Letter 13

I know you have plenty of courage. Even before you equipped yourself with healthy teachings, teachings strong enough to overcome hardship, you already took some pride in your contest with Fortune. That is even truer now, after you have grappled with her and tested your own strength. Our powers can never give us firm confidence in themselves until difficulties have appeared on every side, and sometimes come right up close. That is how the real spirit is tested, the spirit that will never pass under the control of things outside itself. This is its touchstone. No athlete can enter a contest with high confidence if he has never been bruised. The one who comes down to the fight with real hope is the one who has seen his own blood, felt his teeth crack under a fist, been tripped, taken the full charge of his opponent, and, though thrown down in body, not thrown down in spirit; the one who, every time he falls, rises more defiant than before. To keep using the image, Fortune has often had the upper hand over you; yet you have not surrendered. You have sprung back up and stood more fiercely. Virtue gains great strength when it is challenged. Still, if you approve, accept from me some reinforcements with which you can strengthen yourself. There are more things, Lucilius, that frighten us than press hard on us. We suffer more often from opinion than from reality. I am not speaking to you in the full Stoic voice, but in a lower key. We Stoics do say that all the things that force groans and cries from people are light and contemptible. Let us set aside those grand words, though heaven knows they are true. What I am telling you is this: do not be miserable before the time comes, since the things you fear as if they were looming over you may perhaps never arrive, and certainly have not arrived yet. So some things torment us more than they should; some torment us before they should; and some torment us when they should not torment us at all. We either enlarge pain, anticipate it, or invent it. Let us postpone the first of these for now, since the matter is disputed and the case, so to speak, has already been joined. What I call light, you will insist is very serious. I know that some people laugh under the lash, while others groan at a slap. We will consider later whether these things have power in themselves, or only through our weakness. For now, grant me this: whenever people stand around you and try to convince you that you are miserable, think not about what you hear but about what you feel. Consult your own endurance, and question yourself, since you know your own affairs best. Ask: "Why are these people pitying me? Why are they alarmed? Why are they afraid even of contact with me, as if misfortune could leap across? Is there anything bad here, or is this more a matter of bad reputation than of real harm?" Ask yourself: "Am I tormenting myself without cause? Am I gloomy? Am I turning something that is not evil into an evil?" "How," you ask, "am I to know whether the things that distress me are empty or real?" Take this rule: we are tormented either by present things, by future things, or by both. Judgment about present things is easy. If your body is free and healthy, and you have no pain from injury, then we will see what the future holds. Today there is no trouble. "But trouble is going to come." First consider whether there are sure proofs that it is coming. Most of the time we suffer from suspicions. Rumor plays with us, the same rumor that often ends wars, and still more often ruins individuals. Yes, my Lucilius, we agree too quickly with opinion. We do not cross-examine or shake out the things that lead us into fear; we tremble and turn our backs like soldiers driven out of camp by a dust cloud raised by fleeing cattle, or frightened by some story passed around with no author. Somehow empty things disturb us more. Truth has its limits; what comes from uncertainty is handed over to guesswork and to the freedom of a frightened mind. No fears are as destructive and impossible to recall as panicked fears. The other fears lack reason; these lack mind itself. Let us therefore investigate the matter carefully. It is plausible that some trouble will come; it is not immediately true. How many unexpected things have happened? How many expected things have never appeared? Even if the trouble is going to come, what good is it to run out to meet your pain? You will suffer soon enough when it arrives. In the meantime, promise yourself better things. What will you gain by doing this? Time. Many events may intervene by which a nearby danger, or even one already close at hand, may stop, end, or pass onto another head. A fire has opened a path of escape. A collapse has set some people down gently. Sometimes the sword has been recalled from the very neck. Someone has survived his own executioner. Bad fortune too is fickle. Perhaps it will happen; perhaps it will not. Meanwhile it is not happening. So set better prospects before yourself. Sometimes, when no signs appear that announce any evil, the mind invents false images of danger. It twists some ambiguous word toward the worse meaning, or imagines someone's anger larger than it is, thinking not how angry he is but how far he could go if he were angry. But life has no reason left, and misery has no limit, if we fear everything that is possible. Here let good judgment help you. Reject even obvious fear with a strong spirit. If you cannot do that, drive out one weakness with another and temper fear with hope. Nothing we fear is so certain that this is not still more certain: feared things often sink away, and hoped-for things often deceive us. So examine hope as well as fear. Whenever everything is