Letter 92

[1] You and I will agree, I think, that external things are acquired for the sake of the body, that the body is tended out of regard for the mind, and that within the mind there are parts that serve us, by which we move and are nourished, given to us for the sake of the directing part itself. Within this directing part there is something irrational and something rational. The former serves the latter, while the latter is the one thing that is not referred to anything else but refers everything to itself. For that divine reason too is set in command over all things, and is itself subject to nothing; and this reason of ours is the same, since it derives from that divine reason. [2] If we agree on this point, it follows that we shall agree on the next as well: that the happy life rests on this one thing, that reason within us be made perfect. For this alone keeps the mind from being bowed down; it stands against Fortune; in whatever condition of affairs, it preserves [its hold]. And that one thing is the good which is never broken off. He is happy, I say, whom nothing makes less than he is; he holds the heights, and leans on no one but himself; for whoever is held up by some outside support can fall. If it were otherwise, things not our own would begin to count for much in us. But who wants to depend on Fortune, or what prudent man admires himself on account of what belongs to another? [3] What is the happy life? Security and unbroken tranquillity. This greatness of mind will give; this steadfastness will give, holding fast to a thing well judged. How is this reached? If the whole truth has been clearly seen; if, in conducting affairs, one has preserved order, measure, fitness, a will harmless and kindly, intent on reason and never departing from it, lovable and admirable at once. In short, to write you the formula briefly: the mind of the wise man ought to be such as would befit a god. [4] What can he desire who has every honorable thing within his reach? For if dishonorable things can contribute anything to the best condition, then the happy life will consist in things without which it cannot exist. And what is baser or more foolish than to weave the good of a rational mind out of irrational things? [5] Yet certain people judge that the highest good can be increased, on the grounds that it is not full enough when chance circumstances are against it. Antipater too, among the great authorities of this school [the Stoics], says that he assigns something to externals, but only a very little. You see, however, what it is like not to be content with daylight unless some little fire shines as well: what weight can a spark have in this brightness of the sun? [6] If you are not content with honor alone, you must want added to it either repose, which the Greeks call aochlesia [freedom from disturbance], or pleasure. The one of these can in some fashion be admitted; for the mind, free of trouble, is at leisure for the contemplation of the universe, and nothing calls it away from the contemplation of nature. The other, pleasure, is the good of cattle: we are adding the irrational to the rational, the dishonorable to the honorable, [something small] to the great * * * does a tickling of the body make life [happy]? [7] Why, then, do you hesitate to say that a man is well off if his palate is well off? And do you reckon among men - I will not say among heroes - one whose highest good consists of flavors and colors and sounds? Let him depart from the number of these most beautiful living beings, second only to the gods; let him be herded with the dumb beasts, an animal delighting in fodder. [8] The irrational part of the mind has two parts: one spirited, ambitious, ungoverned, lodged in the passions; the other lowly, languid, given over to pleasures. The former, unbridled but still the better - certainly stronger and more worthy of a man - they have abandoned, while the latter, nerveless and abject, they have thought necessary to the happy life. [9] To this they have ordered reason to be a slave, and they have made the highest good of the most noble of living beings a thing debased and ignoble, and moreover mixed and monstrous, made of diverse and ill-matched limbs. For as our Vergil says of Scylla, yet to this Scylla are joined fierce animals, dreadful, swift: but out of what monsters have these men compounded wisdom? [10] The first part of man is virtue itself; to this is committed useless and flabby flesh, fit only for taking in food, as Posidonius says. That divine virtue ends in slippery stuff, and to its upper parts, worthy of reverence and heavenly, is attached an inert and decaying animal. That other thing, repose, of itself indeed offered nothing to the mind, but it removed hindrances; pleasure, on the contrary, positively dissolves the mind and softens all its strength. What joining of bodies so discordant in itself could be found? To the strongest thing is built on the most inert; to the most severe, something hardly serious; to the most holy, something dissolute even to the point of unchastity. [11] "What then?" he says. "If good health and repose and freedom from pain are going to hinder virtue in no way, will you not seek them?" Why should I not seek them? Not because they are goods, but because they are in accordance with nature, and because they will be taken up by me with good judgment. What then will be the good in them? This one thing: to be chosen well. For when I put on clothing such as is fitting, when I walk as I ought, when I dine as I should, it is not the dinner or the walk or the clothing that are goods, but my purpose in them, preserving in each thing a measure that conforms to reason. [12] I will add still further: the choice of clean clothing is to be sought by a man; for by nature man is a clean and elegant animal. And so clean clothing is not a good in itself, but the choice of clean clothing, because the good is not in the thing but in the quality of the choice; our actions are honorable, not the things themselves that are done. [13] What I have said of clothing, consider me to be saying the same of the body. For nature has wrapped this around the mind too, like a kind of clothing; it is its covering. But who has ever appraised garments by the chest that held them? Neither good nor bad does the scabbard make the sword. So about the body too I give you the same answer: I would indeed take, if the choice were given, both health and strength, but the good will be my judgment about them, not