VII.  On Crowds

    Do you ask me what you should regard as especially to be avoided?  I say, crowds; for as yet you cannot trust yourself to them with safety.  I shall admit my own weakness, at any rate; for I never bring back home the same character that I took abroad with me.  Something of that which I have forced to be calm within me is disturbed; some of the foes that I have routed return again.  Just as the sick man, who had been weak for a long time, is in such a condition that he cannot be taken out of the house without suffering a relapse, so we ourselves are affected when our souls are recovering from a lingering disease.  To consort with the crowd is harmful; there is no person who does not make some vice attractive to us, or stamp it upon us, or taint us unconsciously therewith.  Certainly, the greater the mob with which we mingle, the greater the danger. 

    But nothing is so damaging to good character as the habit of lounging at the games; for then it is that vice steals subtly upon one through the avenue of pleasure.  What do you think I mean?  I mean that I come home more greedy, more ambitious, more voluptuous, and even more cruel and inhuman,-because I have been among human beings.  By chance I attended a mid-day exhibition, expecting some fun, wit, and relaxation,-and exhibition at which men's eyes have respite from the slaughter of their fellow-men.  But is was quite the reverse.  The previous combats were the essence of compassion; but now all the trifling is put aside and it is pure murder.  The men have no defensive armour.  They are exposed to blows at all points, and no one ever strikes in vain.  Many persons prefer this programme to the usual pairs and to the bouts "by request."  Of course they do; there is no helmet or shield to deflect the weapon.  What is the need of defensive armour, or of skill?  All these mean delaying death.  In the morning they throw men to the lions and the bears; at noon, they throw them to the spectators.  The spectators demand that the slayer shall face the man who is to slay him in his turn; and they always reserve the latest conqueror for another butchering.  The outcome of every fight is death, and the means are fire and sword.  This sort of things goes on while the arena is empty.  You may retort:  "But he was a highway robber; he killed a man!"  And what of it?  Granted that, as a murderer, he deserved this punishment, what crime have you committed, poor fellow, that you should deserve to sit and see this show?  In the morning they cried "Kill him! Lash him! Burn him! Why does he meet the sword in so cowardly, a way?  Why does he strike so feebly?  Why doesn't he die game?  Whip him to meet his wounds!  Let them receive blow for blow, with chests bare and exposed to the stroke!"  And when the games stop for the intermission, they announce:  "A little throat-cutting in the meantime, so that there may still be something going on!"

    Come now; do you not understand even this truth, that a bad example reacts on the agent?  Thank the immortal gods that you are teaching cruelty to a person who cannot learn to be cruel.  The young character, which cannot hold fast to righteousness, must be rescued from the mob; it is too easy to side with the majority.  Even Socrates, Cato, and Laelius might have been shaken in their moral strength by a crowd that was unlike them; so true is it that none of us, no matter how much he cultivates his abilities, can withstand the shock of faults that approach, as it were, with so great a retinue.  Much harm is done by a single case of indulgence or greed; the familiar friend, if he be luxurious, weakens and softens us imperceptibly; the neighbour; if he be rich, rouses our covetousness; the companion, if he be slanderous, rubs off some of his rust upon us, even though we be spotless and sincere.  What then do you think the effect will be on character, when the world at large assaults it!  You must either imitate or loathe the world.

    But both courses are to be avoided; you should not copy the bad simply because they are many, nor should you hate the many because they are many, nor should you hate the many because they are unlike you.  Withdraw into yourself, as far as you can.  Associate with those who will make a better man of you.  Welcome those whom you yourself can improve.  The process is mutual; for men learn while they teach.  There is no reason why pride is advertising your abilities should lure you into publicity, so that you should desire to recite or harangue before the general public. Of course I should be willing for you to do so if you had a stock-in-trade that suited such a mob; as it is, there is not a man of them who understand you.  You may say: so that they will have to be moulded and trained by you so that they will understand you.  You may say:  "For what purpose did I learn all these things?"  But you need not fear that you have wasted your efforts; it was for yourself that you learned them.

    In order, however, that I may not to-day have learned exclusively for myself, I shall share with you three excellent sayings, of the same general purport, which have come to my attention.  This letter will hive you one of them as payment of my debt; the other two you may accept as a contribution in advance.  Democritus says:  "One man means so much to me as a multitude, and a multitude only as much as one man."  The following also was nobly spoken by someone or other, for it is doubtful who the author was; they asked him what was the object of all this study applied to an art that would reach buy very few.  He replied:  "I am content with few, content with one, content with none at all."  The third saying-and a noteworthy one, too-is by Epicurus, written to one of the partners of his studies:  "I write this not for the many, but for you; each of us is enough of an audience for the other."  Lay these words to hear, Lucilius, that you may scorn the pleasure which comes from the applause of the majority.  Many men praise you; but have you any reason for being pleased with yourself, if you are a person whom the many can understand?  Your good qualities should face inwards.  Farewell.

VIII  On The Philosopher's Seclusion

    "Do you bid me," you say, "shun the throng, and withdraw from men, and be content with my own conscience?  Where are the counsels of your school, which order a man to die in the midst of active work?"  As to the course which I seem to you to be urging on you now and then, my object in shutting myself up and locking the door is to be able to help a greater number.  I never spend a day in idleness; I appropriate even a part of the night for study.  I do not allow time for sleep but yield to it when I must, and when my eyes are wearied with waking and ready to fall shut, I keep them at their task.  I have withdrawn not only from men, but from affairs, especially from my own affairs; I am working for later generations, writing down some ideas that may be of assistance to them.  There are certain wholesome counsels, which may be compared to prescriptions of useful drugs; these I am putting into writing; for I have found them helpful in ministering to my own sores, which, if not wholly cured, have at any rate ceased to spread.

