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A LJTHOK: SENECA, LUCIUS ANNAEUS TITLE: L.ANNAEUS '"W^^ ^pW^^PK '■^' -^ NEC A MN( FLA CE: '^. -;,.•, ■- '■ ALuuJEb LONDON DATE: 1889 Restrictions on Use: COLUMBIA UNIVEI^ITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT DmLIGGRAPHIC MirRpFORM TARHFT Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record 87Se3 YX3 Seneca, L::clun Ar.nticuc. h. Anna- Dialog! Knn Cl X W '.OWftt^ , y ^— iTL.., Lor;-- Ben. IPOO D1833e3 I Bo Copy in Bntl-r LP-^...-. ^p Ph^i oil, 1-1-. ^' ^^^-^^^o].hy. ^nn.r.,,^ -&0-7-Se3 - Cox^y-in-Barnard-.- 1900 381:^24 ^^ Master Negative // 53_' & go5 - H- FILM SIZE: TECHNICAL MICROFORM DATA IMA^CEPLACEMENi^lf-^lo IIB ^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^O-"- ?A';?nni^^^°^— ^---^^^ INITIALS ^ D.C FILMED BY: RESEARCH PU BLICATIONS IN JC WOOnHRm^rrT"" //X c Association for Information and Image Management 1 1 00 Wayne Avenue. 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BELL AND SONS, LTD. 1912 PREFACE. / :, ,yU^ \%: oe CHISWICK PRESS : CHARLES WHIl TINC.HAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. T CAN say little by way of preface to Seneca's " Minor "■■ Dialogues " which I have not already expressed in my preface to " De Beneficiis," except that the " Minor Dialogues " seem to me to be composed in a gloomier key than either the " De Beneficiis " or '* De Clementia," and probably were written at a time when the author had already begun to experience the ingratitude of his imperial pupil. Some of the Dialogues are dated from Corsica, Seneca's place of exile, which he seems to have found peculiarly uncomfortable, although he remarks that there are people who live there from choice. Nevertheless, mournful as they are in tone, these Dialogues have a certain value, because they teach us what was meant by Stoic philosophy in the time of the Twelve Caesars. I have only to add that the value of my work has been materially enhanced by the kindness of the Rev. Professor J. E. B. Mayor, who has been good enough to read and correct almost all the proof sheets of this volume. AUBREY STEWART. London, 1889. V CONTENTS. Uf Frovidi nce I Ov THE FlRMM>s OF THB WiSK MaN -2 ^'Of Anokr. 1 48 .» I^ 76 ni i,3 Of Consolation. To Marcia 102 ^Of a Happy Life 204 Of Leisurk 240 '^^tiF Peace of Mind 250 Of thk Suortnes>8 of Life 288 Of Consolation. To ITelvia 320 *■. To ruLTBITS 353 Of Clemexct. 1 3^0 n ii 415 / (( THE FIRST BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OP L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSKD TO LUCILIUS. WUY, WHEN A PROVIOEXCE EXISTS, ANY MISFORTUNES BEFALL GOOD MEN;" OR, " OF PROVIDENCE." I. WOU have asked me, Lncilius, why, if the world be ruled by providence, so many evils befall good men ? The answer to this would be more conveniently given in the course of this work, after we have proved that providence governs the um' verse, and that God is amongst us : but, since you wish me to deal with one point apart from the whole, and to answer one replic ition before the main action has been decided, I will do what is not difficult, and plead the cause of the gods. At the present time it is superfluous to point out that it is not without some guardian that so great a work maintains its position, that the assemblage and movements of the stars do not depend upon accidental impulses, or that objects whose motion is regulated by chance often fall into confusion and soon stumble, whereas this swift and safe movement goes on, governed by eternal law, l)earing with it so many things both on sea and land, so many most brilliant lights shining in order in the skies; that this regularity does not belong to matter moving at random, and that particles brought together by chance could not B 2 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. I. arrange themselves with such art as to make the heaviest weight, that of the earth, remain unmoved, and behold the flight of the heavens as they hasten round it, to make the seas pour into the valleys and so temper the climate of the land, without any sensible increase from the rivers which flow into them, or to cause huge growths to proceed from mmnte seeds. Even those phenomena which appear to be confused and irregular, I mean showers of rain and clouds the rush of lightning from the heavens, fire that pours from' the riven peaks of mountains, quakings of the trembling earth, and everything else which is produced on earth by the unquiet element in the universe, do not come to pass without reason, though they do so suddenly : but they also have their causes, as also have those things which excite our wonder by the strangeness of their position, such as warm springs amidst the waves of the sea, and new islands that spring up in the wide ocean. Moreover, any one who has watched how the shore is laid bare by the retreat of the sea into itself, and how within a short time it is again covered, will believe that it is in obedience to some hidden law of change that the waves are at one time contracted and driven inwards, at another burst forth and regain their bed with a strong current, since all the while they wax in regular proportion, and come up at their appointed day and hour greater or less, according as the moon, at whose pleasure the ocean flows, draws them. Let these matters be set aside for discussion at their own proper season, but I, since you do not doubt the existence of providence but complain of it, will on that account more readilv reconcile you to gods who are most excellent to excellent men • for indeed the nature of things does not ever permit good to be injured by good. Between good men and