the things themselves. [14] "The wise man is happy, to be sure," he says, "yet he does not attain that highest good unless the natural instruments also answer to his needs. Thus he who has virtue cannot indeed be wretched, but he is not most happy if he is deprived of natural goods, such as health and soundness of limb." [15] You concede the thing that seems more incredible - that someone in the greatest and most continuous pains is not wretched, is even happy - while you deny the lighter thing, that he is most happy. And yet if virtue can bring it about that someone not be wretched, it will more easily bring it about that he be most happy; for less of an interval remains from happy to most happy than from wretched to happy. Can it be that a thing powerful enough to place a man, snatched from calamities, among the happy is unable to add what remains, to make him most happy? Does it fail at the top of the slope? [16] There are advantages in life and disadvantages, both outside us. If a good man is not wretched though weighed down by all disadvantages, how is he not most happy if he lacks some advantages? For just as he is not pressed down to wretchedness by the burden of disadvantages, so he is not led away from being most happy by the lack of advantages, but he is as much most happy without advantages as he is not wretched under disadvantages; otherwise his good could be snatched from him, if it could be diminished. [17] A little earlier I was saying that a little fire adds nothing to the light of the sun; for by its brightness whatever would shine without it is hidden. "But some things," he says, "stand even in the sun's way." Yet the sun is whole even among the things set against it, and although something may lie between to keep us from the sight of it, it is at work, borne on its course; whenever it has shone out from amid the clouds, it is no smaller than on a clear day, nor even slower, since it makes a great difference whether something merely stands in the way or actually hinders. [18] In the same way, things set against virtue take nothing from it: it is not smaller, but it shines less. To us perhaps it does not appear and gleam equally, but to itself it is the same and, like the darkened sun, exercises its power in secret. This, then, is what calamities and losses and injuries can do against virtue: what a cloud can do against the sun. [19] There is one who says that a wise man whose body is in poor health is neither wretched nor happy. He too is mistaken; for he puts chance things on a level with the virtues, and assigns as much to honorable things as to things lacking honor. But what is more foul, what more unworthy, than to compare things worthy of reverence with things despised? For worthy of reverence are justice, piety, good faith, courage, prudence: on the contrary, cheap are the things that often fall in fuller measure to the cheapest of men - a sound leg, a strong arm, teeth, and the health and firmness of these. [20] Then, if a wise man whose body is troublesome is to be reckoned neither wretched nor happy, but left in the middle, his life too will be neither to be sought nor to be fled. But what is so absurd as that the life of the wise man is not to be sought? Or what so beyond belief as that there is some life neither to be sought nor to be fled? Then, if bodily losses do not make a man wretched, they allow him to be happy; for things that have no power to change a state for the worse have no power even to interrupt the best state. [21] "We know," he says, "something cold and something hot; between the two is the lukewarm. So someone is happy, someone wretched, someone neither happy nor wretched." I want to demolish this image set against us. If I pour more cold into that lukewarm water, it will become cold; if I add more hot, it will at last become hot. But to this man, neither wretched nor happy, however much I add to his miseries, he will not become wretched, as you say; therefore that image is not alike. [22] Then I hand you a man neither wretched nor happy. I add blindness to him: he does not become wretched; I add disability: he does not become wretched; I add continuous and grievous pains: he does not become wretched. The man whom so many evils do not transfer into a wretched life do not draw out of a happy one either. [23] If the wise man cannot, as you say, fall from happy to wretched, he cannot fall to not-happy. For why should one who has begun to slip stop somewhere along the way? The thing that does not let him roll to the bottom keeps him at the top. Why could the happy life not be torn away? It cannot even be slackened, and for that reason virtue by itself is enough for it. [24] "What then?" he says. "Is not the wise man who has lived longer, whom no pain has called away, happier than the one who has always struggled with bad fortune?" Answer me: is he also better and more honorable? If these things are not so, he is not happier either. He must live more rightly to live more happily: if he cannot live more rightly, he cannot live more happily either. Virtue is not heightened, and therefore neither is the happy life, which comes from virtue. For virtue is so great a good that it does not feel those tiny additions - shortness of life and pain and the various afflictions of the body; for pleasure is not worthy that it should look back at it. [25] What is the chief thing in virtue? Not to need the future nor to count up its own days. In however small a span of time it consummates eternal goods. These things seem incredible to us and running out beyond human nature; for we measure its majesty by our own weakness and put the name of virtue on our own vices. And further: does it not seem just as incredible that someone set in the greatest tortures should say, "I am happy"? And yet this very voice was heard in the workshop of pleasure itself. "I am spending," said Epicurus, "this most happy and last day of mine," while on the one side difficulty of urination tortured him, and on the other the incurable pain of an ulcerated belly. [26] Why then should those things be incredible among those who cultivate virtue, when they are found even among those over whom pleasure has held sway? These men too, degenerate and of the lowest mind, say that in the greatest pains, in the greatest calamities, the wise man will be neither wretched nor happy. And yet this too is incredible - indeed more incredible; for I do not see how virtue, cast down from its height, should not be driven to the very bottom. Either