Letter 58

[1] Never have I understood more clearly than I did today how poor our language is in words - or rather, how destitute. A thousand things came up, while we happened to be discussing Plato, that called for names and had none; and there were some that, having once had names, lost them through our fastidiousness. But who could tolerate fastidiousness in the midst of poverty? [2] The creature the Greeks call oestros, which drives cattle wild and scatters them across the whole woodland, our people used to call asilus. You may take this on Vergil's authority: Near the groves of the Silarus and the green oaks of Alburnus there swarms a fly whose Roman name is asilus, but which the Greeks have rendered in their speech as oestros: fierce, harsh-buzzing, it drives whole herds in panic scattering through the forests. [3] I take it you can see that this word has died out. So as not to put you off too long, certain plain, uncompounded words were in use - for instance, they used to say cernere ferro inter se ["to decide between themselves by the sword"]. This same Vergil will confirm it for you: Men sprung from across the whole world had come to settle matters between them by the sword. What we now call decernere: the use of that simple word has been lost. [4] The ancients used to say si iusso, that is, si iussero ["if I shall have ordered"]. I do not want you to take this on my word, but again on that same Vergil's: The rest shall wage the war with me, where I shall order [iusso]. [5] My purpose now in pursuing this with such care is not to show how much time I wasted with the grammarian, but to let you grasp from it how many words have fallen into disuse in Ennius and Accius, when even in this poet, who is sifted through daily, some words have been taken from us. [6] "What is this preparation driving at?" you ask. "Where does it lead?" I will not hide it from you: I want, if it can be done, to say essentia to you with your ears favorably disposed; if not, I will say it even with your ears angry. I have Cicero as warrant for this word, an authority I think substantial; and if you want someone more recent, I have Fabianus, eloquent and refined, his style polished enough even for our fastidious taste. For what is to be done, my dear Lucilius? How is ousia to be expressed - a necessary thing, the very nature that holds the foundation of everything? So I ask you to allow me to use this word. Nonetheless I will make sure to exercise the right you grant me very sparingly; perhaps I will be content merely to have the permission. [7] Yet what good will your indulgence do, when, look, I cannot express in Latin in any way the very thing on account of which I reproached our language? You will condemn the Roman straits all the more once you learn that there is a single syllable I cannot change. You ask what it is? to on ["that which is," the Greek participle]. I seem to you of dull wit: it lies right there in the open, you say, and could be rendered like this - quod est ["what is"]. But I see a great difference: I am forced to set down a verb in place of a noun. Still, if it must be so, I will set down quod est. [8] Our friend, a most learned man, was saying today that Plato expresses this in six ways. I will lay them all out for you, provided I first point out that there is something called a genus and something called a species. For now, however, we are looking for that first genus from which the other species hang, from which all division is born, and by which all things are encompassed. It will be found if we begin to read back through the individual cases one by one; for in this way we will be led to the first. [9] Man is a species, as Aristotle says; horse is a species; dog is a species. So we must look for some common bond for all these, which embraces them and holds them under itself. What is this? Animal ["living being"]. So animal has come to be the genus of all these I just mentioned - of man, horse, and dog. [10] But certain things have a soul yet are not animals; for it is agreed that crops and shrubs too possess a soul, and so we say they live and die. Therefore living things [animantia] will hold the higher place, since both animals and growing things fall under this form. But certain things lack a soul, like stones; and so there will be something more ancient than living things - namely, body. This I will divide by saying that all bodies are either animate or inanimate. [11] Even now there is something higher than body; for we say some things are corporeal, some incorporeal. What, then, will it be from which these are derived? That to which we just now gave a name not quite its own, quod est ["that which is"]. For it will be cut into species in this way, so that we say: that which is is either corporeal or incorporeal. [12] This, then, is the first and most ancient genus and, so to speak, the most general; the others are indeed genera, but special ones. Take man as a genus: it has within itself the species of nations - Greeks, Romans, Parthians; of colors - white, black, tawny; it has individuals - Cato, Cicero, Lucretius. Thus in so far as it contains many things, it falls into the category of genus; in so far as it stands under another, it falls into species. That genus quod est, the general one, has nothing above itself; it is the beginning of things; all things are under it. [13] The Stoics want to set above this yet another, more fundamental genus; of which I will speak presently, once I have first shown that the genus I have spoken of is rightly placed first, since it is capable of containing all things. [14] I divide quod est into these species, so that they are either corporeal or incorporeal; there is no third. How do I divide body? By saying: they are either animate or inanimate. Again, how do I divide animate things? By saying: certain ones have a mind, certain ones only a soul - or rather like this: certain ones have impulse, they move, they pass from place to place; certain ones, fixed to the ground by their roots, are