uncertain, favor yourself: believe what you prefer. If fear has the larger number of votes, still lean the other way and stop disturbing yourself. Keep turning this over in your mind: most mortals are agitated and rushing around even when no harm is present and none is certain to come. No one resists himself once he has begun to be driven forward; no one reduces his fear to the truth. No one says, "The author of this story is empty; the person who believed it is empty too. Either he invented it or he believed an invention." We give ourselves to every breeze. We panic over doubtful things as though they were certain. We keep no proportion. A small scruple at once becomes terror. I am ashamed to speak to you this way and to treat you with such mild remedies. Let someone else say, "Perhaps it will not come." You say, "And what if it does? Let us see who wins. Perhaps it comes for my benefit; perhaps this death will give honor to my life." Hemlock made Socrates great. Tear from Cato's hand the sword that claimed liberty, and you take away a large part of his glory. I have been exhorting you too long, since you need reminding more than exhortation. I am not leading you away from your nature. You were born for the things I am describing. All the more reason, then, to enlarge and adorn the good already in you. But now I will end the letter, if I can stamp it with its seal, that is, entrust to it some magnificent saying to deliver to you: "Among its other evils, folly has this one too: it is always beginning to live." Consider what this sentence means, excellent Lucilius, and you will understand how ugly human fickleness is: people laying new foundations for life every day, beginning fresh hopes even at the end. Look around at individuals you know. You will meet old men who are just now preparing for ambition, for travel, for business. What is more shameful than an old person beginning to live? I would not add the author of this saying, except that it is rather hidden and not one of those familiar sayings of Epicurus which I have allowed myself both to praise and to adopt. Farewell.

I know that you have plenty of spirit; for even before you began to equip yourself with maxims which were wholesome and potent to overcome obstacles, you were taking pride in your contest with Fortune; and this is all the more true, now that you have grappled with Fortune and tested your powers. For our powers can never inspire in us implicit faith in ourselves except when many difficulties have confronted us on this side and on that, and have occasionally even come to close quarters with us. It is only in this way that the true spirit can be tested,—the spirit that will never consent to come under the jurisdiction of things external to ourselves. This is the touchstone of such a spirit; no prizefighter can go with high spirits into the strife if he has never been beaten black and blue; the only contestant who can confidently enter the lists is the man who has seen his own blood, who has felt his teeth rattle beneath his opponent’s fist, who has been tripped and felt the full force of his adversary’s charge, who has been downed in body but not in spirit, one who, as often as he falls, rises again with greater defiance than ever. So then, to keep up my figure, Fortune has often in the past got the upper hand of you, and yet you have not surrendered, but have leaped up and stood your ground still more eagerly. For manliness gains much strength by being challenged; nevertheless, if you approve, allow me to offer some additional safeguards by which you may fortify yourself. There are more things, Lucilius, likely to frighten us than there are to crush us; we suffer more often in imagination than in reality. I am not speaking with you in the Stoic strain but in my milder style. For it is our Stoic fashion to speak of all those things, which provoke cries and groans, as unimportant and beneath notice; but you and I must drop such great-sounding words, although, Heaven knows, they are true enough. What I advise you to do is, not to be unhappy before the crisis comes; since it may be that the dangers before which you paled as if they were threatening you, will never come upon you; they certainly have not yet come. Accordingly, some things torment us more than they ought; some torment us before they ought; and some torment us when they ought not to torment us at all. We are in the habit of exaggerating, or imagining, or anticipating, sorrow. The first of these three faults may be postponed for the present, because the subject is under discussion and the case is still in court, so to speak. That which I should call trifling, you will maintain to be most serious; for of course I know that some men laugh while being flogged, and that others wince at a box on the ear. We shall consider later whether these evils derive their power from their own strength, or from our own weakness. Do me the favour, when men surround you and try to talk you into believing that you are unhappy, to consider not what you hear but what you yourself feel, and to take counsel with your feelings and question yourself independently, because you know your own affairs better than anyone else does. Ask: “Is there any reason why these persons should condole with me? Why should they be worried or even fear some infection from me, as if troubles could be transmitted? Is there any evil involved, or is it a matter merely of ill report, rather than an evil?” Put the question voluntarily to yourself: “Am I tormented without sufficient reason, am I morose, and do I convert what is not an evil into what is an evil?” You may retort with the question: “How am I to know whether my sufferings are real or imaginary?” Here is