A Letter From Serenus to Seneca

    1.  When I examined myself, Seneca, some vices appeared so manifest that I could seize them with my hand; some are more obscure and hidden, while some are not lasting, but return  at intervals; and these I should even call the most troublesome, like enemies who wander about and make an attack as occasion offers, who permit one neither to be always on one's guard as in war, nor to be free from apprehension as in peace.  Yet I find more especially this condition of things in myself (for why should I not confess the truth to you as to a physician?), that I am neither entirely free from those things which I feared and hated, nor on the other hand addicted to them.  I find myself in a state of mind which, although not the worst, is particularly complaining and sullen:  I am neither sick nor well.  It will not help me for you to say that the beginnings of all virtues are weak and feeble, and that firmness and strength come to them in time.  I am not ignorant that even those which struggle for appearance's sake--I mean for high position,  reputation for eloquence, and whatever depends upon the judgment of others--gain strength with time:  both those which give true strength and those which are provided with some disguise for the purpose of pleasing, require years until time gradually acquires a color for them.  But I fear that habit, which gives stability to things, causes the fault to take deeper root in me.  Long association with both good and bad men produces a love for such association.  

    I am not able to show you so well all at once, as by degrees, what this infirmity of the mind is which halts between two opinions, turning resolutely neither to the good nor to the bad.  I will tell you what happens to me:  you will find a name for the malady.  I confess it, the greatest love of economy possesses me:  I do not like a couch adorned for display nor a garment brought from the chest, nor one  pressed by weights and a thousand mangles forcing it to shine, but a cheap house garment that has neither been preserved nor must be worn with anxious care.  A repast pleases me which numerous slaves have not prepared or gaped at, one that has not been ordered many days before nor been served up by the hands of many servants, but one that is easily procured and simple, having nothing of that which  is much sought after or expensive, which will lack nothing, being neither burdensome to the paternal estate nor to the body, and which is not likely to return by the same way by which it entered.  I like an unpolished and inexperienced home-born slave as a servant, my country-bred father's heavy silver which is without the name of any maker, and a table not striking from the variety of its spots nor known to the state through  a  succession of many luxurious masters, but one made for use, which neither causes the eyes of  any guest to linger upon it with pleasure nor inflames them with envy.  Although these things please me greatly, the splendor of some page dazzles my mind, slaves clothed more carefully than for a procession and adorned with gold, and a host of shining servants:  moreover, an expensive house where one walks upon costly floors, where riches have been strewn about in every corner, where the very ceilings glitter, and a multitude attends and accompanies an inheritance that is being waster.  What shall I say of waters which are transparent to the bottom and which flow around to the guests, and of banquets worthy of the place in which they are held?  Coming from a long-continued state of economy, luxury has surrounded me with its great splendor, and resounded on every side.  My sight wavers a little:  I lift up my spirit against it more easily than my eyes.  Therefore I return not worse, but sadder; I do not walk about among my paltry things with so high a head, and a silent gnawing  assails me, and a doubt whether those things are not better than mine.  None of these things alters my mind, yet there is not one of them that does not disturb me.  It is pleasing to follow the teachings of my instructors and to go into public life:  it is pleasing to obtain honors and the insignia of the highest authority of the state, not indeed because I was attracted by the purple robe or the rods of the lictors, but in order that I may be better prepared for service and more useful to my friends, my relatives, to all my fellow-citizens, and indeed to all  mankind.  

    Readily and calmly I follow Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus, no one of whom  devoted himself to public affairs, but each urged others to do so.  As soon as anything affects my mind, which is unaccustomed to be harassed, as soon as anything happens which is either unworthy of me,--as there are many of such a character in every man's life,--or which does not proceed easily enough, or matters of little importance demand too much time, I return to my ease, and just as even tired cattle have a faster gait homeward, I am glad to pass my life  within my own walls.  Let no one, who does not intend to return something worth so great a loss, take from me a single day:  let the mind be absorbed in itself and improve itself, let it do nothing for another, nothing which depends on another's judgment:  let tranquillity  which is free from public and private care be sought for.  But whenever some nobler passage has roused my mind and noble examples have furnished incentives, I want to hasten into the forum, to offer my voice to one, my services to another, and even though they should avail nothing, I would still make the attempt to be of service, and to suppress the haughtiness of some one in the forum who is puffed up by his unmerited success.  

    I think, by Hercules, that in rhetorical studies it is better to look at the things themselves and to speak of them for their own  sake, and in other respects to suit the words  to the thought, that the unstudied speech may follow whither it leads.  What need is there to prepare a speech that will last for ages?  Do you not wish to do this in order that posterity may not pass you over in silence?  You were born to die:  a private funeral has fewer troubles; therefore, in order to pass the time, write something in a simple style for your own use, and not for publication:  less labor is required of those who study for the day.  Again when the mind has elevated itself by the greatness of its thoughts, it is eager for words and longs for a higher flight both in its hopes and in its expression of them, and its speech rises to the dignity of the subject.  Then forgetting law and narrow judgment I am borne aloft and no longer speak with my own tongue.  

    Not to speak  longer of individual instances, in all things this weakness of a good mind clings to me:  and I fear that I may gradually become unfaithful to it, or, what is still more alarming, that I may always hang like one who is about to fall, and that there may perhaps be greater weakness in me than I myself perceive.  For we look upon our private affairs in a friendly manner, and partiality always hinders the judgment.  I think that many men could have attained to wisdom if they had not believed they had already attained  to it, if they had not hidden some vices in themselves, and passed by others with closed eyes.  For we have no reason to think that we are ruined more by another's flattery than our own.  Who dares to tell himself the truth?  Who is there, when surrounded by a crowd of  eulogizers and flatterers, that does not flatter himself the most?  I ask,  therefore, in case you have any remedy by which you can put a stop to this vacillation of my mind, that you consider me worthy to owe my tranquillity to you.  I know that the agitations of  my mind are not dangerous and that they bring nothing stormy with them:  to express to you by a fitting simile that of which I complain, I am not troubled by a tempest, but by seasickness.  Free me, then, from this  evil, whatever it may be, and help one who is suffering in sight of land. 

