Letter 121

You will pick a quarrel with me, I can see it now, once I lay out for you today's little problem, on which we have already been stuck quite long enough; for again you will cry out, "What does this have to do with character?" Well, cry out, but only after I have first set against you others with whom you can quarrel: Posidonius and Archidemus [Stoic philosophers]. They will stand trial. Then I will say: not everything that bears on conduct produces good character. One thing serves to feed a man, another to exercise him, another to clothe him, another to instruct him, another to please him; yet all of these have to do with man, even if not all of them make him better. Different things touch character in different ways: some correct and order it, others examine its nature and origin. When I ask why nature brought man forth, why she set him above all other animals, do you judge that I have wandered far from character? You are wrong. For how will you know what kind of character a man should have, unless you have discovered what is best for man, unless you have inspected his nature? Only then will you understand what you must do and what you must avoid, once you have learned what you owe to your own nature. "But I," you say, "want to learn how to crave less, to fear less. Shake superstition out of me; teach me that this thing called happiness is light and empty, and that one more syllable is very easily added to it" [the Latin felicitas / infelicitas - happiness becoming unhappiness with a single added syllable]. I will satisfy your desire: I will both urge on the virtues and flog the vices. Even if someone judges me too immoderate, too unrestrained on this point, I will not stop pursuing wickedness, restraining the wildest passions, checking the pleasures that are bound to turn into pain, and shouting down men's prayers. Why should I not? When it is the greatest of evils that we have prayed for, and everything we offer consolation for was born out of congratulation. In the meantime, allow me to thrash out those points that seem a little more remote. We were asking whether all animals have a sense of their own constitution [constitutio: the creature's settled physical and mental makeup, its self-relation]. That they do is most apparent from this: that they move their limbs aptly and readily, exactly as if trained for it; not one of them lacks agility in its own parts. The craftsman handles his tools with ease; the helmsman skillfully turns the rudder; the painter, though he has set before himself many varied colors for reproducing a likeness, picks them out with the greatest speed, and passes between the wax and the work with an easy face and hand: just so an animal is nimble in every use of itself. We are accustomed to marvel at skilled dancers, because their hand is ready for every signification of things and emotions, and their gesture keeps pace with the swiftness of words: what art supplies to these, nature supplies to the animals. No creature moves its limbs with difficulty, none hesitates in the use of itself. They do this the moment they are born; they come forth already possessing this knowledge; they are born fully trained. "The reason," he says, "that animals move their parts aptly is that, if they moved them otherwise, they would feel pain. And so, as you Stoics say, they are compelled, and it is fear, not will, that moves them in the right direction." This is false; for things driven by necessity are sluggish, while agility belongs to those that move of their own accord. So far is the fear of pain from driving them to this, that they strive toward their natural motion even when pain forbids it. Thus the infant who is practicing to stand and getting used to bearing himself, as soon as he begins to test his strength, falls, and time and again rises again in tears, until through pain he has trained himself to what nature demands. Certain animals with harder backs, when overturned, twist themselves for a long while and stretch out and slant their feet until they are set back in place. The tortoise on its back feels no torment, yet it is restless from longing for its natural state, and does not stop straining and shaking itself until it has stood up on its feet again. Therefore all creatures have a sense of their constitution, and from this comes so ready a handling of their limbs; nor do we have any greater indication that they come to life equipped with this awareness than that no animal is unskilled in the use of itself. "The constitution," he says, "is, as you Stoics say, the ruling part of the soul holding itself in a certain way toward the body. How does an infant understand something so tangled and subtle that even you can barely explain it? All animals would have to be born logicians, to grasp a definition that is obscure to a great many men in togas" [i.e., to most Roman citizens]. What you object would be true if I said that the definition of the constitution is understood by animals, not the constitution itself. Nature is more easily understood than expounded. And so that infant does not know what the constitution is, but he knows his own constitution; he does not know what an animal is, but he feels that he is one. Besides, he understands his own constitution only crudely, in outline, and dimly. We too know that we have a soul: what the soul is, where it is, of what sort, or from where, we do not know. As the sense of our own soul has reached us, even though we are ignorant of its nature and its seat, so the sense of its own constitution belongs to every animal. For it must necessarily perceive that through which it perceives other things too; it must necessarily have a sense of the thing it obeys, by which it is governed. There is no one of us who does not understand that there is something that moves his impulses: what it is, he does not know. He knows that he has the power of striving: what it is, or where it comes from, he does not know. So in infants too, and in animals, the