    I point other men to the right path, which I have found late in life, when wearied with wandering.  I cry out to them:  "Avoid whatever pleases the throng:  avoid the gifts of Chance!  Halt before every good which Chance brings to you, in spirit of doubt and fear; for it is the dumb animals and fish that are deceived by tempting hopes.  Do you call these things the 'gifts' of Fortune?  They are snares.  And any man among you who wishes to live a life of safety will avoid, to the utmost his power, these limed twigs of her favour, by which we mortals, most wretched in this respect also, are deceived; for we think that we hold them in our grasp, but they hold us in theirs.  Such a career leads us into precipitous ways, and life on such heights ends in a fall.  Moreover, we cannot even stand up against prosperity when she begins to drive us to leeward; nor can we go down, either, 'with the ship at least on her course', or once for all; Fortune does not capsize us,-she plunges our bows under and dashes us on the rocks.

    "Hold fast, then, to this sound and wholesome rule of life; that you indulge the body only so far as is needed for good health.  The body should be treated more rigorously, that it may not be disobedient to the mind.  Eat merely to relieve your hunger; drink merely to quench you thirst; dress merely to keep out of cold; house yourself merely as a protection against personal discomfort.  It matter little whether the house be built of turf, or of variously coloured imported marble; understand that a man is sheltered just as well by a thatch as by a roof of gold.  Despise everything that useless toil creates as an ornament and an object of beauty.  And reflect that nothing except the soul is worthy of wonder; for to the soul if it be great, naught is great."

    When I commune in such terms with myself and with future generations, do you not think that I am doing more good than when I appear as a counsel in court, or stamp my seal upon a will, or lend my assistance in the senate, by word or action, to a candidate?  Believe me, those who seem to be busied with nothing are busied with the greater tasks; they are dealing at the same time with things mortal and things immortal.

    But I must stop, and pay my customary contribution, to balance this letter.  The payment shall not be made from my own property; for  I am still conning Epicurus.  I read to-day, in his works, the following sentence: "If you would enjoy real freedom, you must be the slave of Philosophy."  The man who submits and surrenders himself to her is not kept waiting; he is emancipated on the spot.  For the very service of Philosophy is freedom.

    It is likely that you will ask me why I quote so many of Epicurus' noble words instead of words taken from our own school.  But is there any reason why you should regard them as sayings of Epicurus and not common property?  How many poets give forth ideas that have been uttered, or may be uttered, by philosophers!  I need not touch upon the tragedians and our writers of national drama; for these last are also somewhat serious, and stand half-way between comedy and tragedy.  What a quantity of sagacious verses lie buried in the mime!  How many of Publilius's lines are worthy of being spoken by buskin-clad actors, as well as by wearers of the slipper!  I shall quote one verse of his, which concerns philosophy, and particularly that phase of it which we were discussing a moment ago, wherein he says that the gifts of Chance are not to be regarded as part of our possessions.  Still alien is whatever you have gained by coveting.  I recall that you yourself expressed this idea much more happily and concisely: And a third, spoken by you still more happily, shall not be omitted: The good that could be given, can be removed.

    I shall not charge this up to the expense account, I because I have given it to you from your own stock.  Farewell.

XIV. On The Reasons For Withdrawing From The World

    I confess that we all have an inborn affection for our body; I confess that we are entrusted with its guardianship.  I do not maintain that the body is not to be indulged at all; but I maintain that we must not be slaves to it.  He will have many masters who makes his body his master, who is over-fearful in its behalf, who judges everything according to the body. We should contact ourselves not as if we ought to live without it.  Our too great love for it makes us restless with fears, burdens us with cares, and exposes us to insults.  Virtue is held too cheap by the man who counts his body with the greatest care; but we should also be prepared, when reason, self-respect, and duty demand the sacrifice, to deliver it even to the flames.

    Let us, however, in so far as we can, avoid discomforts as well as dangers, and withdraw to safe ground, by thinking continually how we may repel all objects of fear.  If I am not mistaken, there are three main classes of these:  we fear want, we fear sickness, and we fear the troubles which result from the violence of the stronger.  And of all these, that which shakes us most is the dread which hangs over us from our neighbour's ascendancy; for it is accompanied by great outcry and uproar.  But the natural evils which I have mentioned,-want and sickness, -steal upon us silently with no shock of terror to the eye or to the ear.  The other kind of evil comes, so to speak, in the form of a huge parade.  Surrounding it is a retinue of swords and fire and chains and a mob of beasts to be let loose upon the disembowelled entrails of men.  Picture to yourself under his head the prison, the cross, the rack, the hook, and the stake which they drive straight through a man until it protrudes from his throat.  Think of human limbs torn apart by chariots driven in opposite directions, of the terrible shirt smeared and interwoven with inflammable materials, and of all the other contrivances devised by cruelty, in addition to those which I have mentioned!  It is not surprising, then, if our greatest terror is of such a fate; for it comes in many shapes and its paraphernalia are terrifying.  For just as the torturer accomplishes more in proportion to the number of instruments which he displays,-indeed, the spectacle overcomes those who would have patiently withstood the suffering,-similarly, of all the agencies which coerce and master our minds, the most effective are those which can make a display.  Those other troubles are of course not less serious; I mean hunger, thirst, ulcers of the stomach, and fever that parches our very bowels.  They are, however, secret; they have no bluster and no heralding; but these, like huge arrays of war, prevail by virtue of their display and their equipment.