the gods there is a friendship which is brought about by virtue- friendship do I say ? nay, rather relationship and likeness since the good man differs from a god in time alone' CH. II.] OF PROYIDENCR. being his pupil and rival and true offspring, whom his glorious parent trains more severely than other men, in- sisting sternly on virtuous conduct, just as strict fathers do. When therefore you see men who are good and ac- ceptable to the gods toiling, sweating, painfully struggling upwards, while bad men run riot and are steeped in pleasures, reflect that modesty pleases us in our sons, and forwardness in our house-born slave-boys ; that the former are held in check by a somewhat stern rule, whereas the boldness of the latter is encouraged. Be thou sure that God acts in like manner : He does not pet the good man : He tries him, hardens him, and fits him for Himself. II. Why do many things turn out badly for good men ? Why, no evil can befall a good man : contraries cannot combine. Just as so many rivers, so many showers of rain from the clouds, such a number of medicinal springs, do not alter the taste of the sea, indeed, do not so much as soften it, so the pressure of adversity does not affect the mind of a brave man ; for the mind of a brave man maintains its balance and throws its own complexion over all that takes place, because it is more powerful than any external cir- cumstances. I do not say that he does not feel them, but he conquers them, and on occasion calmly and tranquilly rises superior to their attacks, holding all misfortunes to be trials of his own firmness. Yet who is there who, provided he be a man and have honourable ambition, does not long for due employment, and is not eager to do his duty in spite of danger? Is there any hard-working man to whom idleness is not a punishment ? We see athletes, who study only their bodily strength, engage in contests with the strongest of men, and insist that those who train them for the arena should put out their whole strength when practising with them : they endure blows and mal- treatment, and, if they cannot find any single person who IS their match, they engage with several at once: their MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. I. I strength and courage droop without an antagonist : they can only prove how greit and how mighty it is by proving how much they can endure. You should know that good men oujjht to act in like manner, so as not to fear troubles and difficulties, nor to lament their hard fate, to take in good part whatever befalls them, and force it to be- come a blessing to them. It does not matter what you bear, but how you bear it. Do you not see how diffe- rently fathers and mothers indulge their children ? how the former urge them to begin their tasks betimes, will not suffer them to be idle even on holidays, and exercise them till they perspire, and sometimes till they shed tears — while their mothers want to cuddle them in their laps, and keep them out of the sun, and never wish them to be vexed, or to cry, or to work. God bears a fatherly mind towards good men, and loves them in a manly spirit. *' Let them," says He, " be exercised by labours, sufferings, and losses, that so they may gather true strength." Those who are surfeited with ease break down not only with labour, but with mere motion and by their own weight. Unbroken prosperity cannot bear a single blow ; but he who has waged an unceasing strife with his misfortunes has gained a thicker skin by his sufferings, yields to no disaster, and even though he fall yet fights on his knee. Do you wonder that God, who so loves the good, who would have them attain the highest goodness and pre-eminence, should ap- point fortune to be their adversary ? I should not be sur- prised if the gods sometimes experience a wish to behold great men struggling with some misfortune. We some- times are delighted when a youth of steady courage re- ceives on his spear the wild beast that attacks him ; or when he meets the charge of a lion without flinching ; and the more eminent the man is who acts thus,^ the more ^ konr.stior is opposed to the gladijitor — the loftier the stationof the com- batant. The Gracrhus of Juvenal, Sat. ii. and viii.,inustrates the passage. CH. II.] OF PROVIDENCE. attractive is the sight : yet these are not matters which can attract the attention of the gods, but are mere pastime and diversions of human frivolity. Behold a sight worthy to be viewed by a god interested in his own work, behold a pair^ worthy of a god, a brave man matched with evil fortune, especially if he himself has given the challenge. I say, I do not know what nobler spectacle Jupiter could find on earth, should he turn his eyes thither, than that of Cato, after his party had more than once been defeated, still standing upright amid the ruins of the commonwealth. Quoth he, " What though all be fallen into one man's power, though the land be guarded by his legions, the sea by his Heets, though Caesar's soldiers beset the city gate ? Cato has a way out of it : with one hand he will oj^en a wide path to freedom ; his sword, which he has borne unstained by disgrace and innocent of crime even in a civil war, will still perform good and noble deeds ; it will give to Cato that freedom which it could not give to his country. Begin, my soul, the work which thou so long hast contem- J)lated, snatch thyself away from the world of man. Already Petreius and Juba have met and fallen, each slain by the other's hand— a brave and noble compact with fate, yet not one befitting my greatness : it is as disgraceful for Cato to beg his death of any one as it would be for him