Seneca's Answer to Serenus

    2.  Serenus, for a long time I have been silently considering to what I should compare such a state of mind;  I cannot liken it to the case of any one more closely than to that of those who, freed from a long and severe illness, are sometimes visited with slight attacks of fever and indisposition, and, although they have recovered from the effects of the disease, are still disquieted by fears and so, though perfectly well, hold out  their pulse to the physician and worry about every heat of their body.  The bodies of such men, Serenus, are not unhealthy, but they are too little accustomed to health; just as  there is a certain agitation even of a calm sea or a lake when it has quieted down after a storm.  There is, therefore, no need of those stronger remedies, which we briefly touched upon,--that in one place you  should oppose yourself, in another be angry with yourself, in another severely threaten yourself; but there is need of that which comes last, that you have confidence in yourself and believe that you are going on the right road, not drawn aside by the intersecting paths of many others who run to and fro at random, of some who are mistaken about the path itself.  What you desire--not to be disturbed--is a great thing, something most exalted and god-like.  This settled state of mind the Greeks call euthymia  and Democritus's treatise  upon this subject is excellent; I call it tranquillity of mind; for it is not necessary to copy and to translate the words according to their form:  the thing itself, about  which we are speaking, must be designated by some name, which ought to have the force of a Greek name, not its form.  We ask, then, how the mind may always remain the same and proceed on its way undisturbed,  be contented  with itself, and look with pleasure upon its own condition, and not interrupt this joy, but remain in a tranquil condition, being neither puffed up at any time nor depressed.  This will be tranquillity of mind.  Let us inquire in a general way how this can be attained; of the common remedy you will take as much as you like.  

    Meanwhile the whole evil  must be dragged before the public; each one will recognize his own part of it:  at the same time you will perceive how much less you are troubled  by your  self-loathing than those who, bound to a showy profession and laboring under a great title, are held to their false pretension by shame rather than by free will.  All are in the same condition, not only those who are troubled with fickleness and disgust and a constant change of purpose, who are always better pleased with what they have given up, but also those who are languid and sleepy.  Add those who, like people for whom sleep is difficult, turn from side to side and lie in one position and then in another, until they find rest through weariness:  in changing the condition of their lives from time to time they  at last remain in that one in which not a dislike of change finds them, but old age  which is too sluggish to make a change.  Add to those who are less fickle, not through any fault of their changeableness, but through their indolence.  They live not as they wish, but as they began to live.  Moreover, there are countless peculiarities of the disease, but only one effect,--to be dissatisfied with themselves.  This arises from a lack of proper control over the mind, from faint-hearted and unrealized desires; on this account they either date not do as much as they desire or fail of success and live entirely upon hope, and are always fickle and vacillating, which necessarily befalls those who are in suspense in regard to the accomplishment of their wishes; they spend their whole life in this way and teach and compel themselves to use dishonorable and difficult means; and when their effort is without reward, useless disgrace vexes them, and they  regret not that they have done wrong, but  that they have wished for it in vain.  Then repentance for what they have begun, and fear of beginning something new restrains them, and there gradually steals over them that vacillation of mind which finds no end, because they can neither command nor obey their passions, the dallying  of a life which is not developing itself, and the dullness of a mind which is becoming torpid amid its disappointed hopes.  

    All these things are more grievous when through hatred of a laborious misfortune they have taken refuge in a quiet life and in private studies, which a mind fixed on the affairs of the world, desirous of action and restless by nature, cannot endure, having of course too little consolation in itself:  when, therefore, the charm has vanished which business itself affords to those running to and fro,  the mind cannot endure home, loneliness, and walls, and unwillingly beholds itself thus left to itself.  Hence that weariness and dissatisfaction with one's self, the restlessness of a soul which  nowhere finds peace, and the sad and unwilling endurance of leisure; in any case, when one is ashamed to confess the cause of one's trouble, and when modesty keeps the trouble concealed, the passions enclosed in a narrow space without an outlet, strangle one another.  Hence sadness and melancholy and a thousand fluctuations of a  vacillating mind, which is held in suspense by unfulfilled hopes, dejection, and sorrow; hence that condition of those who loathe their leisure and complain that they have nothing to do, and the bitterest jealousy at the success of others.  For an unhappy idleness  nourishes envy, and they wish all men to be ruined because they  themselves have not been able to succeed.  

    At length, from this aversion to the success of others and hopelessness of one's own, the mind becomes angry at fortune, complains of the times, retires into corners and broods over its own punishment until it is dissatisfied and loathes itself.  For by nature the human mind is active and ready to be influenced; every opportunity of arousing and diverting itself is welcome, but more welcome to the worst natures, which are glad to be worn out in activity.  Just as some sores long for the hands that injure them, and delight in being touched, and whatever irritates the foul itch of their bodies is grateful; in like manner I should say that these minds, in which passions break out like bad sores, consider toil and trouble a pleasure.  For there are some things which please our body though accompanied with a  certain painful feeling; as for instance turning one's self often and changing the side which is not yet tired, and moving one's self first in one position and then in another.  

Note:  Lucretius:  Roman Epicurean philosopher and author of On the Nature of Things

    3.  You ask what remedy I think ought to be used against this boredom.  "The best thing," as Athenodorus says, "would be to occupy one's self with public duties, the administration of state affairs, and the duties of a citizen:  for as some spend the day in the sun, in exercise and care of  their bodies, and it is most useful for athletes  the greater part of the time to exercise their arms and preserve their strength, to which alone they have dedicated themselves; so is it not by far the most beautiful thing for us who are preparing our mind for the battle of public life to be at work?  For since a man has determined to make himself useful to his fellow-citizens and to all mortals, he who is engaged in business, managing public and private affairs according to his ability, is kept busy and makes progress at the same time.  But," says he, "because innocence is scarcely safe in such an insane ambition of men, while so many detractors are distorting the right into the wrong, and there will always be more to hinder than to help,  we ought to withdraw from the forum and from public life.  A great mind even in private life finds sufficient opportunity to develop itself freely;  and although the violence  of  lions and wild animals is restrained by means of cages, the strength of men, who accomplish the most in retirement, is not thus restrained.  Yet let a man conceal himself in such a manner that wherever he spends his leisure he may wish to be useful to one and all with his talents, his voice, and his advice.  For not he alone is useful to the state who brings forward candidates for offices, defends the  accused, and casts his vote for peace or war, but who encourages the youth; who, in so great a scarcity of good teachers, instructs the minds of men in virtue; who seizes and holds back those running after wealth and luxury, and, if nothing more, at least delays them, and who, in private, attends to public business.  