sense of their ruling part exists, though not clearly enough nor distinctly expressed. "You say," he objects, "that every animal is first reconciled to its own constitution, but that man's constitution is rational, and therefore man is reconciled to himself not as an animal but as a rational being; for a man is dear to himself in that part by which he is a man. How then can an infant be reconciled to a rational constitution, when he is not yet rational?" Each age has its own constitution: one for the infant, another for the boy, another for the youth, another for the old man; and all are reconciled to the constitution they are in. The infant has no teeth: he is reconciled to this constitution of his. His teeth come in: he is reconciled to this one. For even that blade of grass which is to grow into crop and grain has one constitution when tender and barely rising from the furrow, another when it has gathered strength and stands on a stalk that is soft, yet firm enough to bear its load, and another when it turns golden, looks toward the threshing-floor, and its ear has hardened: into whatever constitution it comes, it guards that one, it conforms itself to it. The infant, the boy, the youth, the old man are of different ages; yet I am the same who was once an infant, and a boy, and a youth. Thus, although each has one constitution after another, the reconciliation to one's own constitution is the same. For nature does not commend to me the boy, or the young man, or the old man, but myself. Therefore the infant is reconciled to that constitution of his which is then the infant's, not the one that will belong to the young man; for even if something greater remains for him to pass into, this too, in which he is born, is according to nature. First of all, the animal is reconciled to itself; for there must be something to which other things are referred. I seek pleasure. For whom? For myself; therefore I am taking care of myself. I flee from pain. On whose behalf? On my own; therefore I am taking care of myself. If I do everything for the sake of my own care, then before all else comes the care of myself. This is present in all animals: it is not implanted but inborn. Nature brings up her offspring; she does not cast them off; and because the surest protection is the nearest one, each creature is entrusted to itself. And so, as I said in earlier letters, even tender animals, just poured forth from the mother's womb or the egg, at once know of themselves what is hostile, and avoid deadly things; they even dread the shadow of birds passing overhead, since they are vulnerable to birds that live by prey. No animal comes forth into life without the fear of death. "How," he says, "can an animal at birth have an understanding of a thing wholesome or deadly?" The first question is whether it understands, not how it understands. That they do have understanding is apparent from this: that they will do nothing more, even if they were to gain understanding. Why does the hen not flee the peacock or the goose, yet flee the hawk, so much smaller and not even known to it? Why do chicks fear the cat and not fear the dog? It is plain that they have a knowledge of what will harm them, not gathered from experiment; for before they are able to try it, they take precautions. And then, so that you may not suppose this happens by chance: they neither fear things other than they should, nor ever forget this guardianship and care; their flight from the destructive thing is constant. Moreover, they do not become more timid as they live on; from which indeed it is clear that they do not reach this state through practice, but through a natural love of their own safety. What practice teaches is slow and varied; whatever nature hands down is both the same for all and immediate. If, however, you insist, I will tell you how every animal is compelled to understand what is destructive. It feels that it consists of flesh; and so it feels by what its flesh can be cut, burned, or crushed, and what animals are armed to do harm: it forms a hostile, enemy image of these. These things are linked together; for at the very moment each creature is reconciled to its own safety, it seeks what will help it and dreads what will hurt it. Impulses toward useful things are natural, and so are aversions from their opposites; without any reflection to dictate it, without any deliberation, whatever nature has prescribed is carried out. Do you not see how great the cunning of bees is in fashioning their dwellings, what concord in dividing up the labor to be done on every side? Do you not see how that weaving of the spider is imitable by no mortal, what a work it is to lay out the threads, some sent straight in to serve as a framework, others running in a circle from dense to thin, by which the smaller animals, for whose destruction the threads are stretched, may be held entangled as in a net? This art is born, not learned; and so no animal is more learned than another: you will see the webs of spiders all alike, the opening of every corner in the honeycombs alike. Whatever art hands down is uncertain and uneven; what nature distributes comes out the same for all. Nature has handed down nothing more than the guardianship of self and the skill for it, and that is why creatures begin both to learn and to live at the same time. Nor is it any wonder that they are born with that without which they would have been born in vain. This was the first instrument nature conferred on them for surviving: the reconciliation to self and love of self. They could not be safe unless they wished to be; nor would this wish by itself have done them good, but without it nothing would have done good. Yet in no creature will you catch any low esteem of self, nor even any neglect of it; even the dumb and brute animals, though sluggish in everything else, have a shrewdness for staying alive. You will see that the very creatures which are useless to others do not fail themselves. Farewell.

