Letter 85

[1] I had been sparing you, and I had passed over whatever knotty points still remained, content to give you, as it were, a taste of the doctrines maintained by our school, in order to prove that virtue, all by itself, is powerful enough to bring the happy life to completion. But now you order me to gather up every one of the syllogisms, whether our own or those devised for the purpose of converting people to our view. If I am willing to do that, the result will be not a letter but a book. I declare again and again: I take no pleasure in this kind of argument. I am ashamed to march down into the battle line, having undertaken the cause of gods and men, armed with nothing but a cobbler's awl. [2] "The man who is prudent is also temperate; the man who is temperate is also steadfast; the man who is steadfast is unperturbed; the man who is unperturbed is free from sadness; the man who is free from sadness is happy. Therefore the prudent man is happy, and prudence is sufficient for the happy life." [3] To this chain of reasoning certain Peripatetics reply in the following way: they interpret "unperturbed," "steadfast," and "free from sadness" so that the man called "unperturbed" is one who is rarely perturbed and only moderately so, not one who is never perturbed at all. Likewise they say that a man is called "free from sadness" who is not prone to sadness and not frequent or excessive in this fault; for, they say, it denies human nature to claim that anyone's mind is wholly exempt from sadness; the wise man is not conquered by grief, but he is touched by it; and they make other replies of this kind, in keeping with their school. By such means they do not remove the passions, but only temper them. [4] But how trifling a thing we are granting to the wise man, if he is merely braver than the most cowardly, happier than the most dejected, more self-controlled than the most unbridled, and greater than the lowliest! What if Ladas [a famous runner] were to admire his own swiftness while looking back at the lame and the crippled? This is speed valued in itself, not the kind that wins praise by comparison with the slowest. What if you were to call a man healthy who has a mild fever? Good health is not a moderate degree of disease. [5] "In this way," he says, "the wise man is called unperturbed, just as pomegranates are called seedless [apyrina]: not because they have no hardness in their seeds at all, but because they have less." That is false. For I do not understand a diminution of evils in a good man, but rather an exemption from them; there ought to be no evils at all, not small ones; for if there are any, they will grow and meanwhile will hinder him. Just as a larger and fully developed cataract blinds the eyes, so a moderate one disturbs the sight. [6] If you grant the wise man any passions, reason will be no match for them and will be swept away as though by a torrent, especially since you grant him not one passion to wrestle with, but all of them. A crowd of passions, however moderate, can do more than the violence of a single great one could. [7] He has a craving for money, but a moderate one; he has ambition, but it is not inflamed; he has a temper, but one that can be appeased; he has inconstancy, but one less wandering and changeable; he has lust, but not a mad one. We would be better off dealing with a man who had one entire vice than with one who had milder versions, but all of them. [8] Besides, it makes no difference how great a passion is: however large it may be, it does not know how to obey, it does not accept counsel. Just as no animal obeys reason, neither the wild one nor the domestic and gentle one (for their nature is deaf to the one who exhorts), so the passions do not follow, do not listen, however small they are. Tigers and lions never strip off their savagery; sometimes they lower it, and just when you least expect it the softened fierceness is roused again. Vices are never tamed in good faith. [9] Furthermore, if reason prevails, the passions will not even begin; but if they begin against reason's will, they will persist against reason's will. For it is easier to forbid their beginnings than to govern their onset. And so that "moderation" is false and useless, to be regarded in the same light as if someone were to say that one should go moderately insane or be moderately ill. [10] Virtue alone possesses moderation; the mind's evils do not admit of temperance; you will more easily abolish them than govern them. Can there be any doubt that the inveterate and hardened vices of the human mind, which we call diseases, are immoderate -- vices such as greed, cruelty, lack of self-control? Therefore the passions too are immoderate; for it is from these that the crossing over to the vices takes place. [11] Furthermore, if you grant any rights to sadness, fear, desire, and the other depraved impulses, they will not be in our power. Why? Because the things by which they are provoked lie outside us; and so they will grow in proportion as they have greater or lesser causes to stir them up. Fear will be greater if it sees more, or something nearer, to terrify it; desire will be sharper the more the hope of a larger prize calls it forth. [12] If whether the passions exist is not in our power, neither is how great they are: if you have permitted them to begin, they will grow along with their causes and will be as great as they become. Add to this the fact that these things, however small, advance into something greater; what is destructive never keeps to a limit; however slight the beginnings of diseases, they creep on, and sometimes the smallest added increment overwhelms an ailing body. [13] But what madness it is to believe that of those things whose beginnings are placed beyond our control we are the masters of their endings! How am I strong enough to bring to an end the thing I was too weak to prevent, when it is easier to shut something out than to suppress it once admitted? [14] Some have drawn the distinction this way, saying: "The temperate and prudent man is indeed tranquil in the disposition and habit of his mind, but not in the outcome. For, as far as his mental habit is concerned, he is not perturbed, nor saddened, nor afraid; but many external causes befall him that bring perturbation upon him." [15] What they mean to say is something like this: that he is not, indeed, an irascible man, yet he sometimes grows angry; and not, indeed, a timid man, yet he sometimes feels fear -- that is, he lacks the vice of fear but not the passion of fear. But if this is admitted, then by frequent use fear will pass over into a vice, and anger, once admitted into the mind, will unravel that former habit of a mind free from anger. [16] Moreover, if he does not despise the causes that come from outside and fears something, then when he must go bravely to face weapons, fire, for his country, the laws, and liberty, he will go forth hesitantly and with a shrinking