    Does he do more who decides between foreigners and citizens, or, as the praetor  of  the city, pronounces the words of his assistant to those who go to law, or he who teaches what is meant by justice, piety, patience, bravery, contempt of death, knowledge of  the gods, and how much freely given good there is in a good conscience?  If, therefore, you devote your time to studies, you will not, because you have withdrawn from public service, desert the state or refuse to perform your duty.  For not only he is a soldier who stands in line of battle and defends the right and left wing, but  he who guards the gates and serves at a post which, though less dangerous, is by no means easy, and keeps watch and has charge of the arsenal.  Though these services  are  not bloody, they come under the head of military service.  If you retire  to your studies, you will escape  all disgust with life and will not wish night to come on because you are weary of the daylight, neither will you be burdensome to yourself nor useless to others.  You will  make many friends and all the best men will flock to you.  For virtue, however obscure, never lies hidden, but sends out signals of itself:  whoever is worthy will find it by its footsteps.  For if we cease all intercourse and renounce the human race and live wrapped up merely in ourselves, a lack of something to do will follow this solitude  which is free from every occupation.  We shall begin to erect some buildings, to pull down others, to dam out the sea, to change  the course of waters notwithstanding the difficulty  of their location, and to make a bad use of the time which nature has given us to spend.  Some of us  use  it sparingly, others prodigally; some of us spend it so that we can render an account of it, others of us so that we have nothing over; than which nothing is more shameful.  Often an old man advanced in years has no other proof that he has lived a long time except his age."  

Note:  prytanis, ceryx and sufes:  chief magistrates in Roman society 

    To me, my dearest Serenus, Athenodorus seems to have yielded too much to the times, to have fled too soon.  I will not deny that sometimes one must retire, but slowly, with a gradual retreat, without the loss of his standards and his honor as a soldier; those who surrender at discretion with their arms in their hands are more secure and safer from their enemies.  This I think ought to be done by virtue and by one who is  devoted to the study of virtue.  If misfortune prevails and destroys the power of action let him not turn his back at once, and, defenceless, flee seeking a hiding-place, as if there were any place where misfortune could not pursue, but let him engage more discreetly in public duties, and, making a selection, find something in which he may be of use to the state.  Is he shut out from rendering military service?  let him aid his fellow-citizens with silent counsel; is it dangerous for him even to enter the forum?  let him show himself a good comrade, a faithful friend, a temperate guest in houses, in theatres, and at feasts.  If he has lost the functions of a citizen, let him use those of a man.  Therefore with a magnanimous disposition we have not shut  ourselves within the walls of one city, but have brought ourselves  into communication with the whole world and have professed  that the world is our native land in order that we may give virtue  a wider field.  Is the judge's seat closed to you and are you debarred from the rostra or the comitia?   look around you and see how many very wide tracts of country, how many people are accessible to you.  Never will so great a part of these be closed against you that a greater will not be left to you.  But see to it lest this is not entirely your own fault; for you do not  wish to govern the state except as consul or prytanis or ceryx or sufes.  What if you refuse to perform military service except as a general or  a tribune?  Even if others hold the first line of battle, and your lot has put you in the third  line among the veterans, serve there with your voice, exhortation, example, and courage.  That one, even after his hands have been cut off, finds a way to aid his companions in battle who still stands and helps them with his shouting.  Do something of the same kind:  if fortune takes you from the front rank in public affairs, still stand and help with your shouting, and if anyone stops your mouth, still stand and help with your silence.  The service of a good citizen is never useless; if he has only been heard and seen, he does good by his mien, his gestures, his silent steadfastness, and his very gait.  As some medicinal remedies, without being tasted or touched, are a benefit by their odor, so virtue, even at a  distance and unperceived, pours forth her usefulness; whether she walks about at will and uses her privileges, or appears in public at the will of others and is compelled to draw in her sails; whether she is idle and silent and shut up in a narrow space, or has an open sphere for action:  in whatever condition she is, she is of service.  What?  do you think that the example of one who is passing his life nobly in retirement is of little use:  It is, therefore, by far the best thing to mingle leisure with business, whenever an active life is prevented by chance impediments or the condition of the state.  For all things are never so entirely cut off from  a  man  that there is no room for honorable action.... 

    4.  But we ought first to examine ourselves, next the business which we wish to undertake, next those for whose sake or with whom we have to act.  Above all things it is necessary to have a proper estimate of one's self, because we usually think that we can do more than we really can.  One fails through confidence in his eloquence; another demands more from his estate than it can produce; another  weighs down a weak body with a wearisome  task.  The modesty of some men is not suited to civil affairs, which requires a confident countenance; the stubbornness of others does not do at court; some do not have their temper under control, and any occasion for indignation  drives them  to indiscreet language; some do not know how to control their raillery nor keep from making dangerous jokes.  For all these a quiet life is better than employment; a bold and impatient nature should avoid the provocations of a freedom which will inflict injury.

    5.  Next those things which we undertake must be estimated, and our strength must be compared with the things which we are about to attempt.  For there ought always to be more strength in the bearer than in the burden; burdens which are greater than their bearer must of necessity crush him to the ground.  Moreover some employments are not so important as they are prolific, and lead to much more business; those ought to be avoided from which a new and manifold occupation will arise.  Neither  should one undertake anything from which no retreat is open; your hand should be applied to those things which you are able to finish, or at least can hope to finish; those things ought to be abandoned which extend beyond the mere performance and do not cease where you intended.

Note:  Epohorus was Isocrates' pupil and eventually went on to become a noted historian in 4th Century Athens.

    6.  In regard to persons, in any event, a choice must be made, and we must inquire whether they are worthy of our devoting a part of our life to them, or whether the expenditure of our time will reach them.  For some even charge to our account our own services.  Athenodorus said that "he  would not dine with any man who would not in return feel indebted to him for the favor."  You perceive, I think, that much less would he dine with those who pay the services of their friends with a feast, and consider the courses of their feasts as gifts, as if they were intemperate in another's honor.  Take away from these their witnesses and spectators, and secret gormandizing  will not phase them.

    You must determine whether your nature is more adapted to business or to quiet study and contemplation, and you must turn in that direction in which the strength of your genius carries you.  Isocrates  forcibly led Ephorus away from the forum, because he believed that he would be more useful in compiling books of history.  Indeed the mind responds but poorly when forced:  when nature resists, labor is useless.