nourished and grow. Again, into what species do I cut animals? They are either mortal or immortal. [15] To certain Stoics the first genus seems to be "the something" [quid]; why it seems so I will append. "In the nature of things," they say, "certain things exist and certain do not, and yet the nature of things embraces even these that do not exist - the ones that come up in the mind, like Centaurs, Giants, and whatever else, shaped by false thought, has begun to hold some image, although it has no substance." [16] Now I return to what I promised you - how Plato divides whatever exists into six modes. The first, that quod est, is grasped neither by sight nor by touch nor by any sense: it is an object of thought. What exists generically, like man in general, does not come under the eyes; but the particular does, like Cicero and Cato. Animal is not seen: it is thought. But its species is seen, the horse and the dog. [17] As the second of the things that exist, Plato sets that which is prominent and surpasses all things; this, he says, exists by way of excellence. "Poet" is said in common - for this name belongs to all who make verses - but among the Greeks it has already passed into the mark of a single man: you understand Homer when you hear "the poet." What, then, is this? God, of course, greater and more powerful than all. [18] The third genus is of those things that exist in the proper sense; these are countless, but set beyond our view. You ask what they are? They are Plato's own furniture: he calls them "ideas," from which everything we see comes to be and according to which all things are formed. These are immortal, unchangeable, inviolable. [19] Hear what an idea is - that is, what it seems to Plato to be: "an idea is the eternal exemplar of those things that come to be by nature." I will add an interpretation to the definition, so the matter becomes clearer to you. I want to make a portrait of you. I have you as the model of the picture, from which our mind takes some form to impose on its work; so that face which teaches and instructs me, from which the imitation is sought, is the idea. The nature of things, then, has such exemplars in infinite number - of men, fish, trees - according to which whatever must be made by it is expressed. [20] The fourth place will belong to the eidos. You must attend to what this eidos is, and charge Plato, not me, with the difficulty of the matter; for no subtlety comes without difficulty. A little earlier I was using the image of the painter. When he wanted to render Vergil in colors, he gazed at Vergil himself. The idea was Vergil's face, the exemplar of the work to come; what the artist draws from this and imposes on his work is the eidos. You ask what the difference is? The one is the exemplar, the other the form taken from the exemplar and imposed on the work; the artist imitates the one, makes the other. A statue has a certain face: this is the eidos. The exemplar itself has a certain face, by gazing at which the craftsman shaped the statue: this is the idea. And if you want yet another distinction: the eidos is in the work, the idea outside the work - and not only outside the work, but before the work. [22] The fifth genus is of the things that exist in the common sense; these begin to concern us; here are all things - men, cattle, objects. The sixth genus is of the things that as it were exist, like the void, like time. Whatever we see or touch Plato does not count among the things he holds to exist in the proper sense; for they are in flux and in constant diminishing and adding. None of us is the same in old age that he was as a young man; none of us is the same in the morning that he was the day before. Our bodies are swept away in the manner of rivers. Whatever you see runs along with time; nothing of what we see stays; I myself, while I say that these things change, have been changed. [23] This is what Heraclitus means: "Into the same river we step down twice and do not step down." For the name of the river stays the same, but the water has passed on. This is more obvious in a stream than in a man; yet a no less swift current carries us past too, and so I marvel at our madness, that we love so greatly a thing most fleeting, the body, and fear that one day we may die, when every moment is the death of the prior state. Will you please not fear that what happens daily will happen once! [24] I have spoken of man, a fluid and falling material, liable to every cause: the world too, an eternal and unconquered thing, changes and does not stay the same. For although it has within itself all that it had, it has it otherwise than it had it: it changes its arrangement. [25] "What good will this subtlety do me?" you ask. If you ask me, none; but just as that engraver lets his eyes rest and calls them away when they have long been strained and tired, and, as the saying goes, feeds them, so we ought sometimes to relax the mind and refresh it with certain delights. But let the delights themselves be work; from these too, if you observe, you will take something that can prove wholesome. [26] This, Lucilius, is what I usually do: from every notion, even one turned the furthest from philosophy, I try to dig out something and make it useful. What could be further removed from the reform of character than the things we have just handled? How can the Platonic ideas make me a better man? What will I draw from them that may curb my desires? This very thing, at least: that all those things which serve the senses, which inflame and provoke us, Plato denies to be among the things that truly exist. [27] These things, then, are imaginary and wear some face for a time; none of them is stable or solid. And yet we desire them as though they would last forever, or as though we would possess them forever. Feeble and fluid, we have taken our stand among empty things: let us send the mind toward the things that are eternal. Let us marvel at the forms of all things flitting on high, and at the god who moves among them and