Letter 66

[1] I have seen Claranus, my old schoolmate, after many years. You do not, I think, expect me to add that he is now an old man; but, by Hercules, I found him green in spirit and vigorous, wrestling with that frail little body of his. For Nature dealt unfairly with him and lodged so fine a mind in a poor dwelling; or perhaps she wanted to show us this very thing, that the strongest and most blessed intellect can lie hidden beneath any sort of skin. Yet he has overcome every obstacle, and by despising himself he has arrived at despising everything else. [2] He seems to me to have been mistaken, the poet who said [the verse, here lost in our text, ran: "Worth shows more pleasing in a form that is fair"]. For virtue needs no adornment: it is itself its own great glory, and it consecrates the body it inhabits. At any rate I have begun to look at our Claranus differently: he seems handsome to me, and as upright in body as he is in mind. [3] A great man can come forth from a hovel; and so too a beautiful and great soul can come from a misshapen and lowly little body. Nature, then, seems to me to produce certain men of this kind in order to prove that virtue can be born in any place whatever. If she could have brought forth souls bare and by themselves, she would have done so; as it is, she does something greater: she brings forth certain men hampered by their bodies, who nonetheless break through the things that obstruct them. [4] Claranus, it seems to me, has been brought forth as a model, so that we might know that the soul is not made foul by the body's deformity, but rather the body is adorned by the beauty of the soul. Now, although we spent very few days together, we nonetheless had many conversations, which I will set down at once and pass on to you. [5] On the first day we inquired into this: how can goods be equal, if their condition is threefold? Some, as it seems to our school, are primary goods, such as joy, peace, the safety of one's country; some are secondary, expressed in unhappy material, such as endurance under torture and self-control in grave illness. The former goods we shall desire for ourselves outright; the latter, only if it shall be necessary. There are still a third kind, such as a modest gait, a composed and honest countenance, and bearing appropriate to a prudent man. [6] How can these be equal to one another, when some are to be desired and others to be avoided? If we wish to distinguish among them, let us go back to the first good and consider what kind of thing it is. A mind that gazes upon what is true, skilled in what should be shunned and what sought, setting prices on things not from opinion but from nature, inserting itself into the whole world and directing its contemplation toward all its workings, intent equally upon thoughts and actions, great and forceful, unconquered alike by hardships and by allurements, submitting to neither sort of fortune, towering above everything that befalls and happens, most beautiful, most orderly with grace as well as with strength, sound and dry, untroubled and fearless, which no violence can break, which chance events neither lift up nor cast down—a mind like this is virtue. [7] This is its face, if it should come under a single view and show its whole self at once. For the rest, it has many forms, which unfold according to the variety of life and according to one's actions; yet virtue itself becomes neither less nor greater. For the highest good cannot decrease, nor is it permitted to virtue to move backward; rather it is converted into one quality after another, shaped to fit the things it is going to do. [8] Whatever it has touched, it draws into a likeness of itself and tinges with its own color; it graces the actions, the friendships, sometimes the entire households it has entered and set in order; whatever it has handled, it makes lovable, conspicuous, admirable. And so its power and greatness cannot rise any higher, since there is no increase for what is greatest: you will find nothing straighter than the straight, no more than anything truer than the true, or more temperate than the temperate. [9] Every virtue lies in measure; measure is a fixed standard; steadfastness has nowhere to advance, no more than confidence, or truth, or fidelity. What can be added to what is perfect? Nothing—or else it was not perfect, the thing to which something was added. Therefore not even to virtue: for if anything can be added to it, it was lacking something. The honorable, too, admits no addition; for it is honorable precisely on account of those qualities I have mentioned. What further? Do you not think that the seemly and the just and the lawful are of the same nature, contained within fixed limits? The ability to grow is a sign of an imperfect thing. [10] Every good falls under these same laws: private and public advantage are joined together, just as truly, by Hercules, as the praiseworthy and the desirable are inseparable. Therefore the virtues are equal among themselves, and so are the works of virtue, and all men to whom these virtues have come. [11] But the virtues of plants and animals, since they are mortal, are also frail and perishable and uncertain; they leap up and sink down again, and for this reason they are not valued at the same price. One single rule is applied to human virtues; for right reason is single and simple. Nothing is more divine than the divine, more heavenly than the heavenly. [12] Mortal things are diminished, fall, are worn away, grow, are emptied, are filled; and so, in their so uncertain lot, there is inequality among them: but of divine things the nature is one. Reason, however, is nothing else than a portion of the divine spirit sunk into a human body. If reason is divine, and no good exists without reason, then every good is divine. Moreover, there is no distinction among divine things; therefore none among goods either. And so they are equal, both joy and the brave and stubborn endurance of torture; for in each there is the same greatness of mind, in the one relaxed and loose, in the other fighting and tensed. [13] What? Do you not think that the virtue of the man who bravely storms the enemy's walls is equal to that of the man who endures a siege most patiently? Great is Scipio when he shuts in and constricts Numantia and forces hands that could not be conquered to turn upon their own destruction; great too is that spirit of the besieged, who knows that the man is not shut in for whom death lies open, and who breathes his last in the embrace of liberty. Equally too the rest are equal among themselves—tranquillity, simplicity, generosity, steadfastness, equanimity, endurance; for beneath all of these lies one virtue, which makes the mind straight and unswerving. [14] "What, then? Is there no difference between joy and the unbending endurance of pain?" None, as far as the virtues themselves go: very great a difference, however, between the circumstances in which each virtue is displayed; for in the one there is a natural relaxation and slackening of the mind, in the other pain that is contrary to nature. And so these are indifferent things, which admit a very great interval between them: the virtue in each is equal. [15] The material does not change virtue: hard and difficult material does not make it worse, nor cheerful and glad material make it better; therefore it must be equal. For in each case what is done is done equally rightly, equally prudently, equally honorably; therefore the goods are equal, beyond which neither can this man conduct himself better in his joy, nor that man better amid his torments; and two things than which nothing can be made better are equal. [16] For if things placed outside virtue can either diminish or increase it, then the honorable ceases to be the one good. If you grant this, every honorable thing perishes. Why? I will tell you: because nothing is honorable that is done by an unwilling agent, by one under compulsion; every honorable act is voluntary. Mix into it laziness, complaint, evasion, fear: it has lost the best thing it had, self-approval. That cannot be honorable which is not free; for what fears is enslaved. [17] Everything honorable is secure, is tranquil: if it refuses anything, if it laments, if it judges something an evil, it has taken in disturbance and is tossed about in great discord; for on one side the appearance of the right summons it, on the other the suspicion of evil drags it back. And so whoever is about to do something honorably should, whatever is set against him, even if he thinks it troublesome, not think it an evil; he should will it, should do it gladly. Every honorable act is uncommanded and uncompelled, sincere and mixed with no evil. [18] I know what can be answered to me at this point: "Is this what you are trying to persuade us of—that it makes no difference whether someone is in joy or lies on the rack and wears out his torturer?" I could answer: Epicurus too says that the wise man, if he were burned in the bull of Phalaris, would cry out, "It is sweet, and it has nothing to do with me." Why are you