the rule for such matters: We are tormented either by things present, or by things to come, or by both. As to things present, the decision is easy. Suppose that your person enjoys freedom and health, and that you do not suffer from any external injury. As to what may happen to it in the future, we shall see later on. To-day there is nothing wrong with it. “But,” you say, “something will happen to it.” First of all, consider whether your proofs of future trouble are sure. For it is more often the case that we are troubled by our apprehensions, and that we are mocked by that mocker, rumour, which is wont to settle wars, but much more often settles individuals. Yes, my dear Lucilius; we agree too quickly with what people say. We do not put to the test those things which cause our fear; we do not examine into them; we blench and retreat just like soldiers who are forced to abandon their camp because of a dust-cloud raised by stampeding cattle, or are thrown into a panic by the spreading of some unauthenticated rumour. And somehow or other it is the idle report that disturbs us most. For truth has its own definite boundaries, but that which arises from uncertainty is delivered over to guesswork and the irresponsible license of a frightened mind. That is why no fear is so ruinous and so uncontrollable as panic fear. For other fears are groundless, but this fear is witless. Let us, then, look carefully into the matter. It is likely that some troubles will befall us; but it is not a present fact. How often has the unexpected happened! How often has the expected never come to pass! And even though it is ordained to be, what does it avail to run out to meet your suffering? You will suffer soon enough, when it arrives; so look forward meanwhile to better things. What shall you gain by doing this? Time. There will be many happenings meanwhile which will serve to postpone, or end, or pass on to another person, the trials which are near or even in your very presence. A fire has opened the way to flight. Men have been let down softly by a catastrophe. Sometimes the sword has been checked even at the victim’s throat. Men have survived their own executioners. Even bad fortune is fickle. Perhaps it will come, perhaps not; in the meantime it is not. So look forward to better things. The mind at times fashions for itself false shapes of evil when there are no signs that point to any evil; it twists into the worst construction some word of doubtful meaning; or it fancies some personal grudge to be more serious than it really is, considering not how angry the enemy is, but to what lengths he may go if he is angry. But life is not worth living, and there is no limit to our sorrows, if we indulge our fears to the greatest possible extent; in this matter, let prudence help you, and contemn with a resolute spirit even when it is in plain sight. If you cannot do this, counter one weakness with another, and temper your fear with hope. There is nothing so certain among these objects of fear that it is not more certain still that things we dread sink into nothing and that things we hope for mock us. Accordingly, weigh carefully your hopes as well as your fears, and whenever all the elements are in doubt, decide in your own favour; believe what you prefer. And if fear wins a majority of the votes, incline in the other direction anyhow, and cease to harass your soul, reflecting continually that most mortals, even when no troubles are actually at hand or are certainly to be expected in the future, become excited and disquieted. No one calls a halt on himself, when he begins to be urged ahead; nor does he regulate his alarm according to the truth. No one says; “The author of the story is a fool, and he who has believed it is a fool, as well as he who fabricated it.” We let ourselves drift with every breeze; we are frightened at uncertainties, just as if they were certain. We observe no moderation. The slightest thing turns the scales and throws us forthwith into a panic. But I am ashamed either to admonish you sternly or to try to beguile you with such mild remedies. Let another say: “Perhaps the worst will not happen.” You yourself must say: “Well, what if it does happen? Let us see who wins! Perhaps it happens for my best interests; it may be that such a death will shed credit upon my life.” Socrates was ennobled by the hemlock draught. Wrench from Cato’s hand his sword, the vindicator of liberty, and you deprive him of the greatest share of his glory. I am exhorting you far too long, since you need reminding rather than exhortation. The path on which I am leading you is not different from that on which your nature leads you; you were born to such conduct as I describe. Hence there is all the more reason why you should increase and beautify the good that is in you. But now, to close my letter, I have only to stamp the usual seal upon it, in other words, to commit thereto some noble message to be delivered to you: “The fool, with all his other faults, has this also,—he is always getting ready to live.” Reflect, my esteemed Lucilius, what this saying means, and you will see how revolting is the fickleness of men who lay down every day new foundations of life, and begin to build up fresh hopes even at the brink of the grave. Look within your own mind for individual instances; you will think of old men who are preparing themselves at that very hour for a political career, or for travel, or for business. And what is baser than getting ready to live when you are already old? I should not name the author of this motto, except that it is somewhat unknown to fame and is not one of those popular sayings of Epicurus which I have allowed myself to praise and to appropriate. Farewell.