provides for this - how he may defend from death the things he could not make immortal, because matter forbade it, and may overcome the flaw of the body by reason. [28] For all things endure, not because they are eternal, but because they are defended by the care of him who governs: immortal things would have no need of a guardian. The craftsman preserves these things, overcoming the fragility of matter by his own power. Let us despise all things so far from precious that it is even doubtful whether they exist at all. [29] Let us at the same time consider this: if providence delivers from dangers the world itself, no less mortal than we are, then by our own providence too a longer stay can to some degree be prolonged for this little body of ours, if we can govern and restrain the pleasures by which the greater part perishes. [30] Plato himself reached old age by care. He had indeed been allotted a strong and sturdy body, and the breadth of his chest had given him his name; but voyages and dangers had drawn off much of his strength. Yet thrift, restraint of the things that provoke greed, and diligent care of himself led him to old age, though many causes stood in the way. [31] For you know, I think, that it fell to Plato, by the benefit of his diligence, to die on his birthday, having completed his eighty-first year with nothing taken off. For this reason the magi, who happened to be in Athens, made sacrifice to him after his death, judging that his lot had been more than human, because he had rounded out the most perfect number, which nine times nine composes. I do not doubt you would be ready to give up both a few days from that sum and the sacrifice. [32] Frugality can prolong old age, which I think is neither to be coveted nor refused; it is pleasant to be with oneself as long as possible, when a man has made himself worth enjoying. And so we will render a judgment on this: whether one ought to loathe the last stretches of old age and not wait for the end but make it by one's own hand. He who, sluggish, awaits his fate is close to the fearful man, just as a man given to wine beyond measure is the one who drains the jar and gulps down even the dregs. [33] On this, however, we will ask: whether the final part of life is dregs or something most clear and pure - provided only that the mind is without injury and sound senses aid the spirit, and the body is not failing and dead before its time; for it matters very much whether a man is prolonging his life or his death. [34] But if the body is useless for its services, why should one not lead out the laboring soul? And perhaps it must be done a little before it ought, lest, when it must be done, you cannot do it; and since there is greater danger in living badly than in dying quickly, a man is a fool who does not buy off the hazard of a great matter at the small price of a little time. Long old age has carried few to death without injury; for many an idle life has lain useless to itself: how much more cruel, then, do you judge it to have lost something of life than to have lost the right of ending it? [35] Do not hear me unwillingly, as though this opinion already applied to you, and weigh what I say: I will not abandon old age, if it keeps me whole for myself, and whole as to that better part; but if it begins to shake my mind, to tear apart its faculties, if it leaves me not life but mere breath, I will leap out from the rotten and collapsing building. [36] I will not flee disease by death, at least not a curable one that does not obstruct the soul. I will not lay hands on myself on account of pain: to die that way is to be conquered. Yet if I learn that this is to be suffered by me perpetually, I will go out - not on account of the pain itself, but because it will be a hindrance to me toward everything for which one lives; weak and craven is the man who dies on account of pain, a fool the man who lives for the sake of pain. [37] But I am going on too long; besides, there is matter here that could fill the day: and how will a man be able to put an end to his life who cannot put an end to a letter? Farewell, then - which you will read more gladly than my unrelieved talk of death. Farewell.

How scant of words our language is, nay, how poverty-stricken, I have not fully understood until to-day. We happened to be speaking of Plato, and a thousand subjects came up for discussion, which needed names and yet possessed none; and there were certain others which once possessed, but have since lost, their words because we were too nice about their use. But who can endure to be nice in the midst of poverty? There is an insect, called by the Greeks oestrus, which drives cattle wild and scatters them all over their pasturing grounds; it used to be called asilus in our language, as you may believe on the authority of Vergil:— Near Silarus groves, and eke Alburnus’ shades Of green-clad oak-trees flits an insect, named Asilus by the Romans; in the Greek The word is rendered oestrus. With a rough And strident sound it buzzes and drives wild The terror-stricken herds throughout the woods. By which I infer that the word has gone out of use. And, not to keep you waiting too long, there were certain uncompounded words current, like cernere ferro inter se, as will be proved again by Vergil:— Great heroes, born in various lands, had come To settle matters mutually with the sword. This “settling matters” we now express by decernere. The plain word has become obsolete. The ancients used to say iusso, instead of iussero, in conditional clauses. You need not take my word, but you may turn again to Vergil:— The other soldiers shall conduct the fight With me, where I shall bid. It is not in my purpose to show, by this array of examples, how much time I have wasted on the study of language; I merely wish you to understand how many words, that were current in the works of Ennius and Accius, have become mouldy with age; while even in the case of Vergil, whose works are explored daily, some of his words have been filched