surprised if I call equal the goods of one man reclining at a banquet and another standing most bravely amid torments, when Epicurus says something more incredible—that it is sweet to be roasted? [19] But this I do answer: that there is the greatest difference between joy and pain; if the choice is in question, I will seek the one and shun the other: the one is according to nature, the other against it. As long as they are reckoned this way, they differ from each other by a great distance: but when it comes to virtue, each is equal—both the virtue that advances through glad things and the one that advances through sorrowful ones. [20] Vexation and pain and whatever else of trouble there is carry no weight; for they are overwhelmed by virtue. Just as the brightness of the sun darkens the lesser lights, so virtue by its own greatness crushes and overpowers pains, annoyances, and injuries; and wherever it has shone, there whatever appears without it is extinguished, and troubles have no more share, when they have fallen upon virtue, than a rain-cloud has at sea. [21] That you may know this is so: a good man will run toward every noble deed without any hesitation; though the executioner stand there, though the torturer and the fire stand there, he will persevere, and he will look not at what he is going to suffer but at what he is going to do, and he will entrust himself to the honorable deed as he would to a good man; he will judge it useful to himself, safe, prosperous. An honorable deed, even sad and harsh, will hold the same place with him as a good man who is poor or an exile or wasted and pale. [22] Come now, set on one side a good man abounding in riches, on the other one who has nothing, but has all things in himself: each will be equally a good man, even if he meets with unequal fortune. The same judgment, as I said, applies to things as to men: virtue is equally praiseworthy whether placed in a strong and free body or in a sick and bound one. [23] Therefore you will not praise your own virtue any more if fortune has furnished it an unimpaired body than if it has furnished one mutilated in some part: otherwise this would be to assess the master by the dress of his slaves. For all those things over which chance exercises dominion are slaves—money and the body and honors—feeble, fluid, mortal, of uncertain possession: those, on the other hand, the works of virtue, are free and unconquered, things that are not therefore more to be desired if fortune treats them more kindly, nor less if they are pressed by some unfairness of circumstance. [24] What friendship is in the case of men, that is desire in the case of things. You would not, I think, love a good man who is wealthy any more than a poor one, nor a robust and brawny one any more than a slender one of feeble body; therefore you will not desire or love a thing that is cheerful and at peace any more than one that is troubled and laborious. [25] Or if this is so, then of two equally good men you will prefer the sleek and oiled one to the dusty and unkempt; and from there you will go so far as to prefer the man whole in all his limbs and unharmed to the crippled or the one-eyed; little by little your fastidiousness will proceed to the point where, of two equally just and prudent men, you prefer the one with flowing, curly hair. Where virtue in each is equal, the inequality of other things does not appear; for all those other things are not parts but appendages. [26] Does any man practice so unfair an assessment among his own children that he loves a healthy son more than a sick one, or a tall and lofty one more than a short or middling one? Wild beasts make no distinction among their offspring and lie down to nourish all alike; birds share out their food equally. Ulysses hastens to the rocks of his Ithaca just as Agamemnon hastens to the noble walls of Mycenae; for no man loves his fatherland because it is great, but because it is his own. [27] To what does this tend? That you may know that virtue regards all its works with the same eyes, as if they were its own offspring, and is equally indulgent to all—and indeed more lavishly so to those that labor, since indeed even the love of parents inclines more toward those they pity. Virtue too, when it sees its works afflicted and pressed, does not love them more, but in the manner of good parents embraces and cherishes them more. [28] Why is no good greater than another? Because there is nothing more fitting than the fitting, nothing more level than the level. You cannot say that this thing is more equal to something than that thing; therefore nothing is more honorable than the honorable. [29] But if the nature of all the virtues is equal, the three kinds of goods are on a level. This I say: it is on a level to rejoice with moderation and to grieve with moderation. That gladness does not surpass this firmness of mind that swallows down its groan under the torturer: the former goods are desirable, the latter admirable, both nonetheless equal, because whatever trouble there is, is covered by the force of a good so much greater. [30] Whoever judges these things unequal turns his eyes away from the virtues themselves and looks around at externals. True goods weigh the same, stretch the same: those false ones have much that is empty; and so, imposing and great to those who look at the front of them, when they are called back to the scales they deceive. [31] So it is, my Lucilius: whatever true reason commends is solid and eternal; it strengthens the mind and lifts it up, to be forever on the heights. Those things which are rashly praised, and are goods by the verdict of the crowd, puff up the glad with empty things; and again, those things which are feared as evils inject dread into minds and harry them no differently than animals are driven by the appearance of danger. [32] Each thing therefore, without cause, both expands the mind and stings it: the one is not worthy of joy, nor the other of fear. Reason alone is unchangeable and holds fast to its judgment; for it does not serve the senses but commands them. Reason is equal to reason, as the straight to the straight; therefore virtue too to virtue; for virtue is nothing else than right reason. All virtues are reasons; they are reasons if they are right; if they are right, they are also equal. [33] As reason is, so too are the actions; therefore all are equal; for since they are like reason, they are also like one another. I say that actions are equal among themselves insofar as they are honorable and right; for the rest, they will have great differences as the material varies—now broader, now narrower, now illustrious, now humble, now pertaining to many, now to few. In all these, however, that which is best is equal: they are honorable. [34] Just as all good men are equal insofar as they are good, yet they have differences of age: one is older, another younger; differences of body: one is handsome, another deformed; differences of fortune: this one is rich, that one poor, this one favored, powerful, known to cities and peoples, that one unknown to most and obscure. But through that by which they are good, they are equal. [35] Concerning goods and evils, sense does not judge; what is useful, what useless, it does not know. It cannot pronounce a verdict unless it has been brought up against the thing present; it neither foresees the future nor remembers the past; it does not know what follows from what. But from this knowledge is woven the order and sequence of things, and the unity of a life that will go by a straight course. Reason, therefore, is the judge of goods and evils; it holds what is foreign and external to be worthless, and judges those things that are neither good nor evil to be the slightest and lightest of appendages; for to it every good lies in the mind. [36] For the rest, it esteems certain goods as primary, toward which it comes by deliberate purpose, such as victory, good children, the safety of one's country; certain as secondary, which do not appear except in adverse circumstances, such as to bear illness, fire, exile with an even mind; certain as indifferent, which are no more according to nature than contrary to nature, such as to walk prudently, to sit composedly. For it is no less according to nature to sit than to stand or walk. [37] Those two higher goods are different: the primary are according to nature—to rejoice in the devotion of one's children, in the safety of one's country; the secondary are contrary to nature—to stand bravely against torture and to endure thirst when illness burns the vitals. [38] "What then? Is anything good that is contrary to nature?" By no means; but that in which this good arises is sometimes contrary to nature. For to be wounded, and to waste away with fire set beneath, and to be afflicted with bad health is contrary to nature; but to preserve an untiring mind amid these things is according to nature. [39] And to express what I mean briefly: the material of a good is sometimes contrary to nature, the good never, since no good exists without reason, and reason follows nature. "What, then, is