spirit. But this inconsistency of mind does not befall the wise man. [17] I also judge that this must be observed: that we should not confuse two things that ought to be proved separately; for on its own it is concluded that the only good is what is honorable, and on its own, again, that virtue is sufficient for the happy life. If the only good is what is honorable, everyone concedes that virtue is sufficient for living happily; but conversely, it will not be granted, if virtue alone makes a man happy, that the only good is what is honorable. [18] Xenocrates and Speusippus think that a man can become happy by virtue alone, yet that the only good is not what is honorable. Epicurus too judges that, when a man possesses virtue, he is happy, but that virtue itself is not sufficient for the happy life, because what makes him happy is the pleasure that comes from virtue, not virtue itself. An absurd distinction: for the same man denies that virtue ever exists without pleasure. So if pleasure is always joined to virtue and inseparable from it, then virtue alone is also sufficient; for it has pleasure with it, and is not without it even when it is alone. [19] But this is absurd, what is said -- that a man will indeed be happy by virtue alone, yet will not be perfectly happy; I cannot find how that can come about. For the happy life has within itself a good that is perfect and cannot be surpassed; and if that is so, the life is perfectly happy. If the life of the gods has nothing greater or better, and the happy life is divine, then it has nothing toward which it could be raised any higher. [20] Moreover, if the happy life lacks nothing, every happy life is perfect, and is at the same time both happy and most happy. Surely you do not doubt that the happy life is the highest good? Therefore if it possesses the highest good, it is supremely happy. Just as the highest good admits of no addition (for what will there be above the highest?), so neither does the happy life, which does not exist without the highest good. But if you bring in someone "more" happy, you will also bring in someone "much more" happy; you will make countless gradations in the highest good, whereas I understand the highest good to be that which has no step above itself. [21] If one man is less happy than another, it follows that he craves the life of the other, happier man more than his own; but the happy man prefers nothing to his own. Either of these is incredible: that there should remain something for the happy man which he would rather exist than what does exist, or that he should not prefer what is better than what he has. For certainly, the more prudent he is, the more he will stretch toward what is best and desire to attain it by every means. But how is a man happy who can still crave -- indeed, who ought to crave -- something more? [22] I will say what is the source of this error: they do not know that the happy life is one single thing. It is its quality, not its magnitude, that places it in the best condition; and so the long and the short are equal, the broad and the narrower, the one distributed into many places and many parts and the one concentrated into a single point. The man who values it by number and measure and parts strips from it the very thing that is its distinction. And what is the distinction in the happy life? That it is full. [23] The end of eating and drinking, I think, is satiety. This man eats more, that man less: what does it matter? Each is now full. This man drinks more, that man less: what does it matter? Neither is thirsty. This man has lived more years, that man fewer: it makes no difference, if the many years made the one as happy as the few made the other. The man you call less happy is not happy: this name cannot be diminished. [24] "The man who is brave is without fear; the man who is without fear is without sadness; the man who is without sadness is happy." This is our school's syllogism. Against it they try to reply as follows: that we are claiming as conceded something that is false and disputed -- that the brave man is without fear. "What then?" he says. "Will the brave man not fear impending evils? That belongs to a madman, a man out of his mind, not to a brave man. But he," he says, "fears most moderately, yet is not entirely beyond fear." [25] Those who say this fall back again into the same error -- treating lesser vices as taking the place of virtues; for the man who does fear, though more rarely and less, does not lack vice, but is troubled by a milder one. "But I think the man is mad who does not dread impending evils." What you say is true, if they are evils; but if he knows that those things are not evils, and judges that the only evil is baseness, then he will be bound to look upon dangers securely and to despise what others must fear. Or, if it belongs to a fool and a madman not to fear evils, then the more prudent a man is, the more he will fear. [26] "In your view, then," he says, "the brave man will offer himself up to dangers." Not at all: he will not fear them, but he will avoid them; caution becomes him, fear does not. "What then?" he says. "Will he not fear death, chains, fire, the other weapons of Fortune?" No; for he knows that those things are not evils, but only seem to be; he considers all of them the bogeys of human life. [27] Describe captivity, beatings, chains, want, the mangling of limbs whether by disease or by injury, and whatever else you may bring forward: he counts all these among the terrors of the deranged. These things are to be feared by the timid. Or do you suppose that to be an evil to which we must one day come of our own free will? [28] You ask what an evil is? It is to yield to the things called evils and to surrender one's liberty to them, the liberty for which all things must be endured: liberty perishes unless we despise the things that lay the yoke upon us. Men would have no doubt about what befits a brave man if they knew what bravery is. For it is not reckless rashness, nor love of dangers, nor the seeking out of frightful things: it is the knowledge of distinguishing what is evil and what is not. Bravery is most diligent in guarding itself, and likewise most patient of those things that have a false appearance of being evils. [29] "What then? If the sword is held to the brave man's neck, if one part after another is pierced through, if he has seen his own entrails in his lap, if he is brought back after an interval -- so that he may feel the torments more keenly -- and fresh blood is let down through wounds already dried, does he not fear? Will you say that he does not even feel pain?" He does indeed feel pain (for no virtue strips a man of his senses), but he does not fear: unconquered, he looks down on his own sufferings from on high. You ask what spirit he then has? The spirit of one encouraging a sick friend. [30] "What is evil does harm; what does harm makes a man worse; pain and poverty do not make a man