away from us. You will say, I suppose: “What is the purpose and meaning of this preamble?” I shall not keep you in the dark; I desire, if possible, to say the word essentia to you and obtain a favourable hearing. If I cannot do this, I shall risk it even though it put you out of humour. I have Cicero, as authority for the use of this word, and I regard him as a powerful authority. If you desire testimony of a later date, I shall cite Fabianus, careful of speech, cultivated, and so polished in style that he will suit even our nice tastes. For what can we do, my dear Lucilius? How otherwise can we find a word for that which the Greeks call οὐσία, something that is indispensable, something that is the natural substratum of everything? I beg you accordingly to allow me to use this word essentia. I shall nevertheless take pains to exercise the privilege, which you have granted me, with as sparing a hand as possible; perhaps I shall be content with the mere right. Yet what good will your indulgence do me, if, lo and behold, I can in no wise express in Latin the meaning of the word which gave me the opportunity to rail at the poverty of our language? And you will condemn our narrow Roman limits even more, when you find out that there is a word of one syllable which I cannot translate. “What is this?” you ask. It is the word ὄν. You think me lacking in facility; you believe that the word is ready to hand, that it might be translated by quod est. I notice, however, a great difference; you are forcing me to render a noun by a verb. But if I must do so, I shall render it by quod est. There are six ways in which Plato expresses this idea, according to a friend of ours, a man of great learning, who mentioned the fact to-day. And I shall explain all of them to you, if I may first point out that there is something called genus and something called species. For the present, however, we are seeking the primary idea of genus, on which the others, the different species, depend, which is the source of all classification, the term under which universal ideas are embraced. And the idea of genus will be reached if we begin to reckon back from particulars; for in this way we shall be conducted back to the primary notion. Now “man” is a species, as Aristotle says; so is “horse,” or “dog.” We must therefore discover some common bond for all these terms, one which embraces them and holds them subordinate to itself. And what is this? It is “animal.” And so there begins to be a genus “animal,” including all these terms, “man,” “horse,” and “dog.” But there are certain things which have life (anima) and yet are not “animals.” For it is agreed that plants and trees possess life, and that is why we speak of them as living and dying. Therefore the term “living things” will occupy a still higher place, because both animals and plants are included in this category. Certain objects, however, lack life,—such as rocks. There will therefore be another term to take precedence over “living things,” and that is “substance.” I shall classify “substance” by saying that all substances are either animate or inanimate. But there is still something superior to “substance”; for we speak of certain things as possessing substance, and certain things as lacking substance. What, then, will be the term from which these things are derived? It is that to which we lately gave an inappropriate name, “that which exists.” For by using this term they will be divided into species, so that we can say: that which exists either possesses, or lacks, substance. This, therefore, is what genus is,—the primary, original, and (to play upon the word) “general.” Of course there are the other genera: but they are “special” genera: “man” being, for example, a genus. For “man” comprises species: by nations,—Greek, Roman, Parthian; by colours,—white, black, yellow. The term comprises individuals also: Cato, Cicero, Lucretius. So “man” falls into the category genus, in so far as it includes many kinds; but in so far as it is subordinate to another term, it falls into the category species. But the genus “that which exists” is general, and has no term superior to it. It is the first term in the classification of things, and all things are included under it. The Stoics would set ahead of this still another genus, even more primary; concerning which I shall immediately speak, after proving that the genus which has been discussed above, has rightly been placed first, being, as it is, capable of including everything. I therefore distribute “that which exists” into these two species,—things with, and things without, substance. There is no third class. And how do I distribute “substance”? By saying that it is either animate or inanimate. And how do I distribute the “animate”? By saying: “Certain things have mind, while others have only life.” Or the idea may be expressed as follows: “Certain things have the power of movement, of progress, of change of position, while others are rooted in the ground; they are fed and they grow only through their roots.” Again, into what species do I divide “animals”? They are either perishable or imperishable. Certain of the Stoics regard the primary genus as the “something.” I shall add the reasons they give for their belief; they say: “in the order of nature some things exist, and other things do not exist. And even the things that do not exist are really part of the order of nature. What these are will readily occur to the mind, for example centaurs, giants, and all other figments of unsound reasoning, which have begun to have a definite shape, although they have no bodily consistency.” But I now return to the subject which I promised to discuss for you, namely, how it is that Plato divides all existing things in six different ways. The first class of “that which exists” cannot be grasped by the sight or by the touch, or by any of the senses; but it can be grasped by the thought. Any generic conception, such as the generic idea “man,” does not come within the range of the eyes; but “man” in particular does; as, for example, Cicero, Cato. The term “animal” is not seen; it is grasped by thought alone. A particular animal, however, is seen, for example, a horse, a dog. The second class of “things which exist,” according to Plato, is that which is prominent and stands out above everything else; this, he says, exists in a pre-eminent degree. The word “poet” is used indiscriminately, for this term is applied to all writers of verse; but among the Greeks it has come to be the distinguishing mark of a single individual. You know that Homer is meant when you hear men say “the poet.” What, then, is this pre-eminent Being? God, surely, one who is greater and more powerful than anyone else. The third class is made up of those things which exist in the proper sense of the term; they are countless in number, but are situated beyond our sight. “What are these?” you ask. They are Plato’s own furniture, so to speak; he calls them “ideas,” and from them all visible things are created, and according to their pattern all things are fashioned. They are immortal, unchangeable, inviolable. And this “idea,” or rather, Plato’s conception of it, is as follows: “The ‘idea’ is the everlasting pattern of those things which are created by nature.” I shall explain this definition, in order to set the subject before you in a clearer light: Suppose that I wish to make a likeness of you; I possess in your own person the pattern of this picture, wherefrom my mind receives a certain outline, which it is to embody in its own handiwork. That outward appearance, then, which gives me instruction and guidance, this pattern for me to imitate, is the “idea.” Such patterns, therefore, nature possesses in infinite number,—of men, fish, trees, according to whose model everything that nature has to create is worked out. In the fourth place we shall put “form.” And if you would know what “form” means, you must pay close attention, calling Plato, and not me, to account for the difficulty of the subject. However, we cannot make fine distinctions without encountering difficulties. A moment ago I made use of the artist as an illustration. When the artist desired to reproduce Vergil in colours he would gaze upon Vergil himself. The “idea” was Vergil’s outward appearance, and this was the pattern of the intended work. That which the artist draws from this “idea” and has embodied in his own work, is the “form.” Do you ask me where the difference lies? The former is the pattern; while the latter is the shape taken from the pattern and embodied in the work. Our artist follows the one, but the other he creates. A statue has a certain external appearance; this external appearance of the statue is the “form.” And the pattern itself has a certain external appearance, by gazing upon which the sculptor has fashioned his statue; this is the “idea.” If you desire a further distinction, I will say that the “form” is in the artist’s work, the “idea” outside his work, and not only outside it, but prior to it. The fifth class is made up of the things which exist in the usual sense of the term. These things are the first that have to do with us; here we have all such things as men, cattle, and things. In the sixth class goes all that which has a fictitious existence, like void, or time. Whatever is concrete to the sight or touch, Plato does not include among the things which he believes to be existent in the strict sense of the term. These things are the first that have to do with us: here we have all such things as men, cattle, and things. For they are in a state of flux, constantly diminishing or increasing. None of us is the same man in old age that he was in youth; nor the same on the morrow as on the day preceding. Our bodies are hurried along like flowing waters; every visible object accompanies time in its flight; of the things which we see, nothing is fixed. Even I myself, as I comment on this change, am changed myself. This is just what Heraclitus says: “We go down twice into the same river, and yet into a different river.” For the stream still keeps the same name, but the water has already flowed past. Of course this is much more evident in rivers than in human beings. Still, we mortals are also carried past in no less speedy a course; and this prompts me to marvel at our madness in cleaving with great affection to such a fleeting thing as the body, and in fearing lest some day we may die, when every instant means the death of our previous condition. Will you not stop fearing lest that may happen once which really happens every day? So much for man,—a substance that flows away and falls, exposed to every influence; but the universe, too, immortal and enduring as it is, changes and never remains the same. For though it has within itself all that it has had, it has it in a different way from that in which it has had it; it keeps changing its arrangement. “Very well,” say you, “what good shall I get from all this fine reasoning?” None, if you wish me to answer your question. Nevertheless, just as an engraver rests his eyes when they have long been under a strain and are weary, and calls them from their work, and “feasts” them, as the saying is; so we at times should slacken our minds and refresh them with some sort of entertainment. But let even your entertainment be work; and even from these various forms of entertainment you will select, if you have been watchful, something that may prove wholesome. That is my habit, Lucilius: I try to extract and render useful some element from every field of thought, no matter how far removed it may be from philosophy. Now what could be less likely to reform character than the subjects which we have been discussing? And how can I be made a better man by the “ideas” of Plato? What can I draw from them that will put a check on my appetites? Perhaps the very thought, that all these things which minister to our senses, which arouse and excite us, are by Plato denied a place among the things that really exist. Such things are therefore imaginary, and