[1] Multum tibi esse animi scio; nam etiam antequam instrueres te praeceptis salutaribus et dura vincentibus, satis adversus fortunam placebas tibi, et multo magis postquam cum illa manum conseruisti viresque expertus es tuas, quae numquam certam dare fiduciam sui possunt nisi cum multae difficultates hinc et illinc apparuerunt, aliquando vero et propius accesserunt. Sic verus ille animus et in alienum non venturus arbitrium probatur; haec eius obrussa est. [2] Non potest athleta magnos spiritus ad certamen afferre qui numquam suggillatus est: ille qui sanguinem suum vidit, cuius dentes crepuere sub pugno, ille qui subplantatus ad versarium toto tulit corpore nec proiecit animum proiectus, qui quotiens cecidit contumacior resurrexit, cum magna spe descendit ad pugnam. [3] Ergo, ut similitudinem istam prosequar, saepe iam fortuna supra te fuit, nec tamen tradidisti te, sed subsiluisti et acrior constitisti; multum enim adicit sibi virtus lacessita. Tamen, si tibi videtur, accipe a me auxilia quibus munire te possis. [4] Plura sunt, Lucili, quae nos terrent quam quae premunt, et saepius opinione quam re laboramus. Non loquor tecum Stoica lingua, sed hac summissiore; nos enim dicimus omnia ista quae gemitus mugitusque exprimunt levia esse et contemnenda. Omittamus haec magna verba, sed, di boni, vera: illud tibi praecipio, ne sis miser ante tempus, cum illa quae velut imminentia expavisti fortasse numquam ventura sint, certe non venerint. [5] Quaedam ergo nos magis torquent quam debent, quaedam ante torquent quam debent, quaedam torquent cum omnino non debeant; aut augemus dolorem aut praecipimus aut fingimus. Primum illud, quia res in controversia est et litem contestatam habemus, in praesentia differatur. Quod ego leve dixero tu gravissimum esse contendes; scio alios inter flagella ridere, alios gemere sub colapho. Postea videbimus utrum ista suis viribus valeant an imbecillitate nostra. [6] Illud praesta mihi, ut, quotiens circumsteterint qui tibi te miserum esse persuadeant, non quid audias sed quid sentias cogites, et cum patientia tua deliberes ac te ipse interroges, qui tua optime nosti, 'quid est quare isti me complorent? quid est quod trepident, quod contagium quoque mei timeant, quasi transilire calamitas possit? est aliquid istic mali, an res ista magis infamis est quam mala?' Ipse te interroga, 'numquid sine causa crucior et maereo et quod non est malum facio?' [7] 'Quomodo' inquis 'intellegam, vana sint an vera quibus angor?' Accipe huius rei regulam: aut praesentibus torquemur aut futuris aut utrisque. De praesentibus facile iudicium est: si corpus tuum liberum et sanum est, nec ullus ex iniuria dolor est, videbimus quid futurum sit: hodie nihil negotii habet. [8] 'At enim futurum est.' Primum dispice an certa argumenta sint venturi mali; plerumque enim suspicionibus laboramus, et illudit nobis illa quae conficere bellum solet fama, multo autem magis singulos conficit. Ita est, mi Lucili: cito accedimus opinioni; non coarguimus illa quae nos in metum adducunt nec excutimus, sed trepidamus et sic vertimus terga quemadmodum illi quos pulvis motus fuga pecorum exuit castris aut quos aliqua fabula sine auctore sparsa conterruit. [9] Nescio quomodo magis vana perturbant; vera enim modum suum habent: quidquid ex incerto venit