reason?" The imitation of nature. "What is the highest good of man?" To conduct oneself according to the will of nature. [40] "There is no doubt," the objector says, "that peace is happier when it has never been assailed than when it has been restored at the cost of much blood. There is no doubt," he says, "that unshaken health is a happier thing than health led back to safety by a kind of force and endurance out of grave illnesses that threaten the worst. In the same way there will be no doubt that joy is a greater good than a mind braced to endure to the end the torments of wounds or of fire." [41] By no means; for those things that are matters of chance admit very much variation; for they are valued by the usefulness they have for those who take them up. Of goods there is one aim: to agree with nature; and this is equal in all. When we follow someone's motion in the Senate, it cannot be said: that man assents more than this one. By all the same motion is reached. The same I say of the virtues: all assent to nature. The same I say of goods: all assent to nature. [42] One man died young, another old, someone an infant straightway, to whom nothing more befell than to catch sight of life: all these were equally mortal, even though death allowed the life of some to advance farther, cut off that of others in the middle of their bloom, and broke off in others their very beginnings. [43] One was released while dining; another's death was a continuation of his sleep; intercourse extinguished someone. Set against these men those run through with the sword, or killed by the bite of serpents, or crushed by a collapsing building, or wrenched out of existence bit by bit through the long contraction of their sinews. The end of some may be called better, of others worse: but death itself is equal for all. The ways by which they come are different; that in which they end is one. No death is greater or less; for it has the same measure in all—the finishing of life. [44] The same I tell you about goods: this good is amid pure pleasures, that one amid sorrowful and bitter things; the one governed the indulgence of fortune, the other subdued her violence: each is equally good, though the one went by a level and soft road, the other by a rough one. For the end of all is the same: they are goods, they are to be praised, they accompany virtue and reason; virtue makes equal among themselves whatever it acknowledges. [45] Nor is there any reason for you to wonder that this is among our tenets: in Epicurus there are two goods, out of which that highest and blessed good is composed—that the body be without pain, the mind without disturbance. These goods do not grow if they are full: for to what will that grow which is full? The body lacks pain: what can be added to this absence of pain? The mind is constant with itself and calm: what can be added to this tranquillity? [46] Just as the serenity of the sky, cleansed into the purest brightness, does not admit any greater clarity, so the state of the man who tends his body and mind, and weaves his good from both, is perfect, and he has found the summit of his prayer if there is neither heat in his mind nor pain in his body. If any allurements fall to him from outside, they do not increase the highest good but, so to speak, season it and delight it; for that absolute good of human nature is content with the peace of body and mind. [47] I will give you, even from Epicurus, a division of goods very much like this one of ours. For there are some things with him that he would rather should befall him—such as rest of body free from all trouble, and a relaxation of the mind that rejoices in the contemplation of its own goods; there are other things which, although he would not wish them to happen, he nonetheless praises and approves, such as that endurance of bad health and of the gravest pains which I was speaking of a little earlier, in which Epicurus found himself on that highest and most fortunate day of his. For he says that he was bearing the torments of his bladder and ulcerated belly—torments that admitted no further increase of pain—and that nonetheless that day was a blessed one for him. But no one can pass a blessed day unless he is in the highest good. [48] Therefore even in Epicurus there are these goods, which you would rather not experience, but which, because things turned out so, are to be embraced and praised and set on a level with the highest. It cannot be said that this good is not equal to the greatest goods—the good that set the closing seal on a happy life, the good for which Epicurus gave thanks with his last words. [49] Allow me, Lucilius, best of men, to say something rather bold: if any goods could be greater than others, I would prefer these that seem sorrowful to those soft and delicate ones, and would call them greater. For it is a greater thing to break through difficulties than to keep joys within bounds. [50] By the same reason it comes about, I know, that one man bears good fortune well and another bears calamity bravely. The man who has kept watch untroubled before the rampart, with no enemies attempting the camp, can be just as brave as the man who, his hamstrings cut, has caught himself up on his knees and not let go his weapons: "Bravo for your valor!" is said to the blood-stained as they return from the line of battle. And so I would praise these goods more—the tried and brave ones that have grappled with fortune. [51] Should I hesitate whether to praise more that maimed and shriveled hand of Mucius than the sound hand of anyone however brave? He stood there, despising the enemy and the flames, and watched his own hand dripping away on the enemy's brazier, until Porsenna, whose punishment he was favoring, envied him the glory and ordered the fire snatched away against the victim's will. [52] Why should I not count this good among the primary ones, and think it as much greater than those secure and untried-by-fortune goods as it is a rarer thing to have conquered an enemy with one's hand lost than with one's hand armed? "What then?" you say; "will you desire this good for yourself?" Of course. For this is a thing that only the man who can also desire it is able to do. [53] Or should I rather wish to hold out my joints to my catamites to be kneaded? to have some little woman, or someone turned from a man into a little woman, draw out my little fingers? Why should I not think Mucius the more fortunate, because he handled the fire as though he had offered that hand to a masseur? He made good again whatever he had done wrong: unarmed and maimed, he finished the war, and with that mutilated hand he conquered two kings. Farewell.

I have just seen my former school-mate Claranus for the first time in many years. You need not wait for me to add that he is an old man; but I assure you that I found him hale in spirit and sturdy, although he is wrestling with a frail and feeble body. For Nature acted unfairly when she gave him a poor domicile for so rare a soul; or perhaps it was because she wished to prove to us that an absolutely strong and happy mind can lie hidden under any exterior. Be that as it may, Claranus overcomes all these hindrances, and by despising his own body has arrived at a stage where he can despise other things also. The poet who sang Worth shows more pleasing in a form that’s fair, is, in my opinion, mistaken. For virtue needs nothing to set it off; it is its own great glory, and it hallows the body in which it dwells. At any rate, I have begun to regard Claranus in a different light; he seems to me handsome, and as well-set-up in body as in mind. A great man can spring from a hovel; so can a beautiful and great soul from an ugly and insignificant body. For this reason Nature seems to me to breed certain men of this stamp with the idea of proving that virtue springs into birth in any place whatever. Had it been possible for her to produce souls by themselves and naked, she would have done so; as it is, Nature does a still greater thing, for she produces certain men who, though hampered in their bodies, none the less break through the obstruction. I think Claranus has been produced as a pattern, that we might be enabled to understand that the soul is not disfigured by the ugliness of the body, but rather the opposite, that the body is beautified by the comeliness of the soul. Now, though Claranus and I have spent very few days together, we have nevertheless had many conversations, which I will at once pour forth and pass on to you. The first day we investigated this problem: how can goods be equal if they are of three kinds? For certain of them, according to our philosophical tenets, are primary, such as joy, peace, and the welfare of one’s country. Others are of the second order, moulded in an unhappy material, such as the endurance of suffering, and self-control during severe illness. We shall pray outright for the goods of the first class; for the second class we shall pray only if the need shall arise. There is still a third variety, as, for example, a modest gait, a calm and honest countenance, and