    7.  Nothing delights the mind so much as true and sweet friendship.  What a blessing it is when there are hearts prepared for you in which every secret rests securely, whose knowledge you fear less than your own, whose conversation calms your anxieties,  whose opinion aids your plan, whose mirth dispels your sorrow, whose very sight delights you!  For that purpose, therefore, we would choose those who are, as far as possible, free from immoderate desires.  For vices gradually spread, and pass to one's neighbors, and injure by contact.  Therefore, as in the time of pestilence, we must be careful lest we sit near person who are already seized  and burning with the disease, because we shall incur danger and be poisoned by their very breath; so, in choosing the character of our friends we must endeavor to choose those who are least impure.  It is the beginning of disease for healthy bodies to come in contact  with the sick.  Yet I would not advise you to follow or to draw to yourself no one except a wise man; for where will you find that one whom we have sought for so many ages?  He who is least bad must pass  for the best man.  You would scarcely find an opportunity for a happier choice if you could have sought good men among the Platos and Xenophons and all that produce of  the progeny of Socrates, or if you had power over the age of Cato, which bore many men who were worthy to be born in Cato's age--just as it bore many who were worse than ever before and the authors of  the  greatest crimes.  For both classes of people were needed in order that Cato might be understood:  he needed both good men, whose approbation he could win, and bad men against whom  he could try his strength.  But now, in such a scarcity of good men, a less critical choice must be made; however, especially avoid those who are sad and deplore all things, to whom every occasion for complaint is welcome.  Although such an one may remain constant in his fidelity and friendship  towards you, yet  a companion who is troubled and bewails everything is an enemy to one's  peace of mind.

Note:  Diogenes was the founder of the Cynic school.

    8.  Let us now pass on to property, the greatest cause of human troubles.  For if you compare all the other things  by which we are troubles, deaths, sicknesses, fears, desires, endurance of pains and labors, with those evils which our money causes, this last part will far outweigh the others.  Therefore we must consider how much less the pain is not to possess money than to  lose it; then we shall understand that the less opportunity for loss poverty has, the less trouble  she has.  For you are mistaken if you think that the rich bear their losses more courageously:  a wound causes an equal amount of pain to the greatest and the smallest bodies.  Bion neatly says  that "it is no less unpleasant for those who have a luxuriant growth of hair to have their hair torn out than for those who are bald."  You may know that the same thing holds true concerning the rich and the poor; their trouble is equal; for their money clings to both and cannot be torn away without being felt.  But it is more endurable, as I have said, and easier not to acquire than to lose; therefore you will find that those whom fortune has never favored are more joyful than those whom she has deserted.  

    Diogenes, a man of extraordinary mind, comprehended this and arranged so that nothing could be taken from him.  Call this poverty, want, indigence, give it  any ignominious name you please:  I shall believe that he is not happy, if you find me another who can lose nothing.  Either I am deceived, or it is a mark of royalty among the covetous, defrauders, robbers, and thieves to be the only one who cannot be injured.  If anyone doubts concerning the happiness of Diogenes, he is able also to doubt concerning the condition of the immortal  gods, whether they do  live sufficiently happy, because they possess no farms or gardens, no costly  estates for their slaves, and no money at interest in the bank.  

    Are you not ashamed who look upon riches with admiration:  Look at the universe:  you will see that the gods are without anything, giving all things, but possessing nothing.  Do you consider that one a pauper or like the immortal gods who has divested himself of all fortuitous things?  Do you call  Demetrius, Pompey's freedman, more happy because he was not ashamed to be richer than Pompey?  The number of his slaves was reported to him daily as that of an army  is to its general, whilst long ago two under-slaves and a wider cell ought to have been wealth for him.  But Diogenes's only slave ran away, and, when he was pointed out to him, he did not consider it worth while to take him back.  "It is a disgrace," he said, "if Manes can live without Diogenes, and Diogenes cannot live without Manes."  He seems to me to have said, "Fortune, attend to your own affair:  you  have nothing to do with Diogenes.  Did a slave run away from me?  nay, he went away a free man.  Slaves require clothing and food; so many stomachs of exceedingly hungry animals must  be supplied; their clothing must be bought, their most thievish hands must be guarded, and the services of weak and cursing slaves must be employed.  How much happier is he who is indebted to no one for anything except what he can very easily deny himself!"  But since we do not possess so much strength, we ought at least to circumscribe our property in order that we may be less exposed to the injuries of fortune.  Bodies which can be enclosed within their armor are more fitted for war than those which extend out beyond it and whose very magnitude exposes them to wounds on all sides.  The proper amount of wealth is that which neither descends to poverty nor is far distant from poverty.

   9.  But this measure will be pleasing to us, if we have previously found  pleasure in economy, without which no riches are sufficient, and none are  open  to us that are at all satisfactory,--especially since there is a remedy at hand and poverty itself can change itself into wealth if economy is called to its assistance.  Let us accustom ourselves to set aside all ostentation, and to estimate  the  value of  things by their uses, not by their embellishments.  Let food overcome  hunger, drinking thirst, and our desires  take their course only so far as it is necessary.  Let us learn to depend upon our own limbs, to arrange our  food and clothing not according to the latest style, but as the customs of our ancestors recommend.  Let us learn to increase moderation, to restrain luxury, to control our appetites, to appease our anger, to look upon poverty with indifference, to cultivate frugality, even if we are ashamed to be like common people, to apply to our  natural desires remedies involving little or no expense, to hold as it were  in chains unruly hopes and a mind striving to peer into the future, and to keep it in view that we seek our riches from ourselves rather than from fortune.  So great a diversity and unfairness of misfortunes can never be averted to such an extent that, if we let out a great amount of sail, many storms would not break over us:  our affairs must be confined to a narrow place in order that fortune's darts may fall in vain.  Therefore banishments and calamities have sometimes become remedies, and more grievous ills have been healed by lighter ones; when the mind does not listen to precepts and cannot be healed by milder means, why should it not be expedient, if poverty, disgrace, and the destruction of property are employed as means?  One evil is opposed to  another.  