worse; therefore they are not evils." "What you propose is false," he says; "for it is not the case that, if something does harm, it also makes a man worse. The tempest and the storm harm the helmsman, yet they do not make him a worse helmsman." [31] Some of the Stoics reply to this as follows: that the helmsman is made worse by the tempest and storm, because he cannot accomplish what he set out to do nor hold his course; that he is not made worse in his art, but in his work. To them the Peripatetic says: "Therefore poverty too will make the wise man worse, and pain, and whatever else of that kind there may be; for it will not snatch his virtue from him, but it will hinder its operation." [32] This would be rightly said, were it not that the condition of the helmsman and of the wise man is dissimilar. For the wise man's purpose in conducting his life is not, at all costs, to accomplish what he attempts, but to do everything rightly; the helmsman's purpose is, at all costs, to bring the ship into harbor. The arts are servants; they must deliver what they promise. Wisdom is mistress and ruler; the arts serve life, wisdom commands. [33] I judge that a different answer must be given: that the helmsman's art is not made worse by any tempest, nor is the practice of the art either. The helmsman promised you not good fortune, but useful work and the science of steering a ship; and this becomes all the more apparent the more some chance force has stood in his way. The man who could say, "Neptune, you shall never have this ship except upright," has fulfilled the demands of his art: the tempest does not hinder the helmsman's work, but his success. [34] "What then?" he says. "Does that thing not harm the helmsman which keeps him from holding harbor, which renders his efforts vain, which either carries him back or detains him and strips him of his rigging?" It harms him not as a helmsman, but as a voyager; otherwise he would not be a helmsman. So far is it from hindering the helmsman's art that it actually displays it; for in calm weather, as they say, anyone is a helmsman. These things harm the ship, not its steersman insofar as he is steersman. [35] The helmsman has two roles: one shared with all who have boarded the same ship -- for he too is a passenger; the other peculiar to him -- he is the helmsman. The tempest harms him as a passenger, not as a helmsman. [36] Besides, the helmsman's art is another's good: it concerns those whom he carries, just as the physician's concerns those whom he treats; the wise man's good is a common good: it belongs both to those with whom he lives and to himself. And so perhaps the helmsman may be harmed, since his service, promised to others, is hindered by the tempest; [37] but the wise man is not harmed by poverty, nor by pain, nor by the other tempests of life. For not all his works are obstructed, but only those that pertain to others; he himself is always in action, and greatest in achievement precisely when Fortune has set herself against him; for then he is conducting the very business of wisdom, which we said is both another's good and his own. [38] Moreover, he is not even prevented from benefiting others at the time when certain necessities press upon him. Because of his poverty he is prevented from teaching how the state should be managed, but he teaches this -- how poverty should be managed. His work extends through his whole life. So no fortune, no circumstance, shuts out the wise man's activity; for the very thing that prevents him from doing other things is itself what he does. He is fitted for both outcomes: he is the ruler of good things, the conqueror of bad. [39] Thus, I say, he has trained himself to exhibit virtue as much in prosperity as in adversity, and to keep his eye not on virtue's material but on virtue itself; and so neither poverty nor pain nor anything else that turns the inexperienced away and drives them headlong holds him back. [40] Do you think he is weighed down by evils? He makes use of them. It was not only out of ivory that Phidias knew how to make statues; he made them out of bronze. If you had offered him marble, or some still cheaper material, he would have made of it the best that could be made from it. So the wise man will unfold his virtue, if he is permitted, in riches, and if not, in poverty; if he can, in his homeland, and if not, in exile; if he can, as a commander, and if not, as a soldier; if he can, sound in body, and if not, disabled. Whatever fortune he receives, he will make from it something memorable. [41] There are sure tamers of wild beasts who compel the most savage animals -- creatures terrifying to encounter -- to endure a man, and, not content with having driven out their fierceness, they soften them all the way into companionship: the trainer puts his hand into the lion's jaws, the keeper kisses his own tiger, the smallest Ethiopian orders the elephant to kneel down and to walk along a rope. In the same way the wise man is a craftsman at taming evils: pain, want, disgrace, prison, exile -- dreadful everywhere -- when they have come to him, grow tame. Farewell.

I had been inclined to spare you, and had omitted any knotty problems that still remained undiscussed; I was satisfied to give you a sort of taste of the views held by the men of our school, who desire to prove that virtue is of itself sufficiently capable of rounding out the happy life. But now you bid me include the entire bulk either of our own syllogisms or of those which have been devised by other schools for the purpose of belittling us. If I shall be willing to do this, the result will be a book, instead of a letter. And I declare again and again that I take no pleasure in such proofs. I am ashamed to enter the arena and undertake battle on behalf of gods and men armed only with an awl. “He that possesses prudence is also self-restrained; he that possesses self-restraint is also unwavering; he that is unwavering is unperturbed; he that is unperturbed is free from sadness; he that is free from sadness is happy. Therefore, the prudent man is happy, and prudence is sufficient to constitute the happy life.” Certain of the Peripatetics reply to this syllogism by interpreting “unperturbed,” “unwavering,” and “free from sadness” in such a way as to make “unperturbed” mean one who is rarely perturbed and only to a moderate degree, and not one who is never perturbed. Likewise, they say that a person is called “free from sadness” who is not subject to sadness, one who falls into this objectionable state not often nor in too great a degree. It is not, they say, the way of human nature that a man’s spirit should be exempt from sadness, or that the wise man is not overcome by grief but is merely touched by it, and other arguments of this sort, all in accordance with the teachings of their school. They do not abolish the passions in this way; they only moderate them. But how petty is the superiority which we attribute to the wise