a bearing that suits the man of wisdom. Now how can these things be equal when we compare them, if you grant that we ought to pray for the one and avoid the other? If we would make distinctions among them, we had better return to the First Good, and consider what its nature is: the soul that gazes upon truth, that is skilled in what should be sought and what should be avoided, establishing standards of value not according to opinion, but according to nature,—the soul that penetrates the whole world and directs its contemplating gaze upon all its phenomena, paying strict attention to thoughts and actions, equally great and forceful, superior alike to hardships and blandishments, yielding itself to neither extreme of fortune, rising above all blessings and tribulations, absolutely beautiful, perfectly equipped with grace as well as with strength, healthy and sinewy, unruffled, undismayed, one which no violence can shatter, one which acts of chance can neither exalt nor depress,—a soul like this is virtue itself. There you have its outward appearance, if it should ever come under a single view and show itself once in all its completeness. But there are many aspects of it. They unfold themselves according as life varies and as actions differ; but virtue itself does not become less or greater. For the Supreme Good cannot diminish, nor may virtue retrograde; rather is it transformed, now into one quality and now into another, shaping itself according to the part which it is to play. Whatever it has touched it brings into likeness with itself, and dyes with its own colour. It adorns our actions, our friendships, and sometimes entire households which it has entered and set in order. Whatever it has handled it forthwith makes lovable, notable, admirable. Therefore the power and the greatness of virtue cannot rise to greater heights, because increase is denied to that which is superlatively great. You will find nothing straighter than the straight, nothing truer than the truth, and nothing more temperate than that which is temperate. Every virtue is limitless; for limits depend upon definite measurements. Constancy cannot advance further, any more than fidelity, or truthfulness, or loyalty. What can be added to that which is perfect? Nothing otherwise that was not perfect to which something has been added. Nor can anything be added to virtue, either, for if anything can be added thereto, it must have contained a defect. Honour, also, permits of no addition; for it is honourable because of the very qualities which I have mentioned. What then? Do you think that propriety, justice, lawfulness, do not also belong to the same type, and that they are kept within fixed limits? The ability to increase is proof that a thing is still imperfect. The good, in every instance, is subject to these same laws. The advantage of the state and that of the individual are yoked together; indeed it is as impossible to separate them as to separate the commendable from the desirable. Therefore, virtues are mutually equal; and so are the works of virtue, and all men who are so fortunate as to possess these virtues. But, since the virtues of plants and of animals are perishable, they are also frail and fleeting and uncertain. They spring up, and they sink down again, and for this reason they are not rated at the same value; but to human virtues only one rule applies. For right reason is single and of but one kind. Nothing is more divine than the divine, or more heavenly than the heavenly. Mortal things decay, fall, are worn out, grow up, are exhausted, and replenished. Hence, in their case, in view of the uncertainty of their lot, there is inequality; but of things divine the nature is one. Reason, however, is nothing else than a portion of the divine spirit set in a human body. If reason is divine, and the good in no case lacks reason, then the good in every case is divine. And furthermore, there is no distinction between things divine; hence there is none between goods, either. Therefore it follows that joy and a brave unyielding endurance of torture are equal goods; for in both there is the same greatness of soul relaxed and cheerful in the one case, in the other combative and braced for action. What? Do you not think that the virtue of him who bravely storms the enemy’s stronghold is equal to that of him who endures a siege with the utmost patience? Great is Scipio when he invests Numantia, and constrains and compels the hands of an enemy, whom he could not conquer, to resort to their own destruction. Great also are the souls of the defenders—men who know that, as long as the path to death lies open, the blockade is not complete, men who breathe their last in the arms of liberty. In like manner, the other virtues are also equal as compared with one another: tranquillity, simplicity, generosity, constancy, equanimity, endurance. For underlying them all is a single virtue—that which renders the soul straight and unswerving. “What then,” you say; “is there no difference between joy and unyielding endurance of pain?” None at all, as regards the virtues themselves; very great, however, in the circumstances in which either of these two virtues is displayed. In the one case, there is a natural relaxation and loosening of the soul; in the other there is an unnatural pain. Hence these circumstances, between which a great distinction can be drawn, belong to the category of indifferent things, but the virtue shown in each case is equal. Virtue is not changed by the matter with which it deals; if the matter is hard and stubborn, it does not make the virtue worse; if pleasant and joyous, it does not make it better. Therefore, virtue necessarily remains equal. For, in each case, what is done is done with equal uprightness, with equal wisdom, and with equal honour. Hence the states of goodness involved are equal, and it is impossible for a man to transcend these states of goodness by conducting himself better, either the one man in his joy, or the other amid his suffering. And two goods, neither of which can possibly be better, are equal. For if things which are extrinsic to virtue can either diminish or increase virtue, then that which is honourable ceases to be the only good. If you grant this, honour has wholly perished. And why? Let me tell you: it is because no act is honourable that is done by an unwilling agent, that is compulsory. Every honourable act is voluntary. Alloy it with reluctance, complaints, cowardice, or fear, and it loses its best characteristic—self-approval. That which is not free cannot be honourable; for fear means slavery. The honourable is wholly free from anxiety and is calm; if it ever objects, laments, or regards anything as an evil, it becomes subject to disturbance and begins to flounder about amid great confusion. For on one side the semblance of right calls to it, on the other the suspicion of evil drags it back. Therefore, when a man is about to do something honourable, he should not regard any obstacles as evils, even though he regard them as inconvenient, but he should will to do the deed, and do it willingly. For every honourable act is done without commands or compulsion; it is unalloyed and contains no admixture of evil. I know what you may reply to me at this point: “Are you trying to make us believe that it does not matter whether a man feels joy, or whether he lies upon the rack and tires out his torturer?” I might say in answer: “Epicurus also maintains that the wise man, though he is being burned in the bull of Phalaris, will cry out: ‘’Tis pleasant, and concerns me not at all.’” Why need you wonder, if I maintain that he who reclines at a banquet and the victim who stoutly withstands torture possess equal goods, when Epicurus maintains a thing that is harder to believe, namely, that it is pleasant to be roasted in this way? But the reply which I do make, is that there is great difference between joy and pain; if I am asked to choose, I shall seek the former and avoid the latter. The former is according to nature, the latter contrary to it. So long as they are rated by this standard, there is a great gulf between; but when it comes to a question of the virtue involved, the virtue in each case is the same, whether it comes through joy or through sorrow. Vexation and pain and other inconveniences are of no consequence, for they are overcome by virtue. Just as the brightness of the sun dims all lesser lights, so virtue, by its own greatness, shatters and overwhelms all pains, annoyances, and wrongs; and wherever its radiance reaches, all lights which shine without the help of virtue are extinguished; and inconveniences, when they come in contact with virtue, play no more important a part than does a storm-cloud at sea. This can be proved to you by the fact that the good man will hasten unhesitatingly to any noble deed; even though he be confronted by the hangman, the torturer, and the stake, he will persist, regarding not what he must suffer, but what he must do; and he will entrust himself as readily to an honourable deed as he would to a good man; he will consider it advantageous