    Let us, therefore, accustom ourselves to be able to dine without a great company,  to be served by fewer  slaves, to provide clothes  for the purpose for which they are intended, and to live on a more modest scale.  Not only in running a race and in contests of the circus, but also in the course of life we must take the inner track.  The outlay upon literary studies, which is also the most noble in the world, has justification only so long as it is kept within bounds.  What is the good of having  innumerable books and libraries, whose owner can scarcely read through their titles in his whole lifetime?  A great number of books overwhelms  the learner instead of instructing him; and it is much better to devote yourself to few authors than to skim through many.  Forty thousand books were burned at Alexandria--that most  beautiful monument of royal wealth.  Let another praise it, as did Livius, who says that "this was a magnificent result  of the taste and the care of kings."   It was not taste or care, but learned luxury; nay, not even learned, since they collected it not for the love of study, but for the purpose of display, just as many men, who are ignorant even of the lower branches of learning, possess books not as means to help them in their studies, but as ornaments of their dining-rooms.  Therefore let a man provide as many books as are necessary, but none for the mere sake of display.  

    "But this kind of an outlay," you say, "is more respectable than to   lavish their money on Corinthian vases and paintings."  Whatever is in excess is wrong everywhere.  What reason have you for excusing  a man who longs for book-cases  of citrus-wood and ivory, who collects the works of unknown or rejected authors, and yawns among so many thousands of books, to whom  the backs and title-pages of his books are the most pleasing?  Therefore in the houses of the most indolent men you  will see everything which exists in the way of orations and histories, and book-shelves built up to the ceiling:  now, indeed, in bath-rooms and splendid bathing establishments a library is also fitted up as a necessary ornament of the house.  I would certainly pardon them if this condition of things  arose  from an excessive desire for literary studies; but these costly works of sacred genius adorned with the portraits of their authors are only provided for display and the adornment of their walls.

Note:  chain on the left side:  in Roman times it was common practice to have a guard's left hand bound to a prisoner's right.

    10.  But you happened upon a certain difficult condition of life and,  without your knowing it, either public or private fortune has laid a snare for you which you can neither loosen nor break.  Consider that those who are fettered at first bear with difficulty the burdens and shackles upon their legs; then when they have determined not to be angry at them, but to endure them, necessity teaches them to bear them bravely, and custom to bear them easily.  In every condition of life you will find amusements, recreations, and pleasures, provided you are unwilling to consider your life unfortunate instead of being willing to make it one worthy of hatred.  In no respect has nature  deserved greater gratitude from us, knowing to what tribulations we were born, than for having invented custom as a means of mitigating our misfortunes, which soon makes us familiar with the worst evils.  No one could endure adversity, if the  continuance of it had the same power which the first blow had.  

    We are all chained to fortune:  the chain of one is made of gold, and wide, while that of another is short and rusty.  But what difference does it make?  The same prison surrounds all of us, and even those who have bound others are bound themselves; unless perchance you think that a chain on the left side is lighter.  Honors bind one man, wealth another; nobility oppresses some, humility others; some are held in subjection by an external power, while others obey the tyrant within; banishments keep some in one place, the priesthood others.  All life is slavery.  Therefore each one must accustom himself to his own condition and complain about it as little as possible, and lay hold of whatever good is to be found near him.  Nothing is so bitter that a calm mind cannot find comfort in it.  Small tablets, because of the writer's skill, have often served for many purposes, and a clever arrangement has often made a very narrow piece of land habitable.  Apply reason to difficulties; harsh circumstances can be softened, narrow limits can be widened, and burdensome things can be made to press less severely on those who bear them cleverly.  

    Moreover, we must not allow our desires to wander far from  us, but suffer them to go about only in the neighborhood, since they do not allow themselves to be entirely imprisoned.  With the omission of those  things which either cannot be done, or can only be done with difficulty, let us follow the things which are placed near at hand and which offer encouragement to our hopes; but let us remember that all things are equally  unimportant, presenting a different appearance on the outside, but equally empty within.  Neither let us envy those who occupy higher positions than we do:  whatever seems lofty is dangerous.  Again, those whom an unfavorable fortune has placed in a critical position will be safer if they eliminate pride from their proud circumstances and bring down their fortune as much as possible to a lowly state.  Indeed there are many who must of necessity cling to their high position, from which they cannot descend except by falling:  but they testify that their greatest burden is that they are compelled to be burdensome to others, and that they are not raised to their high position, but chained to it:  let them prepare, by means of justice and human clemency, with a kind and liberal hand, many means of assistance for a safe descent, on the hope of which they can rest more securely.  Yet nothing will free us from these disturbances of the mind  so well as always fixing some limit to our advancement:  men should be encouraged not to give to fortune the power of stopping their progress, but to halt far within their highest ambitions.  In this way also some desires will sharpen the mind and these, being limited, will not lead into great  and uncertain ventures.

    11.  This discourse of mine is applicable to the imperfect, the mediocre, and those whose minds  are disturbed, not to the wise man.  Such an one does not need to walk about timidly or cautiously:  for he possesses such self-confidence that he does not hesitate to go to meet fortune nor will he ever yield his position  to her:  nor has he any reason to far her, because he considers not only slaves, property, and positions of honor, but also his body, his eyes, his hands,--everything which can make life dearer, even his very self, as among uncertain things, and lives as if he had borrowed them for his own use and was prepared to return them without sadness whenever claimed.  Nor does he appear worthless in his own eyes because he knows that he is not his own, but he will  do everything as diligently and carefully as a conscientious and pious man is accustomed to guard that which is entrusted to his care.  Yet whenever he is ordered to return them, he will not complain to fortune, but will say:  "I thank you for this which I have had in my possession.  I have indeed cared for your property,--even to my great disadvantage,--but, since you command it, I give it back to you and restore it thankfully and willingly:  if you still wish me to have anything of yours, I will keep it for you:  if you decide otherwise, I return to you and make restitution of my wrought and  stamped silver, my house and my servants."  If nature should demand of us that which she has previously entrusted to us, we will also say to her:  "Take back a better mind than you gave:  I seek no way of escape nor flee:  I have voluntarily improved for you what you gave me without my knowledge; take it away."  What hardship is there in returning to the place whence one has come?  that man lives badly who does not know how to die well.  In the first place, therefore, we must take away from this thing its value, and life must be numbered among the things of little value.  