man, if he is merely braver than the most craven, happier than the most dejected, more self-controlled than the most unbridled, and greater than the lowliest! Would Ladas boast his swiftness in running by comparing himself with the halt and the weak? For she could skim the topmost blades of corn And touch them not, nor bruise the tender ears; Or travel over seas, well-poised above The swollen floods, nor dip her flying feet In ocean’s waters. This is speed estimated by its own standard, not the kind which wins praise by comparison with that which is slowest. Would you call a man well who has a light case of fever? No, for good health does not mean moderate illness. They say, “The wise man is called unperturbed in the sense in which pomegranates are called mellow—not that there is no hardness at all in their seeds, but that the hardness is less than it was before.” That view is wrong; for I am not referring to the gradual weeding out of evils in a good man, but to the complete absence of evils; there should be in him no evils at all, not even any small ones. For if there are any, they will grow, and as they grow will hamper him. Just as a large and complete cataract wholly blinds the eyes, so a medium-sized cataract dulls their vision. If by your definition the wise man has any passions whatever, his reason will be no match for them and will be carried swiftly along, as it were, on a rushing stream,—particularly if you assign to him, not one passion with which he must wrestle, but all the passions. And a throng of such, even though they be moderate, can affect him more than the violence of one powerful passion. He has a craving for money, although in a moderate degree. He has ambition, but it is not yet fully aroused. He has a hot temper, but it can be appeased. He has inconstancy, but not the kind that is very capricious or easily set in motion. He has lust, but not the violent kind. We could deal better with a person who possessed one full-fledged vice, than with one who possessed all the vices, but none of them in extreme form. Again, it makes no difference how great the passion is; no matter what its size may be, it knows no obedience, and does not welcome advice. Just as no animal, whether wild or tamed and gentle, obeys reason, since nature made it deaf to advice; so the passions do not follow or listen, however slight they are. Tigers and lions never put off their wildness; they sometimes moderate it, and then, when you are least prepared, their softened fierceness is roused to madness. Vices are never genuinely tamed. Again, if reason prevails, the passions will not even get a start; but if they get under way against the will of reason, they will maintain themselves against the will of reason. For it is easier to stop them in the beginning than to control them when they gather force. This half-way ground is accordingly misleading and useless; it is to be regarded just as the declaration that we ought to be “moderately” insane, or “moderately” ill. Virtue alone possesses moderation; the evils that afflict the mind do not admit of moderation. You can more easily remove than control them. Can one doubt that the vices of the human mind, when they have become chronic and callous (“diseases” we call them), are beyond control, as, for example, greed, cruelty, and wantonness? Therefore the passions also are beyond control; for it is from the passions that we pass over to the vices. Again, if you grant any privileges to sadness, fear, desire, and all the other wrong impulses, they will cease to lie within our jurisdiction. And why? Simply because the means of arousing them lie outside our own power. They will accordingly increase in proportion as the causes by which they are stirred up are greater or less. Fear will grow to greater proportions, if that which causes the terror is seen to be of greater magnitude or in closer proximity; and desire will grow keener in proportion as the hope of a greater gain has summoned it to action. If the existence of the passions is not in our own control, neither is the extent of their power; for if you once permit them to get a start, they will increase along with their causes, and they will be of whatever extent they shall grow to be. Moreover, no matter how small these vices are, they grow greater. That which is harmful never keeps within bounds. No matter how trifling diseases are at the beginning, they creep on apace; and sometimes the slightest augmentation of disease lays low the enfeebled body! But what folly it is, when the beginnings of certain things are situated outside our control, to believe that their endings are within our control! How have I the power to bring something to a close, when I have not had the power to check it at the beginning? For it is easier to keep a thing out than to keep it under after you have let it in. Some men have made a distinction as follows, saying: “If a man has self-control and wisdom, he is indeed at peace as regards the attitude and habit of his mind, but not as regards the outcome. For, as far as his habit of mind is concerned, he is not perturbed, or saddened, or afraid; but there are many extraneous causes which strike him and bring perturbation upon him.” What they mean to say is this: “So-and-so is indeed not a man of an angry disposition, but still he sometimes gives way to anger,” and “He is not, indeed, inclined to fear, but still he sometimes experiences fear”; in other words, he is free from the fault, but is not free from the passion of fear. If, however, fear is once given an entrance, it will by frequent use pass over into a vice; and anger, once admitted into the mind, will alter the earlier habit of a mind that was formerly free from anger. Besides, if the wise man, instead of despising all causes that come from without, ever fears anything, when the time arrives for him to go bravely to meet the spear, or the flames, on behalf of his country, his laws, and his liberty, he will go forth reluctantly and with flagging spirit. Such inconsistency of mind, however, does not suit the character of a wise man. Then, again, we should see to it that two principles which ought to be tested separately should not be confused. For the conclusion is reached independently that that alone is good which is honourable, and again independently the conclusion that virtue is sufficient for the happy life. If that alone is good which is honourable, everyone agrees that virtue is sufficient for the purpose of living happily; but, on the contrary, if virtue alone makes men happy, it will not be conceded that that alone is good which is honourable. Xenocrates and Speusippus hold that a man can become happy even by virtue alone, not, however, that that which is honourable is the only good. Epicurus also decides that one who possesses virtue is happy, but that virtue of itself is not sufficient for the happy life, because the pleasure that results from virtue, and not virtue itself, makes one happy. This