to beer his life." ^ It is clear to me that the gods must have looked on with great joy, while that man, his own most ruthless avenger, took thought for the safety of others and arranged the escape of those who departed, while even on his last night he pur- sued his studies, while he drove the sword into his sacred breast, while he tore forth his vitals and laid his hand upon that most holy life which was unworthy to be defiled by 8t»el. This, I am inclined to think, was the reason that tatlrT'"' * '^^^'''''^^ '''"' '" ^^^ language of sport {wort/.i/ of such a spec- MINOR DIILOGUES. [bk. r. CH. III.] OP PROVIDENCE. his wound was not well-aimed and mortal : the gods were not satisfied with seeing Cato die once : his courage was kept in action and recalled to the stage, that it might dis- play itself in a more difficult part : for it needs a greater mind to return a second time to death. How could they fail to view their pupil with interest when leaving his life by such a noV)le and memorable departure ? Men are raised to the level of the gods by a death which is admired even by those who fear them. III. However, as my argument proceeds, I shall prove that what appear to be evils are not so ; for the present I say this, that what you call hard measure, misfortunes, and things against which we ought to pray, are really to the advantage, firstly, of those to whom they happen, and secondly, of all mankind, for whom the gods care more than for individuals ; and next, that these evils befall them with their own good will, and that men deserve to endure misfortunes, if they are unwilling to receive them. To this I shall add, that misfortunes proceed thus by destiny, and that they befall good men by the same law which makes them good. After this, I shall prevail upon you never to pity any good man ; for though he may be called unhappy, he cannot be so. Of all these propositions that which I have stated first appears the most difficult to prove, I mean, that the things which we dread and shudder at are to the advantage of those to whom they happen. " Is it," say you, " to their advantage to be driven into exile, to be brought to want, to carry out to burial their children and wife, to be publicly disgraced, to lose their health ?" Yes ! if you are surprised at these being to any man's advantage, you will also be surprised at any man being benefited by the knife and cautery, or by hunger and thirst as well. Yet if you consider that some men, in order to be cured, have their bones scraped, and pieces of them extracted, that their veins are pulled out, I and that some have limbs cut off, which could not remain m their place without ruin to the whole body, you will allow me to prove to you this also, that some misfortunes are for the good of those to whom they happen, just as much, by Hercules, as some things which are praised and sought after are harmful to those who enjoy them, like indigestions and drunkenness and other matters which kill us through pleasure. Among many grand sayings of our Demetrius is this, which I have but just heard, and which still rings and thrills in my ears : " No one," said he, " seems to me more unhappy than the man whom no misfortune has ever befallen." He never has had an opportunity of testing himself ; though everything has happened to him according to his wish, nay, even before he has formed a wish, yet the gods have judged him unfavourably; he has never been deemed worthy to conquer ill fortune, which avoids the greatest cowards, as though it said, " Why should I take that man for my antagonist H He will straightway lay down his arms : I shall not need all my strength against him : he will be put to flight by a mere menace : he dares not even face me ; let me look around for some other with whom I may fight hand to hand : I blush to join battle with one who 18 prepared to be beaten." A gladiator deems it a dis- grace to be matched with an inferior, and knows that to win without danger is to win without glory. Just so doth For- tune ; she seeks out the bravest to match herself with, passes over some with disdain, and makes for the most unyielding and upright of men, to exert her strength against them, bhe tried Mucins by fire, Fabricius by poverty, Rutilius by exile, Regulus by torture, Socrates by poison, Cato by death : it is ill fortune alone that discovers these glorious examples. Was Mucins unhappy, because he grasped the enemy's fire with his right hand, and of his own accord raid the penalty of his mistake ? because he overcame the King with his hand when it was burned, though he could 8 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. I. not when it held a sword ? Would he have been happier, if he had warmed his hand in his mistress's bosom ? Was Fabricius unhappy, because when the state could spare him, he dug his own land ? because he waged war against riches as keenly as ngainst Pyrrhus ? because he supped beside his hearth off the very roots and herbs which he himself, though an old man, and one who had enjoyed a triumph, had grubbed up while clearing his field of weeds ? What then ? would he have been happier if he had gorged himself with fishes from distant shores, and birds caught in foreign lands ? if he had roused the torpor of his queasy stomach with shellfish from the upper and the lower sea? if he had piled a great heap of fruits round game of the first head, which many huntsmen had been killed in capturing ? Was Rutilius unhappy, because those who condemned him will have to plead their cause for all ages ? because he endured the loss of his country more composedly than that of his banishment? because he was the only man