Letter 27

"You," you say, "are giving me advice? Have you, then, already advised yourself, already set yourself right? Is that why you have time to spare for correcting others?" I am not so shameless as to go about treating others while I am sick myself; rather, as though I were lying in the same sickroom, I talk with you about an illness we share and pass the remedies along to you. So listen to me as if I were talking to myself. I admit you into my private place, and with you present I take myself to task. I cry out to my own self: "Count up your years, and you will be ashamed to want the same things you wanted as a boy, to be busy acquiring the same things. This at least secure for yourself as your dying day draws near: let your vices die before you do. Send those turbulent pleasures away, the ones that must be paid for at great cost: not only the pleasures still to come do harm, but those already past as well. Just as crimes, even if they were not caught in the act, leave behind an anxiety that does not depart along with them, so too with base pleasures: regret remains even after they are gone. They are not solid, they are not faithful; even if they do no harm, they slip away. Look about instead for some good that will last; and there is none except what the mind finds for itself out of itself. Virtue alone furnishes joy that is unending and untroubled; even if something stands in the way, it comes between us only as clouds do, which drift along below and never overcome the day." When will it fall to you to arrive at this joy? You are not in fact slackening even now, but you must press on faster. Much work remains, and into it you must yourself pour your own watchfulness, your own labor, if you wish it to be brought to completion; this is a matter that admits no proxy. A different kind of literary pursuit does allow outside help. Within our own memory there was Calvisius Sabinus, a rich man; he had the fortune of a freedman and the wit of one too. I have never seen a man whose good fortune sat on him so indecently. His memory was so bad that the name of Ulysses would slip away from him, or that of Achilles, or of Priam, men whom he knew as well as we know our own childhood tutors. No doddering old nomenclator, who does not supply names but invents them, ever ran through the roll of his master's tribesmen as wrongly as Sabinus used to salute the Trojans and the Achaeans, one and all. Nonetheless he wanted to seem learned. So he hit upon this shortcut: he bought slaves at a great price, one to have Homer by heart, another to have Hesiod; besides these he assigned a single slave to each of the nine lyric poets. There is no reason for you to be amazed that he paid a great deal for them: he had not found them ready-made, so he contracted to have them made. Once this household had been got together for him, he began to pester his dinner guests. He kept these men at the foot of his couch, and when he kept asking them for verses to repeat, he would often break down in the middle of a word. Satellius Quadratus, a nibbler at rich fools and, as follows from that, a flatterer of them, and (a third trait joined to those two) a mocker of them, advised Sabinus to keep grammarians as his pickers-up of scraps. When Sabinus had said that each of these slaves cost him a hundred thousand sesterces, Satellius replied, "For less you could have bought the same number of bookcases." Sabinus, however, persisted in the belief that he himself knew whatever anyone in his household knew. This same Satellius began to urge him, a sickly man, pale and frail, to take up wrestling. When Sabinus answered, "And how can I? I am barely alive," Satellius said, "Do not, I beg you, say such a thing: do you not see how many perfectly robust slaves you have?" A sound mind can neither be lent nor bought; and I think that, if it were for sale, it would find no buyer. Yet an unsound one is bought every day. But now accept what I owe you, and farewell. "Wealth is poverty adjusted to the law of nature." Epicurus says this often, in one form and another, but a thing that is never sufficiently learned is never said too often; to some, remedies must be pointed out, into others they must be drummed. Farewell.

“What,” say you, “are you giving me advice? Indeed, have you already advised yourself, already corrected your own faults? Is this the reason why you have leisure to reform other men?” No, I am not so shameless as to undertake to cure my fellow-men when I am ill myself. I am, however, discussing with you troubles which concern us both, and sharing the remedy with you, just as if we were lying ill in the same hospital. Listen to me, therefore, as you would if I were talking to myself. I am admitting you to my inmost thoughts, and am having it out with myself, merely making use of you as my pretext. I keep crying out to myself: “Count your years, and you will be ashamed to desire and pursue the same things you desired in your boyhood days. Of this one thing make sure against your dying day,—let your faults die before you die. Away with those disordered pleasures, which must be dearly paid for; it is not only those which are to come that harm me, but also those which have come and gone. Just as crimes, even if they have not been detected when they were committed, do not allow anxiety to end with them; so with guilty pleasures, regret remains even after the pleasures are over. They are not substantial, they are not trustworthy; even if they do not harm us, they are fleeting. Cast about rather for some good which will abide. But there can be no such good except as the soul discovers it for itself within itself. Virtue alone affords everlasting and peace-giving joy; even if some obstacle arise, it is but like an intervening cloud, which floats beneath the sun but never prevails against it.” When will it be your lot to attain this joy? Thus far, you have indeed not been sluggish, but you must quicken your pace. Much toil remains; to confront it, you must yourself lavish all your waking hours, and all your efforts, if you wish the result to be accomplished. This matter cannot be delegated to someone else. The other kind of literary activity admits of outside assistance. Within our own time there was a certain rich man named Calvisius Sabinus; he had the bank-account and the brains of a freedman. I never saw a man whose good fortune was a greater offence against propriety. His memory was so faulty that he would sometimes forget the name of Ulysses, or Achilles, or Priam,—names which we know as well as we know those of our own attendants. No major-domo in his dotage, who cannot give men their right names, but is compelled to invent names for them,—no such man, I say, calls off the names of his master’s tribesmen so atrociously as Sabinus used to call off the Trojan and Achaean heroes. But none the less did he desire to appear learned. So he devised this short cut to learning: he paid fabulous prices for slaves,—one to know Homer by heart and another to know Hesiod; he also delegated a special slave to each of the nine lyric poets. You need not wonder that he paid high prices for these slaves; if he did not find them ready to hand he had them made to order. After collecting this retinue, he began to make life miserable for his guests; he would keep these fellows at the foot of his couch, and ask them from time to time for verses which he might repeat, and then frequently break down in the middle of a word. Satellius Quadratus, a feeder, and consequently a fawner, upon addle-pated millionaires, and also (for this quality goes with the other two) a flouter of them, suggested to Sabinus that he should have philologists to gather up the bits. Sabinus remarked that each slave cost him one hundred thousand sesterces; Satellius replied: “You might have bought as many book-cases for a smaller sum.” But Sabinus held to the opinion that what any member of his household knew, he himself knew also. This same Satellius began to advise Sabinus to take wrestling lessons,—sickly, pale, and thin as he was, Sabinus answered: “How can I? I can scarcely stay alive now.” “Don’t say that, I implore you,” replied the other, “consider how many perfectly healthy slaves you have!” No man is able to borrow or buy a sound mind; in fact, as it seems to me, even though sound minds were for sale, they would not find buyers. Depraved minds, however, are bought and sold every day. But let me pay off my debt and say farewell: “Real wealth is poverty adjusted to the law of Nature.” Epicurus has this saying in various ways and contexts; but it can never be repeated too often, since it can never be learned too well. For some persons the remedy should be merely prescribed; in the case of others, it should be forced down their throats. Farewell.