is a futile distinction. For the same philosopher declares that virtue never exists without pleasure; and therefore, if virtue is always connected with pleasure and always inseparable therefrom, virtue is of itself sufficient. For virtue keeps pleasure in its company, and does not exist without it, even when alone. But it is absurd to say that a man will be happy by virtue alone, and yet not absolutely happy. I cannot discover how that may be, since the happy life contains in itself a good that is perfect and cannot be excelled, If a man has this good, life is completely happy. Now if the life of the gods contains nothing greater or better, and the happy life is divine, then there is no further height to which a man can be raised. Also, if the happy life is in want of nothing, then every happy life is perfect; it is happy and at the same time most happy. Have you any doubt that the happy life is the Supreme Good? Accordingly, if it possesses the Supreme Good, it is supremely happy. Just as the Supreme Good does not admit of increase (for what will be superior to that which is supreme?), exactly so the happy life cannot be increased either; for it is not without the Supreme Good. If then you bring in one man who is “happier” than another, you will also bring in one who is “much happier”; you will then be making countless distinctions in the Supreme Good; although I understand the Supreme Good to be that good which admits of no degree above itself. If one person is less happy than another, it follows that he eagerly desires the life of that other and happier man in preference to his own. But the happy man prefers no other man’s life to his own. Either of these two things is incredible: that there should be anything left for a happy man to wish for in preference to what is, or that he should not prefer the thing which is better than what he already has. For certainly, the more prudent he is, the more he will strive after the best, and he will desire to attain it by every possible means. But how can one be happy who is still able, or rather who is still bound, to crave something else? I will tell you what is the source of this error: men do not understand that the happy life is a unit; for it is its essence, and not its extent, that establishes such a life on the noblest plane. Hence there is complete equality between the life that is long and the life that is short, between that which is spread out and that which is confined, between that whose influence is felt in many places and in many directions, and that which is restricted to one interest. Those who reckon life by number, or by measure, or by parts, rob it of its distinctive quality. Now, in the happy life, what is the distinctive quality? It is its fulness. Satiety, I think, is the limit to our eating or drinking. A eats more and B eats less; what difference does it make? Each is now sated. Or A drinks more and B drinks less; what difference does it make? Each is no longer thirsty. Again, A lives for many years and B for fewer; no matter, if only A’s many years have brought as much happiness as B’s few years. He whom you maintain to be “less happy” is not happy; the word admits of no diminution. “He who is brave is fearless; he who is fearless is free from sadness; he who is free from sadness is happy.” It is our own school which has framed this syllogism; they attempt to refute it by this answer, namely, that we Stoics are assuming as admitted a premiss which is false and distinctly controverted,—that the brave man is fearless. “What!” they say, “will the brave man have no fear of evils that threaten him? That would be the condition of a madman, a lunatic, rather than of a brave man. The brave man will, it is true, feel fear in only a very slight degree; but he is not absolutely free from fear.” Now those who assert this are doubling back to their old argument, in that they regard vices of less degree as equivalent to virtues. For indeed the man who does feel fear, though he feels it rather seldom and to a slight degree, is not free from wickedness, but is merely troubled by it in a milder form. “Not so,” is the reply, “for I hold that a man is mad if he does not fear evils which hang over his head.” What you say is perfectly true, if the things which threaten are really evils; but if he knows that they are not evils and believes that the only evil is baseness, he will be bound to face dangers without anxiety and to despise things which other men cannot help fearing. Or, if it is the characteristic of a fool and a madman not to fear evils, then the wiser a man is the more he will fear such things! “It is the doctrine of you Stoics, then,” they reply, “that a brave man will expose himself to dangers.” By no means; he will merely not fear them, though he will avoid them. It is proper for him to be careful, but not to be fearful. “What then? Is he not to fear death, imprisonment, burning, and all the other missiles of Fortune?” Not at all; for he knows that they are not evils, but only seem to be. He reckons all these things as the bugbears of man’s existence. Paint him a picture of slavery, lashes, chains, want, mutilation by disease or by torture,—or anything else you may care to mention; he will count all such things as terrors caused by the derangement of the mind. These things are only to be feared by those who are fearful. Or do you regard as an evil that to which some day we may be compelled to resort of our own free will? What then, you ask, is an evil? It is the yielding to those things which are called evils; it is the surrendering of one’s liberty into their control, when really we ought to suffer all things in order to preserve this liberty. Liberty is lost unless we despise those things which put the yoke upon our necks. If men knew what bravery was, they would have no doubts as to what a brave man’s conduct should be. For bravery is not thoughtless rashness, or love of danger, or the courting of fear-inspiring objects; it is the knowledge which enables us to distinguish between that which is evil and that which is not. Bravery takes the greatest care of itself, and likewise endures with the greatest patience all things which have a false appearance of being evils. “What then?” is the query; “if the sword is brandished over your brave man’s neck, if he is pierced in this place and in that continually, if he sees his entrails in his lap, if he is tortured again after being kept waiting in order that he may thus feel the torture more keenly, and if the blood flows afresh out of bowels where it has but lately ceased to flow, has he no fear? Shall you say that he has felt no pain either?” Yes, he has felt pain; for no human virtue can rid itself of feelings. But he has no fear; unconquered he looks down from a lofty height upon his sufferings. Do you ask me what spirit animates him in these circumstances? It is the spirit of one who is comforting a sick friend. “That which is evil does harm; that which