You will bring suit against me, I feel sure, when I set forth for you to-day’s little problem, with which we have already fumbled long enough. You will cry out again: “What has this to do with character?” Cry out if you like, but let me first of all match you with other opponents, against whom you may bring suit—such as Posidonius and Archidemus; these men will stand trial. I shall then go on to say that whatever deals with character does not necessarily produce good character. Man needs one thing for his food, another for his exercise, another for his clothing, another for his instruction, and another for his pleasure. Everything, however, has reference to man’s needs, although everything does not make him better. Character is affected by different things in different ways: some things serve to correct and regulate character, and others investigate its nature and origin. And when I seek the reason why Nature brought forth man, and why she set him above other animals, do you suppose that I have left character-study in the rear? No; that is wrong. For how are you to know what character is desirable, unless you have discovered what is best suited to man? Or unless you have studied his nature? You can find out what you should do and what you should avoid, only when you have learned what you owe to your own nature. “I desire,” you say, “to learn how I may crave less, and fear less. Rid me of my unreasoning beliefs. Prove to me that so-called felicity is fickle and empty, and that the word easily admits of a syllable’s increase.” I shall fulfil your want, encouraging your virtues and lashing your vices. People may decide that I am too zealous and reckless in this particular; but I shall never cease to hound wickedness, to check the most unbridled emotions, to soften the force of pleasures which will result in pain, and to cry down men’s prayers. Of course I shall do this; for it is the greatest evils that we have prayed for, and from that which has made us give thanks comes all that demands consolation. Meanwhile, allow me to discuss thoroughly some points which may seem now to be rather remote from the present inquiry. We were once debating whether all animals had any feelings about their “constitution.” That this is the case is proved particularly by their making motions of such fitness and nimbleness that they seem to be trained for the purpose. Every being is clever in its own line. The skilled workman handles his tools with an ease born of experience; the pilot knows how to steer his ship skilfully; the artist can quickly lay on the colours which he has prepared in great variety for the purpose of rendering the likeness, and passes with ready eye and hand from palette to canvas. In the same way an animal is agile in all that pertains to the use of its body. We are apt to wonder at skilled dancers because their gestures are perfectly adapted to the meaning of the piece and its accompanying emotions, and their movements match the speed of the dialogue. But that which art gives to the craftsman, is given to the animal by nature. No animal handles its limbs with difficulty, no animal is at a loss how to use its body. This function they exercise immediately at birth. They come into the world with this knowledge; they are born full-trained. But people reply: “The reason why animals are so dexterous in the use of their limbs is that if they move them unnaturally, they will feel pain. They are compelled to do thus, according to your school, and it is fear rather than will-power which moves them in the right direction.” This idea is wrong. Bodies driven by a compelling force move slowly; but those which move of their own accord possess alertness. The proof that it is not fear of pain which prompts them thus, is, that even when pain checks them they struggle to carry out their natural motions. Thus the child who is trying to stand and is becoming used to carry his own weight, on beginning to test his strength, falls and rises again and again with tears until through painful effort he has trained himself to the demands of nature. And certain animals with hard shells, when turned on their backs, twist and grope with their feet and make motions side-ways until they are restored to their proper position. The tortoise on his back feels no suffering; but he is restless because he misses his natural condition, and does not cease to shake himself about until he stands once more upon his feet. So all these animals have a