    Let us, therefore, see to it that we abstain from giving offense.  It is sometimes that people that we ought to fear; or sometimes a body of influential oligarchs in the Senate, if the method of governing the State in such that most of the business is done by that body; and sometimes individuals equipped with power by the people and against the people.  It is burdensome to keep the friendship of all such persons; it is enough not to make enemies of them.  So the wise man will never provoke the anger of those in power; nay, he will even turn his course, precisely as he would turn from a storm if he were steering a ship.  When you travelled to Sicily, you crossed the Straits.  The reckless pilot scorned the blustering South Wind,-the wind which roughens the Sicilian Sea and forces it into choppy currents; he sought not the shore on the left, but the strand hard by the place where Charybdis throws the seas into confusion.  Your more careful pilot, however, questions those who know the locality as the the tides and the meaning of the clouds; he holds his course far from that region notorious for its swirling waters.  Our wise man does the same; he shuns a strong man who may be injurious to him, because an important part of one's safety lies in not seeking safety openly; for what one avoids, one condemns.

    We should therefore look about us, and see how we may protect ourselves from the mob.  And first of all, we should have no cravings like theirs; for rivalry results in strife.  Again, let us possess nothing that can be snatched from us to the great profit of a plotting foe.  Let there be as little booty as possible on your person.  No one sets out to shed the blood of his fellow-men for the sake of bloodshed,-at any rate very few.  More murderers speculate on their profits than give vent to hatred.  If you are empty-handed, the highwayman passes you by; even along an infested road, the poor may travel in peace.  Next, we must follow the old adage and avoid three things with special care: hatred, jealousy, and scorn.   And wisdom alone can show you how this may be done.  It is hard to observe a mean; we must be chary of letting the fear of jealousy lead us into becoming objects of scorn, lest, when we choose not to stamp others down, we let them think that they can stamp us down.  The power to inspire fear has caused many men to be in fear.  Let us withdraw ourselves in every way; for it is as harmful to be scorned as to be admired.

    One must therefore take refuge in philosophy; this pursuit, not only in the eyes of good men, but also in the eyes of those who are even moderately bad, is a sort of protecting emblem.  For speechmaking at the bar, or any other pursuit that claims the people's attention, wins enemies for a man; but philosophy is peaceful and minds her own business.  Men cannot scorn her; she is honoured by every profession, even the vilest among them.  Evil can never grow so strong, and nobility of character can never be so plotted against, that the name of philosophy shall cease to be worshipful and sacred.

    Philosophy itself, however, should be practised with calmness and moderations.  "Very well, then," you retort, "do you regard the philosophy of Marcus Cato as moderate?  Cato's voice strove to check a civil war.  Cato parted the swords of maddened chieftains.  When some fell foul of Pompey and others fell foul of Caser, Cato defied both parties at once!"  Nevertheless, one may well question whether, in those days, a wise man ought to have taken  any part in public affairs, and ask: "What do you mean, Marcus Cato?  It is not now a question of freedom; long since has freedom gone to rack and ruin.  The question is, whether it is Caesar or Pompey who controls the State.  Why, Cato, should you take sides in that dispute?  It is no business of yours; a tyrant is being selected.  What does it concern you who conquerors?  The better man may win; but the winner is bound to be the worse man."  I have referred to Cato's final role.  But even in previous years the wise man was not permitted to intervene in such plundering of the state; for what could Cato do but raise his voice and utter unavailing words?  At one time he was "hustled" by the mob and spat upon and forcibly removed from the forum an marked for exile; at another, he was taken straight to prison from the senate-chamber.

    However, we shall consider later whether the wise man ought to give his attention to politics; meanwhile, I beg you to consider those Stoics who, shut out from public life, have withdrawn into privacy for the purpose of improving men's existence and framing laws for the human race without incurring the displeasure of those in power.  The wise man will not upset the customs of the people, nor will he invite the attention of the populace by any novel ways of living.

    "What then?  Can one who follows out this plan be safe in any case?"  I cannot guarantee you this any more than I can guarantee good health in the case of a man who observes moderation; although, as a matter of fact, good health results from such moderation.  Sometimes a vessel perishes in harbour; but what do you think happens on the open sea?  And how much more beset with danger that man would be, who even in his leisure is not secure, if he were busily working at many things!  Innocent persons sometimes perish more frequently.  A soldier's skill is not at fault if he receives the death-blow through his armour.  And finally, the wise man regards the reason for all his actions, but not the results.  The beginning is in our own power; fortune decides the issue, but I do not allow her to pass sentence upon myself.  You may say: "But she can inflict a measure of suffering and of trouble."  The highwayman does not pass sentence when he slays.

    Now you re stretching forth your hand for the daily gift.  Golden indeed will be the gift with which I shall load you; and, inasmuch as we have mentioned gold, let me tell you how its use and enjoyment may bring you greater pleasure.  "He who needs riches least, enjoys riches most."  "Author's name, please!" you say.  Now, to show you how generous I am, it is my intent to praise the dicta of other schools.  The phrase belongs to Epicurus, or Metrodorus, or some one of that particular thinking-shop.  But what difference does it make who spoke the words?  They were uttered for the world.  He who craves riches feels fear on their account.  No man, however, enjoys a blessing that brings anxiety; he is always trying to add a little more.  While he puzzles over increasing his wealth, he forgets how to use it.  He collects his accounts, he wears out the pavement in the forum, he turns over his ledger,-in short he ceases to be master and becomes a steward.  Farewell.

XIX.  On Worldliness and Retirement

     I leap for joy whenever I receive letters from you.  For they fill me with hope; they are now not mere assurances concerning you, but guarantees.  And I beg and pray you to proceed in this course; for what better request could I make of a friend than one which is to be made for his own sake?  If possible, withdraw yourself from all the business of which you speak; and if you cannot do this, tear yourself away.  We have dissipated enough of our time already; let us die in harbour.  Not that I would advise you to try to win fame by your retirement; one's retirement should neither be paraded nor concealed.  Not concealed, I say, for I shall not go so far in urging you as to expect you to condemn all men as mad and then seek out for yourself a hiding-place and oblivion; rather this your business, that your retirement be no conspicuous, though it should be obvious.  In the second place, while those whose choice is unhampered from the start will deliberate on that other question, whether they wish to pass their lives in obscurity, in your case there is not a free choice.  Your ability and energy have thrust you into the work of the world; so have the charm of your writings and the friendships you have made with famous and notable men.  Renown has already taken you by storm. You may sink yourself into the depths of obscurity and utterly hide yourself; yet your earlier acts will reveal you.  You cannot keep lurking in the dark; much of the old gleam will follow you wherever you fly.