does harm makes a man worse. But pain and poverty do not make a man worse; therefore they are not evils.” “Your proposition,” says the objector, “is wrong; for what harms one does not necessarily make one worse. The storm and the squall work harm to the pilot, but they do not make a worse pilot of him for all that.” Certain of the Stoic school reply to this argument as follows: “The pilot becomes a worse pilot because of storms or squalls, inasmuch as he cannot carry out his purpose and hold to his course; as far as his art is concerned, he becomes no worse a pilot, but in his work he does become worse.” To this the Peripatetics retort: “Therefore, poverty will make even the wise man worse, and so will pain, and so will anything else of that sort. For although those things will not rob him of his virtue, yet they will hinder the work of virtue.” This would be a correct statement, were it not for the fact that the pilot and the wise man are two different kinds of person. The wise man’s purpose in conducting his life is not to accomplish at all hazards what he tries, but to do all things rightly; the pilot’s purpose, however, is to bring his ship into port at all hazards. The arts are handmaids; they must accomplish what they promise to do. But wisdom is mistress and ruler. The arts render a slave’s service to life; wisdom issues the commands. For myself, I maintain that a different answer should be given: that the pilot’s art is never made worse by the storm, nor the application of his art either. The pilot has promised you, not a prosperous voyage, but a serviceable performance of his task—that is, an expert knowledge of steering a ship. And the more he is hampered by the stress of fortune, so much the more does his knowledge become apparent. He who has been able to say, “Neptune, you shall never sink this ship except on an even keel,” has fulfilled the requirements of his art; the storm does not interfere with the pilot’s work, but only with his success. “What then,” you say, “is not a pilot harmed by any circumstance which does not permit him to make port, frustrates all his efforts, and either carries him out to sea, or holds the ship in irons, or strips her masts?” No, it does not harm him as a pilot, but only as a voyager; otherwise, he is no pilot. It is indeed so far from hindering the pilot’s art that it even exhibits the art; for anyone, in the words of the proverb, is a pilot on a calm sea. These mishaps obstruct the voyage but not the steersman qua steersman. A pilot has a double rôle: one he shares with all his fellow-passengers, for he also is a passenger; the other is peculiar to him, for he is the pilot. The storm harms him as a passenger, but not as a pilot. Again, the pilot’s art is another’s good—it concerns his passengers just as a physician’s art concerns his patients. But the wise man’s good is a common good—it belongs both to those in whose company he lives, and to himself also. Hence our pilot may perhaps be harmed, since his services, which have been promised to others, are hindered by the storm; but the wise man is not harmed by poverty, or by pain, or by any other of life’s storms. For all his functions are not checked, but only those which pertain to others; he himself is always in action, and is greatest in performance at the very time when fortune has blocked his way. For then he is actually engaged in the business of wisdom; and this wisdom I have declared already to be, both the good of others, and also his own. Besides, he is not prevented from helping others, even at the time when constraining circumstances press him down. Because of his poverty he is prevented from showing how the State should be handled; but he teaches, none the less, how poverty should be handled. His work goes on throughout his whole life. Thus no fortune, no external circumstance, can shut off the wise man from action. For the very thing which engages his attention prevents him from attending to other things. He is ready for either outcome: if it brings goods, he controls them; if evils, he conquers them. So thoroughly, I mean, has he schooled himself that he makes manifest his virtue in prosperity as well as in adversity, and keeps his eyes on virtue itself, not on the objects with which virtue deals. Hence neither poverty, nor pain, nor anything else that deflects the inexperienced and drives them headlong, restrains him from his course. Do you suppose that he is weighed down by evils? He makes use of them. It was not of ivory only that Phidias knew how to make statues; he also made statues of bronze. If you had given him marble, or a still meaner material, he would have made of it the best statue that the material would permit. So the wise man will develop virtue, if he may, in the midst of wealth, or, if not, in poverty; if possible, in his own country—if not, in exile; if possible, as a commander—if not, as a common soldier; if possible, in sound health—if not, enfeebled. Whatever fortune he finds, he will accomplish therefrom something noteworthy. Animal-tamers are unerring; they take the most savage animals, which may well terrify those who encounter them, and subdue them to the will of man; not content with having driven out their ferocity, they even tame them so that they dwell in the same abode. The trainer puts his hand into the lion’s mouth; the tiger is kissed by his keeper. The tiny Aethiopian orders the elephant to sink down on its knees, or to walk the rope. Similarly, the wise man is a skilled hand at taming evils. Pain, want, disgrace, imprisonment, exile,—these are universally to be feared; but when they encounter the wise man, they are tamed. Farewell.

[1] Peperceram tibi et quidquid nodosi adhuc supererat praeterieram, contentus quasi gustum tibi dare eorum quae a nostris dicuntur ut probetur virtus ad explendam beatam vitam sola satis efficax. Iubes me quidquid est interrogationum aut nostrarum aut ad traductionem nostram excogitatarum conprendere: quod si facere voluero, non erit epistula sed liber. Illud totiens testor, hoc me argumentorum genere non delectari; pudet in aciem descendere pro dis hominibusque susceptam subula armatum. [2] 'Qui prudens est et temperans est; qui temperans est, et constans; qui constans est inperturbatus est; qui inperturbatus est sine tristitia est; qui sine tristitia est beatus est; ergo prudens beatus est, et prudentia ad beatam vitam satis est.' [3] Huic collectioni hoc modo Peripatetici quidam respondent, ut inperturbatum et constantem et sine tristitia sic interpretentur tamquam inperturbatus dicatur qui raro perturbatur et modice, non qui numquam. Item sine tristitia eum dici aiunt qui non est obnoxius tristitiae nec frequens nimiusve in hoc vitio; illud enim humanam naturam negare, alicuius animum inmunem esse tristitia; sapientem non vinci maerore, ceterum tangi; et cetera in hunc modum sectae suae respondentia. Non his tollunt adfectus sed temperant. [4] Quantulum autem sapienti damus, si inbecillissimis