consciousness of their physical constitution, and for that reason can manage their limbs as readily as they do; nor have we any better proof that they come into being equipped with this knowledge than the fact that no animal is unskilled in the use of its body. But some object as follows: “According to your account, one’s constitution consists of a ruling power in the soul which has a certain relation towards the body. But how can a child comprehend this intricate and subtle principle, which I can scarcely explain even to you? All living creatures should be born logicians, so as to understand a definition which is obscure to the majority of Roman citizens!” Your objection would be true if I spoke of living creatures as understanding “a definition of constitution,” and not “their actual constitution.” Nature is easier to understand than to explain; hence, the child of whom we were speaking does not understand what “constitution” is, but understands its own constitution. He does not know what “a living creature” is, but he feels that he is an animal. Moreover, that very constitution of his own he only understands confusedly, cursorily, and darkly. We also know that we possess souls, but we do not know the essence, the place, the quality, or the source, of the soul. Such as is the consciousness of our souls which we possess, ignorant as we are of their nature and position, even so all animals possess a consciousness of their own constitutions. For they must necessarily feel this, because it is the same agency by which they feel other things also; they must necessarily have a feeling of the principle which they obey and by which they are controlled. Everyone of us understands that there is something which stirs his impulses, but he does not know what it is. He knows that he has a sense of striving, although he does not know what it is or its source. Thus even children and animals have a consciousness of their primary element, but it is not very clearly outlined or portrayed. “You maintain, do you,” says the objector, “that every living thing is at the start adapted to its constitution, but that man’s constitution is a reasoning one, and hence man is adapted to himself not merely as a living, but as a reasoning, being? For man is dear to himself in respect of that wherein he is a man. How, then, can a child, being not yet gifted with reason, adapt himself to a reasoning constitution?” But each age has its own constitution, different in the case of the child, the boy, and the old man; they are all adapted to the constitution wherein they find themselves. The child is toothless, and he is fitted to this condition. Then his teeth grow, and he is fitted to that condition also. Vegetation also, which will develop into grain and fruits, has a special constitution when young and scarcely peeping over the tops of the furrows, another when it is strengthened and stands upon a stalk which is soft but strong enough to bear its weight, and still another when the colour changes to yellow, prophesies threshing-time, and hardens in the ear—no matter what may be the constitution into which the plant comes, it keeps it, and conforms thereto. The periods of infancy, boyhood, youth, and old age, are different; but I, who have been infant, boy, and youth, am still the same. Thus, although each has at different times a different constitution, the adaptation of each to its constitution is the same. For nature does not consign boyhood or youth, or old age, to me; it consigns me to them. Therefore, the child is adapted to that constitution which is his at the present moment of childhood, not to that which will be his in youth. For even if there is in store for him any higher phase into which he must be changed, the state in which he is born is also according to nature. First of all, the living being is adapted to itself, for there must be a pattern to which all other things may be referred. I seek pleasure; for whom? For myself. I am therefore looking out for myself. I shrink from pain; on behalf of whom? Myself. Therefore, I am looking out for myself. Since I gauge all my actions with reference to my own welfare, I am looking out for myself before all else. This quality exists in all living beings—not engrafted but inborn. Nature brings up her own offspring and does not cast them away; and because the most assured security is that which is nearest, every man has been entrusted to his own self. Therefore, as I have remarked in the course