    Peace you can claim for yourself without being disliked by anyone, without any sense of loss, and without any pangs of spirit.  For what will you leave behind you that you can imagine yourself reluctant to leave?  Your clients?  But none of these men courts you for yourself; they merely court something from you.  People used to hunt friends, but now they hunt pelf; if a lonely old man changes his will, the morning-caller transfers himself to another door.  Great things cannot be bought for small sums; so reckon up whether it is preferable to leave your own true self, or merely some of your belongings.  Would that you had had the privilege of growing old amid the limited circumstances of your origin, and that fortune had not raised you to such heights!  You were removed far from the sight of wholesome living by your swift rise to prosperity, by your province, by your position as procurator, and by all that such things promise; you will next acquire more important duties and after them still more.  And what will be the result?  Why wait until there is nothing left for you to crave?  That time will never come.  We hold that there is a succession of causes, from which fate is woven; similarly, you may be sure, there is a succession in our desires; for one begins where its predecessor ends.  You have been thrust into an existence  which will never of itself put and end to your wretchedness and your slavery.  Withdraw your chafed neck from the yoke; it is better that it should be cut off once for all, than galled for ever.  If you retreat to privacy, everything will be on a smaller scale, but you will be satisfied abundantly; in your present condition, however, there is no satisfaction in the plenty which is heaped upon you on all sides.  Would you rather be poor and sated, or rich and hungry?  Prosperity is not only greedy, but it also lies exposed to the greed of others.  And as long as nothing satisfies you, you yourself cannot satisfy others.

    "But", you say, "how can I take my leave?"  Any way you please.  Reflect how many hazards you have ventured for the sake of money, and how much toil you have undertaken for a title!  You must dare something to gain leisure, also,-or else grow old amid the worries of procuratorships abroad and subsequently of civil duties at home, living which no man has ever succeeded in avoiding by unobtrusiveness or by seclusion of life.  For what bearing on the case has your personal desire for a secluded life?  Your position in the world desires the opposite!  What if, even now, you allow that position to grow greater?  But all that is added to your successes will be added to your fears.  At this point I should like to quote a saying of Maecenas, who spoke the truth when he stood on the very summit: "There's thunder even on the loftiest peaks."  If you ask me in what book these words are found, they occur in the volume entitled Prometheus.  He simply meant to say that these lofty peaks have their tops surrounded with thunder-storms.  But is any power worth so high a price that a man like you would ever, in order to obtain it, adopt a style so debauched as that?  Maecenas was indeed a man of parts, who would have left a great pattern for Roman oratory to follow, had his good fortune not made him effeminate,-nay, had it not emasculated him!  An end like his awaits you also, unless you forthwith shorten said and,-as Maecenas was not willing to do until it was too late,-hug the shore!

    This saying of Maecnas's might have squared my account with you; but I feel sure, knowing you, that you will get out an injunction against me, and that you will be unwilling to accept payment of my debt in such crude and debassed currency.  However, that may be, I shall draw on the account of Epicurus.  He says:  "You must reflect carefully beforehand with whom you are to eat and drink, rather than what you eat and drink.  For a dinner of meats without the company of a friend is like the life of a lion or a wolf."  This privilege will not be yours unless withdraw from the world; otherwise, you will have as guests only those whom your slave-secretary sorts out from the throng of callers.  it is, however, a mistake to select your friend in the reception-hall or to test him at the dinner-table.  The most serious misfortune for a busy man who is overwhelmed by his possessions is, that he believes men to be his friends when he himself is not a friend to them, and that he deems his favours to be effective in winning friends, although, in the case of certain men, the more they owe, the more they hate.  A trifling debt makes a man your debtor; a large one make him an enemy.  "What," you say, "do not kindness establish friendships?"  They do, if one had had the privilege of choosing those who are to receive them, and if they are placed judiciously, instead of being scattered broadcast.

    Therefore, while you are beginning to call your mind your own, meantime apply this maxim of the wise: consider that it is more important who receives a thing, than what it is he receives.  Farewell.

LXXXVII.  Some Arguments in Favor of the Simple Life

    "I was shipwrecked before I got aboard."  I shall not add how that happened, lest you may reckon this also as another of the Stoic paradoxes; and yet I shall, whenever you are willing to listen, nay, even though you be unwilling, prove to you that these words are by no means untrue, nor so surprising as one at first sight would think.  Meantime, the journey showed me this: how easily we can make up our minds to do away with things whose loss, whenever it is necessary to part with them, we do not feel.

    My friend Maximus and I have been spending a most happy period of two days, taking with us very few slaves-one carriage-load-and no paraphernalia except what we wore on our persons.  The mattress lies on the ground, and I upon the mattress.  There are two rugs-one to spread beneath us and one to cover us.  Nothing could have been subtracted from our luncheon; it took not more than an hour to prepare, and we were nowhere without dried figs, never without writing tablets.  If I have bread, I used figs as a relish; if not, I regard figs as a substitute for bread.  Hence they bring me a New Year feast every day, good thoughts and greatness of soul; for the soul is never greater than when it has laid aside all extraneous things, and has secured peace for itself by fearing nothing, and riches by craving no riches.  The vehicle in which I have taken my seat is a farmer's cart.  Only by walking do the mules show that they are alive.  The driver is barefoot, and not because it is summer either.  I can scarcely force myself to wish that others shall think this cart mine.  My false embarrassment about the truth still holds out, you see; and whenever we meet a more sumptuous party I blush in spite of myself-proof that this conduct which I approve and applaud has not yet gained a firm and steadfast dwelling-place within me.  He who blushes at riding in a rattle-trap will boast when he rides in style.