fortior est et maestissimis laetior et effrenatissimis moderatior et humillimis maior! Quid si miretur velocitatem suam Ladas ad claudos debilesque respiciens? Haec est pernicitas per se aestimata, non quae tardissimorum conlatione laudatur. Quid si sanum voces leviter febricitantem? non est bona valetudo mediocritas morbi. [5] 'Sic' inquit 'sapiens inperturbatus dicitur quomodo apyrina dicuntur non quibus nulla inest duritia granorum sed quibus minor.' Falsum est. Non enim deminutionem malorum in bono viro intellego sed vacationem; nulla debent esse, non parva; nam si ulla sunt, crescent et interim inpedient. Quomodo oculos maior et perfecta suffusio excaecat, sic modica turbat. [6] Si das aliquos adfectus sapienti, inpar illis erit ratio et velut torrente quodam auferetur, praesertim cum illi non unum adfectum des cum quo conluctetur sed omnis. Plus potest quamvis mediocrium turba quam posset unius magni violentia. [7] Habet pecuniae cupiditatem, sed modicam; habet ambitionem, sed non concitatam; habet iracundiam, sed placabilem; habet inconstantiam, sed minus vagam ac mobilem; habet libidinem, sed non insanam. Melius cum illo ageretur qui unum vitium integrum haberet quam cum eo qui leviora quidem, sed omnia. [8] Deinde nihil interest quam magnus sit adfectus: quantuscumque est, parere nescit, consilium non accipit. Quemadmodum rationi nullum animal optemperat, non ferum, non domesticum et mite (natura enim illorum est surda suadenti), sic non sequuntur, non audiunt adfectus, quantulicumque sunt. Tigres leonesque numquam feritatem exuunt, aliquando summittunt, et cum minime expectaveris exasperatur torvitas mitigata. Numquam bona fide vitia mansuescunt. [9] Deinde, si ratio proficit, ne incipient quidem adfectus; si invita ratione coeperint, invita perseverabunt. Facilius est enim initia illorum prohibere quam impetum regere. Falsa est itaque ista mediocritas et inutilis, eodem loco habenda quo si quis diceret modice insaniendum, modiceaegrotandum. [10] Sola virtus habet, non recipiunt animi mala temperamentum; facilius sustuleris illa quam rexeris. Numquid dubium est quin vitia mentis humanae inveterata et dura, quae morbos vocamus, inmoderata sint, ut avaritia, ut crudelitas, ut inpotentia [impietas]? Ergo inmoderati sunt et adfectus; ab his enim ad illa transitur. [11] Deinde, si das aliquid iuris tristitiae, timori, cupiditati, ceteris motibus pravis, non erunt in nostra potestate. Quare? quia extra nos sunt quibus inritantur; itaque crescent prout magnas habuerint minoresve causas quibus concitentur. Maior erit timor, si plus quo exterreatur aut propius aspexerit, acrior cupiditas quo illam amplioris rei spes evocaverit. [12] Si in nostra potestate non est an sint adfectus, ne illud quidem est, quanti sint: si ipsis permisisti incipere, cum causis suis crescent tantique erunt quanti fient. Adice nunc quod ista, quamvis exigua sint, in maius excedunt; numquam perniciosa servant modum; quamvis levia initia morborum serpunt et aegra corpora minima interdum mergit accessio. [13] Illud vero cuius dementiae est, credere quarum rerum extra nostrum arbitrium posita principia sunt, earum nostri esse arbitri terminos! Quomodo ad id finiendum satis valeo ad quod prohibendum parum valui, cum facilius sit excludere quam admissa conprimere? [14] Quidam ita distinxerunt ut dicerent, 'temperans ac prudens positione quidem mentis et habitu tranquillus est, eventu non est. Nam, quantum ad habitum mentis suae, non perturbatur nec contristatur nec timet, sed multae extrinsecus causae incidunt quae illi perturbationem adferant.' [15] Tale est quod volunt dicere: iracundum quidem illum non esse, irasci tamen aliquando; et timidum quidem non esse, timere tamen aliquando, id est vitio timoris carere, adfectu non carere. Quod si recipitur, usu frequenti timor transibit in vitium, et ira in animum admissa habitum illum ira carentis animi retexet. [16] Praeterea si non contemnit venientes extrinsecus causas et aliquid timet, cum fortiter eundum erit adversus tela, ignes, pro patria, legibus, libertate, cunctanter exibit et animo recedente. Non cadit autem in sapientem haec diversitas mentis. [17] Illud praeterea iudico observandum, ne duo quae separatim probanda sunt misceamus; per se enim colligitur unum bonum esse quod honestum, per se rursus ad vitam beatam satis esse virtutem. Si unum bonum est quod honestum, omnes concedunt ad beate vivendum sufficere virtutem; e contrario non remittetur, si beatum sola virtus facit, unum bonum esse quod honestum est. [18] Xenocrates et Speusippus putant beatum vel sola virtute fieri posse, non tamen unum bonum esse quod honestum est. Epicurus quoque iudicat, cum virtutem habeat, beatum esse, sed ipsam virtutem non satis esse ad beatam vitam, quia beatum efficiat voluptas quae ex virtute est, non ipsa virtus. Inepta distinctio: idem enim negat umquam virtutem esse sine voluptate. Ita si ei iuncta semper est atque inseparabilis, et sola satis est; habet enim secum voluptatem, sine qua non est etiam cum sola est. [19] Illud autem absurdum est, quod dicitur beatum quidem futurum vel sola virtute, non futurum autem perfecte beatum; quod quemadmodum fieri possit non reperio. Beata enim vita bonum in se perfectum habet, inexsuperabile; quod si est, perfecte beata est. Si deorum vita nihil habet maius aut melius, beata autem vita divina est, nihil habet in quod amplius possit attolli. [20] Praeterea, si beata vita nullius est indigens, omnis beata vita perfecta est eademque est et beata et beatissima. Numquid dubitas quin beata vita summum bonum sit? ergo si summum bonum habet, summe beata est. Quemadmodum summum bonum adiectionem non recipit (quid enim supra summum erit?), ita ne beata quidem vita, quae sine summo bono non est. Quod si aliquem 'magis' beatum induxeris, induces et 'multo magis'; innumerabilia discrimina summi boni facies, cum summum bonum intellegam quod supra se gradum non habet. [21] Si est aliquis minus beatus quam alius, sequitur ut hic alterius vitam beatioris magis concupiscat quam suam; beatus autem nihil suae praefert. Utrumlibet ex his incredibile est, aut aliquid beato restare quod esse quam quod est malit, aut id illum non malle quod illo melius est. Utique enim quo prudentior est, hoc magis se ad id quod est optimum extendet et id omni modo consequi cupiet. Quomodo autem beatus est qui cupere etiamnunc potest, immo qui debet? [22] Dicam quid sit ex quo veniat hic error: nesciunt beatam vitam unam esse. In optimo illam statu ponit qualitas sua, non magnitudo; itaque in aequo est longa et brevis, diffusa et angustior, in multa loca multasque partes distributa et in unum coacta. Qui illam numero aestimat et mensura et partibus, id illi quod habet eximium eripit. Quid autem est in beata vita eximium? quod plena est. [23] Finis, ut puto, edendi bibendique satietas est. Hic plus edit, ille minus: quid refert? uterque iam satur est. Hic plus bibit, ille minus: quid refert? uterque non sitit. Hic pluribus annis vixit, hic paucioribus: nihil interest si tam illum multi anni beatum fecerunt quam hunc pauci. Ille quem tu minus beatum vocas non est beatus: non potest hoc nomen inminui. [24] 'Qui fortis est sine timore est; qui sine timore est sine tristitia est; qui sine tristitia est beatus est.' Nostrorum haec interrogatio est. Adversus hanc sic respondere conantur: falsam nos rem et controversiosam pro confessa vindicare, eum qui fortis est sine timore esse. 