who refused anything to Sulla the dic- tator, and when recalled from exile all but went further away and banished himself still more. '* Let those," said he, " whom thy fortunate reign catches at Rome, see to the Forum drenched with blood,' and the heads of Senators above the Pool of Servilius — the place where the victims of Sulla's proscriptions were stripped — the bands of assassins roaming at large through the city, and many thousands of Roman citizens slaughtered in one place, after, nay, by means of a promise of quarter. Let those who are unable to go into exile behold these things." Well ! is Lucius Sulla happy, because when he comes down into the Forum room is made for him with sword-strokes, because he allow s the heads of consulars to be shown to him, and counts out the price of blood through the quaestor and the state ex- ^ vidiriiU — Let them see to it : it is no matter of mine. CH. III.] OF PROVIDENCE. 9 chequer? And this, this was the man who passed the Lex Cornelia ! Let us now come to Regulus : what injury did for- tune do him when she made him an example of good faith, an example of endurance ? They pierce his skin with nails : wherever he leans his weary body, it rests on a wound ; his eyes are fixed for ever open ; the greater his sufferings, the greater is his glory. Would you know how far he is from regretting that he valued his honour at such a price ? heal his wounds and send him again into the senate-house; he will give the same advice. So, then, you think JMaecenas a happier man, who when troubled by love, and weeping at the daily repulses of his ill-natured wife, sought for sleep by listening to distant strains of music ? Thouo-h he druo* himself with wine, divert himself with the sound of falling waters, and distract his troubled thoughts with a thousand pleasures, yet Maecenas will no more sleep on his down cushions than Regulus on the rack. Yet it consoles the latter that he suffers for the sake of honour, and he looks away from his torments to their cause : whilst the other, jaded with pleasures and sick with over-enjoyment, is more hurt by the cause of his sufferings than by the suffer- ings themselves. Vice has not so utterly taken possession of the human race that, if men were allowed to choose their destiny, there can be any doubt but that more would choose to be Reguluses than to be Maecenases : or if there were any one who dared to say that he would prefer to be born Maecenas than Regulus, that man, whether he says so or not, would rather have been Terentia (than Cicero). Do you consider Socrates to have been badly used, because he took that draught which the state assigned to him as though it were a charm to make him immortal, and argued about death until death itself ? Was he ill treated, because his blood froze and the current of his veins gradually stopped as the chill of death crept over them ? How much more is this man to be envied than he who is 10 MINOR DIALOGUES. IJ si J [bk. I. served on precious stones, whose drink a creature trained to every vice, a eunuch or much the same, cools with snow in a golden cup ? Such men as these bring up again all that they drink, in misery and disgust at the taste of their own bile, while Socrates cheerfully and willingly drains his poison. As for Cato, enough has been said, and all men must agree that the highest happiness was reached by one who was chosen by Nature herself as worthy to contend with all her terrors: "The enmity," says she, "of the powerful is grievous, therefore let him be opposed at once by Pompeius, Caesar, and Crassus ; it is grievous, when a candidate for public offices, to be defeated by one's inferiors; therefore let him be defeated by Vatinius : it is grievous to take part in civil wars, therefore let him fight in every part of the world for the good cause with equal obstinacy and ill-luck: it is grievous to lay hands upon one's self, therefore let him do so. What shall I gain by this ? That all men may know that these things, which I have deemed Cato worthy to undergo, are not real evils." IV. Prosperity comes to the mob, and to low-minded men as well as to great ones; but it is the privilege of great men alone to send under the yoke^ the disasters and terrors of mortal life: whereas to be always pros- perous, and to pass through life without a twinge of mental distress, is to remain ignorant of one half of nature, you are a great man ; but how am I to know it, if fortune l^ives you no opportunity of showing your virtue? You f have entered the arena of the Olympic games, but no one ^ That is, to triumph over. " Two spears were set upright .... and a third was fastened across them at the top ; and through this gateway the vanquished army marched out, as a token that they had been con- quered in war, and owed their lives to the enemy's mercy. It was no peculiar insult devised for this occasion, but a common usage, so far as appears, in similar cases ; like the modern ceremony of piling arms when a garrison or army surrender themselvt-s as prisoners of war."— Arkold'8 History qf Rome, ch. xxxi. cn. IT.] OF PROVIDENCE. 