coniecturae et paventis animi licentiae traditur. Nulli itaque tam perniciosi, tam inrevocabiles quam lymphatici metus sunt; ceteri enim sine ratione, hi sine mente sunt. [10] Inquiramus itaque in rem diligenter. Verisimile est aliquid futurum mali: non statim verum est. Quam multa non exspectata venerunt! quam multa exspectata nusquam comparuerunt! Etiam si futurum est, quid iuvat dolori suo occurrere? satis cito dolebis cum venerit: interim tibi meliora promitte. [11] Quid facies lucri? tempus. Multa intervenient quibus vicinum periculum vel prope admotum aut subsistat aut desinat aut in alienum caput transeat: incendium ad fugam patuit; quosdam molliter ruina deposuit; aliquando gladius ab ipsa cervice revocatus est; aliquis carnifici suo superstes fuit. Habet etiam mala fortuna levitatem. Fortasse erit, fortasse non erit: interim non est; meliora propone. [12] Nonnumquam, nullis apparentibus signis quae mali aliquid praenuntient, animus sibi falsas imagines fingit: aut verbum aliquod dubiae significationis detorquet in peius aut maiorem sibi offensam proponit alicuius quam est, et cogitat non quam iratus ille sit, sed quantum liceat irato. Nulla autem causa vitae est, nullus miseriarum modus, si timetur quantum potest. Hic prudentia prosit, hic robore animi evidentem quoque metum respue; si minus, vitio vitium repelle, spe metum tempera. Nihil tam certum est ex his quae timentur ut non certius sit et formidata subsidere et sperata decipere. [13] Ergo spem ac metum examina, et quotiens incerta erunt omnia, tibi fave: crede quod mavis. Si plures habebit sententias metus, nihilominus in hanc partem potius inclina et perturbare te desine ac subinde hoc in animo volve, maiorem partem mortalium, cum illi nec sit quicquam mali nec pro certo futurum sit, aestuare ac discurrere. Nemo enim resistit sibi, cum coepit impelli, nec timorem suum redigit ad verum; nemo dicit 'vanus auctor est, vanus [est]: aut finxit aut credidit'. Damus nos aurae ferendos; expavescimus dubia pro certis; non servamus modum rerum, statim in timorem venit scrupulus. [14] Pudet me +ibi+ sic tecum loqui et tam lenibus te remediis focilare. Alius dicat 'fortasse non veniet': tu dic 'quid porro, si veniet? videbimus uter vincat; fortasse pro me venit, et mors ista vitam honestabit'. Cicuta magnum Socratem fecit. Catoni gladium assertorem libertatis extorque: magnam partem detraxeris gloriae. [15] Nimium diu te cohortor, cum tibi admonitione magis quam exhortatione opus sit. Non in diversum te a natura tua ducimus: natus es ad ista quae dicimus; eo magis bonum tuum auge et exorna. [16] Sed iam finem epistulae faciam, si illi signum suum in pressero, id est aliquam magnificam vocem perferendam ad te mandavero. 'Inter cetera mala hoc quoque habet stultitia: semper incipit vivere.' Considera quid vox ista significet, Lucili virorum optime, et intelleges quam foeda sit hominum levitas cotidie nova vitae fundamenta ponentium, novas spes etiam in exitu inchoantium. [17] Circumspice tecum singulos: occurrent tibi senes qui se cum maxime ad ambitionem, ad peregrinationes, ad negotiandum parent. Quid est autem turpius quam senex vivere incipiens? Non adicerem auctorem huic voci, nisi esset secretior nec inter vulgata Epicuri dicta, quae mihi et laudare et adoptare permisi. Vale.