    So my progress is still insufficient.  I have not yet the courage openly to acknowledge my thriftiness.  Even yet I am bothered by what other travelers think of me.  But instead of this, I should really have uttered an opinion counter to that in which mankind believe, saying, "You are mad, you are misled, your admiration devotes itself to superfluous things!  You estimate no man at his real worth.  When property is concerned, you reckon up in this way with most scrupulous calculation those to whom you shall lend either money or benefits; for by now you enter benefits also as payments in your ledger.  You say: 'His estates are wide, but his debts are large.'  'He has a fine house, but he has built it on borrowed capital.'  'No man will display a more brilliant retinue on short notice, but he cannot meet his debts.'  'If he pays off his creditors, he will have nothing left.'"  So you will feel bound to do in all other cases as well,-to find out by elimination the amount of every man's actual possessions.

    I suppose you call a man rich just because his gold plate goes with him even on his travels. because he farms land in all the provinces, because he unrolls a large account-book, because he owns estates near the city so great that men would grudge his holding them in the waste lands of Apulia.  But after you have mentioned all these facts, he is poor.  And why?  He is in debt. "To what extent?" you ask.  For all that he has.  Or perchance you think it matters whether one has borrowed from another man or from Fortune.  What good is there in mules caparisoned in uniform livery?  Or in decorated chariots and  "Steeds decked with purple and with tapestry,  /  With golden harness hanging from their necks,  /  Champing their yellow bits, all clothed in gold?  /  Neither master nor mule is improved by such trappings."

    Marcus Cato the Censor, whose existence helped the stat as much as die Scipio's - for while Scipio fought against our enemies, Cato fought against bad morals,-used to ride a donkey, and a donkey, at that, which carried saddle-bags containing the master's necessaries.  O how I should love to see him meet to-day on the road one of our coxcombs, with his outriders and Numidians, and a great cloud of dust before him!  Your dandy would no doubt seem refined and well-attended in comparison with Marcus Cato, - your dandy, who, in the midst of all his luxurious paraphernalia, is chiefly concerned whether to turn his hand to the sword or to the hunting-knife.  O what a glory to the times in which he lived, for a general who had celebrated a triumph, a censor, and what is most noteworthy of all, a Cato, to be content with a single nag, and with less than a whole nag at that!  For part of the animal was preempted by the baggage that hung down on either flank.  Would you not therefore prefer Cato's steed, that single steed, saddle-worn by Cato himself, to the coxcomb's whole retinue of plump ponies, Spanish cobs, and trotters?  I see that there will be no end in dealing with such a theme unless I make an end myself.  So I shall now become silent, at least with reference to superfluous things like these; doubtless the man who first called them "hindrances" had a prophetic inkling that they would be the very sort of thing they now are.  At present I should like to deliver to you the syllogisms, as yet very few, belonging to our school and bearing upon the question of virtue, which, in our opinion, is sufficient for the happy life.

    "That which is good makes men good.  For example, that which is good in the art of music makes the musician.  But chance events do not make a good man; therefore, chance events are not goods."  The Peripatetics reply to this by saying that the premise is false; that men do not in every case become good by means of that which is good; that in music there is something good, like a flute, a harp, or an organ suited to accompany singing; but  that none of these instruments makes the musician.  We shall then reply:  "You do not understand in what sense we have used the phrase 'that which is good in music.'  For we do not mean that which equips the musician, but that which makes the musician; you, however, are referring to the instruments of the art, and not to the art itself.  If, however, anything in the art of music is good, that will in every case make the musician."  And I should like to put this idea still more clearly.  We define the good in the art of music in two ways: first, that by which the performance of the musician is assisted, and second, that by which his art is assisted.  Now the musical instruments have to do with his performance,-such as flutes and organs and harps; but they do not have to do with the musician's art itself.  For he is an artist even without them; he may perhaps be lacking in the ability to practice his art.  But the good in man is not in the same way twofold; for the good of man and the good of life are the same.

    "That which can fall to the lot of any man, no matter how base or despised he may be, is not a good.  But wealth falls to the lot of the pander and the trainer of gladiators; therefore wealth is not a good."  "Another wrong premise," they say, "for we notice that goods fall to the lot of the very lowest sort of men, not only in the scholar's art, but also in the art of healing or in the art of navigating."  These arts, however, make no profession of greatness of soul; they do not rise to any heights nor do they frown upon what fortune may bring.  It is virtue that uplifts man and places him superior to what mortals hold dear; virtue neither craves overmuch nor fears to excess that which is called good or that which is called bad.  Chelidon, one of Cleopatra's eunuchs, possessed great wealth; and recently Natalis -a man whose tongue was a shameless as it was dirty, a man whose mouth used to perform the vilest offices-was the heir of many, and also made many his heirs.  What then?  Was it his money that made him unclean, or did he himself besmirch his money? Money tumbles into the hands of certain men as a shilling tumbles down a sewer.  Virtue stands above all such things.  It is appraised in coin of its own minting; and it deems none of these random wind-falls to be good.  But medicine and navigation do not forbid themselves and their followers to marvel at such things.  One who is not a good man can nevertheless be a physician, or a pilot, or a scholar,-yes, just as well as he can be a cook!  He to whose lot it falls to possess something which is not of a random sort, cannot be called a random sort of man; a person is of the same sort as that which he possesses.  A strong-box is worth just what it holds; or rather, it is a mere accessory of that which it holds.  Who ever sets any price upon a full purse except the price established by the count of the money deposited therein?  This also applies to the owners of great estates: they are only accessories and incidentals to their possessions.