it must guarantee happiness or, if pushed from this, it will not prevent a man from becoming wretched. Standing firm, it cannot be sent away: it must either be conquered or conquer. [27] "To the immortal gods alone," he says, "are virtue and the happy life granted; to us belongs a certain shadow and likeness of those goods; we approach them, we do not reach them." But reason is common to gods and men: in them it is consummated, in us it is capable of being consummated. [28] Yet our vices lead us to despair. For that other man is of the second rank, like someone too unsteady in guarding what is best, whose judgment still wavers and is uncertain. He would want the sense of his eyes and ears, good health, a bodily appearance that is not loathsome, and, with his condition remaining the same, a further longer span of years. [29] Through these a life can be led that need not be regretted, but in this imperfect man there is a certain force of badness, because he has a mind easily moved to the perverse; that [active and stirred-up] badness is absent [from the good]. He is not yet good, but is being shaped toward the good; and whoever lacks anything toward the good is bad. [30] But he makes himself equal to the gods, striving toward that place, mindful of his origin. No one improperly tries to climb up to the place from which he came down. And what reason is there for you not to think that something divine exists in one who is a part of God? This whole in which we are contained is one, and it is God; and we are his partners and his members. Our mind is capable, and is carried there if vices do not press it down. Just as the posture of our bodies is upright and looks toward heaven, so the mind, which is allowed to extend itself as far as it wishes, was formed by nature to this end, that it should want things equal to the gods'; and if it uses its own powers and stretches itself into its own space, it strives toward the heights by no foreign road. [31] It was a great labor to go to heaven: it returns. When it has found this road, it advances boldly, despising all things, and does not look back at money, and it values gold and silver - things most deserving of the darkness in which they lay - not by that splendor with which they strike the eyes of the ignorant, but by the ancient filth from which our greed separated them and dug them out. It knows, I say, that riches are placed elsewhere than where they are heaped up; that the mind ought to be filled, not the strongbox. [32] This mind one may set over the lordship of all things, this one may lead into possession of the nature of things, so that it bounds its own holdings by the limits of the rising and the setting [sun], and after the manner of the gods possesses all things, and with its own resources looks down from above on the rich, of whom no one is as glad over his own wealth as he is sorrowful over another's. [33] When it has borne itself to this height, it is the steward, not the lover, of the body too, as of a necessary burden, and does not submit itself to that on which it is imposed. No one is free who is a slave to the body; for, to pass over the other masters that excessive anxiety on its behalf invents, the body's own rule is peevish and fastidious. [34] From it the mind goes out now with an even spirit, now leaps forth grandly, and does not ask what afterward will be the outcome of what it has left behind; but just as we take no thought of what is shorn from beard and hair, so that divine mind, about to depart the man, judges that it makes no more difference to itself - whether fire [destroy] the place that held it, or earth cover it, or wild beasts tear it apart - than the afterbirth does to a newborn infant. Whether the birds scatter the cast-out body, or it is consumed, what is that to him who is nothing? [35] But even then, while it is among men, it does not fear any threats after death from those for whom to be feared up to death is too little. "Neither the hook frightens me," it says, "nor the foul mangling of a corpse thrown out for insult before the eyes of those who would look on. I ask no one for the last rites; I commend my remains to no one. Nature has provided that no one should go unburied: whom cruelty has cast out, the day will bury." Eloquently Maecenas says, You would think a well-girded man had said it; for he had a great and manly genius, had not prosperity ungirded it. Farewell.

You and I will agree, I think, that outward things are sought for the satisfaction of the body, that the body is cherished out of regard for the soul, and that in the soul there are certain parts which minister to us, enabling us to move and to sustain life, bestowed upon us just for the sake of the primary part of us. In this primary part there is something irrational, and something rational. The former obeys the latter, while the latter is the only thing that is not referred back to another, but rather refers all things to itself. For the divine reason also is set in supreme command over all things, and is itself subject to none; and even this reason which we possess is the same, because it is derived from the divine reason. Now if we are agreed on this point, it is natural that we shall be agreed on the following also—namely, that the happy life depends upon this and this alone: our attainment of perfect reason. For it is naught but this that keeps the soul from being bowed down, that stands its ground against Fortune; whatever the condition of their affairs may be, it keeps men untroubled. And that alone is a good which is never subject to impairment. That man, I declare, is happy whom nothing makes less strong than he is; he keeps to the heights, leaning upon none but himself; for one who sustains himself by any prop may fall. If the case is otherwise, then things which do not pertain to us will begin to have great influence over us. But who desires Fortune to have the upper hand, or what sensible man prides himself upon that which is not his own? What is the happy life? It is peace of mind, and lasting tranquillity. This will be yours if you possess greatness of soul; it will be yours if you possess the steadfastness that resolutely clings to a good judgment just reached. How does a man reach this condition? By gaining a complete view of truth, by maintaining, in all that he does, order, measure, fitness, and a will that is inoffensive and kindly, that is intent upon reason and never departs therefrom, that commands at the same time love and admiration. In