, when a question is propounded to him, that he is hemmed in, and forces him to admit a premiss, and then makes him say one thing in his answer when his real opinion is another. When truth is at stake, we must act more frankly; and when fear is to be combated, we must act more bravely. Such questions, which the dialecticians involve in subtleties, I prefer to solve and weigh rationally, with the purpose of winning conviction and not of forcing the judgment. When a general is about to lead into action an army prepared to meet death for their wives and children, how will he exhort them to battle? I remind you of the Fabii, who took upon a single clan a war which concerned the whole state. I point out to you the Lacedaemonians in position at the very pass of Thermopylae! They have no hope of victory, no hope of returning. The place where they stand is to be their tomb. In what language do you encourage them to bar the way with their bodies and take upon themselves the ruin of their whole tribe, and to retreat from life rather than from their post? Shall you say: “That which is evil is not glorious; but death is glorious; therefore death is not an evil”? What a powerful discourse! After such words, who would hesitate to throw himself upon the serried spears of the foemen, and die in his tracks? But take Leonidas: how bravely did he address his men! He said: “Fellow-soldiers, let us to our breakfast, knowing that we shall sup in Hades!” The food of these men did not grow lumpy in their mouths, or stick in their throats, or slip from their fingers; eagerly did they accept the invitation to breakfast, and to supper also! Think, too, of the famous Roman general; his soldiers had been dispatched to seize a position, and when they were about to make their way through a huge army of the enemy, he addressed them with the words: “You must go now, fellow-soldiers, to yonder place, whence there is no ’must’ about your returning!” You see, then, how straightforward and peremptory virtue is; but what man on earth can your deceptive logic make more courageous or more upright? Rather does it break the spirit, which should never be less straitened or forced to deal with petty and thorny problems than when some great work is being planned. It is not the Three Hundred,—it is all mankind that should be relieved of the fear of death. But how can you prove to all those men that death is no evil? How can you overcome the notions of all our past life,—notions with which we are tinged from our very infancy? What succour can you discover for man’s helplessness? What can you say that will make men rush, burning with zeal, into the midst of danger? By what persuasive speech can you turn aside this universal feeling of fear, by what strength of wit can you turn aside the conviction of the human race which steadfastly opposes you? Do you propose to construct catchwords for me, or to string together petty syllogisms? It takes great weapons to strike down great monsters. You recall the fierce serpent in Africa, more frightful to the Roman legions than the war itself, and assailed in vain by arrows and slings; it could not be wounded even by “Pythius,” since its huge size, and the toughness which matched its bulk, made spears, or any weapon hurled by the hand of man, glance off. It was finally destroyed by rocks equal in size to millstones. Are you, then, hurling petty weapons like yours even against death? Can you stop a lion’s charge by an awl? Your arguments are indeed sharp; but there is nothing sharper than a stalk of grain. And certain arguments are rendered useless and unavailing by their very subtlety. Farewell.

[1] Desii iam de te esse sollicitus. 'Quem' inquis 'deorum sponsorem accepisti?' Eum scilicet qui neminem fallit, animum recti ac boni amatorem. In tuto pars tui melior est. Potest fortuna tibi iniuriam facere: quod ad rem magis pertinet, non timeo ne tu facias tibi. I qua ire coepisti et in isto te vitae habitu compone placide, non molliter. [2] Male mihi esse malo quam molliter -- <'male'> nunc sic excipe quemadmodum a populo solet dici: dure, aspere, laboriose. Audire solemus sic quorundam vitam laudari quibus invidetur: 'molliter vivit'; hoc dicunt, 'mollis est'. Paulatim enim effeminatur animus atque in similitudinem otii sui et pigritiae in qua iacet solvitur. Quid ergo? viro non vel obrigescere satius est? * * * deinde idem delicati timent, [morti] cui vitam suam fecere similem. Multum interest inter otium et conditivum. [3] 'Quid ergo?' inquis 'non satius est vel sic iacere quam in istis officiorum verticibus volutari?' Utraque res detestabilis est, et contractio et torpor. Puto, aeque qui in odoribus iacet mortuus est quam qui rapitur unco; otium sine litteris