    "We have a feeling of contempt for gladiators," says Cicero, "if they seek to protect their lives in every way; but we look  upon them with favor if they manifest a contempt for  them."  You may know that the same thing happens to us:  for often the fear of death is the cause of death.  The same fortune, which makes sport of us for her own amusement, says "Why should I spare you, you a wicked and faint-hearted creature?  You will be stabbed and severely wounded all the more because you do not know how to offer your throat.  On the other hand you shall both live longer and  die more quickly, who receive the sword courageously, and not with your neck drawn back or your arms held up before you."  He who fears death will never do anything worthy of a living man:  but he who realizes that this was settled for him  as soon as he was conceived will live according to the plan, and also by the same strength of mind will rise above this condition, lest any of these things which happen come upon him unexpectedly.  For by looking forward to everything which can happen as if it were about to happen to him, he will break the violence of attack of all evils; those evils which bring nothing new to those who are prepared and expecting them, come heavily upon those who are without care and are only thinking about happiness.  For disease, captivity, ruin, conflagration,--none of these come unexpectedly.  I knew with what a stormy environment nature had surrounded me:  so often there were lamentations in my neighborhood, so often the torch and taper were carried past my door at the head of funeral processions of children:  often the cracking of a falling building  resounded by my side:  night has taken away many of those whom  the forum, the senate-house, and society have bound to me, and the coffin has torn asunder the hands which were joined in close friendship.  

    Should I be surprised that dangers which have always surrounded me  should at last attack me?  A great part of mankind, when about to sail, do not think of a storm.  I shall never be ashamed of a reporter of bad news in a good cause.  Publius, who was more powerful than many tragic and comic geniuses whenever he abandoned mimic absurdities and expressions appealing to the gallery, among many other things which were stronger than  the language of tragedy, not merely of comedy, also says this:   "What can happen to one can happen to every one."  I any man impresses this deeply on his heart and looks upon all the misfortunes of others, of which there are a great number every day, as if they also had a free approach to him, he will arm himself long before he is attacked.  It is too late for the mind to be prepared for the endurance of dangers after dangers have passed.  "I did not think that this would happen":  and "Would you ever have believed that this would happen?"  But why not?  What riches are there which want hunger, and beggary do not follow?  What position of honor is there whose purple robe, augur's staff, and patrician shoes are not accompanied by squalor, banishment, the marks of ignominy and a thousand disgraces, and the  utmost contempt?  What kingly power is there for which ruin, destruction, a tyrant, and an executioner are not prepared?  nor are these things separated by long intervals of time; there is but the space of an hour between the throne and the knees of another.  

Croesus was the last king of Lydia during the mid 6th century B.C.

Jugurtha was the king of Numidia was was executed by the Romans in 104 B.C.

    Know therefore, that every condition is changeable, and that whatever has happened to one can also happen to you.  Are you wealthy?  are you richer than Pompey?  When Caius (i. e. Caligula), his ancient kinsman and new host, opened Caesar's palace to him in order that he might close his own, he lacked bread and water:  although he possessed so many rivers rising and emptying in his own domains, he begged for a few drops of  water:  he perished of hunger and thirst in the palace of his kinsman, while his heir arranged for a public funeral for one who was suffering from hunger.  Have you enjoyed the highest honors?  were they as great, as unexpected, or as unlimited as those of Sejanus?  On the day on which the senate removed him from  his position, the people tore him to pieces; and of one upon whom gods and men had bestowed all  that could be showered, nothing was left which the executioner could drag away.  Are you a kind?  I will not refer to Croesus, who upon command ascended his own funeral pile and then saw it extinguished, being made to outlive  not only his kingdom, but even his own death:  nor to Jugurtha, whom the Roman people beheld in triumphal procession within the year in which it had feared him.  We have seen Ptolemaeus, king of Africa, and Mithridates, king of Armenia, among the prisoners of Caius (i. e., Caligula):  the former was  sent into exile, the latter  desired that he might be sent in better faith.  In so great a change of things turned topsy-turvy, if you do not believe that whatever is able to happen is about to happen to you, you give adversity power against you, which is broken by any one who looks into the future.  

    The next point will be that we neither labor over needless things, nor spend our time in vain:  that is, that we neither desire what we are not able to obtain, nor, after we have obtained it, recognize too late and after much shame the folly of our desires:  in other words, that our labor may not be without effect nor the effect unworthy of our labor.  For sadness usually results from one of the following causes,--either when a man does not succeed, or is ashamed of his success.

    12.  We must abstain from the running to and fro which is characteristic of  a great many men, rambling about  houses, theatres, and market-places.  They busy themselves with other men's affairs, and have the appearance of men who always have something to do.  If you ask any one of these as he comes out of the house, "Where are you going?"  "What do you intend to do?"    he will answer you:  "By Hercules, I do not know:  but I shall see some people and do something."  They wander about without purpose seeking employment, and do, not what they have planned, but whatever they have happened upon.  Their course is thoughtless and purposeless, like ants crawling over bushes, which creep to the highest top and then to the lowest depth without result.  Many spend their live like these, whose actions one could not unjustly call a restless inactivity.  You could pity some of them who are running as if to a fire:  they run against those whom they  meet and hurl themselves and others to the ground, while they hurry on to salute some one who will not return their salutation, or attend the funeral of some unknown man, or the trial of one who is often engaged in litigation, or the betrothal of one who is often married, or follow a man's litter and in some places even carry it:  then returning home in a weary condition which was wholly unnecessary, they swear that they themselves do not know why they went out, or where  they were, and yet on the following day they will wander over the same track.  

    Therefore let all labor have some purpose, some aim.  Not industry, but false conceptions of things disturb those who are restless and foolish:  for not even these are moved without some hope, but the appearance of something excites them, whose uselessness their affected mind does  not see.  In the same manner, every one of those who go forth to swell the crowd is led through the city by light and trifling causes, and, though he has nothing at which he can work, the dawn drives him forth; and when he has knocked at the doors of many in vain and greeted the nomenclators, and been shut out by many, he finds no one at all at home with more difficulty than himself.  From this evil arises that the most abominable vice, listening to and prying into public and private affairs, and the knowledge of many things which are neither told in safety nor listened to in safety.  Treating this same theme I think Democritus began thus:  "He who wishes to live tranquilly must not do much either in public or private," referring of course to useless things.  For if they are necessary, not only many, but innumerable things must be  done both in public and in private:  but where no sacred duty calls us, our activity ought to be checked.