of my previous correspondence, even young animals, on issuing from the mother’s womb or from the egg, know at once of their own accord what is harmful for them, and avoid death-dealing things. They even shrink when they notice the shadow of birds of prey which flit overhead. No animal, when it enters upon life, is free from the fear of death. People may ask: “How can an animal at birth have an understanding of things wholesome or destructive?” The first question, however, is whether it can have such understanding, and not how it can understand. And it is clear that they have such understanding from the fact that, even if you add understanding, they will act no more adequately than they did in the first place. Why should the hen show no fear of the peacock or the goose, and yet run from the hawk, which is a so much smaller animal not even familiar to the hen? Why should young chickens fear a cat and not a dog? These fowls clearly have a presentiment of harm—one not based on actual experiments; for they avoid a thing before they can possibly have experience of it. Furthermore, in order that you may not suppose this to be the result of chance, they do not shrink from certain other things which you would expect them to fear, nor do they ever forget vigilance and care in this regard; they all possess equally the faculty of avoiding what is destructive. Besides, their fear does not grow as their lives lengthen. Hence indeed it is evident that these animals have not reached such a condition through experience; it is because of an inborn desire for self-preservation. The teachings of experience are slow and irregular; but whatever Nature communicates belongs equally to everyone, and comes immediately. If, however, you require an explanation, shall I tell you how it is that every living thing tries to understand that which is harmful? It feels that it is constructed of flesh; and so it perceives to what an extent flesh may be cut or burned or crushed, and what animals are equipped with the power of doing this damage; it is of animals of this sort that it derives an unfavourable and hostile idea. These tendencies are closely connected; for each animal at the same time consults its own safety, seeking that which helps it, and shrinks from that which will harm it. Impulses towards useful objects, and revulsion from the opposite, are according to nature; without any reflection to prompt the idea, and without any advice, whatever Nature has prescribed, is done. Do you not see how skillful bees are in building their cells? How completely harmonious in sharing and enduring toil? Do you not see how the spider weaves a web so subtle that man’s hand cannot imitate it; and what a task it is to arrange the threads, some directed straight towards the centre, for the sake of making the web solid, and others running in circles and lessening in thickness—for the purpose of tangling and catching in a sort of net the smaller insects for whose ruin the spider spreads the web? This art is born, not taught; and for this reason no animal is more skilled than any other. You will notice that all spider-webs are equally fine, and that the openings in all honeycomb cells are identical in shape. Whatever art communicates is uncertain and uneven; but Nature’s assignments are always uniform. Nature has communicated nothing except the duty of taking care of themselves and the skill to do so; that is why living and learning begin at the same time. No wonder that living things are born with a gift whose absence would make birth useless. This is the first equipment that Nature granted them for the maintenance of their existence—the quality of adaptability and self-love. They could not survive except by desiring to do so. Nor would this desire alone have made them prosper, but without it nothing could have prospered. In no animal can you observe any low esteem, or even any carelessness, of self. Dumb beasts, sluggish in other respects, are clever at living. So you will see that creatures which are useless to others are alert for their own preservation. Farewell.