to himself, safe, propitious. And he will hold the same view concerning an honourable deed, even though it be fraught with sorrow and hardship, as concerning a good man who is poor or wasting away in exile. Come now, contrast a good man who is rolling in wealth with a man who has nothing, except that in himself he has all things; they will be equally good, though they experience unequal fortune. This same standard, as I have remarked, is to be applied to things as well as to men; virtue is just as praiseworthy if it dwells in a sound and free body, as in one which is sickly or in bondage. Therefore, as regards your own virtue also, you will not praise it any more, if fortune has favoured it by granting you a sound body, than if fortune has endowed you with a body that is crippled in some member, since that would mean rating a master low because he is dressed like a slave. For all those things over which Chance holds sway are chattels,—money, person, position; they are weak, shifting, prone to perish, and of uncertain tenure. On the other hand, the works of virtue are free and unsubdued, neither more worthy to be sought when fortune treats them kindly, nor less worthy when any adversity weighs upon them. Now friendship in the case of men corresponds to desirability in the case of things. You would not, I fancy, love a good man if he were rich any more than if he were poor, nor would you love a strong and muscular person more than one who was slender and of delicate constitution. Accordingly, neither will you seek or love a good thing that is mirthful and tranquil more than one that is full of perplexity and toil. Or, if you do this, you will, in the case of two equally good men, care more for him who is neat and well-groomed than for him who is dirty and unkempt. You would next go so far as to care more for a good man who is sound in all his limbs and without blemish, than for one who is weak or purblind; and gradually your fastidiousness would reach such a point that, of two equally just and prudent men, you would choose him who has long curling hair! Whenever the virtue in each one is equal, the inequality in their other attributes is not apparent. For all other things are not parts, but merely accessories. Would any man judge his children so unfairly as to care more for a healthy son than for one who was sickly, or for a tall child of unusual stature more than for one who was short or of middling height? Wild beasts show no favouritism among their offspring; they lie down in order to suckle all alike; birds make fair distribution of their food. Ulysses hastens back to the rocks of his Ithaca as eagerly as Agamemnon speeds to the kingly walls of Mycenae. For no man loves his native land because it is great; he loves it because it is his own. And what is the purpose of all this? That you may know that virtue regards all her works in the same light, as if they were her children, showing equal kindness to all, and still deeper kindness to those which encounter hardships; for even parents lean with more affection towards those of their offspring for whom they feel pity. Virtue, too, does not necessarily love more deeply those of her works which she beholds in trouble and under heavy burdens, but, like good parents, she gives them more of her fostering care. Why is no good greater than any other good? It is because nothing can be more fitting than that which is fitting, and nothing more level than that which is level. You cannot say that one thing is more equal to a given object than another thing; hence also nothing is more honourable than that which is honourable. Accordingly, if all the virtues are by nature equal, the three varieties of goods are equal. This is what I mean: there is an equality between feeling joy with self-control and suffering pain with self-control. The joy in the one case does not surpass in the other the steadfastness of soul that gulps down the groan when the victim is in the clutches of the torturer; goods of the first kind are desirable, while those of the second are worthy of admiration; and in each case they are none the less equal, because whatever inconvenience attaches to the latter is compensated by the qualities of the good, which is so much greater. Any man who believes them to be unequal is turning his gaze away from the virtues themselves and is surveying mere externals; true goods have the same weight and the same width. The spurious sort contain much emptiness; hence, when they are weighed in the balance, they are found wanting, although they look imposing and grand to the gaze. Yes, my dear Lucilius, the good which true reason approves is solid and everlasting; it strengthens the spirit and exalts it, so that it will always be on the heights; but those things which are thoughtlessly praised, and are goods in the opinion of the mob merely puff us up with empty joy. And again, those things which are feared as if they were evils merely inspire trepidation in men’s minds, for the mind is disturbed by the semblance of danger, just as animals are disturbed. Hence it is without reason that both these things distract and sting the spirit; the one is not worthy of joy, nor the other of fear. It is reason alone that is unchangeable, that holds fast to its decisions. For reason is not a slave to the senses, but a ruler over them. Reason is equal to reason, as one straight line to another; therefore virtue also is equal to virtue. Virtue is nothing else than right reason. All virtues are reasons. Reasons are reasons, if they are right reasons. If they are right, they are also equal. As reason is, so also are actions; therefore all actions are equal. For since they resemble reason, they also resemble each other. Moreover, I hold that actions are equal to each other in so far as they are honourable and right actions. There will be, of course, great differences according as the material varies, as it becomes now broader and now narrower, now glorious and now base, now manifold in scope and now limited. However, that which is best in all these cases is equal; they are all honourable. In the same way, all good men, in so far as they are good, are equal. There are, indeed, differences of age,—one is older, another younger; of body,—one is comely, another is ugly; of fortune,—this man is rich, that man poor, this one is influential, powerful, and well-known to cities and peoples, that man is unknown to most, and is obscure. But all, in respect of that wherein they are good, are equal. The senses do not decide upon things good and evil; they do not know what is useful and what is not useful. They cannot record their opinion unless they are brought face to face with a fact; they can neither see into the future nor recollect the past; and they do not know what results from what. But it is from such knowledge that a sequence and succession of actions is woven, and a unity of life is created,—a unity which will proceed in a straight course. Reason, therefore, is the judge of good and evil; that which is foreign and external she regards as dross, and that which is neither good nor evil she judges as merely accessory, insignificant and trivial. For all her good resides in the soul. But there are certain goods which reason regards as primary, to which she addresses herself purposely; these are, for example, victory, good children, and the welfare of one’s country. Certain others she regards as secondary; these become manifest only in adversity,—for example, equanimity in enduring severe illness or exile. Certain goods are indifferent; these are no more according to nature than contrary to nature, as, for example, a discreet gait and a sedate posture in a chair. For sitting is an act that is not less according to nature than standing or walking. The two kinds of goods which are of a higher order are different; the primary are according to nature,—such as deriving joy from the dutiful behaviour of one’s children and from the well-being of one’s country. The secondary are contrary to nature,—such as fortitude in resisting torture or in enduring thirst when illness makes the vitals feverish. “What then,” you say; “can anything that is contrary to nature be a good?” Of course not; but that in which this good takes its rise is sometimes contrary to nature. For being wounded, wasting away over a fire, being afflicted with bad health,—such things are contrary to nature; but it is in accordance with nature for a man to preserve an indomitable soul amid such distresses. To explain my thought briefly, the material with which a good is concerned is sometimes contrary to nature, but a good itself never is contrary, since no good is without reason, and reason is in accordance with nature. “What, then,” you ask, “is reason?” It is copying nature. “And what,” you say, “is the greatest good that man can possess?” It is to conduct oneself according to what nature wills. “There is no doubt,” says the objector, “that peace affords more happiness when it has not been assailed than when it has been recovered at the cost of great slaughter.” “There is no doubt also,” he continues, “that