Letter 20

If you are well, and if you think yourself worthy at last of becoming your own master, I am glad. The credit will be mine if I can pull you out of the flood in which you are being tossed with no hope of escape. But this, my dear Lucilius, I ask and urge of you: let philosophy sink into the deepest part of your heart, and test your progress not by speeches or writings, but by firmness of mind and the reduction of desire. Prove your words by your deeds. Those who declaim and hunt for applause from a ring of listeners have one purpose. Those who hold the ears of young men and idle people with varied or fluent argument have another. Philosophy teaches us to act, not to speak. It requires each person to live by his own rule, so that life does not disagree with speech and so that life itself is not divided against itself. The whole of one's conduct should have one color. This is the greatest duty of wisdom and the greatest proof of it: that deeds agree with words, and that a person is everywhere equal to himself, the same under all conditions. "Who will manage this?" you ask. Few, certainly; but some will. It is hard. I am not saying that the wise person will always move at the same pace, but he will always travel the same road. Watch yourself, then. See whether your clothes and your house are at odds with each other; whether you are generous to yourself and stingy to your household; whether you dine frugally but build luxuriously. Grasp once and for all a single rule by which to live, and measure your whole life against it. Some people contract themselves at home, then swell and stretch themselves in public. This mismatch is a fault, and a sign of a wavering mind that has not yet found its own steady line. I will also tell you where that inconstancy and conflict between actions and plans comes from: no one sets before himself what he wants, and if he has set it before himself, he does not persevere in it. He jumps the track. He not only changes; he goes back and slips again into what he had abandoned and condemned. So, leaving aside the old definitions of wisdom and trying to gather the whole pattern of human life into one sentence, I can be content with this: What is wisdom? Always wanting the same things and always refusing the same things. You may omit the little qualification that what you want must be right, because no one can always be pleased by the same thing unless it is right. People do not know what they want except at the very moment when they want it. No one has decided once and for all what to seek and what to refuse. Judgment changes every day and turns into its opposite; most people pass their lives as if they were playing a game. So press on with what you have begun. Perhaps you will be led either to the summit, or to a point that only you understand is still below the summit. "What will become," you say, "of this crowd of dependents if there is no estate to feed them?" When that crowd stops being fed by you, it will feed itself. Or else you will learn from poverty what you cannot learn from your own kindness: poverty will keep your true and proven friends, and everyone who followed not you but something else will leave. Should poverty not be loved for this reason alone, that it will show you by whom you are loved? When will the day come when no one lies to honor you? Let your thoughts, then, and your care and desire, aim at this: to be content with yourself and with the goods that arise from yourself, handing every other prayer back to God. What happiness could be closer? Reduce yourself to small things from which you cannot fall. To help you do this more gladly, the contribution in this letter will belong to that subject; I will pay it at once. Though you may resent it, Epicurus is still happy to settle my debt for me: "Believe me, your words will seem more impressive if you speak them from a cot and in rags. Then they will not merely be said; they will be proved." I certainly hear our friend Demetrius differently after seeing him lying with nothing beneath him, not even a cloak. He is not only a teacher of truth, but a witness to it. "What then? Is it not possible to despise wealth when it lies right in your lap?" Of course it is. A person has a great spirit if he sees riches poured around him, wonders for a long time that they have come to him, then smiles and hears that they are his more than he feels it. It is a great thing not to be corrupted by close company with riches. The truly great person is poor in the midst of wealth. "But I do not know," you say, "how that man would endure poverty if he suddenly fell into it." Nor do I know, Epicurus, whether your poor man would despise wealth if he suddenly fell into it. In both cases, the mind must be assessed. We must examine whether the one indulges his poverty and whether the other does not indulge his riches. Otherwise, the cot and the rags are slight evidence of good intention unless it is clear that a person bears them not from necessity, but from choice. It is the mark of a noble nature not to rush toward these things as if they were better, but to prepare for them as things easy to bear. And they are easy, Lucilius; when you approach them after long preparation, they are pleasant too, because they contain security, without which nothing is pleasant. So I judge it necessary to do what I have told you great people have often done: set aside a few days in which we train ourselves for real poverty through imaginary poverty. There is all the more reason to do this because we are soaked in luxury and judge everything hard and difficult. Rather, the soul must be woken from sleep and pinched into awareness. It must be reminded that nature has assigned very little to us. No one is born rich. Whoever comes into the light is ordered to be content with milk and a cloth. From beginnings like these, kingdoms are still too small for us. Farewell.