11 \y- else has done so : you have the crown, but not the victory : I do not congratulate you as I would a brave man, but as one who has obtained a consulship or pi*aetorship. You have gained dignity. I may say the same of a good man, if troublesome circumstances have never given him a single opportunity of displaying the strength of his mind. I think you unhappy because you never have been unhappy : you have passed through your life without meeting an antagonist ; no one will know your powers, not even you yourself." For a man cannot know himself without a trial : no one ever learnt what he could do without putting himself to the test ; for which reason many have of their own free will exposed themselves to misfortunes which no longer came in their way, and have sought for an opportunity of making their virtue, which otherwise would have been lost in darkness, shine before the world. Great men, I say, often rejoice at crosses of fortune just as brave soldiers do at wars. I remember to have heard Triumphus, who was a gladiator* in the reign of Tiberius Caesar, complaining about the scarcity of prizes. "What a glorious time," said he, " is past." Valour is greedy of danger, and thinks only of whither it strives to go, not of what it will suffer, since even what it will suffer is part of its glory. Soldiers pride themselves on their wounds, they joyously display their blood flowing over their breastplate.* Though those who return unwounded from battle may have done as bravely, yet he who returns wounded is more admired. God, I say, favours those whom He wishes to enjoy the greatest honours, whenever He affords them the means of perform- ing some exploit with spirit and courage, something which is not easily to be accomplished : you can judge of a pilot in a storm, of a soldier in a battle. How can I know with ^ He was a " mirmilK>," a kind of gladiator who was anned with a Gaulish helmet, ^ e lorica. I ' 12 MINOR DIALOGUES. [be. I. how great a spirit yon conld endure poverty, if you over- flow with riches ? How can I tell with how great firmness you could bear up against disgnice, dishonour, and pu])lic hatred, if you grow old to the sound of applause, if po[)ular favour cannot be alienated from you, and seems to flow to you by the natural bent of men's minds? How can I know how calmly you would endure to be childless, if you see all your children around you ? I have heard what you said when you were consoling others : then I should have seen whetlier you could have consoled your- self, whether you could have forbidden yourself to grieve. Do not, I beg you, dread those things which the immortal gods apply to our minds like spurs : misfortune is virtue's opportunity. Those men may justly be called unhappy who are stupified with excess of enjoyment, whom sluggish contentment keeps as it were becalmed in a quiet sea: whatever befalls them will come strange to them. Misfor- tunes press hardest on those who are unacquainted with them : the yoke feels heavy to the tender neck. The re- cruit turns pale at the thought of a wound : the veteran, who knows that he has often won the victory after losing blood, looks boldly at his own flowing gore. In like manner God hardens, reviews, and exercises those whom He tests and loves : those whom He seems to indulge and spare. He is keeping out of condition to meet their coming misfortunes : for you are mistaken if you suppose that any one is exempt from misfortune : he who has long prospered will have his share some day ; those who seem to h nve been spared them have only had them put off. Why does God afliict the best of men with ill-health, or sorrow, or other troubles ? Because in the army the most hazardous services are assigned to the bravest soldiers: a general sends his choicest troops to attack the enemy in a midnight ambus- cade, to reconnoitre his line of march, or to drive the hostile garrisons from their strong places. No one of these en. IV.] OF PKOVIDENCK. 13 men says as he begins his march, " The general has dealt hardly with me," but "He his judged well of me." Let those who are bidden to suff'er what makes the weak and cowardly weep, say likewise, " God has thought us worthy subjects on whom to try how much suffering human nature can endure." Avoid luxury, avoid effemi- nate enjoyment, by which men's minds are softened, and in which, unless something occurs to remind them of the common lot of humanity, they lie unconscious, as though plunged in continual drunkenness. He whom glazed windows have always guarded from the wind, whose feet are warmed by constantly renewed fomentations, whose dining-room is heated by hot air beneath the floor and spread through the walls, cannot meet the gentlest breeze without danger. While all excesses are hurtful, excess of comfort is the most hurtful of all ; it affects the brain ; it leads men's minds into vain imaginings; it spreads a thick cloud over the boundaries of truth and falsehood. Is it not better, with virtue by one's side, to endure con- tinual misfortune, than to burst with an endless surfeit of good things? It is the overloaded stomach that is rent asunder: death treats starvation more gently. The gods deal with good men according to the same rule as schoolmasters with their pupils, who exact most labour from those of whom they have the surest hopes. Do you imagine that the Lacedaemonians, who test the mettle of their children by public flogging, do not love them? Their own fathers call upon them to endure the strokes of the rod bravely, and when they are torn and half dead, ask them to offer their wounded skin to receive fresh wounds. Why then should we wonder if God tries noble spirits severely ? There can be no easy proof of virtue. Fortune hishes and mangles us: well, let us endure it: it is not cruelty, it is a struggle, in which the oftener we engage the braver we shall become. The strongest part of the u MINOR DIALOGUES. [iJK. I. CH. v.] OP PROVIDENCE. 