(1) Litigabis, ego uideo, cum tibi hodiernam quaestiunculam, in quasatis diu haesimus, exposuero; iterum enim exclamabis 'hoc quid ad mores? 'Sed exclama, dum tibi primum alios opponam cum quibus litiges, Posidoniumet Archidemum (hi iudicium accipient) , deinde dicam: non quidquid moraleest mores bonos facit. (2) Aliud ad hominem alendum pertinet, aliud adexercendum, aliud ad uestiendum, aliud ad docendum, aliud ad delectandum;omnia tamen ad hominem pertinent, etiam si non omnia meliorem eum faciunt. Mores alia aliter attingunt: quaedam illos corrigunt et ordinant, quaedamnaturam eorum et originem scrutantur. (3) Cum <quaero> quare hominemnatura produxerit, quare praetulerit animalibus ceteris, longe me iudicasmores reliquisse? falsum est. Quomodo enim scies qui habendi sint nisiquid homini sit optimum inueneris, nisi naturam eius inspexeris? Tunc demumintelleges quid faciendum tibi, quid uitandum sit, cum didiceris quid naturaetuae debeas. (4) 'Ego' inquis 'uolo discere quomodo minus cupiam, minustimeam. Superstitionem mihi excute; doce leue esse uanumque hoc quod felicitasdicitur, unam illi syllabam facillime accedere. ' Desiderio tuo satis faciam:et uirtutes exhortabor et uitia conuerberabo. Licet aliquis nimium inmoderatumquein hac parte me iudicet, non desistam persequi nequitiam et adfectus efferatissimosinhibere et uoluptates ituras in dolorem conpescere et uotis obstrepere. Quidni? cum maxima malorum optauerimus, et ex gratulatione natum sit quidquidadloquimur. (5) Interim permitte mihi ea quae paulo remotiora uidentur excutere. Quaerebamus an esset omnibus animalibus constitutionis suae sensus. Esseautem ex eo maxime apparet quod membra apte et expedite mouent non aliterquam in hoc erudita; nulli non partium suarum agilitas est. Artifex instrumentasua tractat ex facili, rector nauis scite gubernaculum flectit, pictorcolores quos ad reddendam similitudinem multos uariosque ante se posuitcelerrime denotat et inter ceram opusque facili uultu ac manu commeat:sic animal in omnem usum sui mobilest. (6) Mirari solemus saltandi peritosquod in omnem significationem rerum et adfectuum parata illorum est manuset uerborum uelocitatem gestus adsequitur: quod illis ars praestat, hisnatura. Nemo aegre molitur artus suos, nemo in usu sui haesitat. Hoc editaprotinus faciunt; cum hac scientia prodeunt; instituta nascuntur. (7) 'Ideo' inquit 'partes suas animalia apte mouent quia, si alitermouerint, dolorem sensura sunt. Ita, ut uos dicitis, coguntur, metusqueilla in rectum, non uoluntas mouet. ' Quod est falsum; tarda enim sunt quaenecessitate inpelluntur, agilitas sponte motis est. Adeo autem non adigitilla ad hoc doloris timor ut in naturalem motum etiam dolore prohibentenitantur. (8) Sic infans qui stare meditatur et ferre se adsuescit, simultemptare uires suas coepit, cadit et cum fletu totiens resurgit donec seper dolorem ad id quod natura poscit exercuit. Animalia quaedam tergi duriorisinuersa tam diu se torquent ac pedes exerunt et obliquant donec ad locumreponantur. Nullum tormentum sentit supina testudo, inquieta est tamendesiderio naturalis status nec ante desinit niti, quatere se, quam in pedesconstitit. (9) Ergo omnibus constitutionis suae sensus est et inde membrorumtam expedita tractatio, nec ullum maius indicium habemus cum hac illa aduiuendum uenire notitia quam quod nullum animal ad usum sui rude est. (10) 'Constitutio' inquit 'est, ut uos dicitis, principale animi quodammodo se habens erga corpus. Hoc tam perplexum et subtile et uobis quoqueuix enarrabile quomodo infans intellegit? Omnia animalia dialectica nascioportet ut istam finitionem magnae parti hominum togatorum obscuram intellegant. '(11) Verum erat quod opponis si ego ab animalibus constitutionis finitionemintellegi dicerem, non ipsam constitutionem. Facilius natura intellegiturquam enarratur. Itaque infans ille quid sit constitutio non nouit, constitutionemsuam nouit; et quid sit animal nescit, animal esse se sentit. (12) Praetereaipsam constitutionem suam crasse intellegit et summatim et obscure. Nosquoque animum habere nos scimus: quid sit animus, ubi sit, qualis sit autunde nescimus. Qualis ad nos (peruenerit) animi nostri sensus, quamuisnaturam eius ignoremus ac sedem, talis ad omnia animalia constitutionissuae sensus est. Necesse est enim id sentiant per quod alia quoque sentiunt;necesse est eius sensum habeant cui parent, a quo reguntur. (13) Nemo nonex nobis intellegit esse aliquid quod impetus suos moueat: quid sit illudignorat. Et conatum sibi esse scit: quis sit aut unde sit nescit. Sic infantibusquoque animalibusque principalis partis suae sensus est non satis dilucidusnec expressus. (14) 'Dicitis' inquit 'omne animal primum constitutioni suae conciliari,hominis autem constitutionem rationalem esse et ideo conciliari hominemsibi non tamquam animali sed tamquam rationali; ea enim parte sibi carusest homo qua