If you are in good health and if you think yourself worthy of becoming at last your own master, I am glad. For the credit will be mine, if I can drag you from the floods in which you are being buffeted without hope of emerging. This, however, my dear Lucilius, I ask and beg of you, on your part, that you let wisdom sink into your soul, and test your progress, not by mere speech or writings, but by stoutness of heart and decrease of desire. Prove your words by your deeds. Far different is the purpose of those who are speech-making and trying to win the approbation of a throng of hearers, far different that of those who allure the ears of young men and idlers by many-sided or fluent argumentation; philosophy teaches us to act, not to speak; it exacts of every man that he should live according to his own standards, that his life should not be out of harmony with his words, and that, further, his inner life should be of one hue and not out of harmony with all his activities. This, I say, is the highest duty and the highest proof of wisdom,—that deed and word should be in accord, that a man should be equal to himself under all conditions, and always the same. “But,” you reply, “who can maintain this standard?” Very few, to be sure; but there are some. It is indeed a hard undertaking, and I do not say that the philosopher can always keep the same pace. But he can always travel the same path. Observe yourself, then, and see whether your dress and your house are inconsistent, whether you treat yourself lavishly and your family meanly, whether you eat frugal dinners and yet build luxurious houses. You should lay hold, once for all, upon a single norm to live by, and should regulate your whole life according to this norm. Some men restrict themselves at home, but strut with swelling port before the public; such discordance is a fault, and it indicates a wavering mind which cannot yet keep its balance. And I can tell you, further, whence arise this unsteadiness and disagreement of action and purpose; it is because no man resolves upon what he wishes, and, even if he has done so, he does not persist in it, but jumps the track; not only does he change, but he returns and slips back to the conduct which he has abandoned and abjured. Therefore, to omit the ancient definitions of wisdom and to include the whole manner of human life, I can be satisfied with the following: “What is wisdom? Always desiring the same things, and always refusing the same things.” You may be excused from adding the little proviso,—that what you wish, should be right; since no man can always be satisfied with the same thing, unless it is right. For this reason men do not know what they wish, except at the actual moment of wishing; no man ever decided once and for all to desire or to refuse. Judgment varies from day to day, and changes to the opposite, making many a man pass his life in a kind of game. Press on, therefore, as you have begun; perhaps you will be led to perfection, or to a point which you alone understand is still short of perfection. “But what,” you say, “will become of my crowded household without a household income?” If you stop supporting that crowd, it will support itself; or perhaps you will learn by the bounty of poverty what you cannot learn by your own bounty. Poverty will keep for you your true and tried friends; you will be rid of the men who were not seeking you for yourself, but for something which you have. Is it not true, however, that you should love poverty, if only for this single reason,—that it will show you those by whom you are loved? O when will that time come, when no one shall tell lies to compliment you! Accordingly, let your thoughts, your efforts, your desires, help to make you content with your own self and with the goods that spring from yourself; and commit all your other prayers to God’s keeping! What happiness could come closer home to you? Bring yourself down to humble conditions, from which you cannot be ejected; and in order that you may do so with greater alacrity, the contribution contained in this letter shall refer to that subject; I shall bestow it upon you forthwith. Although you may look askance, Epicurus will once again be glad to settle my indebtedness: “Believe me, your words will be more imposing if you sleep on a cot and wear rags. For in that case you will not be merely saying them; you will be demonstrating their truth.” I, at any rate, listen in a different spirit to the utterances of our friend Demetrius, after I have seen him reclining without even a cloak to cover him, and, more than this, without rugs to lie upon. He is not only a teacher of the truth, but a witness to the truth. “May not a man, however, despise wealth when it lies in his very pocket?” Of course; he also is great-souled, who sees riches heaped up round him and, after wondering long and deeply because they have come into his possession, smiles, and hears rather than feels that they are his. It means much not to be spoiled by intimacy with riches; and he is truly great who is poor amidst riches. “Yes, but I do not know,” you say, “how the man you speak of will endure poverty, if he falls into it suddenly.” Nor do I, Epicurus, know whether the poor man you speak of will despise riches, should he suddenly fall into them; accordingly, in the case of both, it is the mind that must be appraised, and we must investigate whether your man is pleased with his poverty, and whether my man is displeased with his riches. Otherwise, the cot-bed and the rags are slight proof of his good intentions, if it has not been made clear that the person concerned endures these trials not from necessity but from preference. It is the mark, however, of a noble spirit not to precipitate oneself into such things on the ground that they are better, but to practise for them on the ground that they are thus easy to endure. And they are easy to endure, Lucilius; when, however, you come to them after long rehearsal, they are even pleasant; for they contain a sense of freedom from care,—and without this nothing is pleasant. I hold it essential, therefore, to do as I have told you in a letter that great men have often done: to reserve a few days in which we may prepare ourselves for real poverty by means of fancied poverty. There is all the more reason for doing this, because we have been steeped in luxury and regard all duties as hard and onerous. Rather let the soul be roused from its sleep and be prodded, and let it be reminded that nature has prescribed very little for us. No man is born rich. Every man, when he first sees light, is commanded to be content with milk and rags. Such is our beginning, and yet kingdoms are all too small for us! Farewell.