short, to give you the principle in brief compass, the wise man’s soul ought to be such as would be proper for a god. What more can one desire who possesses all honourable things? For if dishonourable things can contribute to the best estate, then there will be the possibility of a happy life under conditions which do not include an honourable life. And what is more base or foolish than to connect the good of a rational soul with things irrational? Yet there are certain philosophers who hold that the Supreme Good admits of increase because it is hardly complete when the gifts of fortune are adverse. Even Antipater, one of the great leaders of this school, admits that he ascribes some influence to externals, though only a very slight influence. You see, however, what absurdity lies in not being content with the daylight unless it is increased by a tiny fire. What importance can a spark have in the midst of this clear sunlight? If you are not contented with only that which is honourable, it must follow that you desire in addition either the kind of quiet which the Greeks call “undisturbedness,” or else pleasure. But the former may be attained in any case. For the mind is free from disturbance when it is fully free to contemplate the universe, and nothing distracts it from the contemplation of nature. The second, pleasure, is simply the good of cattle. We are but adding the irrational to the rational, the dishonourable to the honourable. A pleasant physical sensation affects this life of ours; why, therefore, do you hesitate to say that all is well with a man just because all is well with his appetite? And do you rate, I will not say among heroes, but among men, the person whose Supreme Good is a matter of flavours and colours and sounds? Nay, let him withdraw from the ranks of this, the noblest class of living beings, second only to the gods; let him herd with the dumb brutes—an animal whose delight is in fodder! The irrational part of the soul is twofold: the one part is spirited, ambitious, uncontrolled; its seat is in the passions; the other is lowly, sluggish, and devoted to pleasure. Philosophers have neglected the former, which, though unbridled, is yet better, and is certainly more courageous and more worthy of a man, and have regarded the latter, which is nerveless and ignoble, as indispensable to the happy life. They have ordered reason to serve this latter; they have made the Supreme Good of the noblest living being an abject and mean affair, and a monstrous hybrid, too, composed of various members which harmonize but ill. For as our Vergil, describing Scylla, says: Above, a human face and maiden’s breast,— A beauteous breast,—below, a monster huge Of bulk and shapeless, with a dolphin’s tail Joined to a wolf-like belly. And yet to this Scylla are tacked on the forms of wild animals, dreadful and swift; but from what monstrous shapes have these wiseacres compounded wisdom! Man’s primary art is virtue itself; there is joined to this the useless and fleeting flesh, fitted only for the reception of food, as Posidonius remarks. This divine virtue ends in foulness, and to the higher parts, which are worshipful and heavenly, there is fastened a sluggish and flabby animal. As for the second desideratum,—quiet,—although it would indeed not of itself be of any benefit to the soul, yet it would relieve the soul of hindrances; pleasure, on the contrary, actually destroys the soul and softens all its vigour. What elements so inharmonious as these can be found united? To that which is most vigorous is joined that which is most sluggish, to that which is austere that which is far from serious, to that which is most holy that which is unrestrained even to the point of impurity. “What, then,” comes the retort, “if good health, rest, and freedom from pain are not likely to hinder virtue, shall you not seek all these?” Of course I shall seek them, but not because they are goods,—I shall seek them because they are according to nature and because they will be acquired through the exercise of good judgment on my part. What, then, will be good in them? This alone,—that it is a good thing to choose them. For when I don suitable attire, or walk as I should, or dine as I ought to dine, it is not my dinner, or my walk, or my dress that are goods, but the deliberate choice which I show in regard to them, as I observe, in each thing I do, a mean that conforms with reason. Let me also add that the choice of neat clothing is a fitting object of a man’s efforts; for man is by nature a neat and well-groomed animal. Hence the choice of neat attire, and not neat attire in itself, is a good; since the good is not in the thing selected, but in the quality of the selection. Our actions are honourable, but not the actual things which we do. And you may assume that what I have said about dress applies also to the body. For nature has surrounded our soul with the body as with a sort of garment; the body is its cloak. But who has ever reckoned the value of clothes by the wardrobe which contained them? The scabbard does not make the sword good or bad. Therefore, with regard to the body I shall return the same answer to you,—that, if I have the choice, I shall choose health and strength, but that the good involved will be my judgment regarding these things, and not the things themselves. Another retort is: “Granted that the wise man is happy; nevertheless, he does not attain the Supreme Good which we have defined, unless the means also which nature provides for its attainment are at his call. So, while one who possesses virtue cannot be unhappy, yet one cannot be perfectly happy if one lacks such natural gifts as health, or soundness of limb.” But in saying this, you grant the alternative which seems the more difficult to believe,—that the man who is in the midst of unremitting and extreme pain is not wretched, nay, is even happy; and you deny that which is much less serious,—that he is completely happy. And yet, if virtue can keep a man from being wretched, it will be an easier task for it to render him completely happy. For the difference between happiness and complete happiness is less than that between wretchedness and happiness. Can it be possible that a thing which is so powerful as to snatch a man from disaster, and place him among the happy, cannot also accomplish what remains, and render him supremely happy? Does its strength fail at the very top of the climb? There are in life things which are advantageous and disadvantageous,—both beyond