health which has not been impaired affords more happiness than health which has been restored to soundness by means of force, as it were, and by endurance of suffering, after serious illnesses that threaten life itself. And similarly there will be no doubt that joy is a greater good than a soul’s struggle to endure to the bitter end the torments of wounds or burning at the stake.” By no means. For things that result from hazard admit of wide distinctions, since they are rated according to their usefulness in the eyes of those who experience them, but with regard to goods, the only point to be considered is that they are in agreement with nature; and this is equal in the case of all goods. When at a meeting of the Senate we vote in favour of someone’s motion, it cannot be said, “A. is more in accord with the motion than B.” All alike vote for the same motion. I make the same statement with regard to virtues,—they are all in accord with nature; and I make it with regard to goods also,—they are all in accord with nature. One man dies young, another in old age, and still another in infancy, having enjoyed nothing more than a mere glimpse out into life. They have all been equally subject to death, even though death has permitted the one to proceed farther along the pathway of life, has cut off the life of the second in his flower, and has broken off the life of the third at its very beginning. Some get their release at the dinner-table. Others extend their sleep into the sleep of death. Some are blotted out during dissipation. Now contrast with these persons individuals who have been pierced by the sword, or bitten to death by snakes, or crushed in ruins, or tortured piecemeal out of existence by the prolonged twisting of their sinews. Some of these departures may be regarded as better, some as worse; but the act of dying is equal in all. The methods of ending life are different; but the end is one and the same. Death has no degrees of greater or less; for it has the same limit in all instances,—the finishing of life. The same thing holds true, I assure you, concerning goods; you will find one amid circumstances of pure pleasure, another amid sorrow and bitterness. The one controls the favours of fortune; the other overcomes her onslaughts. Each is equally a good, although the one travels a level and easy road, and the other a rough road. And the end of them all is the same: they are goods, they are worthy of praise, they accompany virtue and reason. Virtue makes all the things that it acknowledges equal to one another. You need not wonder that this is one of our principles; we find mentioned in the works of Epicurus two goods, of which his Supreme Good, or blessedness, is composed, namely, a body free from pain and a soul free from disturbance. These goods, if they are complete, do not increase; for how can that which is complete increase? The body is, let us suppose, free from pain; what increase can there be to this absence of pain? The soul is composed and calm; what increase can there be to this tranquillity? Just as fair weather, purified into the purest brilliancy, does not admit of a still greater degree of clearness; so, when a man takes care of his body and of his soul, weaving the texture of his good from both, his condition is perfect, and he has found the consummation of his prayers, if there is no commotion in his soul or pain in his body. Whatever delights fall to his lot over and above these two things do not increase his Supreme Good; they merely season it, so to speak, and add spice to it. For the absolute good of man’s nature is satisfied with peace in the body and peace in the soul. I can show you at this moment in the writings of Epicurus a graded list of goods just like that of our own school. For there are some things, he declares, which he prefers should fall to his lot, such as bodily rest free from all inconvenience, and relaxation of the soul as it takes delight in the contemplation of its own goods. And there are other things which, though he would prefer that they did not happen, he nevertheless praises and approves,—for example, the kind of resignation, in times of ill-health and serious suffering, to which I alluded a moment ago, and which Epicurus displayed on that last and most blessed day of his life. For he tells us that he had to endure excruciating agony from a diseased bladder and from an ulcerated stomach,—so acute that it permitted no increase of pain; “and yet,” he says, “that day was none the less happy.” And no man can spend such a day in happiness unless he possesses the Supreme Good. We therefore find mentioned, even by Epicurus, those goods which one would prefer not to experience; which, however, because circumstances have decided thus, must be welcomed and approved and placed on a level with the highest goods. We cannot say that the good which has rounded out a happy life, the good for which Epicurus rendered thanks in the last words he uttered, is not equal to the greatest. Allow me, excellent Lucilius, to utter a still bolder word: if any goods could be greater than others, I should prefer those which seem harsh to those which are mild and alluring, and should pronounce them greater. For it is more of an accomplishment to break one’s way through difficulties than to keep joy within bounds. It requires the same use of reason, I am fully aware, for a man to endure prosperity well and also to endure misfortune bravely. That man may be just as brave who sleeps in front of the ramparts without fear of danger when no enemy attacks the camp, as the man who, when the tendons of his legs have been severed, holds himself up on his knees and does not let fall his weapons; but it is to the blood-stained soldier returning from the front that men cry: “Well done, thou hero!” And therefore I should bestow greater praise upon those goods that have stood trial, and show courage, and have fought it out with fortune. Should I hesitate whether to give greater praise to the maimed and shrivelled hand of Mucius than to the uninjured hand of the bravest man in the world? There stood Mucius, despising the enemy and despising the fire, and watched his hand as it dripped blood over the fire on his enemy’s altar, until Porsenna, envying the fame of the hero whose punishment he was advocating, ordered the fire to be removed against the will of the victim. Why should I not reckon this good among the primary goods, and deem it in so far greater than those other goods which are unattended by danger and have made no trial of fortune, as it is a rarer thing to have overcome a foe with a hand lost than with a hand armed? “What then?"” you say; “shall you desire this good for yourself?” Of course I shall. For this is a thing that a man cannot achieve unless he can also desire it. Should I desire, instead, to be allowed to stretch out my limbs for my slaves to massage, or to have a woman, or a man changed into the likeness of a woman, pull my finger-joints? I cannot help believing that Mucius was all the more lucky because he manipulated the flames as calmly as if he were holding out his hand to the manipulator. He had wiped out all his previous mistakes; he finished the war unarmed and maimed; and with that stump of a hand he conquered two kings. Farewell.

[1] Claranum condiscipulum meum vidi post multos annos: non, puto, exspectas ut adiciam senem, sed mehercules viridem animo ac vigentem et cum corpusculo suo colluctantem. Inique enim se natura gessit et talem animum male collocavit; aut fortasse voluit hoc ipsum nobis ostendere, posse ingenium fortissimum ac beatissimum sub qualibet cute latere. Vicit tamen omnia impedimenta et ad cetera contemnenda a contemptu sui venit. [2] Errare mihi visus est qui dixit Non enim ullo honestamento eget: ipsa magnum sui decus est et corpus suum consecrat. Aliter certe Claranum nostrum coepi intueri: formosus mihi videtur et tam rectus corpore quam est animo. [3] Potest ex casa vir magnus exire, potest et ex deformi humilique corpusculo formosus animus ac magnus. Quosdam itaque mihi videtur in hoc tales natura generare, ut approbet virtutem omni loco nasci. Si posset per se nudos edere animos, fecisset; nunc quod amplius est facit: quosdam enim edit corporibus impeditos, sed nihilominus perrumpentis obstantia. [4] Claranus mihi videtur in exemplar editus, ut scire possemus non deformitate corporis foedari animum, sed pulchritudine animi corpus ornari. Quamvis autem paucissimos una fecerimus dies, tamen multi nobis sermones fuerunt, quos subinde egeram et ad te permittam. [5] Hoc primo die quaesitum est, quomodo possint paria bona esse, si triplex eorum condicio est. Quaedam, ut nostris videtur, prima bona sunt, tamquam gaudium, pax, salus patriae; quaedam secunda, in materia infelici expressa, tamquam tormentorum patientia et in morbo gravi temperantia. Illa bona derecto optabimus nobis, haec, si necesse erit. Sunt adhuc tertia, tamquam modestus incessus et compositus ac probus vultus et conveniens prudenti viro gestus. [6] Quomodo ista inter se paria esse possunt, cum alia optanda sint, alia aversanda? Si volumus ista distinguere, ad