homo est. Quomodo ergo infans conciliari constitutioni rationalipotest, cum rationalis nondum sit? ' (15) Unicuique aetati sua constitutioest, alia infanti, alia puero, <alia adulescenti>, alia seni: omnesei constitutioni conciliantur in qua sunt. Infans sine dentibus est: huicconstitutioni suae conciliatur. Enati sunt dentes: huic constitutioni conciliatur. Nam et illa herba quae in segetem frugemque uentura est aliam constitutionemhabet tenera et uix eminens sulco, aliam cum conualuit et molli quidemculmo, sed quo ferat onus suum, constitit, aliam cum flauescit et ad areamspectat et spica eius induruit: in quamcumque constitutionem uenit, eamtuetur, in eam componitur. (16) Alia est aetas infantis, pueri, adulescentis,senis; ego tamen idem sum qui et infans fui et puer et adulescens. Sic,quamuis alia atque alia cuique constitutio sit, conciliatio constitutionissuae eadem est. Non enim puerum mihi aut iuuenem aut senem, sed me naturacommendat. Ergo infans ei constitutioni suae conciliatur quae tunc infantiest, non quae futura iuueni est; neque enim si aliquid illi maius in quodtranseat restat, non hoc quoque in quo nascitur secundum naturam est. (17) Primum sibi ipsum conciliatur animal; debet enim aliquid esse ad quod aliareferantur. Voluptatem peto. Cui? mihi; ergo mei curam ago. Dolorem refugio. Pro quo? pro me; ergo mei curam ago. Si omnia propter curam mei facio,ante omnia est mei cura. Haec animalibus inest cunctis, nec inseritur sedinnascitur. (18) Producit fetus suos natura, non abicit; et quia tutelacertissima ex proximo est, sibi quisque commissus est. Itaque, ut in prioribusepistulis dixi, tenera quoque animalia et materno utero uel ouo modo effusaquid sit infestum ipsa protinus norunt et mortifera deuitant; umbram quoquetransuolantium reformidant obnoxia auibus rapto uiuentibus. Nullum animalad uitam prodit sine metu mortis. (19) 'Quemadmodum' inquit 'editum animal intellectum habere aut salutarisaut mortiferae rei potest? ' Primum quaeritur an intellegat, non quemadmodumintellegat. Esse autem illis intellectum ex eo apparet quod nihil amplius,si intellexerint, facient. Quid est quare pauonem, quare anserem gallinanon fugiat, at tanto minorem et ne notum quidem sibi accipitrem? quarepulli faelem timeant, canem non timeant? Apparet illis inesse nocituriscientiam non experimento collectam; nam antequam possint experisci, cauent. (20) Deinde ne hoc casu existimes fieri, nec metuunt alia quam debent necumquam obliuiscuntur huius tutelae et diligentiae: aequalis est illis apernicioso fuga. Praeterea non fiunt timidiora uiuendo; ex quo quidem apparetnon usu illa in hoc peruenire sed naturali amore salutis suae. Et tardumest et uarium quod usus docet: quidquid natura tradit et aequale omnibusest et statim. (21) Si tamen exigis, dicam quomodo omne animal perniciosaintellegere cogatur. Sentit se carne constare; itaque sentit quid sit quosecari caro, quo uri, quo obteri possit, quae sint animalia armata ad nocendum:horum speciem trahit inimicam et hostilem. Inter se ista coniuncta sunt;simul enim conciliatur saluti suae quidque et iuuatura petit, laesura formidat. Naturales ad utilia impetus, naturales a contrariis aspernationes sunt;sine ulla cogitatione quae hoc dictet, sine consilio fit quidquid naturapraecepit. (22) Non uides quanta sit subtilitas apibus ad fingenda domicilia,quanta diuidui laboris obeundi undique concordia? Non uides quam nullimortalium imitabilis illa aranei textura, quanti operis sit fila disponere,alia in rectum inmissa firmamenti loco, alia in orbem currentia ex densorara, qua minora animalia, in quorum perniciem illa tenduntur, uelut retibusinplicata teneantur? (23) Nascitur ars ista, non discitur. Itaque nullumest animal altero doctius: uidebis araneorum pares telas, par in fauisangulorum omnium foramen. Incertum est et inaequabile quidquid ars tradit:ex aequo uenit quod natura distribuit. Haec nihil magis quam tutelam suiet eius peritiam tradidit, ideoque etiam simul incipiunt et discere etuiuere. (24) Nec est mirum cum eo nasci illa sine quo frustra nascerentur. Primum hoc instrumentum <in> illa natura contulit ad permanendum, (in) conciliationem et caritatem sui. Non poterant salua esse nisi uellent;nec (non) hoc per se profuturum erat, sed sine hoc nulla res profuisset. Sed in nullo deprendes uilitatem sui, <ne> neglegentiam quidem; tacitisquoque et brutis, quamquam in cetera torpeant, ad uiuendum sollertia est. Videbis quae aliis inutilia sunt sibi ipsa non deesse. Vale.