    13.  For he who does many things gives to fortune power over himself; it is safest rarely to put her to the test, but to think of her, and to promise yourself nothing because of  your faith in her.  I will set sail unless something happens:  and I shall be made praetor unless something hinders:  and my business will equal my expectations if  nothing intervenes.  This is why we say that nothing can happen to a wise man contrary to his expectations:  we do not except him from the misfortunes of men, but from their mistakes;  nor do all things come to him as he wished, but as he thought they would:  at the very beginning he has considered that something could hinder his plans.  The pain of a disappointed wish necessarily produces less effect upon the  mind if a man has not certainly promised himself success.

Note:  Theodorus was a fourth century B.C. Cynic philosopher. 

    14.  We ought also to cultivate a yielding disposition, in order that we may not give ourselves up too much to the things upon which we have determined.  Let us pass over to those things to which chance leads us, and not fear any change in our plans or our position, provided that levity, a vice which is most hostile to peace, does not overtake us.  For obstinacy, from which fortune often wrests something, must necessarily be anxious and wretched, and levity, which never holds itself in check, is much more grievous.  Both of these are inimical to tranquillity--being able to change nothing and to endure nothing.  The mind must by all means be recalled from all external things to itself:  let it confide in itself, rejoice in itself, admire its own affairs, withdraw as much as  possible from the affairs of others and devote itself to itself, not feel its losses, and put a mild interpretation upon adversity.  

    Our own Zeno, when a shipwreck was announced and he heard that all his property had been lost, said, "Fortune orders me to apply myself to philosophy with less to hinder me."  A tyrant threatened the philosopher Theodorus with death, and indeed without burial.  He replied, "You are able to please yourself:  a half pint of blood is in your power:  but, in regard to my burial, oh how foolish you are if you think it makes any difference to me whether I rot above the ground or under it."  Julius Canus, an especially great man, whom not even this circumstance hinders us from admiring--that he was born in our age--disputed for a long time with Caius (i. e., Caligula), and when, as he was leaving, that Phalaris said to him, "Lest you delude yourself with any foolish hope, I have ordered you to be led to death," he replied, "I thank you, most noble prince."  I am in doubt what he meant by this:  for many interpretations occur to me.  Did he wish to be reproachful and to show how great the cruelty of he reign was in which death was a kindness?  Or did he reproach him with his constant madness?  (For even those thanked him whose children were killed and whose property was confiscated.)  Or did he gladly receive death as if it were liberty?  Whatever it was, he answered with great courage. Some one  will say:  "After this Caius could have ordered him to live."  Canus did not fear this:  the faithfulness of Caius in such orders was known.  Do you believe that he passed the ten intervening days before his execution without any anxiety?  It is scarcely credible what that man said and did, and how tranquil he was.  He was playing chess when the centurion, who was dragging away a number of those who were about to be executed, ordered him also to be brought out.  After he was summoned he counted his men and said to his companion, "After my death do not lie by saying that you won."  Then nodding to the centurion he said, "You will be a witness that I am ahead by one man."  Do you think that Canus played on that board?  He played with it.  His friends were said that they were about to lose so great a man.  "Why are you said?" he said.  "You are enquiring whether souls are immortal; I shall soon know."  And even to the very end of his life he did not cease to search after truth, and to make his own death the subject of an investigation.  A philosopher accompanied him, and the hill was not far distant upon which the daily sacrifice was made to Caesar our god.  He said, "What are you thinking of now, Canus?"  or "what is your conception?"  "I have determined," answered Canus, "to observe in that very brief moment whether the soul will perceive that it is departing":  and he promised that if he discovered anything, he would go around among his friends and make known to them what the condition of souls might be.  

    Behold tranquillity in the midst of a storm:  behold a soul worthy of immortality which uses its own fate as a proof of truth; who, about to take the  last step, studies his departing soul, and learns something not only until the time of death, but even from death itself:  no one his philosophized longer.  But we ill not hastily leave a great man, and one who ought to be spoken of with consideration: we will hand you down to all posterity, most illustrious man, a great example of the loss caused by Caius.

Note:  Rutilius was was consul in 105 B.C.  and was exiled to Smyrna on the trumped-up charge of extortion.

    15.  But there is no advantage in getting rid of the causes of sadness in private life.  For sometimes a hatred of the human race seizes us; when we remember how rare honesty is, how unknown innocence, and how truth scarcely ever shows herself except when it serves a purpose, there presents itself to our view a host of successful crimes, the equally hateful advantages and disadvantages of base desires, and ambition no longer holding itself within its own limits that it may display itself by its infamy.  The mind is led into the darkness of night, and shadows appear, as if virtues were overthrown which we could neither hope for nor possess with advantage. We must, therefore, give our minds such a bent that all the vices of the populace may not appear hateful to us, but ridiculous, and we should imitate Democritus rather than Heraclitus. For the latter used to weep whenever he appeared in public, but the former laughed:  to one everything which we do seemed to be foolishness, to the other, misery  Therefore all things must be made light of  and borne with a calm mind: it is more manlike to scoff at life than to bewail it.  Furthermore, he who laughs at the human race also deserves better of it than he who mourns for it.  The former leaves something still to be hoped for; the latter stupidly weeps over what he despairs  of being able to correct:  and he shows a greater mind who, after he has contemplated all things, cannot restrain his laughter than he who cannot restrain his tears, inasmuch as he does not allow his mind to be affected in the least, and does not consider anything great, severe, or even serious.  

    Let each one relate for himself the separate reasons whereby we are made happy or sad, and he will learn that what Bion said was true:  that "All the affairs of men are like their beginnings and their life is no more sacred or serious  than their conception."  It is better to accept public customs and human vices calmly, breaking out neither into laughter nor tears.  For to be tortured by the misfortunes of others is eternal misery, while to be delighted at the misfortunes of others is an inhuman pleasure:  in the same way it is an unnecessary politeness to weep and to alter the expression of  your countenance because some one is bearing his daughter to the grave.  In your own misfortunes also it is necessary to act in such a way that you give to grief as much as it really demands, not as much as custom demands.  For very many shed tears in order that they may show them, and have dry eyes whenever there is no one present to see them, because they consider it a shame not to weep when all are doing so.  So deeply rooted is this evil--depending upon the opinion of others--that even the simplest thing, grief, becomes a thing of pretense.  