our control. If a good man, in spite of being weighed down by all kinds of disadvantages, is not wretched, how is he not supremely happy, no matter if he does lack certain advantages? For as he is not weighted down to wretchedness by his burden of disadvantages, so he is not withdrawn from supreme happiness through lack of any advantages; nay, he is just as supremely happy without the advantages as he is free from wretchedness though under the load of his disadvantages. Otherwise, if his good can be impaired, it can be snatched from him altogether. A short space above, I remarked that a tiny fire does not add to the sun’s light. For by reason of the sun’s brightness any light that shines apart from the sunlight is blotted out. “But,” one may say, “there are certain objects that stand in the way even of the sunlight.” The sun, however, is unimpaired even in the midst of obstacles, and, though an object may intervene and cut off our view thereof, the sun sticks to his work and goes on his course. Whenever he shines forth from amid the clouds, he is no smaller, nor less punctual either, than when he is free from clouds; since it makes a great deal of difference whether there is merely something in the way of his light or something which interferes with his shining. Similarly, obstacles take nothing away from virtue; it is no smaller, but merely shines with less brilliancy. In our eyes, it may perhaps be less visible and less luminous than before; but as regards itself it is the same and, like the sun when he is eclipsed, is still, though in secret, putting forth its strength. Disasters, therefore, and losses, and wrongs, have only the same power over virtue that a cloud has over the sun. We meet with one person who maintains that a wise man who has met with bodily misfortune is neither wretched nor happy. But he also is in error, for he is putting the results of chance upon a parity with the virtues, and is attributing only the same influence to things that are honourable as to things that are devoid of honour. But what is more detestable and more unworthy than to put contemptible things in the same class with things worthy of reverence! For reverence is due to justice, duty, loyalty, bravery, and prudence; on the contrary, those attributes are worthless with which the most worthless men are often blessed in fuller measure,—such as a sturdy leg, strong shoulders, good teeth, and healthy and solid muscles. Again, if the wise man whose body is a trial to him shall be regarded as neither wretched nor happy, but shall be left in a sort of half-way position, his life also will be neither desirable nor undesirable. But what is so foolish as to say that the wise man’s life is not desirable? And what is so far beyond the bounds of credence as the opinion that any life is neither desirable nor undesirable? Again, if bodily ills do not make a man wretched, they consequently allow him to be happy. For things which have no power to change his condition for the worse, have not the power, either, to disturb that condition when it is at its best. “But,” someone will say, “we know what is cold and what is hot; a lukewarm temperature lies between. Similarly, A is happy, and B is wretched, and C is neither happy nor wretched.” I wish to examine this figure, which is brought into play against us. If I add to your lukewarm water a larger quantity of cold water, the result will be cold water. But if I pour in a larger quantity of hot water, the water will finally become hot. In the case, however, of your man who is neither wretched nor happy, no matter how much I add to his troubles, he will not be unhappy, according to your argument; hence your figure offers no analogy. Again, suppose that I set before you a man who is neither miserable nor happy. I add blindness to his misfortunes; he is not rendered unhappy. I cripple him; he is not rendered unhappy. I add afflictions which are unceasing and severe; he is not rendered unhappy. Therefore, one whose life is not changed to misery by all these ills is not dragged by them, either, from his life of happiness. Then if, as you say, the wise man cannot fall from happiness to wretchedness, he cannot fall into non-happiness. For how, if one has begun to slip, can one stop at any particular place? That which prevents him from rolling to the bottom, keeps him at the summit. Why, you urge, may not a happy life possibly be destroyed? It cannot even be disjointed; and for that reason virtue is itself of itself sufficient for the happy life. “But,” it is said, “is not the wise man happier if he has lived longer and has been distracted by no pain, than one who has always been compelled to grapple with evil fortune?” Answer me now,—is he any better or more honourable? If he is not, then he is not happier either. In order to live more happily, he must live more rightly; if he cannot do that, then he cannot live more happily either. Virtue cannot be strained tighter, and therefore neither can the happy life, which depends on virtue. For virtue is so great a good that it is not affected by such insignificant assaults upon it as shortness of life, pain, and the various bodily vexations. For pleasure does not deserve that. virtue should even glance at it. Now what is the chief thing in virtue? It is the quality of not needing a single day beyond the present, and of not reckoning up the days that are ours; in the slightest possible moment of time virtue completes an eternity of good. These goods seem to us incredible and transcending man’s nature; for we measure its grandeur by the standard of our own weakness, and we call our vices by the name of virtue. Furthermore, does it not seem just as incredible that any man in the midst of extreme suffering should say, “I am happy”? And yet this utterance was heard in the very factory of pleasure, when Epicurus said: “To-day and one other day have been the happiest of all!” although in the one case he was tortured by strangury, and in the other by the incurable pain of an ulcerated stomach. Why, then, should those goods which virtue bestows be incredible in the sight of us, who cultivate virtue, when they are found even in those who acknowledge pleasure as their mistress? These also, ignoble and base-minded as they are, declare that even in the midst of excessive pain and misfortune the wise man will be neither wretched nor happy. And yet this also is incredible,—nay, still more incredible than the other case. For I do not understand how, if virtue falls from her