    Why, then, is the wise man great?  Because he has a great soul.  Accordingly, it is true that that which falls to the lot even of the most despicable person is not a good. Thus, I should never regard inactivity as a good; for even the tree-frog and the flea possess this quality.  Nor should I regard rest and freedom from trouble as a good; for what is more at leisure than a worm?  Do you ask what it is that produces the wise man?  That which produces a god.  You must grant that the wise man has an element of godliness, heavenliness, grandeur.  The good does not come to every one, nor does it allow any random person to possess it.  Behold:  "What fruits each country bears, or will not bear; / Here corn, and there the vine grow richlier. /  And elsewhere still the tender tree and grass /   Unbidden clothe themselves in green.  Seest thou  /  How Tmolus ships its saffron perfumes forth, / And ivory comes from Ind; soft Sheba sends / Its incense, and the unclad Chalybes  /  Their iron."   These products are apportioned to separate countries in order that human beings may be constrained to traffic among themselves, each seeking something from his neighbor in his turn.  So the Supreme Good has also its own abode.  It does not grow where ivory grows, or iron.  Do you ask where the Supreme Good dwells?  In the soul.  And unless the soul be pure and holy, there is no room in it for God.

    "Good does not result from evil.  But riches result from greed; therefore riches are not a good."  "It is not true," they say, "that good does not result from evil.  For money comes from sacrilege and theft.  Accordingly, although sacrilege and theft are evil, yet they are evil only because they work more evil than good.  For they bring gain; but the gain is accompanied by fear, anxiety, and torture of mind and body."  Whoever says this must perforce admit that sacrilege, though it be an evil because it works much evil, is yet partly good because it accomplishes a certain amount of good.  What can be more monstrous than this,  We have, to be sure, actually convinced the world that sacrilege, theft, and adultery are to be regarded as among the goods.  How many men there are who do not blush at theft, how many who boast of having committed adultery!  For petty sacrilege is punished, but sacrilege on a grand scale is honored by a triumphal procession.  Besides, sacrilege, if it is wholly good in some respect, will also be honorable and will be called right conduct; for it is conduct which concerns ourselves.  But no human being, on a serious consideration, admits this idea.

    Therefore, goods cannot spring from evil.  For if, as you object sacrilege is an evil for the single reason that it brings on much evil, if you but absolve sacrilege of its punishment and pledge it immunity, sacrilege will be wholly good.  And yet the worse punishment for crimes lies in the crime itself.  You are mistaken, I maintain, if you propose to reserve your punishments for the hangman or the prison; the crime is punished immediately after it is committed; nay, rather, at the moment when it is committed.  Hence, good does not spring from evil, any more than figs grow from olive-trees.  Things which grow correspond to their seed; and goods cannot depart from their class.  As that which is honorable does not grow from that which is base, so neither does good grow from evil.    For the honorable and the good are identical.

    Certain of our school oppose this statement as follows:  "Let us suppose that money taken from any source whatsoever is a good; even though it is taken by an act of sacrilege, the money does not on that account derive its origin from sacrilege.  You m ay get my meaning through the following illustration:  In the same jar there is a piece of gold and there is a serpent.  If you take the gold from the jar, it is not just because the serpent is there too, I say, that the jar yields me the gold-because it contains the serpent as well,-but it yields the gold in spite of containing the serpent also.  Similarly, gain results from sacrilege, not just because sacrilege is a base and accursed act, but because it contains gain also.  As the serpent in the jar is an evil, and not the gold which lies there beside the serpent; so in an act of sacrilege it is the crime, not the profit, that is evil."  But I differ from these men; for the conditions in each case are not at all the same.  In the one instance I can take the gold without the serpent, in the other I cannot make the profit without committing the sacrilege.  The gain in the latter case does not lie side by side with the crime; it is blended with the crime.

    "That which, while we are desiring to attain it, involves us in many evils, is not a good.  But while we are desiring to attain riches, we become involved in many evils; therefore, riches are not a good."  "You first premise," they say, "contains two meanings; one is: we become involved in many evils while we are desiring to attain riches.  But we also become involved in many evils while we are desiring to attain virtue.  One man, while traveling in order to prosecute his studies, suffers shipwreck, and another is taken captive.  The second meaning is as follows: that through which we become involved in evils is not a good.  And it will not logically follow from our proposition that we become involved in evils through riches or through pleasure; otherwise, if it is through riches that we become involved in many evils, riches are not only not a good, but they are positively an evil.  You, however, maintain merely that they are not a good.  Moreover," the objector says, "you grant that riches are of some use.  You reckon them among the advantages: and yet on this basis they cannot even be an advantage, for it is through the pursuit of riches that we suffer much disadvantage."  Certain men answer this objection as follows:  "You are mistaken if you ascribe disadvantages to riches.  Riches injure no one; it is a man's own folly, or his neighbor's wickedness, that harms him in each case, just as a sword by itself does not slay; it is merely the weapon used by the slayer.  Riches themselves do not harm you, just because it is merely the weapon used by the slayer.  Riches themselves do not harm you, just because it is on account of riches that you suffer harm."

    I think that the reasoning of Posidonius is better: he holds that riches are a cause of evil, not because, of themselves, they do any evil, but because they goad men on so that they are ready to do evil.  For the efficient cause, which necessarily produces harm at once, is one thing, and the antecedent cause is another.  It is this antecedent cause which inheres in riches; they puff up the spirit and beget pride, they bring on unpopularity and unsettle the mind to such an extent that the mere reputation of having wealth, though it is bound to harm us, nevertheless affords delight.  All goods, however, ought properly to be free from blame; they are pure, they do not corrupt the spirit, and they do not tempt us.  They do indeed, uplift and broaden the spirit, but without puffing it up.  Those things which are goods produce confidence, but riches produce shamelessness.   The things which are goods give us greatness of soul, but riches give us arrogance.  And arrogance is nothing else than a false show of greatness.