'Quid ergo?' inquit 'fortis inminentia mala non timebit? istuc dementis alienatique, non fortis est. Ille vero' inquit 'moderatissime timet, sed in totum extra metum non est.' [25] Qui hoc dicunt rursus in idem revolvuntur, ut illis virtutum loco sint minora vitia; nam qui timet quidem, sed rarius et minus, non caret malitia, sed leviore vexatur. 'At enim dementem puto qui mala inminentia non extimescit.' Verum est quod dicis, si mala sunt; sed si scit mala illa non esse et unam tantum turpitudinem malum iudicat, debebit secure pericula aspicere et aliis timenda contemnere. Aut si stulti et amentis est mala non timere, quo quis prudentior est, hoc timebit magis. [26] 'Ut vobis' inquit 'videtur, praebebit se periculis fortis.' Minime: non timebit illa sed vitabit; cautio illum decet, timor non decet. 'Quid ergo?' inquit 'mortem, vincula, ignes, alia tela fortunae non timebit?' Non; scit enim illa non esse mala sed videri; omnia ista humanae vitae formidines putat. [27] Describe captivitatem, verbera, catenas, egestatem et membrorum lacerationes vel per morbum vel per iniuriam et quidquid aliud adtuleris: inter lymphatos metus numerat. Ista timidis timenda sunt. An id existimas malum ad quod aliquando nobis nostra sponte veniendum est? [28] Quaeris quid sit malum?cedere iis quae mala vocantur et illis libertatem suam dedere, pro qua cuncta patienda sunt: perit libertas nisi illa contemnimus quae nobis iugum inponunt. Non dubitarent quid conveniret forti viro si scirent quid esset fortitudo. Non est enim inconsulta temeritas nec periculorum amor nec formidabilium adpetitio: scientia est distinguendi quid sit malum et quid non sit. Diligentissima in tutela sui fortitudo est et eadem patientissima eorum quibus falsa species malorum est. [29] 'Quid ergo? si ferrum intentatur cervicibus viri fortis, si pars subinde alia atque alia suffoditur, si viscera sua in sinu suo vidit, si ex intervallo, quo magis tormenta sentiat, repetitur et per adsiccata vulnera recens demittitur sanguis, non timet? istum tu dices nec dolere?' Iste vero dolet (sensum enim hominis nulla exuit virtus), sed non timet: invictus ex alto dolores suos spectat. Quaeris quis tunc animus illi sit? qui aegrum amicum adhortantibus. [30] 'Quod malum est nocet; quod nocet deteriorem facit; dolor et paupertas deteriorem non faciunt; ergo mala non sunt.' 'Falsum est' inquit 'quod proponitis; non enim, si quid nocet, etiam deteriorem facit. Tempestas et procella nocet gubernatori, non tamen illum deteriorem facit.' [31] Quidam e Stoicis ita adversus hoc respondent: deteriorem fieri gubernatorem tempestate ac procella, quia non possit id quod proposuit efficere nec tenere cursum suum; deteriorem illum in arte sua non fieri, in opere fieri. Quibus Peripateticus 'ergo' inquit 'et sapientem deteriorem faciet paupertas, dolor, et quidquid aliud tale fuerit; virtutem enim illi non eripiet, sed opera eius inpediet'. [32] Hoc recte diceretur nisi dissimilis esset gubernatoris condicio et sapientis. Huic enim propositum est in vita agenda non utique quod temptat efficere, sed omnia recte facere: gubernatori propositum est utique navem in portum perducere. Artes ministrae sunt, praestare debent quod promittunt, sapientia domina rectrixque est; artes serviunt vitae, sapientia imperat. [33] Ego aliter respondendum iudico: nec artem gubernatoris deteriorem ulla tempestate fieri nec ipsam administrationem artis. Gubernator tibi non felicitatem promisit sed utilem operam et navis regendae scientiam; haec eo magis apparet quo illi magis aliqua fortuita vis obstitit. Qui hoc potuit dicere, 'Neptune, numquam hanc navem nisi rectam', arti satis fecit: tempestas non opus gubernatoris inpedit sed successum. [34] 'Quid ergo?' inquit 'non nocet gubernatori ea res quae illum tenere portum vetat, quae conatus eius inritos efficit, quae aut refert illum aut detinet et exarmat?' Non tamquam gubernatori, sed tamquam naviganti nocet: alioqui <gubernator ille non est.> Gubernatoris artem adeo non inpedit ut ostendat; tranquillo enim, ut aiunt, quilibet gubernator est. Navigio ista obsunt, non rectori eius, qua rector est. [35] Duas personas habet gubernator, alteram communem cum omnibus qui eandem conscenderunt navem: ipse quoque vector est; alteram propriam: gubernator est. Tempestas tamquam vectori nocet, non tamquam gubernatori. [36] Deinde gubernatoris ars alienum bonum est: ad eos quos vehit pertinet, quomodo medici ad eos quos curat: <sapientis> commune bonum est: <est> et eorum cum quibus vivit et proprium ipsius. Itaque gubernatori fortasse noceatur cuius ministerium aliis promissum tempestate inpeditur: [37] sapienti non nocetur a paupertate, non a dolore, non ab aliis tempestatibus vitae. Non enim prohibentur opera eius omnia, sed tantum ad alios pertinentia: ipse semper in actu est, in effectu tunc maximus cum illi fortuna se opposuit; tunc enim ipsius sapientiae negotium agit, quam diximus et alienum bonum esse et suum. [38] Praeterea ne aliis quidem tunc prodesse prohibetur cum illum aliquae necessitates premunt. Propter paupertatem prohibetur docere quemadmodum tractanda res publica sit, at illud docet, quemadmodum sit tractanda paupertas. Per totam vitam opus eius extenditur. Ita nulla fortuna, nulla res actus sapientis excludit; id enim ipsum agit quo alia agere prohibetur. Ad utrosque casus aptatus est: bonorum rector est, malorum victor. [39] Sic, inquam, se exercuit ut virtutem tam in secundis quam in adversis exhiberet nec materiam eius sed ipsam intueretur; itaque nec paupertas illum nec dolor nec quidquid aliud inperitos avertit et praecipites agit prohibet. [40] Tu illum premi putas malis? utitur. Non ex ebore tantum Phidias sciebat facere simulacra; faciebat ex aere. Si marmor illi, si adhuc viliorem materiam obtulisses, fecisset quale ex illa fieri optimum posset. Sic sapiens virtutem, si licebit, in divitiis explicabit, si minus, in paupertate; si poterit, in patria, si minus, in exilio; si poterit, imperator, si minus, miles; si poterit, integer, si minus, debilis. Quamcumque fortunam acceperit, aliquid ex illa memorabile efficiet. [41] Certi sunt domitores ferarum qui saevissima animalia et ad occursum expavescenda hominem pati subigunt nec asperitatem excussisse contenti usque in contubernium mitigant: leonis faucibus magister manum insertat, osculatur tigrim suus custos, elephantum minimus Aethiops iubet subsidere in genua et ambulare per funem. Sic sapiens artifex est domandi mala: dolor, egestas, ignominia, carcer, exilium ubique horrenda, cum ad hunc pervenere, mansueta sunt. Vale.