though they for the moment present a certain external appearance, yet they are in no case permanent or substantial; none the less, we crave them as if they were always to exist, or as if we were always to possess them. We are weak, watery beings standing in the midst of unrealities; therefore let us turn our minds to the things that are everlasting. Let us look up to the ideal outlines of all things, that flit about on high, and to the God who moves among them and plans how he may defend from death that which he could not make imperishable because its substance forbade, and so by reason may overcome the defects of the body. For all things abide, not because they are everlasting, but because they are protected by the care of him who governs all things; but that which was imperishable would need no guardian. The Master Builder keeps them safe, overcoming the weakness of their fabric by his own power. Let us despise everything that is so little an object of value that it makes us doubt whether it exists at all. Let us at the same time reflect, seeing that Providence rescues from its perils the world itself, which is no less mortal than we ourselves, that to some extent our petty bodies can be made to tarry longer upon earth by our own providence, if only we acquire the ability to control and check those pleasures whereby the greater portion of mankind perishes. Plato himself, by taking pains, advanced to old age. To be sure, he was the fortunate possessor of a strong and sound body (his very name was given him because of his broad chest); but his strength was much impaired by sea voyages and desperate adventures. Nevertheless, by frugal living, by setting a limit upon all that rouses the appetites, and by painstaking attention to himself, he reached that advanced age in spite of many hindrances. You know, I am sure, that Plato had the good fortune, thanks to his careful living, to die on his birthday, after exactly completing his eighty-first year. For this reason wise men of the East, who happened to be in Athens at that time, sacrificed to him after his death, believing that his length of days was too full for a mortal man, since he had rounded out the perfect number of nine times nine. I do not doubt that he would have been quite willing to forgo a few days from this total, as well as the sacrifice. Frugal living can bring one to old age; and to my mind old age is not to be refused any more than it is to be craved. There is a pleasure in being in one’s own company as long as possible, when a man has made himself worth enjoying. The question, therefore, on which we have to record our judgment is, whether one should shrink from extreme old age and should hasten the end artificially, instead of waiting for it to come. A man who sluggishly awaits his fate is almost a coward, just as he is immoderately given to wine who drains the jar dry and sucks up even the dregs. But we shall ask this question also: “Is the extremity of life the dregs, or is it the clearest and purest part of all, provided only that the mind is unimpaired, and the senses, still sound, give their support to the spirit, and the body is not worn out and dead before its time?” For it makes a great deal of difference whether a man is lengthening his life or his death. But if the body is useless for service, why should one not free the struggling soul? Perhaps one ought to do this a little before the debt is due, lest, when it falls due, he may be unable to perform the act. And since the danger of living in wretchedness is greater than the danger of dying soon, he is a fool who refuses to stake a little time and win a hazard of great gain. Few have lasted through extreme old age to death without impairment, and many have lain inert, making no use of themselves. How much more cruel, then, do you suppose it really is to have lost a portion of your life, than to have lost your right to end that life? Do not hear me with reluctance, as if my statement applied directly to you, but weigh what I have to say. It is this: that I shall not abandon old age, if old age preserves me intact for myself, and intact as regards the better part of myself; but if old age begins to shatter my mind, and to pull its various faculties to pieces, if it leaves me, not life, but only the breath of life, I shall rush out of a house that is crumbling and tottering. I shall not avoid illness by seeking death, as long as the illness is curable and does not impede my soul. I shall not lay violent hands upon myself just because I am in pain; for death under such circumstances is defeat. But if I find out that the pain must always be endured, I shall depart, not because of the pain but because it will be a hindrance to me as regards all my reasons for living. He who dies just because he is in pain is a weakling, a coward; but he who lives merely to brave out this pain, is a fool. But I am running on too long; and, besides, there is matter here to fill a day. And how can a man end his life, if he cannot end a letter? So farewell. This last word you will read with greater pleasure than all my deadly talk about death. Farewell.