15 i body is tliat which is exercised by the most frequent use : we must entrust ourselves to fortune to be hardened by her against herself: by degrees she will make us a match for herself. Familiarity with danger leads us to despise it. Thus the bodies of sailors are hardened by endurance of the sea, and the hands of farmers by work ; the arms of soldiers are powerful to hurl darts, the legs of runners are active : that part of each man which he exer- cises is the strongest : so by endurance the mind becomes able to despise the power of misfortunes. You may see what endurance might effect in us if yon observe what labour does among tribes that are naked and rendered stronger by want. Look at all the nations that dwell be- yond the Roman Empire : I mean the Germans and all the nomad tribes that war against us along the Danube. They suffer from eternal winter, and a dismal climate, the barren soil grudges them sustenance, they keep off the T*ain with leaves or thatch, they bound across frozen marshes, and hunt wild beasts for food. Do you think them unhappy ? There is no unhappiness in what use has made ])art of one's nature : by degrees men find pleasure in doing what they were first driven to do by necessity. They have no homes and no resting-places save those which weariness appoints them for the day; their food, though coarse, yet must be sought with their own hands ; the harshness of the climate is terrible, and their bodies are unclothed. This, which you think a hardship, is the mode of life of all these races : how then can vou wonder at good men being shaken, in order that they may be strengthened ? No tree which the wind does not often blow against is firm and strong ; for it is stiffened by the very act of being shaken, and plants its roots more securely : those which grow in a sheltered valley are brittle : and so it is to the advantage of good men, and causes them to be undismayed, that they should live much amidst alarmg, and learn to bear with patience what is not evil save to him who endures it ill. *,, T;,,'^f !" *'"'',*''"* ■' '" *° ''"" advantage of every one that the best men shonid, so to speaJc, beon active service and per orm labours : God has the same purpose as the wi.se man, that IS, to prove that the things which the herd covets and dreads are neither good nor bad in themselves. If, how- r?.w?u^ '^"'"'' '''"° °P°" ^'^^ ™«». ■■* will be evi. dent that they are good things, and bad, if He only inflicts them upon bad men. Blindness would be execrable if no one lost his eyes except those who deserve to have then. puM out ; therefore let Appius and Metellus be doomed to darkness. R.ches are not a good thing: therefo,^ let thus the pander possess them, that men who have conse- crated money in the temple, may see the same in the brothel : for by no means can God discredit objects of desire so effectually as by bestowing them upon the worst ot men, and removing them from the best. " But " you say, " ,t IS unjust that a good man should be enfeebled or transBxed or chained, while bad men swagger at large w,th a whole skin." What ! is it not unjuf that b"vc men should bear arms, pass the night in camps, and stand on guard along the rampart with their wounds still bandaged, while within the city eunuchs and professional profligates live at their ease ? what ? is it not uniust that maidens of the highest birth should be roused at n Jht to perform Divine service, while fallen women enjoy the soundest sleep ? Labour calls for the best men : the senate often passes the whole day in debate, while at the s^m^ ^me eve^. scoundrel either amu,,es his leisure in the Campus Martius. or lurks in a tavern, or parses his time in some pleasant society. The same thing happens in th^ epend and are spent, and that too of their own free will , they are not dragged along by fortune, but follow lb MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. I. her and take equal steps with her ; if they knew how, they would outstrip her. I remember, also, to have heard this spirited saying of that stoutest -hearted of men, Demetrius. " Ye immortal Gods," said he, " the only complaint which 1 have to make of you is that you did not make your will known to me earlier ; for then I would sooner have gone into that state of life to which I now have been called. Do you wish to take my children ? it was for you that I brought them up. Do you wish to take some part of my body ? take it : it is no great thing that I am offering you, I shall soon have done with the whole of it. Do you wish for my life ? why should I hesitate to return to you what you gave me ? whatever you ask you shall receive with my good will : nay, I would rather give it than be forced to hand it over to you : what need had you to take away what you did ? you might have received it from me : yet even as it is you cannot take anything from me, because you cannot rob a man unless he resists." I am constrained to nothing, I suffer nothing against my will, nor am I God's slave, but his willing follower, and so much the more because I know that everything is ordained and proceeds according to a law that endures for ever. The fates guide us, and the length of every man's days is decided at the first hour of his birth : every cause depends upon some earlier cause : one long chain of destiny decides all things, public or private. Wherefore, everything must be patiently endured, because events do not fall in our way, as we imagine, but come by a regular law. It has long ago been settled at what you should rejoice and at what you should weep, and although the lives of individual men appear to differ from one another in a great variety of par- ticulars, yet the sum total comes to one and the same thing : we soon perish, and the gifts which we receive soon perish. Why, then, should we be angry ? why should we lament? we are prepared for our fate: let nature deal CH. v.] OF PROVIDENCE. 