heights, she can help being hurled all the way to the bottom. She either must preserve one in happiness, or, if driven from this position, she will not prevent us from becoming unhappy. If virtue only stands her ground, she cannot be driven from the field; she must either conquer or be conquered. But some say: “Only to the immortal gods is given virtue and the happy life; we can attain but the shadow, as it were, and semblance of such goods as theirs. We approach them, but we never reach them.” Reason, however, is a common attribute of both gods and men; in the gods it is already perfected, in us it is capable of being perfected. But it is our vices that bring us to despair; for the second class of rational being, man, is of an inferior order,—a guardian, as it were, who is too unstable to hold fast to what is best, his judgment still wavering and uncertain. He may require the faculties of sight and hearing, good health, a bodily exterior that is not loathsome, and, besides, greater length of days conjoined with an unimpaired constitution. Though by means of reason he can lead a life which will not bring regrets, yet there resides in this imperfect creature, man, a certain power that makes for badness, because he possesses a mind which is easily moved to perversity. Suppose, however, the badness which is in full view, and has previously been stirred to activity, to be removed; the man is still not a good man, but he is being moulded to goodness. One, however, in whom there is lacking any quality that makes for goodness, is bad. But He in whose body virtue dwells, and spirit E’er present is equal to the gods; mindful of his origin, he strives to return thither. No man does wrong in attempting to regain the heights from which he once came down. And why should you not believe that something of divinity exists in one who is a part of God? All this universe which encompasses us is one, and it is God; we are associates of God; we are his members. Our soul has capabilities, and is carried thither, if vices do not hold it down. Just as it is the nature of our bodies to stand erect and look upward to the sky, so the soul, which may reach out as far as it will, was framed by nature to this end, that it should desire equality with the gods. And if it makes use of its powers and stretches upward into its proper region it is by no alien path that it struggles toward the heights. It would be a great task to journey heavenwards; the soul but returns thither. When once it has found the road, it boldly marches on, scornful of all things. It casts, no backward glance at wealth; gold and silver—things which are fully worthy of the gloom in which they once lay—it values not by the sheen which smites the eyes of the ignorant, but by the mire of ancient days, whence our greed first detached and dug them out. The soul, I affirm, knows that riches are stored elsewhere than in men’s heaped-up treasure-houses; that it is the soul, and not the strong-box, which should be filled. It is the soul that men may set in dominion over all things, and may install as owner of the universe, so that it may limit its riches only by the boundaries of East and West, and, like the gods, may possess all things; and that it may, with its own vast resources, look down from on high upon the wealthy, no one of whom rejoices as much in his own wealth as he resents the wealth of another. When the soul has transported itself to this lofty height, it regards the body also, since it is a burden which must be borne, not as a thing to love, but as a thing to oversee; nor is it subservient to that over which it is set in mastery. For no man is free who is a slave to his body. Indeed, omitting all the other masters which are brought into being by excessive care for the body, the sway which the body itself exercises is captious and fastidious. Forth from this body the soul issues, now with unruffled spirit, now with exultation, and, when once it has gone forth, asks not what shall be the end of the deserted clay. No; just as we do not take thought for the clippings of the hair and the beard, even so that divine soul, when it is about to issue forth from the mortal man, regards the destination of its earthly vessel—whether it be consumed by fire, or shut in by a stone, or buried in the earth, or torn by wild beasts—as being of no more concern to itself than is the afterbirth to a child just born. And whether this body shall be cast out and plucked to pieces by birds, or devoured when thrown to the sea-dogs as prey, how does that concern him who is nothing? Nay even when it is among the living, the soul fears nothing that may happen to the body after death; for though such things may have been threats, they were not enough to terrify the soul previous to the moment of death. It says: “I am not frightened by the executioner’s hook, nor by the revolting mutilation of the corpse which is exposed to the scorn of those who would witness the spectacle. I ask no man to perform the last rites for me; I entrust my remains to none. Nature has made provision that none shall go unburied. Time will lay away one whom cruelty has cast forth.” Those were eloquent words which Maecenas uttered: I want no tomb; for Nature doth provide For outcast bodies burial. You would imagine that this was the saying of a man of strict principles. He was indeed a man of noble and robust native gifts, but in prosperity he impaired these gifts by laxness. Farewell.

[1] Puto, inter me teque conveniet externa corpori adquiri, corpus in honorem animi coli, in animo esse partes ministras, per quas movemur alimurque, propter ipsum principale nobis datas. In hoc principali est aliquid inrationale, est et rationale; illud huic servit, hoc unum est quod alio non refertur sed omnia ad se refert. Nam illa quoque divina ratio omnibus praeposita est, ipsa sub nullo est; et haec autem nostra eadem est, quae ex illa est. [2] Si de hoc inter nos convenit, sequitur ut de illo quoque conveniat, in hoc uno positam esse beatam vitam, ut in nobis ratio perfecta sit. Haec enim sola non summittit animum, stat contra fortunam; in quolibet rerum habitu ~servitus~ servat. Id autem unum bonum est quod numquam defringitur. Is est, inquam, beatus quem nulla res minorem facit; tenet summa, et ne ulli quidem nisi sibi innixus; nam qui aliquo auxilio sustinetur potest cadere. Si aliter est, incipient multum in nobis valere non nostra. Quis autem vult constare fortuna aut quis se prudens ob aliena miratur? [3] Quid est beata vita? securitas et