[1] Si vales et te dignum putas qui aliquando fias tuus, gaudeo; mea enim gloria erit, si te istinc ubi sine spe exeundi fluctuaris extraxero. Illud autem te, mi Lucili, rogo atque hortor, ut philosophiam in praecordia ima demittas et experimentum profectus tui capias non oratione nec scripto, sed animi firmitate, cupiditatum deminutione: verba rebus proba. [2] Aliud propositum est declamantibus et assensionem coronae captantibus, aliud his qui iuvenum et otiosorum aures disputatione varia aut volubili detinent: facere docet philosophia, non dicere, et hoc exigit, ut ad legem suam quisque vivat, ne orationi vita dissentiat vel ipsa inter se vita; <ut> unus sit omnium actio[dissentio]num color [sit]. Maximum hoc est et officium sapientiae et indicium, ut verbis opera concordent, ut ipse ubique par sibi idemque sit. 'Quis hoc praestabit?' Pauci, aliqui tamen. Est enim difficile [hoc]; nec hoc dico, sapientem uno semper iturum gradu, sed una via. [3] Observa te itaque, numquid vestis tua domusque dissentiant, numquid in te liberalis sis, in tuos sordidus, numquid cenes frugaliter, aedifices luxuriose; unam semel ad quam vivas regulam prende et ad hanc omnem vitam tuam exaequa. Quidam se domi contrahunt, dilatant foris et extendunt: vitium est haec diversitas et signum vacillantis animi ac nondum habentis tenorem suum. [4] Etiam nunc dicam unde sit ista inconstantia et dissimilitudo rerum consiliorumque: nemo proponit sibi quid velit, nec si proposuit perseverat in eo, sed transilit; nec tantum mutat sed redit et in ea quae deseruit ac damnavit revolvitur. [5] Itaque ut relinquam definitiones sapientiae veteres et totum complectar humanae vitae modum, hoc possum contentus esse: quid est sapientia? semper idem velle atque idem nolle. Licet illam exceptiunculam non adicias, ut rectum sit quod velis; non potest enim cuiquam idem semper placere nisi rectum. [6] Nesciunt ergo homines quid velint nisi illo momento quo volunt; in totum nulli velle aut nolle decretum est; variatur cotidie iudicium et in contrarium vertitur ac plerisque agitur vita per lusum. Preme ergo quod coepisti, et fortasse perduceris aut ad summum aut eo quod summum nondum esse solus intellegas. [7] 'Quid fiet' inquis 'huic turbae familiarium sine re familiari?' Turba ista cum a te pasci desierit, ipsa se pascet, aut quod tu beneficio tuo non potes scire, paupertatis scies: illa veros certosque amicos retinebit, discedet quisquis non te se aliud sequebatur. Non est autem vel ob hoc unum amanda paupertas, quod a quibus ameris ostendet? O quando ille veniet dies quo nemo in honorem tuum mentiatur! [8] Huc ergo cogitationes tuae tendant, hoc cura, hoc opta, omnia alia vota deo remissurus, ut contentus sis temet ipso et ex te nascentibus bonis. Quae potest esse felicitas propior? Redige te ad parva ex quibus cadere non possis, idque ut libentius facias, ad hoc pertinebit tributum huius epistulae, quod statim conferam. [9] Invideas licet, etiam nunc libenter pro me dependet Epicurus. 'Magnificentior, mihi crede, sermo tuus in grabatto videbitur et in panno; non enim dicentur tantum illa sed probabuntur.' Ego certe aliter audio quae dicit Demetrius noster, cum illum vidi nudum, quanto minus quam [in] stramentis incubantem: non praeceptor veri sed testis est. [10] 'Quid ergo? non licet divitias in sinu positas contemnere?' Quidni liceat? Et ille ingentis animi est qui illas circumfusas sibi, multum diuque miratus quod ad se venerint, ridet suasque audit magis esse quam sentit. Multum est non corrumpi divitiarum contubernio; magnus ille qui in divit”s pauper est. [11] 'Nescio' inquis 'quomodo paupertatem iste laturus sit, si in illam inciderit.' Nec ego, Epicure, an +gulus+ [si] iste pauper contempturus sit divitias, si in illas inciderit; itaque in utroque mens aestimanda est inspiciendumque an ille paupertati indulgeat, an hic divitiis non indulgeat. Alioquin leve argumentum est bonae voluntatis grabattus aut pannus, nisi apparuit aliquem illa non necessitate pati sed malle. [12] Ceterum magnae indolis est ad ista non properare tamquam meliora, sed praeparari tamquam ad facilia. Et sunt, Lucili, facilia; cum vero multum ante meditatus accesseris, iucunda quoque; inest enim illis, sine qua nihil est iucundum, securitas. [13] Necessarium ergo iudico id quod tibi scripsi magnos viros saepe fecisse, aliquos dies interponere quibus nos imaginaria paupertate exerceamus ad veram; quod eo magis faciendum est quod deliciis permaduimus et omnia dura ac difficilia iudicamus. Potius excitandus e somno et vellicandus est animus admonendusque naturam nobis minimum constituisse. Nemo nascitur dives; quisquis exit in lucem iussus est lacte et panno esse contentus: ab his initiis nos regna non capiunt. Vale.