17 i as she will with her own bodies ; let us be cheerful whatever befalls, and stoutly reflect that it is not anything of our (iwn that perishes. What is the duty of a good man ? to submit himself to fate : it is a great consolation to be swept away together with the entire universe : whatever law is laid upon us that thus we must live and thus we must die, is laid upon the gods also: one unchangeable stream bears along men and gods alike : the creator and ruler of the universe himself, though he has given laws to the fates, yet is guided by them : he always obeys, he only once com- manded. " But why was God so unjust in His distribution of fate, as to assign poverty, wounds, and untimely deaths to good men?" The workman cannot alter his materials: this is their nature. Some qualities cannot be separated from some others : they cling together ; are indivisible. Dull minds, tending to sleep or to a waking state exactly like sleep, are composed of sluggish elements : it requires stronger stuff to form a man meriting careful description. His course will not be straightforward; he must go up- wards and downwards, be tossed about, and guide his vessel through troubled waters : he must make his way in spite of fortune : he will meet with much that is hard which he must soften, much that is rough that he must make smooth. Fire tries gold, misfortune tries brave men. See how high virtue has to climb : you may be sure that it has no safe path to tread. " Steep is the path at first : the steeds, though strong, Fresh from their rest, can hardly crawl along ; The middle part lies through the topmost sky, Whence oft, as I the earth and sea descry, I shudder, terrors through my bosom thrill. The ending of the path is sheer down hill, And needs the careful guidance of the rein. For ever when I sink beneath the main, C 18 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. I. Old Tethys trembles in her deptlis below Lest headlong down upon her I should go." ' When the spirited youth heard this, he said, " I have no fault to find with the road : I will mount it, it is worth while to go through these places, even though one fall." His father did not cease from trying to scare his brave spirit with terrors : — " Then, too, that thou may'st hold thy course aright, And neither turn aside to left nor right, Straight through the Bull's fell horns thy path must go, Through the fierce Lion, and the Archer's bow." After this Phaethon says : — *• Harness the chariot which you yield to me, I am encouraged by these things with which you think to scare me ; I long to stand where the Sun himself trembles to stand." It is the part of grovellers and cowards to follow the safe track ; courage loves a lofty path. VI. '* Yet, why does God permit evil to happen to good men ? " He does not permit it : he takes away from them all evils, such as crimes and scandalous wickedness, daring thoughts, grasping schemes, blind lusts, and avarice coveting its neighbour's goods. He protects and saves them. Does any one besides this demand that God should look after the baggage of good men also ? Why, they them- selves leave the care of this to God : they scorn external accessories. Democritus forswore riches, holding them to be a burden to a virtuous mind : what wonder then, if God permits that to happen to a good man, which a good man sometimes chooses should happen to himself ? Good men, yon say, lose their children : why should they not, since sometimes they even put them to death ? They are banished : why should they not be, since sometimes they * The lines occur in Ovid's Metamorphoses, ii. 63. Phoebus is telling Phaethon how to drive the chariot of the Sun. CH. VI ] OF PRO\IDENCE. 19 f i i i ?! i 'A leave their country of their own free will, never to return ? They are slain : why not, since sometimes they choose to lay violent hands on themselves ? Why do they suffer cer- tain miseries ? it is that they may teach others how to do so. They are born as patterns. Conceive, therefore, that God says: — "Yon, who have chosen righteousness, what complaint can you make of me ? I have encompassed other men with unreal good things, and have deceived their inane minds as it were by a long and misleading dream : I have bedecked them with gold, silver, and ivory, but within them there is no good thing. Those men whom you re- gard as fortunate, if you could see, not their outward show, but their hidden life, are really unhappy, mean, and base, ornamented on the outside like the walls of their houses : that good fortune of theirs is not sound and genuine : it is only a veneer, and that a thin one. As long, therefore, as they can stand upright and display themselves as they choose, they shine and impose upon one ; when something occurs to shake and unmask them, we see how deep and real a rottenness was hidden by that factitious magni- ficence. To you I have given sure and lasting good things, which become greater and better the more one turns them over and views them on every side: I have granted to you to scorn danger, to disdain passion. You do not shine outwardly, all your good qualities are turned inwards ; even so does the world neglect what lies without it, and rejoices in the contemplation of itself. I have placed every good thing within your own breasts ; it is your good fortune not to need any good fortune. 