    "According to that argument," the objector says, 'riches are not only not a good, but are a positive evil."  Now they would be an evil if they did harm of themselves, and if as I remarked, it were the efficient cause which inheres in them; in fact, however, it is the antecedent cause which inheres in  riches, and indeed it is that cause which, so far from merely arousing the spirit, actually drags it along by force.  Yes, riches shower upon us a semblance of the good, which is like the reality and wins credence in the eyes of many men.  the antecedent cause inheres in virtue also, it is this which brings on envy-for many men become unpopular because of their wisdom, and many men because of their justice.  But this cause, though it inheres in virtue, is not the result of virtue itself, nor is it a mere semblance of the reality: nay on the contrary, far more like the reality is that vision which is flashed by virtue upon the spirits of men, summoning them to love it and marvel thereat.

      Posidonius thinks that the syllogism should be framed a follows:  "Things which bestow upon the soul no greatness or confidence or freedom from care are not goods.  But riches and health and similar conditions do none of these things; therefore, riches and health are not goods."  This syllogism he then goes on to extend still further in the following way:  "Things which bestow upon the soul no greatness or confidence or freedom from care, but on the other hand create in it arrogance, vanity, and insolence, are evils.  But things which are the gift of Fortune drive us into these evil ways.  Therefore these things are not goods."  "But," says the objector, "by such reasoning, things which are the gift of Fortune will not even be advantages."  No, advantages and goods stand each in a different situation.  An advantage is that which contains more of usefulness than of annoyance.  But a good to be unmixed and with no element in it of harmfulness.  A thing is not good if it contains more benefit.  Besides, advantages may be predicated of animals, of men who are less than perfect, and of fools.  Hence the advantageous may have an element of disadvantage mingled with it, but the word "advantageous" is used of the compound because it is judged by its predominant element.  The good,  however, can be predicated of the wise man alone; it is bound to be without alloy.

    Be a good cheer; there is only one knot left for you to untangle, though it is a knot for a Hercules:  "Good does not result from evil.  But riches result from numerous cases of poverty; therefore, riches are not a good."  This syllogism is not recognized by our school, but the Peripatetics both concoct it and give its solution.  Posidonius, however, remarks that this fallacy, which has been bandied about among all the schools of dialectic, is refuted by Antipater as follows:  "The work 'Poverty' is used to denote, not the possession of something, but the non-possession or, as the ancients have put it deprivation, (for the Greeks use the phrase 'by deprivation,' meaning 'negatively').  'Poverty' states not what a man has, but what he has not.  Consequently there can be no fullness resulting from a multitude of voids; many positive things, and many deficiencies, make up riches.  You have," says he, "a wrong notion of the meaning of what poverty is.  For poverty does not mean the possession of little, but the non -possession of much;  it is used, therefore, not of what a man has, but of what he lacks.  "I could express my meaning more easily if there were a Latin word which could translate the Greek word which means "not-possessing."  Antipater assigns this quality too poverty, but for my part I cannot see what else poverty is than the possession of little.  If ever we have plenty of leisure, we shall investigate the question;  What is the essence of riches, and what the essence of poverty; but when the time comes, we shall also consider whether it is not better to try to mitigate poverty, and to relieve wealth of its arrogance, than to quibble about the words as if the question of the things were already decided.

    Let us suppose that we have been summoned to an assembly; an act dealing with the abolition of riches has been brought before the meeting.  Shall we be supporting it, or opposing it, if we use these syllogisms?  Will these syllogisms help us to bring it about that the Roman people shall demand poverty and praise it-poverty, the foundation and cause of their empire,-and, on the other hand, shall shrink in fear from their present wealth, reflecting that they have found it among the victims of their conquests, that wealth is the source from which office-seeking and bribery and disorder have burst into a city once characterized by the utmost scrupulousness and sobriety, and that because of wealth an exhibition all too lavish is made of the spoils of conquered nations; reflecting, finally, that whatever one people has snatched away from all the rest may still more easily be snatched by all away from one?  Nay, it were better to support this law by our conduct and to subdue our desires by direct assault rather than to circumvent them by logic.  If we can, let us speak more boldly; if not, let us speak more frankly.

LXXXVI.  On Sipio's Villa

    I am resting at the country-house which once belonged to Scipio Africanus himself; and I write to you after doing reverence to his spirit and to an altar which I am incline to think is the tomb of that great warrior.  That his soul has indeed returned to the skies, whence it came, I am convinced, not because he commanded mighty armies-from Cambyses also had mighty armies, and Cambyses was a mad-man who made successful use of his madness-but because he showed moderation and a sense of duty to a marvelous extent.  I regard this trait in him as more admirable after his withdrawal from his native land than while he was defending her; for there was the alternative:  Scipio should remain in Rome, or Rome should remain free.  "It is my wish," said he, "not to infringe in the least upon our laws, or upon our customs, let all Roman citizens have equal rights.  O my country, make the most of the good that I have done, but without me.  I have been the cause of  your freedom, and I shall also be its proof; I go into exile, if it is true that I have grown beyond what is to your advantage!"  