    We will now consider that part of our subject, namely, the unhappy endings of good men, which, not without cause, is wont to make us sad and occasion anxiety:  when Socrates is compelled to die in prison, Rutilius to live in exile, Pompey and Cicero to offer their necks to their own followers, and that illustrious Cato, a living image of virtues, falling on his own sword, is compelled to make an end of himself and of the republic at the same time.  It must of necessity trouble us that fortune should give such unjust rewards:  and what can each one now hope for himself when he sees the best men suffering the worst fates?  What then is to be done?  See how each one of those bore his fate, and if they were brave, long for the courage of such men:  if they perished like a woman and cowardly, nothing has been lost.  Either they are worthy that their virtue should please you, or unworthy that their cowardice should be desired.  For what is more shameful than that the greatest men by dying bravely should make us afraid of death?  Let us continually praise one who is worthy of our plaudits and say:  "The braver you are, the happier you are.  You have escaped the calamities, the envy, and the diseases of man:  you have gone out from prison:  you seemed to the gods, not to be worthy of evil fortune, but unworthy that fortune should be able to do you any harm."  But we must lay our hands on those who draw back from death and longingly look back at life even in death itself.  I will weep for no one who dies rejoicing, for no one who dies weeping:  the former has wiped away  my tears, the latter by his tears has made himself  unworthy of  any. Shall I weep for Hercules because he was burned alive, or for Regulus because he was pierced by  so  many nails, or for Cato because of  his wounds?  All these have found by the least expenditure of time how they could become immortal, and have passed through death into immortality.  It is also no small source of trouble if  you anxiously compose yourself and show yourself to no one without reserve; such is the life of many--false, prepared for show.  For the continual observation of self tortures a man and he fears to be detected doing anything different from what he is accustomed; and we shall never be free from care if we think that we are being measured as often as we are looked at.  For on the one hand many things happen which expose us against our will, and on the other, even if our great diligence succeeds, yet the life of those who live forever under a mask is neither  pleasant nor secure.  But how much pleasure has sincere and unadorned simplicity which conceals nothing of its character!  Nevertheless even such a life runs the risk of coming into contempt if all things lie open to all:  for there are those who have an aversion for everything with which they come into close contact.  Virtue runs no risk of becoming contemptible by being  exposed to view, and it is better to be despised for simplicity than to be tormented by continual hypocrisy.  

    We must set a limit, however, to this thing:  it makes a great difference whether you  live naturally or negligently.  We must retire more within ourselves:  for intercourse with those of different disposition throws into disorder that which is well arranged, awakens low, ignoble passions, and causes that to ulcerate which is still weak in the mind and not yet entirely  healed.  These things must be mingled and alternated, namely, solitude and society.  The former will cause us to have a desire for men, the latter for ourselves, and the one will be a remedy for the other:  solitude will heal our hatred of  the crowd, and the crowd will  heal our hatred of solitude.  Neither ought the mind to be kept continually at the same tension, but it ought to be diverted by jests.  Socrates was not ashamed to play with little boys, and Cato was accustomed to relieve with wine his mind fatigued  with the cares of the state.  Even Scipio moved his victorious and soldierly body to the measure of  the dance, not in a lackadaisical way, as is the custom now even in the very walk of those who go beyond the weakness of women, but as those men of ancient times were accustomed to dance in a manly manner during a game and on festal occasions,  not thinking it any harm even  if they should be seen by their enemies.  

    Our minds must have relaxation:  rested, they will rise up better and keener.  Just as we must not force fertile fields (for uninterrupted production will quickly exhaust them), so continual labor will break the power of our minds.  They will recover  their strength, however, after  they have had a little freedom land relaxation.  A certain dullness and languor of the mind arises from unceasing labor:  and if sport and jest did not possess a certain natural pleasure, the desire of men would not tend so much in this direction.  But a constant exercise of  these  will rob the mind of all influence and power.  Sleep also is necessary for refreshment:  but if you continue this uninterruptedly day and night, it will be death.  It makes a great difference whether you cease doing something for a time or give it up entirely.  The makers of our laws instituted festal days in order that men might publicly assemble for enjoyment, placing as it were a necessary means of relief among our labors.  And some great men, as I have already said, were accustomed to give themselves monthly holidays on certain days, while some used to divide every day between rest and cares:  I remember that Asinius Pollio, the great orator, was such a man, whom nothing detained after the tenth hour:  he did not even read letters after that hour, lest some new cares should arise:  but in those two hours he laid aside the weariness of the whole day.  Some rested at midday and reserved some  lighter work for the afternoon.  Our ancestors also forbade any new motion to be made in the senate after the tenth hour.  Soldiers divide their watches and night is free from service for those returning from an expedition.  

    We must treat the mind kindly and frequently give it rest, which serves the purpose of  food and strength:  and we must indulge in outdoor rambles, that the mind may become stronger and be elevated under the open sky and in the fresh air.  Sometimes riding, travel, a change of country, a social meal and more liberal drinking will give us strength;  sometimes we ought to come even to the point of intoxication, not for the purpose of drowning ourselves, but of sinking ourselves deep in wine.  For it washes away cares and raises our spirits from the lowest depths, and is a remedy for sadness as also for certain diseases.  The inventor  of wine is called Liber, not because of the freedom of speaking which comes  through him, but because he frees the soul from the servitude of cares, releases it from slavery, quickens it, and makes it bolder for all undertakings.  But moderation is wholesome both in freedom and in wine.  Men believe that Solon and Arcesilaus were addicted to wine.  Drunkenness is charged to Cato:  yet whoever shall reproach him with this will more easily prove that this crime is honorable than that Cato was base.  But it must not be done often lest the mind contract a bad habit, and yet sometimes it ought to be drawn into exultation and freedom, and gloomy sobriety ought to be case aside for a short time.  For whether we believe the Greek poet, "it is sometimes even pleasant to be mad", or Plato, "he who is master of himself has knocked in vain at the doors of poetry"; or Aristotle, "no great genius was without a mixture of insanity"; the mind cannot express anything lofty and above the ordinary  unless inspired.  When it despises the common and the customary, and with sacred inspiration rises higher, then at length it sings something grander than that which can come from mortal lips.  It cannot attain anything sublime and lofty  so long as it is sane:  it must depart from the customary, swing itself aloft, take the bit in its teeth, carry away its rider and bear him to a height whither he would have feared to ascend alone.

    You have now, dearest Serenus, the things which can secure tranquillity, which can restore it, and which oppose the vices that secretly attack it.  Nevertheless remember this, that none of  these is strong enough for those who seek to preserve a thing so fragile unless the vacillating mind is fortified by earnest and unremitting care.