perpetua tranquillitas. Hanc dabit animi magnitudo, dabit constantia bene iudicati tenax. Ad haec quomodo pervenitur? si veritas tota perspecta est; si servatus est in rebus agendis ordo, modus, decor, innoxia voluntas ac benigna, intenta rationi nec umquam ab illa recedens, amabilis simul mirabilisque. Denique ut breviter tibi formulam scribam, talis animus esse sapientis viri debet qualis deum deceat. [4] Quid potest desiderare is cui omnia honesta contingunt? Nam si possunt aliquid non honesta conferre ad optimum statum, in his erit beata vita sine quibus non est. Et quid turpius stultiusve quam bonum rationalis animi ex inrationalibus nectere? [5] Quidam tamen augeri summum bonum iudicant, quia parum plenum sit fortuitis repugnantibus. Antipater quoque inter magnos sectae huius auctores aliquid se tribuere dicit externis, sed exiguum admodum. Vides autem quale sit die non esse contentum nisi aliquis igniculus adluxerit: quod potest in hac claritate solis habere scintilla momentum? [6] Si non es sola honestate contentus, necesse est aut quietem adici velis, quam Graeci aochlesian vocant, aut voluptatem. Horum alterum utcumque recipi potest; vacat enim animus molestia liber ad inspectum universi, nihilque illum avocat a contemplatione naturae. Alterum illud, voluptas, bonum pecoris est: adicimus rationali inrationale, honesto inhonestum, magno * * * vitam facit titillatio corporis? [7] Quid ergo dubitatis dicere bene esse homini, si palato bene est? Et hunc tu, non dico inter viros numeras, sed inter homines, cuius summum bonum saporibus et coloribus et sonis constat? Excedat ex hoc animalium numero pulcherrimo ac dis secundo; mutis adgregetur animal pabulo laetum. [8] Inrationalis pars animi duas habet partes, alteram animosam, ambitiosam, inpotentem, positam in adfectionibus, alteram humilem, languidam, voluptatibus deditam: illam effrenatam, meliorem tamen, certe fortiorem ac digniorem viro, reliquerunt, hanc necessariam beatae vitae putaverunt, enervem et abiectam. [9] Huic rationem servire iusserunt, et fecerunt animalis generosissimi summum bonum demissum et ignobile, praeterea mixtum portentosumque et ex diversis ac male congruentibus membris. Nam ut ait Vergilius noster in Scylla, Huic tamen Scyllae fera animalia adiuncta sunt, horrenda, velocia: at isti sapientiam ex quibus composuere portentis? [10] Prima pars hominis est ipsa virtus; huic committitur inutilis caro et fluida, receptandis tantum cibis habilis, ut ait Posidonius. Virtus illa divina in lubricum desinit et superioribus eius partibus venerandis atque caelestibus animal iners ac marcidum adtexitur. Illa utcumque altera quies nihil quidem ipsa praestabat animo, sed inpedimenta removebat: voluptas ultro dissolvit et omne robur emollit. Quae invenietur tam discors inter se iunctura corporum? Fortissimae rei inertissima adstruitur, severissimae parum seria, sanctissimae intemperans usque ad incesta. [11] 'Quid ergo?' inquit 'si virtutem nihil inpeditura sit bona valetudo et quies et dolorum vacatio, non petes illas?' Quidni petam? non quia bona sunt, sed quia secundum naturam sunt, et quia bono a me iudicio sumentur. Quid erit tunc in illis bonum? hoc unum, bene eligi. Nam cum vestem qualem decet sumo, cum ambulo ut oportet, cum ceno quemadmodum debeo, non cena aut ambulatio aut vestis bona sunt, sed meum in iis propositum servantis in quaque re rationi convenientem modum. [12] Etiamnunc adiciam: mundae vestis electio adpetenda est homini; natura enim homo mundum et elegans animal est. Itaque non est bonum per se munda vestis sed mundae vestis electio, quia non in re bonum est sed in electione quali; actiones nostrae honestae sunt, non ipsa quae aguntur. [13] Quod de veste dixi, idem me dicere de corpore existima. Nam hoc quoque natura ut quandam vestem animo circumdedit; velamentum eius est. Quis autem umquam vestimenta aestimavit arcula? nec bonum nec malum vagina gladium facit. Ergo de corpore quoque idem tibi respondeo: sumpturum quidem me, si detur electio, et sanitatem et vires, bonum autem futurum iudicium de illis meum, non ipsa. [14] 'Est quidem' inquit 'sapiens beatus; summum tamen illud bonum non consequitur nisi illi et naturalia instrumenta respondeant. Ita miser quidem esse qui virtutem habet non potest, beatissimus autem non est qui naturalibus bonis destituitur, ut valetudine, ut membrorum integritate.' [15] Quod incredibilius videtur, id concedis, aliquem in maximis et continuis doloribus non esse miserum, esse etiam beatum: quod levius est negas, beatissimum esse. Atqui si potest virtus efficere ne miser aliquis sit, facilius efficiet ut beatissimus sit; minus enim intervalli a beato ad beatissimum restat quam a misero ad beatum. An quae res tantum valet ut ereptum calamitatibus inter beatos locet non potest adicere quod superest, ut beatissimum faciat? in summo deficit clivo? [16] Commoda sunt in vita et incommoda, utraque extra nos. Si non est miser vir bonus quamvis omnibus prematur incommodis, quomodo non est beatissimus si aliquibus commodis deficitur? Nam quemadmodum incommodorum onere usque ad miserum non deprimitur, sic commodorum inopia non deducitur a beatissimo, sed tam sine commodis beatissimus est quam non est sub incommodis miser; aut potest illi eripi bonum suum, si potest minui. [17] Paulo ante dicebam igniculum nihil conferre lumini solis; claritate enim eius quidquid sine illo luceret absconditur. 'Sed quaedam' inquit 'soli quoque opstant.' At sol integer est etiam inter opposita, et quamvis aliquid interiacet quod nos prohibeat eius aspectu, in opere est, cursu suo fertur; quotiens inter nubila eluxit, non est sereno minor, ne tardior quidem, quoniam multum interest utrum aliquid obstet tantum an inpediat. [18] Eodem modo virtuti opposita nihil detrahunt: non est minor, sed minus fulget. Nobis forsitan non aeque apparet ac nitet, sibi eadem est et more solis obscuri in occulto vim suam exercet. Hoc itaque adversus virtutem possunt calamitates et damna et iniuriae quod adversus solem potest nebula. [19] Invenitur qui dicat sapientem corpore parum prospero usum nec miserum esse nec beatum. Hic quoque fallitur; exaequat enim fortuita virtutibus et tantundem tribuit honestis quantum honestate carentibus. Quid autem foedius, quid indignius quam comparari veneranda contemptis? Veneranda enim sunt iustitia, pietas, fides, fortitudo, prudentia: e contrario vilia sunt quae saepe contingunt pleniora vilissimis, crus solidum et lacertus et dentes et horum sanitas firmitasque. [20] Deinde si sapiens cui corpus molestum est