mors est et hominis vivi sepultura. [4] Quid deinde prodest secessisse? tamquam non trans maria nos sollicitudinum causae persequantur. Quae latebra est in quam non intret metus mortis? quae tam emunita et in altum subducta vitae quies quam non dolor territet? quacumque te abdideris, mala humana circumstrepent. Multa extra sunt quae circumeunt nos quo aut fallant aut urgeant, multa intus quae in media solitudine exaestuant. [5] Philosophia circumdanda est, inexpugnabilis murus, quem fortuna multis machinis lacessitum non transit. In insuperabili loco stat animus qui externa deseruit et arce se sua vindicat; infra illum omne telum cadit. Non habet, ut putamus, fortuna longas manus: neminem occupat nisi haerentem sibi. [6] Itaque quantum possumus ab illa resiliamus; quod sola praestabit sui naturaeque cognitio. Sciat quo iturus sit, unde ortus, quod illi bonum, quod malum sit, quid petat, quid evitet, quae sit illa ratio quae adpetenda ac fugienda discernat, qua cupiditatum mansuescit insania, timorum saexitia conpescitur. [7] Haec quidam putant ipsos etiam sine philosophia repressisse; sed cum securos aliquis casus expertus est, exprimitur sera confessio; magna verba excidunt cum tortor poposcit manum, cum mors propius accessit. Possis illi dicere, 'facile provocabas mala absentia: ecce dolor, quem tolerabilem esse dicebas, ecce mors, quam contra multa animose locutus es; sonant flagella, gladius micat; [8] Faciet autem illud firmum adsidua meditatio, si non verba exercueris sed animum, si contra mortem te praeparaveris, adversus quam non exhortabitur nec attollet qui cavillationibus tibi persuadere temptaverit mortem malum non esse. Libet enim, Lucili, virorum optime, ridere ineptias Graecas, quas nondum, quamvis mirer, excussi. [9] Zenon noster hac conlectione utitur: 'nullum malum gloriosum est; mors autem gloriosa est; mors ergo non est malum'. Profecisti! liberatus sum metu; post hoc non dubitabo porrigere cervicem. Non vis severius loqui nec morituro risum movere? Non mehercules facile tibi dixerim utrum ineptior fuerit qui se hac interrogatione iudicavit mortis metum extinguere, an qui hoc, tamquam ad rem pertineret, conatus est solvere. [10] Nam et ipse interrogationem contrariam opposuit ex eo natam quod mortem inter indifferentia ponimus, quae adiaphora Graeci vocant. 'Nihil' inquit 'indifferens gloriosum est; mors autem gloriosum est; ergo mors non est indifferens.' Haec interrogatio vides ubi obrepat: mors non est gloriosa, sed fortiter mori gloriosum est. Et cum dicis 'indifferens nihil gloriosum est', concedo tibi ita ut dicam nihil gloriosum esse nisi circa indifferentia; tamquam indifferentia esse dico (id est nec bona nec mala) morbum, dolorem, paupertatem, exilium, mortem. [11] Nihil horum per se gloriosum est, nihil tamen sine his. Laudatur enim non paupertas, sed ille quem paupertas non summittit nec incurvat; laudatur non exilium, sed ille [Rutilius] qui fortiore vultu in exilium iit quam misisset; laudatur non dolor, sed ille quem nihil coegit dolor; nemo mortem laudat, sed eum cuius mors ante abstulit animum quam conturbavit. [12] Omnia ista per se non sunt honesta nec gloriosa, sed quidquid ex illis virtus adiit tractavitque honestum et gloriosum facit: illa in medio posita sunt. Interest utrum malitia illis an virtus manum admoverit; mors enim illa quae in Catone gloriosa est in Bruto statim turpis est et erubescenda. Hic est enim Brutus qui, cum periturus mortis moras quaereret, ad exonerandum ventrem secessit et evocatus ad mortem iussusque praebere cervicem, 'praebebo', inquit 'ita vivam'. Quae dementia est fugere cum retro ire non possis! 'Praebebo', inquit 'ita vivam'. Paene adiecit 'vel sub Antonio'. O hominem dignum qui vitae dederetur! [13] Sed, ut coeperam dicere, vides ipsam mortem nec malum esse nec bonum: Cato illa honestissime usus est, turpissime Brutus. Omnis res quod non habuit decus virtute addita sumit. Cubiculum lucidum dicimus, hoc idem obscurissimum est nocte; [14] dies illi lucem infundit, nox eripit: sic istis quae a nobis indifferentia ac media dicuntur, divitiis, viribus, formae, honoribus, regno, et contra morti, exilio, malae valetudini, doloribus quaeque alia aut minus aut magis pertimuimus, aut malitia aut virtus dat boni vel mali nomen. Massa per se nec calida nec frigida est: in fornacem coniecta concaluit, in aquam demissa refrixit. Mors honesta est per illud quod honestum est, id <est> virtus et animus externa contemnens. [15] Est et horum, Lucili, quae appellamus media grande discrimen. Non enim sic mors indifferens est quomodo utrum capillos pares <an inpares> habeas: mors inter illa est quae mala quidem non sunt, tamen habent mali speciem: sui amor est et permanendi conservandique se