[1] Quanta verborum nobis paupertas, immo egestas sit, numquam magis quam hodierno die intellexi. Mille res inciderunt, cum forte de Platone loqueremur, quae nomina desiderarent nec haberent, quaedam vero <quae> cum habuissent fastidio nostro perdidissent. Quis autem ferat in egestate fastidium? [2] Hunc quem Graeci 'oestron' vocant, pecora peragentem et totis saltibus dissipantem, 'asilum' nostri vocabant. Hoc Vergilio licet credas: [3] Puto intellegi istud verbum interisse. Ne te longe differam, quaedam simplicia in usu erant, sicut 'cernere ferro inter se' dicebant. Idem Vergilius hoc probabit tibi: Quod nunc 'decernere' dicimus: simplicis illius verbi usus amissus est. [4] Dicebant antiqui 'si iusso', id est 'iussero'. Hoc nolo mihi credas, sed eidem Vergilio: [5] Non id ago nunc hac diligentia ut ostendam quantum tempus apud grammaticum perdiderim, sed ut ex hoc intellegas quantum apud Ennium et Accium verborum situs occupaverit, cum apud hunc quoque, qui cotidie excutitur, aliqua nobis subducta sint. [6] 'Quid sibi' inquis 'ista praeparatio vult? quo spectat?' Non celabo te: cupio, si fieri potest, propitiis auribus tuis 'essentiam' dicere; si minus, dicam et iratis. Ciceronem auctorem huius verbi habeo, puto locupletem; si recentiorem quaeris, Fabianum, disertum et elegantem, orationis etiam ad nostrum fastidium nitidae. Quid enim fiet, mi Lucili? quomodo dicetur 'ousia', res necessaria, natura continens fundamentum omnium? Rogo itaque permittas mihi hoc verbo uti. Nihilominus dabo operam ut ius a te datum parcissime exerceam; fortasse contentus ero mihi licere. [7] Quid proderit facilitas tua, cum ecce id nullo modo Latine exprimere possim propter quod linguae nostrae convicium feci? Magis damnabis angustias Romanas, si scieris unam syllabam esse quam mutare non possum. Quae sit haec quaeris? 'to on'. Duri tibi videor ingenii: in medio positum, posse sic transferri ut dicam 'quod est'. Sed multum interesse video: cogor verbum pro vocabulo ponere; sed si ita necesse est, ponam 'quod est'. [8] Sex modis hoc a Platone dici amicus noster, homo eruditissimus, hodierno die dicebat. Omnes tibi exponam, si ante indicavero esse aliquid genus, esse et speciem. Nunc autem primum illud genus quaerimus ex quo ceterae species suspensae sunt, a quo nascitur omnis divisio, quo universa comprensa sunt. Invenietur autem si coeperimus singula retro legere; sic enim perducemur ad primum. [9] Homo species est, ut Aristoteles ait; equus species est; canis species est. Ergo commune aliquod quaerendum est his omnibus vinculum, quod illa complectatur et sub se habeat. Hoc quid est? animal. Ergo genus esse coepit horum omnium quae modo rettuli - hominis, equi, canis - animal. [10] Sed quaedam [quae] animum habent nec sunt animalia; placet enim satis et arbustis animam inesse; itaque et vivere illa et mori dicimus. Ergo animantia superiorem tenebunt locum, quia et animalia in hac forma sunt et sata. Sed quaedam anima carent, ut saxa; itaque erit aliquid animantibus antiquius, corpus scilicet. Hoc sic dividam ut dicam corpora omnia aut animantia esse aut inanima. [11] Etiam nunc est aliquid superius quam corpus; dicimus enim quaedam corporalia esse, quaedam incorporalia. Quid ergo erit ex quo haec deducantur? illud cui nomen modo parum proprium imposuimus, 'quod est'. Sic enim in species secabitur ut dicamus: 'quod est' aut corporale est aut incorporale. [12] Hoc ergo est genus primum et antiquissimum et, ut ita dicam, generale; cetera genera quidem sunt, sed specialia. Tamquam homo genus est; habet enim in se nationum species, Graecos, Romanos, Parthos; colorum, albos, nigros, flavos; habet singulos, Catonem, Ciceronem, Lucretium. Ita qua multa continet, in genus cadit; qua sub alio est, in speciem. Illud genus 'quod est' generale supra se nihil habet; initium rerum est; omnia sub illo sunt. [13] Stoici volunt superponere huic etiam nunc aliud genus magis principale; de quo statim dicam, si prius illud genus de quo locutus sum merito primum poni docuero, cum sit rerum omnium capax. [14] 'Quod est' in has species divido, ut sint corporalia aut incorporalia; nihil tertium est. Corpus quomodo divido? ut dicam: aut animantia sunt aut inanima. Rursus animantia quemadmodum divido? ut dicam: quaedam animum habent, quaedam tantum animam, at sic: quaedam impetum habent, incedunt, transeunt, quaedam solo affixa radicibus aluntur, crescunt. Rursus animalia in quas species seco? aut mortalia sunt aut immortalia. [15] Primum genus Stoicis quibusdam videtur 'quid'; quare videatur subiciam. 'In rerum' inquiunt 'natura quaedam sunt, quaedam non sunt, et haec autem quae non sunt rerum natura complectitur, quae animo succurrunt, tamquam Centauri, Gigantes et quidquid aliud falsa cogitatione formatum habere aliquam imaginem coepit, quamvis non habeat substantiam.' [16] Nunc ad id quod tibi promisi revertor, quomodo quaecumque sunt in sex modos Plato partiatur. Primum illud 'quod est' nec visu nec tactu nec ullo sensu comprenditur: cogitabile est. Quod generaliter est, tamquam homo generalis, sub oculos non venit; sed specialis venit, ut Cicero et Cato. Animal non videtur: cogitatur. Videtur autem species eius, equus et canis. [17] Secundum ex his quae sunt ponit Plato quod eminet et exsuperat omnia; hoc ait per excellentiam esse. Poeta communiter dicitur - omnibus enim versus facientibus hoc nomen est - sed iam apud Graecos in unius notam cessit: Homerum intellegas, cum audieris poetam. Quid ergo hoc est? deus scilicet, maior ac potentior cunctis. [18] Tertium genus est eorum quae proprie sunt; innumerabilia haec sunt, sed extra nostrum posita conspectum. Quae sint interrogas? Propria Platonis supellex est: 'ideas' vocat, ex quibus omnia quaecumque videmus fiunt et ad quas cuncta formantur. Hae immortales, immutabiles, inviolabiles sunt. [19] Quid sit idea, id est quid Platoni esse videatur, audi: 'idea est eorum quae natura fiunt exemplar aeternum'. Adiciam definitioni interpretationem, quo tibi res apertior fiat. Volo imaginem tuam facere. Exemplar picturae te habeo, ex quo capit aliquem habitum mens nostra quem operi suo imponat; ita illa quae me docet et instruit facies, a qua petitur imitatio, idea est. Talia ergo exemplaria infinita habet rerum natura, hominum, piscium, arborum, ad quae quodcumque fieri ab illa debet exprimitur. [20] Quartum locum habebit idos. Quid sit hoc idos attendas oportet, et Platoni imputes, non mihi, hanc rerum difficultatem; nulla est autem sine difficultate subtilitas. Paulo ante pictoris imagine utebar. Ille cum reddere Vergilium coloribus vellet, ipsum intuebatur. Idea erat Vergilii facies, futuri operis exemplar; ex hac quod artifex trahit et operi suo imposuit idos est. Quid intersit quaeris? Alterum exemplar est, alterum forma ab exemplari sumpta et operi imposita; alteram artifex imitatur, alteram facit. Habet aliquam faciem statua: haec est idos. Habet aliquam faciem exemplar ipsum quod intuens opifex statuam