[1] 'Tu me' inquis 'mones? iam enim te ipse monuisti, iam correxisti? ideo aliorum emendationi vacas?' Non sum tam improbus ut curationes aeger obeam, sed, tamquam in eodem valetudinario iaceam, de communi tecum malo colloquor et remedia communico. Sic itaque me audi tamquam mecum loquar; in secretum te meum admitto et te adhibito mecum exigo. [2] Clamo mihi ipse, 'numera annos tuos, et pudebit eadem velle quae volueras puer, eadem parare. Hoc denique tibi circa mortis diem praesta: moriantur ante te vitia. Dimitte istas voluptates turbidas, magno luendas: non venturae tantum sed praeteritae nocent. Quemadmodum scelera etiam si non sunt deprehensa cum fierent, sollicitudo non cum ipsis abit, ita improbarum voluptatum etiam post ipsas paenitentia est. Non sunt solidae, non sunt fideles; etiam si non nocent, fugiunt. [3] Aliquod potius bonum mansurum circumspice; nullum autem est nisi quod animus ex se sibi invenit. Sola virtus praestat gaudium perpetuum, securum; etiam si quid obstat, nubium modo intervenit, quae infra feruntur nec umquam diem vincunt.' [4] Quando ad hoc gaudium pervenire continget? non quidem cessatur adhuc, sed festinetur. Multum restat operis, in quod ipse necesse est vigiliam, ipse laborem tuum impendas, si effici cupis; delegationem res ista non recipit. [5] Aliud litterarum genus adiutorium admittit Calvisius Sabinus memoria nostra fuit dives; et patrimonium habebat libertini et ingenium; numquam vidi hominem beatum indecentius. Huic memoria tam mala erat ut illi nomen modo Ulixis excideret, modo Achillis, modo Priami, quos tam bene noverat quam paedagogos nostros novimus. Nemo vetulus nomenclator, qui nomina non reddit sed imponit, tam perperam tribus quam ille Troianos et Achivos persalutabat. [6] Nihilominus eruditus volebat videri. Hanc itaque compendiariam excogitavit: magna summa emit servos, unum qui Homerum teneret, alterum qui Hesiodum; novem praeterea lyricis singulos assignavit. Magno emisse illum non est quod mireris: non invenerat, faciendos locavit. Postquam haec familia illi comparata est, coepit convivas suos inquietare. Habebat ad pedes hos, a quibus subinde cum peteret versus quos referret, saepe in medio verbo excidebat. [7] Suasit illi Satellius Quadratus, stultorum divitum arrosor et, quod sequitur, arrisor, et, quod duobus his adiunctum est, derisor, ut grammaticos haberet analectas. Cum dixisset Sabinus centenis millibus sibi constare singulos servos, 'minoris' inquit 'totidem scrinia emisses'. Ille tamen in ea opinione erat ut putaret se scire quod quisquam in domo sua sciret. [8] Idem Satellius illum hortari coepit ut luctaretur, hominem aegrum, pallidum, gracilem. Cum Sabinus respondisset, 'et quomodo possum? vix vivo', 'noli, obsecro te' inquit 'istuc dicere: non vides quam multos servos valentissimos habeas?' Bona mens nec commodatur nec emitur; et puto, si venalis esset, non haberet emptorem: at mala cotidie emitur. [9] Sed accipe iam quod debeo et vale. 'Divitiae sunt ad legem naturae composita paupertas.' Hoc saepe dicit Epicurus aliter atque aliter, sed numquam nimis dicitur quod num quam satis discitur; quisbusdam remedia monstranda, quibusdam inculcanda sunt. Vale.