primum bonum revertamur et consideremus id quale sit. Animus intuens vera, peritus fugiendorum ac petendorum, non ex opinione sed ex natura pretia rebus imponens, toti se inserens mundo et in omnis eius actus contemplationem suam mittens, cogitationibus actionibusque intentus ex aequo, magnus ac vehemens, asperis blandisque pariter invictus, neutri se fortunae summittens, supra omnia quae contingunt acciduntque eminens, pulcherrimus, ordinatissimus cum decore tum viribus, sanus ac siccus, imperturbatus intrepidus, quem nulla vis frangat, quem nec attollant fortuita nec deprimant - talis animus virtus est. [7] Haec eius est facies, si sub unum veniat aspectum et semel tota se ostendat. Ceterum multae eius species sunt, quae pro vitae varietate et pro actionibus explicantur: nec minor fit aut maior ipsa. Decrescere enim summum bonum non potest nec virtuti ire retro licet; sed in alias atque alias qualitates convertitur, ad rerum quas actura est habitum figurata. [8] Quidquid attigit in similitudinem sui adducit et tinguit; actiones, amicitias, interdum domos totas quas intravit disposuitque condecorat; quidquid tractavit, id amabile, conspicuum, mirabile facit. Itaque vis eius et magnitudo ultra non potest surgere, quando incrementum maximo non est: nihil invenies rectius recto, non magis quam verius vero, quam temperato temperatius. [9] Omnis in modo est virtus; modo certa mensura est; constantia non habet quo procedat, non magis quam fiducia aut veritas aut fides. Quid accedere perfecto potest? nihil, aut perfectum non erat cui accessit; ergo ne virtuti quidem, cui si quid adici potest, defuit. Honestum quoque nullam accessionem recipit; honestum est enim propter ista quae rettuli. Quid porro? decorum et iustum et legitimum non eiusdem esse formae putas, certis terminis comprehensum? Crescere posse imperfectae rei signum est. [10] Bonum omne in easdem cadit leges: iuncta est privata et publica utilitas, tam mehercules quam inseparabile est laudandum petendumque. Ergo virtutes inter se pares sunt et opera virtutis et omnes homines quibus illae contigere. [11] Satorum vero animaliumque virtutes, cum mortales sint, fragiles quoque caducaeque sunt et incertae; exsiliunt residuntque et ideo non eodem pretio aestimantur. Una inducitur humanis virtutibus regula; una enim est ratio recta simplexque. Nihil est divino divinius, caelesti caelestius. [12] Mortalia minuuntur cadunt, deteruntur crescunt, exhauriuntur implentur; itaque illis in tam incerta sorte inaequalitas est: divinorum una natura est. Ratio autem nihil aliud est quam in corpus humanum pars divini spiritus mersa; si ratio divina est, nullum autem bonum sine ratione est, bonum omne divinum est. Nullum porro inter divina discrimen est; ergo nec inter bona. Paria itaque sunt et gaudium et fortis atque obstinata tormentorum perpessio; in utroque enim eadem est animi magnitudo, in altero remissa et laxa, in altero pugnat et intenta. [13] Quid? tu non putas parem esse virtutem eius qui fortiter hostium moenia expugnat, et eius qui obsidionem patientissime sustinet? [et] Magnus Scipio, qui Numantiam cludit et comprimit cogitque invictas manus in exitium ipsas suum verti, magnus ille obsessorum animus, qui scit non esse clusum cui mors aperta est, et in complexu libertatis exspirat. Aeque reliqua quoque inter se paria sunt, tranquillitas, simplicitas, liberalitas, constantia, aequanimitas, tolerantia; omnibus enim istis una virtus subest, quae animum rectum et indeclinabilem praestat. [14] 'Quid ergo? nihil interest inter gaudium et dolorum inflexibilem patientiam?' Nihil, quantum ad ipsas virtutes: plurimum inter illa in quibus virtus utraque ostenditur; in altero enim naturalis est animi remissio ac laxitas, in altero contra naturam dolor. Itaque media sunt haec quae plurimum intervalli recipiunt: virtus in utroque par est. [15] Virtutem materia non mutat: nec peiorem facit dura ac difficilis nec meliorem hilaris et laeta; necessest ergo par sit. In utraque enim quod fit aeque recte fit, aeque prudenter, aeque honeste; ergo aequalia sunt bona, ultra quae nec hic potest se melius in hoc gaudio gerere nec ille melius in illis cruciatibus; duo autem quibus nihil fieri melius potest paria sunt. [16] Nam si quae extra virtutem posita sunt aut minuere illam aut augere possunt, desinit unum bonum esse quod honestum. Si hoc concesseris, omne honestum per;t. Quare? dicam: quia nihil honestum est quod ab invito, quod a coacto fit; omne honestum voluntarium est. Admisce illi pigritiam, querelam, tergiversationem, metum: quod habet in se optimum perdidit, sibi placere. Non potest honestum esse quod non est liberum; nam quod timet servit. [17] Honestum omne securum est, tranquillum est: si recusat aliquid, si complorat, si malum iudicat, perturbationem recepit et in magna discordia volutatur; hinc enim species recti vocat, illinc suspicio mali retrahit. Itaque qui honeste aliquid facturus est, quidquid opponitur, id etiam si incommodum putat, malum non putet, velit, libens faciat. Omne honestum iniussum incoactumque est, sincerum et nulli malo mixtum. [18] Scio quid mihi responderi hoc loco possit: 'hoc nobis persuadere conaris, nihil interesse utrum aliquis in gaudio sit an in eculeo iaceat ac tortorem suum lasset?'. Poteram respondere: Epicurus quoque ait sapientem, si in Phalaridis tauro peruratur, exclamaturum, 'dulce est et ad me nihil pertinet'. Quid miraris si ego paria bona dico <alterius in convivio iacentis, alterius inter tormenta fortissime stantis, cum quod incredibilius est dicat Epicurus, dulce esse torreri? [19] Sed hoc respondeo, plurimum interesse inter gaudium et dolorem; si quaeratur electio, alterum petam, alterum vitabo: illud secundum naturam est, hoc contra. Quamdiu sic aestimantur, magno inter se dissident spatio: cum ad virtutem ventum est, utraque par est, et quae per laeta procedit et quae per tristia. [20] Nullum habet momentum vexatio et dolor et quidquid aliud incommodi est; virtute enim obruitur. Quemadmodum minuta lumina claritas solis obscurat, sic dolores, molestias, iniurias virtus magnitudine sua elidit atque opprimit; et quocumque affulsit, ibi quidquid sine illa apparet exstinguitur, nec magis ullam portionem habent incommoda, cum in virtutem inciderunt, quam in mari nimbus. [21] Hoc ut scias ita esse, ad omne pulchrum vir bonus sine ulla cunctatione procurret: stet illic licet carnifex, stet tortor atque ignis, perseverabit nec quid passurus sed quid facturus sit aspiciet, et se honestae rei tamquam bono viro credet; utilem illam sibi iudicabit, tutam, prosperam. Eundem locum habebit apud illum honesta res, sed tristis atque aspera, quem vir bonus pauper aut exul <aut exilis> ac pallidus. [22] Agedum pone ex alia parte virum bonum divitiis abundantem, ex altera nihil habentem, sed in se omnia: uterque aeque vir bonus erit, etiam si fortuna dispari utetur. Idem, ut dixi, in rebus iudicium est quod in hominibus: aeque laudabilis virtus est in corpore valido ac libero posita quam in morbido ac vincto. [23] Ergo tuam quoque virtutem non magis laudabis si corpus illi tuum integrum fortuna praestiterit quam si ex aliqua parte mutilatum: alioqui hoc erit ex servorum habitu dominum aestimare. Omnia enim ista in quae dominium casus exercet serva sunt, pecunia et corpus et honores, imbecilla, fluida, mortalia, possessionis incertae: illa rursus libera et invicta opera virtutis, quae non ideo magis appetenda sunt si benignius a fortuna tractantur, nec minus si aliqua iniquitate rerum premuntur. [24] Quod amicitia in hominibus est, hoc in rebus appetitio. Non, puto, magis amares virum bonum locupletem quam pauperem, nec robustum et lacertosum quam gracilem et languidi corporis; ergo ne rem quidem magis appetes aut amabis hilarem ac pacatam quam distractam et operosam. [25] Aut si hoc est, magis diliges ex duobus aeque bonis viris nitidum et unctum quam pulverulentum et horrentem; deinde hoc usque pervenies ut magis diligas integrum omnibus membris et illaesum quam debilem aut luscum; paulatim fastidium tuum illo usque procedet ut ex duobus aeque iustis ac prudentibus comatum et crispulum malis. Ubi par in utroque virtus est, non comparet aliarum rerum inaequalitas; omnia enim alia non partes sed accessiones sunt. [26] Num quis tam iniquam censuram inter, suos agit ut sanum filium quam aegrum magis diligat, procerumve et excelsum quam brevem aut modicum? Fetus suos non distinguunt ferae et se in alimentum pariter omnium sternunt; aves ex aequo partiuntur cibos. Ulixes ad Ithacae suae saxa sic properat quemadmodum Agamemnon ad Mycenarum nobiles muros; nemo enim patriam quia magna est amat, sed quia sua. [27] Quorsus haec pertinent? ut scias; virtutem omnia opera velut fetus suos isdem oculis intueri, aeque indulgere omnibus, et quidem impensius laborantibus, quoniam quidem etiam parentium amor magis in ea quorum miseretur inclinat. Virtus quoque opera sua quae videt affici et premi non magis amat, sed parentium bonorum more magis complectitur ac fovet. [28] Quare non est ullum bonum altero maius? quia non est quicquam apto aptius, quia plano nihil est planius. Non potes dicere hoc magis par esse alicui quam