nec miser habebitur nec beatus, sed <in> medio relinquetur, vita quoque eius nec adpetenda erit nec fugienda. Quid autem tam absurdum quam sapientis vitam adpetendam non esse? aut quid tam extra fidem quam esse aliquam vitam nec adpetendam nec fugiendam? Deinde si damna corporis miserum non faciunt, beatum esse patiuntur; nam quibus potentia non est in peiorem transferendi statum, ne interpellandi quidem optimum. [21] 'Frigidum' inquit 'aliquid et calidum novimus, inter utrumque tepidum est; sic aliquis beatus est, aliquis miser, aliquis nec beatus nec miser.' Volo hanc contra nos positam imaginem excutere. Si tepido illi plus frigidi ingessero, fiet frigidum; si plus calidi adfudero, fiet novissime calidum. At huic nec misero nec beato quantumcumque ad miserias adiecero, miser non erit, quemadmodum dicitis; ergo imago ista dissimilis est. [22] Deinde trado tibi hominem nec miserum nec beatum. Huic adicio caecitatem: non fit miser; adicio debilitatem: non fit miser; adicio dolores continuos et graves: miser non fit. Quem tam multa mala in miseram vitam non transferunt ne ex beata quidem educunt. [23] Si non potest, ut dicitis, sapiens ex beato in miserum decidere, non potest in non beatum. Quare enim qui labi coepit alicubi subsistat? quae res illum non patitur ad imum devolvi retinet in summo. Quidni non possit beata vita rescindi? ne remitti quidem potest, et ideo virtus ad illam per se ipsa satis est. [24] 'Quid ergo?' inquit 'sapiens non est beatior qui diutius vixit, quem nullus avocavit dolor, quam ille qui cum mala fortuna semper luctatus est?' Responde mihi: numquid et melior est et honestior? Si haec non sunt, ne beatior quidem est. Rectius vivat oportet ut beatius vivat: si rectius non potest, ne beatius quidem. Non intenditur virtus, ergo ne beata quidem vita, quae ex virtute est. Virtus enim tantum bonum est ut istas accessiones minutas non sentiat, brevitatem aevi et dolorem et corporum varias offensiones; nam voluptas non est digna ad quam respiciat. [25] Quid est in virtute praecipuum? futuro non indigere nec dies suos conputare. In quantulo libet tempore bona aeterna consummat. Incredibilia nobis haec videntur et supra humanam naturam excurrentia; maiestatem enim eius ex nostra inbecillitate metimur et vitiis nostris nomen virtutis inponimus. Quid porro? non aeque incredibile videtur aliquem in summis cruciatibus positum dicere 'beatus sum'? Atqui haec vox in ipsa officina voluptatis audita est. 'Beatissimum' inquit 'hunc et ultimum diem ago' Epicurus, cum illum hinc urinae difficultas torqueret, hinc insanabilis exulcerati dolor ventris. [26] Quare ergo incredibilia ista sint apud eos qui virtutem colunt, cum apud eos quoque reperiantur apud quos voluptas imperavit? Hi quoque degeneres et humillimae mentis aiunt in summis doloribus, in summis calamitatibus sapientem nec miserum futurum nec beatum. Atqui hoc quoque incredibile est, immo incredibilius; non video enim quomodo non in imum agatur e fastigio suo deiecta virtus. Aut beatum praestare debet aut, si ab hoc depulsa est, non prohibebit fieri miserum. Stans non potest mitti: aut vincatur oportet aut vincat. [27] 'Dis' inquit 'inmortalibus solis et virtus et beata vita contigit, nobis umbra quaedam illorum bonorum et similitudo; accedimus ad illa, non pervenimus.' Ratio vero dis hominibusque communis est: haec in illis consummata est, in nobis consummabilis. [28] Sed ad desperationem nos vitia nostra perducunt. Nam ille alter secundus est ut aliquis parum constans ad custodienda optima, cuius iudicium labat etiamnunc et incertum est. Desideret oculorum atque aurium sensum, bonam valetudinem et non foedum aspectum corporis et habitu manente suo aetatis praeterea longius spatium. [29] Per haec potest non paenitenda agi vita, at inperfecto viro huic malitiae vis quaedam inest, quia animum habet mobilem ad prava, illa ~aitarens malitia et ea agitata~ abest [de bono]. Non est adhuc bonus, sed in bonum fingitur; cuicumque autem deest aliquid ad bonum, malus est. [30] Sed hic deos aequat, illo tendit originis suae memor. Nemo inprobe eo conatur ascendere unde descenderat. Quid est autem cur non existimes in eo divini aliquid existere qui dei pars est? Totum hoc quo continemur et unum est et deus; et socii sumus eius et membra. Capax est noster animus, perfertur illo si vitia non deprimant. Quemadmodum corporum nostrorum habitus erigitur et spectat in caelum, ita animus, cui in quantum vult licet porrigi, in hoc a natura rerum formatus est, ut paria dis vellet; et si utatur suis viribus ac se in spatium suum extendat, non aliena via ad summa nititur. [31] Magnus erat labor ire in caelum: redit. Cum hoc iter nactus est, vadit audaciter contemptor omnium nec ad pecuniam respicit aurumque et argentum, illis in quibus iacuere tenebris dignissima, non ab hoc aestimat splendore quo inperitorum verberant oculos, sed a vetere caeno ex quo illa secrevit cupiditas nostra et effodit. Scit, inquam, aliubi positas esse divitias quam quo congeruntur; animum impleri debere, non arcam. [32] Hunc inponere dominio rerum omnium licet, hunc in possessionem rerum naturae inducere, ut sua orientis occidentisque terminis finiat, deorumque ritu cuncta possideat, cum opibus suis divites superne despiciat, quorum nemo tam suo laetus est quam tristis alieno. [33] Cum se in hanc sublimitatem tulit, corporis quoque ut oneris necessarii non amator sed procurator est, nec se illi cui inpositus est subicit. Nemo liber est qui corpori servit; nam ut alios dominos quos nimia pro illo sollicitudo invenit transeas, ipsius morosum imperium delicatumque est. [34] Ab hoc modo aequo animo exit, modo magno prosilit, nec quis deinde relicti eius futurus sit exitus quaerit; sed ut ex barba capilloque tonsa neglegimus, ita ille divinus animus egressurus hominem, quo receptaculum suum conferatur, ignis illud ~excludat~ an terra contegat an ferae distrahant, non magis ad se iudicat pertinere quam secundas ad editum infantem. Utrum proiectum aves differant an consumatur quid ad illum qui nullus <est>? [35] Sed tunc quoque cum inter homines est, <non> timet ullas post mortem minas eorum quibus usque ad mortem timeri parum est. 'Non conterret' inquit 'me nec uncus nec proiecti ad contumeliam cadaveris laceratio foeda visuris. Neminem de supremo officio rogo, nulli reliquias meas commendo. Ne quis insepultus esset rerum natura prospexit: quem saevitia proiecerit dies condet.' Diserte Maecenas ait, Alte cinctum putes dixisse; habuit enim ingenium et grande et virile, nisi illud secunda discinxissent. Vale.