    What can i do but admire this magnanimity, which led him to withdraw into voluntary exile and to relieve the stat of its burden?  Matters had gone so far that either liberty must work harm to Scipio, or Scipio to liberty.  Either of these things was wrong in the sight of heaven.  So he gave way to the laws and withdrew to Liternum, thinking to make the state a debtor for his own exile no less than for the exile of Hannibal.\    I have inspected the house, which is constructed of hewn stone; the wall which encloses a forest; the towers also, buttressed out on both sides for the purpose of defending the house; the well, concealed among buildings and shrubbery, large enough to keep a whole army supplied; and  the small bath, buried in darkness according to the old style, for our ancestors did not think that one could have a hot bath except in darkness.  It was therefore a great pleasure to me to contrast Scipio's ways with our own.  Think, in this tiny recess the "terror of Carthage," to whom Rome should offer thanks because she was not captured more than once, used to bathe a body wearied with work in the fields!  For he was accustomed to keep himself busy and to cultivate the soil with his own hands, as the good old Romans were wont to do.  Beneath this dingy roof he stood; and this floor, mean as it is, bore his weight.

    But who in these days could bear to bathe in such a fashion?  We think ourselves poor and mean if our walls are not resplendent with large and costly mirrors; if our marbles from Alexandria are not set off by mosaics of Numidian stone, if their borders are not faced over on all sides with difficult patterns, arranged in may colours like paintings; if our vaulted ceilings are not buried in glass;  if our swimming-pools are not line with Thasian marble, once a rare and wonderful sight in any temple-pools into which we let down our bodies after they have been drained weak by abundant perspiration; and finally, if the water has not poured from silver spigots.  I have so far been speaking of the ordinary bathing-establishments; what shall I say when I come to those of the freemen?  What a vast number of statues, of columns that support nothing, but are built for decoration, merely in order to spend money!  And what masses of water that fall crashing from level to level!  We have become so luxurious that we will have nothing but precious stones to walk upon.

    In this bath of Scipio's there are tiny chinks-you cannot call them windows-cut out of the stone wall in such a way as to admit light without weakening the fortifications; nowadays, however, people regard baths as fit only for moths if they have not been arranged that they receive the sun all day long through the widest of windows, if men cannot bathe and get a coat of tan at the same time, and if they cannot look out from their bath-tubs over stretches of land and sea.  So it goes; the establishments which had drawn crowds and had won admiration when thy were first opened are avoided and put back in the category of venerable antiques as soon as luxury has worked out some new device, to her own ultimate undoing.  In the early days, however, there were few baths, and they were not fitted out with any display.  For why should men elaborately fit out that which costs a penny only, and was invented for use, not merely for delight?  The bathers of those days did not have water poured over them, nor did it always run fresh as if from a hot spring; and they did not believe that it mattered at all how perfectly pure was the water into which they were to leave their dirt.  Ye gods, what a pleasure it is to enter that dark bath, covered with a common sort of roof, knowing that therein your hero Cato, as aedile, or Fabius Maximus, or one of the Cornelii, has warmed the water with his own hands!  For this also used to be the duty of the noblest aediles -to enter these places to which the populace resorted, and to demand that they be cleaned and warmed to a heat required by considerations of use and health, not the heat that men have recently mad fashionable,  as great as a conflagration-so much so, indeed, that a slave condemned for some criminal offence now ought to be bathed alive!  It seems to me that nowadays there is no difference between "the bath is on fire." and 'the bath is warm."

    How some persons nowadays condemn Scipio as a boor because he did not let daylight into his perspiring-room through wide windows, or because he did not roast in the strong sunlight and dawdle about until he could stew in the hot water!  "Poor fool," they say, "he did not know how to live!  He did not bathe in filtered water; it was often turbid, and after heavy rains almost muddy!"  But it did not matter much to Scipio if he had to bathe in that way; he went there to wash off sweat, not ointment.  And how do you suppose certain persons will answer me?  They will say:  "I don't envy Scipio; that was truly an exile's life-to put up with baths like those!"  Friend, if you were wiser, you would know that Scipio did not bathe every day.  It is stated by those who have reported to us the old-time ways of Rome that the Romans washed only their arms and legs daily-because those were the members which gathered dirt in their daily toil-and bathed all over only once a week.  Here someone will retort:  "Yes; pretty dirty fellows they evidently were!  How they mist have smelled!"  But they smelled of the camp, the farm, and heroism.  Now that spick-and-span bathing establishments have been devised, men are really fouler than of yore.  What says Horatius Flaccus, when he wishes to describe a scoundrel, one who is notorious for his extreme luxury?  He says: "Buccillus smells of perfume."  Show me a Buccillus in these days; his smell would be the veritable goat-smell-he would take the place of the Gargonius with whom Horace in the same passage contrasted him.  It is nowadays not enough to use ointment, unless you put on a fresh coat two or three times a day, to keep it from evaporating on the body.  But why should a man boast of this perfume as if it were his own?

    If what I am saying shall seem to you too pessimistic, charge it up against Scipio's country-house, where I have learned a lesson from Aegialus, a most careful householder and now the owner of this estate; he taught me that a tree can be transplanted, no matter how far gone in years.  We old men must learn this precept; for there is none of us who is not planting an olive-yard for his successor.  i have seen them bearing fruit in due season after three or four years of unproductiveness.  And you too shall be shaded by the tree which "is slow to grow, but brigeth shade to cheer your grandsons in the far-off years," as our poet Vergil says.  Vergil sought, however, not what was nearest to the truth, but what was most appropriate, and aimed, not to teach the farmer,  but to please the reader.  For example, omitting all other errors of his, I will quote the passage in which it was incumbent upon me to-day to detect a fault:  "In spring sow beans; then too, O clover plant,  thou'rt welcomed by the crumbling furrows; and the millet calls for yearly care."  You may judge by the following incident whether those plants should be set out at the same time, or whether both should be sowed in the spring.  It is June at the present writing, and we are well on towards July; and I have seen on this very day farmers harvesting beans and sowing millet....

    I do not intend to tell you any more of these precepts, lest as Aegialus did with me, I may be training you up to be may competitor.  Farewell.