illud; ergo nec honesto honestius quicquam est. [29] Quod si par omnium virtutum natura est, tria genera bonorum in aequo sunt. Ita dico: in aequo est moderate gaudere et moderate dolere. Laetitia illa non vincit hanc animi firmitatem sub tortore gemitus devorantem: illa bona optabilia, haec mirabilia sunt, utraque nihilominus paria, quia quidquid incommodi est vi tanto maioris boni tegitur. [30] Quisquis haec imparia iudicat ab ipsis virtutibus avertit oculos et exteriora circumspicit. Bona vera idem pendent, idem patent: illa falsa multum habent vani; itaque speciosa et magna contra visentibus, cum ad pondus revocata sunt, fallunt. [31] Ita est, mi Lucili: quidquid vera ratio commendat solidum et aeternum est, firmat animum attollitque semper futurum in excelso. illa quae temere laudantur et vulgi sententia bona sunt inflant inanibus laetos; rursus ea quae timentur tamquam mala iniciunt formidinem mentibus et illas non aliter quam animalia specie periculi agitant. [32] Utraque ergo res sine causa animum et diffundit et mordet: nec illa gaudio nec haec metu digna est. Sola ratio immutabilis et iudicii tenax est; non enim servit sed imperat sensibus. Ratio rationi par est, sicut rectum recto; ergo et virtus virtuti; nihil enim aliud est virtus quam recta ratio. Omnes virtutes rationes sunt; rationes sunt, si rectae sunt; si rectae sunt, et pares sunt. [33] Qualis ratio est, tales et actiones sunt; ergo omnes pares sunt; nam cum similes rationi sint, similes et inter se sunt. Pares autem actiones inter se esse dico qua honestae rectaeque sunt; ceterum magna habebunt discrimina variante materia, quae modo latior est, modo angustior, modo illustris, modo ignobilis, modo ad multos pertinens, modo ad paucos. In omnibus tamen istis id quod optimum est par est: honestae sunt. [34] Tamquam viri boni omnes pares sunt qua boni sunt, sed habent differentias aetatis: alius senior est, alius iunior; habent corporis: alius formosus, alius deformis est; habent fortunae: ille dives, hic pauper est, ille gratiosus, potens, urbibus notus et populis, hic ignotus plerisque et obscurus. Sed per illud quo boni sunt pares sunt. [35] De bonis ac malis sensus non iudicat; quid utile sit, quid inutile, ignorat. Non potest ferre sententiam nisi in rem praesentem perductus est; nec futuri providus est nec praeteriti memor; quid sit consequens nescit. Ex hoc autem rerum ordo seriesque contexitur et unitas vitae per rectum iturae. Ratio ergo arbitra est bonorum ac malorum; aliena et externa pro vilibus habet, et ea quae neque bona sunt neque mala accessiones minimas ac levissimas iudicat; omne enim illi bonum in animo est. [36] Ceterum bona quaedam prima existimat, ad quae ex proposito venit, tamquam victoriam, bonos liberos, salutem patriae; quaedam secunda, quae non apparent nisi in rebus adversis, tamquam aequo animo pati morbum, ignem, exsilium; quaedam media, quae nihilo magis secundum naturam sunt quam contra naturam, tamquam prudenter ambulare, composite sedere. Non enim minus secundum naturam est sedere quam stare aut ambulare. [37] Duo illa bona superiora diversa sunt: prima enim secundum naturam sunt, gaudere liberorum pietate, patriae incolumitate; secunda contra naturam sunt, fortiter obstare tormentis et sitim perpeti morbo urente praecordia. [38] 'Quid ergo? aliquid contra naturam bonum est?' Minime; sed id aliquando contra naturam est in quo bonum illud exsistit. Vulnerari enim et subiecto igne tabescere et adversa valetudine affligi contra naturam est, sed inter ista servare animum infatigabilem secundum naturam est. [39] Et ut quod volo exprimam breviter, materia boni aliquando contra naturam est bonum numquam, quoniam bonum sine ratione nullum est, sequitur autem ratio naturam. 'Quid est ergo ratio?' Naturae imitatio. 'Quod est summum hominis bonum?' Ex naturae voluntate se gerere. [40] 'Non est' inquit 'dubium quin felicior pax sit numquam lacessita quam multo reparata sanguine. Non est dubium' inquit 'quin felicior res sit inconcussa valetudo quam ex gravibus morbis et extrema minitantibus in tutum vi quadam et patientia educta. Eodem modo non erit dubium quin maius bonum sit gaudium quam obnixus animus ad perpetiendos cruciatus vulnerum aut ignium.' [41] Minime; illa enim quae fortuita sunt plurimum discriminis recipiunt; aestimantur enim utilitate sumentium. Bonorum unum propositum est consentire naturae; hoc [contingere] in omnibus par est. Cum alicuius in senatu sententiam sequimur, non potest dici: ille magis assentitur quam ille. Ab omnibus in eandem sententiam itur. Idem de virtutibus dico: omnes naturae assentiuntur. Idem de bonis dico: omnia naturae assentiuntur. [42] Alter adulescens decessit, alter senex, aliquis protinus infans, cui nihil amplius contigit quam prospicere vitam: omnes hi aeque fuere mortales, etiam si mors aliorum longius vitam passa est procedere, aliorum in medio flore praecidit, aliorum interrupit ipsa principia. [43] Alius inter cenandum solutus est; alterius continuata mors somno est; aliquem concubitus exstinxit. His oppone ferro transfossos aut exanimatos serpentium morsu aut fractos ruina aut per longam nervorum contractionem extortos minutatim. Aliquorum melior dici, aliquorum peior potest exitus: mors quidem omnium par est. Per quae veniunt diversa sunt; in [id] quod desinunt unum est. Mors nulla maior aut minor est; habet enim eundem in omnibus modum, finisse vitam. [44] Idem tibi de bonis dico: hoc bonum inter meras voluptates, hoc est inter tristia et acerba; illud fortunae indulgentiam rexit, hoc violentiam domuit: utrumque aeque bonum est, quamvis illud plana et molli via ierit, hoc aspera. Idem enim finis omnium est: bona sunt, laudanda sunt, virtutem rationemque comitantur; virtus aequat inter se quidquid agnoscit. [45] Nec est quare hoc inter nostra placita mireris: apud Epicurum duo bona sunt, ex quibus summum illud beatumque componitur, ut corpus sine dolore sit, animus sine perturbatione. Haec bona non crescunt si plena sunt: quo enim crescet quod plenum est? Dolore corpus caret: quid ad hanc accedere indolentiam potest? Animus constat sibi et placidus est: quid accedere ad hanc tranquillitatem potest? [46] Quemadmodum serenitas caeli non recipit maiorem adhuc claritatem in sincerissimum nitorem repurgata, sic hominis corpus animumque curantis et bonum suum ex utroque nectentis perfectus est status, et summam voti sui invenit si nec aestus animo est nec dolor corpori. Si qua extra blandimenta contingunt, non augent summum bonum, sed, ut ita dicam, condiunt et oblectant; absolutum enim illud humanae naturae bonum corporis et animi pace contentum est. [47] Dabo apud Epicurum tibi etiam nunc simillimam huic nostrae divisionem bonorum. Alia enim sunt apud illum quae malit contingere sibi, ut corporis quietem ab omni incommodo liberam et animi remissionem bonorum suorum contemplatione gaudentis; alia sunt quae, quamvis nolit accidere, nihilominus laudat et comprobat, tamquam illam quam paulo ante dicebam malae valetudinis et dolorum gravissimorum perpessionem, in qua Epicurus fuit illo summo ac fortunatissimo die suo. Ait enim se vesicae et exulcerati ventris tormenta tolerare ulteriorem doloris accessionem non recipientia, esse nihilominus sibi illum beatum diem. Beatum autem diem agere nisi qui est in summo bono non potest. [48] Ergo et apud Epicurum sunt haec bona, quae malles non experiri, sed, quia ita res tulit, et amplexanda et laudanda et exaequanda summis sunt. Non potest dici hoc non esse par maximis bonum quod beatae vitae clausulam imposuit, cui Epicurus extrema voce gratias egit. [49] Permitte mihi, Lucili virorum optime, aliquid audacius dicere: si ulla bona maiora esse aliis possent, haec ego quae tristia videntur mollibus illis et delicatis praetulissem, haec maiora dixissem. Maius est enim difficilia perfringere quam laeta moderari. [50] Eadem ratione fit, scio, ut aliquis felicitatem bene et ut calamitatem fortiter ferat. Aeque esse fortis potest qui pro vallo securus excubuit nullis hostibus castra temptantibus et qui succisis poplitibus in genua se excepit nec arma dimisit: 'macte virtute esto' sanguinulentis et ex acie redeuntibus dicitur. Itaque haec magis laudaverim bona exercitata et fortia et cum fortuna rixata. [51] Ego dubitem quin magis laudem truncam illam et retorridam manum Mucii quam cuiuslibet fortissimi salvam? Stetit hostium flammarumque contemptor et manum suam in hostili foculo destillantem perspectavit, donec Porsina cuius poenae favebat gloriae invidit et ignem invito eripi iussit. [52] Hoc bonum quidni inter prima numerem tantoque maius putem quam illa secura et intemptata fortunae quanto rarius est hostem amissa manu vicisse quam armata? 'Quid ergo?' inquis 'hoc bonum tibi optabis?' Quidni? hoc enim nisi qui potest et optare, non potest facere. [53] An potius optem ut malaxandos articulos exoletis meis porrigam? ut muliercula aut aliquis in mulierculam ex viro versus digitulos meos ducat? Quidni ego feliciorem putem Mucium, quod sic tractavit ignem quasi illam manum tractatori praestitisset? In integrum restituit quidquid erraverat: confecit bellum inermis ac mancus et illa manu trunca reges duos vicit. Vale.