insita voluntas atque aspernatio dissolutionis, * * * quia videtur multa nobis bona eripere et nos ex hac cui adsuevimus rerum copia educere. Illa quoque res morti nos alienat, quod haec iam novimus, illa ad quae transituri sumus nescimus qualia sint, et horremus ignota. Naturalis praeterea tenebrarum metus est, in quas adductura mors creditur. [16] Itaque etiam si indifferens mors est, non tamen ea est quae facile neglegi possit: magna exercitatione durandus est animus ut conspectum eius accessumque patiatur. Mors contemni debet magis quam solet; multa enim de illa credidimus; multorum ingeniis certatum est ad augendam eius infamiam; descriptus est carcer infernus et perpetua nocte oppressa regio, in qua Etiam cum persuaseris istas fabulas esse nec quicquam defunctis superesse quod timeant, subit alius metus: aeque enim timent ne apud inferos sint quam ne nusquam. [17] His adversantibus quae nobis offundit longa persuasio, fortiter pati mortem quidni gloriosum sit et inter maxima opera mentis humanae? Quae numquam ad virtutem exsurget si mortem malum esse crediderit: exsurget si putabit indifferens esse. Non recipit rerum natura ut aliquis magno animo accedat ad id quod malum iudicat: pigre veniet et cunctanter. Non est autem gloriosum quod ab invito et tergiversante fit; nihil facit virtus quia necesse est. [18] Adice nunc quod nihil honeste fit nisi cui totus animus incubuit atque adfuit, cui nulla parte sui repugnavit. Ubi autem ad malum acceditur aut peiorum metu, aut spe bonorum ad quae pervenire tanti sit devorata unius mali patientia, dissident inter se iudicia facientis: hinc est quod iubeat proposita perficere, illinc quod retrahat et ab re suspecta ac periculosa fugiat; igitur in diversa distrahitur. Si hoc est, perit gloria; virtus enim concordi animo decreta peragit, non timet quod facit. [19] Non ibis audentior si mala illa esse credideris. Eximendum hoc e pectore est; alioqui haesitabit impetum moratura suspicio; trudetur in id quod invadendum est. veram esse, fallacem autem alteram et falsam quae illi opponitur. Ego non redigo ista ad legem dialecticam et ad illos artificii veternosissimi nodos: totum genus istuc exturbandum iudico quo circumscribi se qui interrogatur existimat et ad confessionem perductus aliud respondet, aliud putat. Pro veritate simplicius agendum est, contra metum fortius. [20] Haec ipsa quae involvuntur ab illis solvere malim et expandere, ut persuadeam, non ut inponam. In aciem educturus exercitum pro coniugibus ac liberis mortem obiturum quomodo exhortabitur? Do tibi Fabios totum rei publicae bellum in unam transferentes domum. Laconas tibi ostendo in ipsis Thermopylarum angustiis positos: nec victoriam sperant nec reditum; ille locus illis sepulchrum futurus est. [21] Quemadmodum exhortaris ut totius gentis ruinam obiectis corporibus excipiant et vita potius quam loco cedant? Dices 'quod malum est gloriosum non est; mors gloriosa est; mors ergo non malum'? O efficacem contionem! Quis post hanc dubitet se infestis ingerere mucronibus et stans mori? At ille Leonidas quam fortiter illos adlocutus est! 'Sic', inquit 'conmilitones, prandete tamquam apud inferos cenaturi.' Non in ore crevit cibus, non haesit in faucibus, non elapsus est manibus: alacres et ad prandium illi promiserunt et ad cenam. [22] Quid? dux ille Romanus, qui ad occupandum locum milites missos, cum per ingentem hostium exercitum ituri essent, sic adlocutus est: 'ire, conmilitones, illo necesse est unde redire non est necesse'. Vides quam simplex et imperiosa virtus sit: quem mortalium circumscriptiones vestrae fortiorem facere, quem erectiorem possunt? frangunt animum, qui numquam minus contrahendus est et in minuta ac spinosa cogendus quam cum <ad> aliquid grande conponitur. [23] Non trecentis, sed omnibus mortalibus mortis timor detrahi debet. Quomodo illos doces malum non esse? quomodo opiniones totius aevi, quibus protinus infantia inbuitur, evincis? quod auxilium invenis [quid dicis] inbecillitati humanae? quid dicis quo inflammati in media pericula inruant? qua oratione hunc timendi consensum, quibus ingenii viribus obnixam contra te persuasionem humani generis avertis? verba mihi captiosa componis et interrogatiunculas nectis? Magnis telis magna portenta feriuntur. [24] Serpentem illam in Africa saevam et Romanis legionibus bello ipso terribiliorem frustra sagittis fundisque petierunt: ne Pythio quidem vulnerabilis erat. Cum ingens magnitudo pro vastitate corporis solida ferrum et quidquid humanae torserant manus reiceret, molaribus demum fracta saxis est. Et adversus mortem tu tam minuta iacularis? subula leonem excipis? Acuta sunt ista quae dicis: nihil est acutius arista; quaedam inutilia et inefficacia ipsa subtilitas reddit. Vale.