figuravit: haec idea est. Etiam nunc si aliam desideras distinctionem, idos in opere est, idea extra opus, nec tantum extra opus est, sed ante opus. [22] Quintum genus est eorum quae communiter sunt; haec incipiunt ad nos pertinere; hic sunt omnia, homines, pecora, res. Sextum genus <est> eorum quae quasi sunt, tamquam inane, tamquam tempus. Quaecumque videmus aut tangimus Plato in illis non numerat quae esse proprie putat; fluunt enim et in assidua deminutione atque adiectione sunt. Nemo nostrum idem est in senectute qui fuit iuvenis; nemo nostrum est idem mane qui fuit pridie. Corpora nostra rapiuntur fluminum more. Quidquid vides currit cum tempore; nihil ex iis quae videmus manet; ego ipse, dum loquor mutari ista, mutatus sum. [23] Hoc est quod ait Heraclitus: 'in idem flumen bis descendimus et non descendimus'. Manet enim idem fluminis nomen, aqua transmissa est. Hoc in amne manifestius est quam in homine; sed nos quoque non minus velox cursus praetervehit, et ideo admiror dementiam nostram, quod tantopere amamus rem fugacissimam, corpus, timemusque ne quando moriamur, cum omne momentum mors prioris habitus sit: vis tu non timere ne semel fiat quod cotidie fit! [24] De homine dixi, fluvida materia et caduca et omnibus obnoxia causis: mundus quoque, aeterna res et invicta, mutatur nec idem manet. Quamvis enim omnia in sc habeat quae habuit, aliter habet quam habuit: ordinem mutat. [25] 'Quid ista' inquis 'mihi subtilitas proderit?' Si me interrogas, nihil; sed quemadmodum ille caelator oculos diu intentos ac fatigatos remittit atque avocat et, ut dici solet, pascit, sic nos animum aliquando debemus relaxare et quibusdam oblectamentis reficere. Sed ipsa oblectamenta opera sint; ex his quoque, si observaveris, sumes quod possit fieri salutare. [26] Hoc ego, Lucili, facere soleo: ex omni notione, etiam si a philosophia longissime aversa est, eruere aliquid conor et utile efficere. Quid istis quae modo tractavimus remotius a reformatione morum? quomodo meliorem me facere ideae Platonicae possunt? quid ex istis traham quod cupiditates meas comprimat? Vel hoc ipsum, quod omnia ista quae sensibus serviunt, quae nos accendunt et irritant, negat Plato ex iis esse quae vere sint. [27] Ergo ista imaginaria sunt et ad tempus aliquam faciem ferunt, nihil horum stabile nec solidum est; et nos tamen cupimus tamquam aut semper futura aut semper habituri. Imbecilli fluvidique inter vana constitimus: ad illa mittamus animum quae aeterna sunt. Miremur in sublimi volitantes rerum omnium formas deumque inter illa versantem et hoc providentem, quemadmodum quae immortalia facere non potuit, quia materia prohibebat, defendat a morte ac ratione vitium corporis vincat. [28] Manent enim cuncta, non quia aeterna sunt, sed quia defenduntur cura regentis: immortalia tutore non egerent. Haec conservat artifex fragilitatem materiae vi sua vincens. Contemnamus omnia quae adeo pretiosa non sunt ut an sint omnino dubium sit. [29] Illud simul cogitemus, si mundum ipsum, non minus mortalem quam nos sumus, providentia periculis eximit, posse aliquatenus nostra quoque providentia longiorem prorogari huic corpusculo moram, si voluptates, quibus pars maior perit, potuerimus regere et coercere. [30] Plato ipse ad senectutem se diligentia protulit. Erat quidem corpus validum ac forte sortitus et illi nomen latitudo pectoris fecerat, sed navigationes ac pericula multum detraxerant viribus; parsimonia tamen et eorum quae aviditatem evocant modus et diligens sui tutela perduxit illum ad senectutem multis prohibentibus causis. [31] Nam hoc scis, puto, Platoni diligentiae suae beneficio contigisse quod natali suo decessit et annum unum atque octogensimum implevit sine ulla deductione. Ideo magi, qui forte Athenis erant, immolaverunt defuncto, amplioris fuisse sortis quam humanae rati, quia consummasset perfectissimum numerum, quem novem novies multiplicata componunt. Non dubito quin paratus sis et paucos dies ex ista summa et sacrificium remittere. [32] Potest frugalitas producere senectutem, quam ut non puto concupiscendam, ita ne recusandam quidem; iucundum est secum esse quam diutissime, cum quis se dignum quo frueretur effecit. Itaque de isto feremus sententiam, an oporteat fastidire senectutis extrema et finem non opperiri sed manu facere. Prope est a timente qui fatum segnis exspectat, sicut ille ultra modum deditus vino est qui amphoram exsiccat et faecem quoque exsorbet. [33] De hoc tamen quaeremus, pars summa vitae utrum faex sit an liquidissimum ac purissimum quiddam, si modo mens sine iniuria est et integri sensus animum iuvant nec defectum et praemortuum corpus est; plurimum enim refert, vitam aliquis extendat an mortem. [34] At si inutile ministeriis corpus est, quidni oporteat educere animum laborantem? et fortasse paulo ante quam debet faciendum est, ne cum fieri debebit facere non possis; et cum maius periculum sit male vivendi quam cito moriendi, stultus est qui non exigua temporis mercede magnae rei aleam redimit. Paucos longissima senectus ad mortem sine iniuria pertulit, multis iners vita sine usu sui iacuit: quanto deinde crudelius iudicas aliquid ex vita perdidisse quam ius finiendae? [35] Noli me invitus audire, tamquam ad te iam pertineat ista sententia, et quid dicam aestima: non relinquam senectutem, si me totum mihi reservabit, totum autem ab illa parte meliore; at si coeperit concutere mentem, si partes eius convellere, si mihi non vitam reliquerit sed animam, prosiliam ex aedificio putri ac ruenti. [36] Morbum morte non fugiam, dumtaxat sanabilem nec officientem animo. Non afferam mihi manus propter dolorem: sic mori vinci est. Hunc tamen si sciero perpetuo mihi esse patiendum, exibo, non propter ipsum, sed quia impedimento mihi futurus est ad omne propter quod vivitur; imbecillus est et ignavus qui propter dolorem moritur, stultus qui doloris causa vivit. [37] Sed in longum exeo; est praeterea materia quae ducere diem possit: et quomodo finem imponere vitae poterit qui epistulae non potest? Vale ergo: quod libentius quam mortes meras lecturus es. Vale.