'Yet many things befall you which are sad, dreadful, hard to be borne.' Well, as I have not been able to remove these from your path, I have given your minds strength to combat all: bear them bravely. In this you can surpass God himself ; He is beyond suffering evil : you are above it. Despise poverty ; no man lives as poor as he was bom i 20 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. I. despise pnin ; either it will cease or yon will cease : despise death ; it either ends you or takes you elsewhere : despise fortune ; I have given her no weapon that can reach the mind. Above all, I have taken care that no one should hold you captive against your will : the way of escape lies open before you : if you do not choose to fight, you may fly. For this reason, of all those matters which I have deemed essential for you, I have made nothing easier for you than to die. I have set man's life as it were on a mountain side : it soon slips down.' Do but watch, and you will see how short and how ready a path leads to free- dom. I have not imposed such long delays upon those who quit the world as upon those who enter it : were it not so, fortune would hold a wide dominion over yon, if a man died as slowly as he is born. Let all time, let every place teach you, how simple it is to renounce nature, and to fling back her gifts to her : before the altar itself and during the solemn rites of sacrifice, while life is being prayed for, learn how to die. Fat oxen fall dead with a tiny wound ; a blow from a man's hand fells animals of great strength : the sutures of the neck are severed by a thin blade, and when the joint which connects the head and neck is cut, all that great mass falls. The breath of life is not deep seated, « Compare Walter Scott : " All . . . . must have felt that but for the dictates of religion, or the natural recoil of the mind from the idea of dissolution, there have been times w hen they would have been willing to throw away life as a child does a broken toy. I am sure I know one who has often felt so. O Gotl ! what are we ?— Lords of nature ?— Why, a tile drops from a house-top, which an elephant would not feel more than a sheet of pasteboard, and there lies his lordship. Or something of inconceivably minute origin, the pressure of a bone, or the inflam- mation of a particle of the brain takes place, and the emblem of the Deity destroys himself or some one else. We hold our health and our reason on terms slighter than any one would desire, were it in their choice, to hold an Irish cabin."— Lock hart's Life of Sir Walter Scott, Tol. vii., p. 11. CH. VI.] OF PROVIDENCE. 21 nor only to be let forth by steel — the vitals need not be searched throughout by plunging a sword among them to the hilt : death lies near the surface. I have not appointed any particuLir spot for these blows — the body may be pierced wherever you please. That very act which is called dying, by which the breath of life leaves the body, is too short for you to be able to estimate its quickness : whether a knot crushes the windpipe, or water stops your breathing: whether you fall headlong from a height and perish upon the hard ground below, or a mouthful of fire checks the drawing of your breath — whatever it is, it acts swiftly. Do you not blush to spend so long a time in dreading what takes so short a time to do ? " 22 THE SECOND BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO SERENUS. "that the wise man can neither receive injurt nor insult," or, an essay on the firmness op the wise man. I. T MIGHT truly say, Serenus, that there is as wide a dif- *• ference between the Stoics and the other sects of philo- sophers as there is between men and women, since each class contributes an equal share to human society, but the one is born to command, the other to obey. The other philosophers deal with us gently and coaxingly, just as our accustomed family physicians usually do with our bodies, treating them not by the best and shortest method, but by that which we allow them to employ ; whereas the Stoics adopt a manly course, and do not care about its appearing attractive to those who are entering upon it, but that it should as quickly as possible take us out of the world, and lead us to that lofty eminence which is so far beyond the scope of any missile weapon that it is above the reach of Fortune herself. *• But the way by which we are asked to climb is steep and uneven." What then ? Can heights be i-eached by a level path ? Yet they are not so sheer and precipitous as some think. It is only the first part that CH. II.] ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN. 23 has rocks and cliffs and no apparent outlet, just as many hills seen from a long way off appear abruptly steep and joined together, because the distance deceives our sight, and then, as we draw nearer, those very hills which our mistaken eyes had made into one gradually unfold them- selves, those parts which seemed precipitous from afar assume a gently sloping outline. When just now mention was made of Marcus Cato, you whose mind revolts at injustice were indignant at Cato's own age having so little understood him, at its having allotted a place below Vatinius to one who towered above both Caesar and Pom- peins; it seemed shameful to you, that when he spoke against some law in the Forum his toga was torn from him, and that he was hustled through the hands of a mutinous mob from the Rostra as far as the arch of Fabius, enduring all the bad language, spitting, and other insults of the frantic rabble. II. I then answered, that you had good cause to be anxious on behalf of the commonwealth, which Publius Clod ins on the one side, Vatinius and all the greatest scoundrels on the other, were putting up for sale, and, car- ried away by their blind covetousness, did not understand that when they sold it they themselves were sold with it ; 1 bade you have no fears on behalf of Cato himself, because the wise man can neither receive injury nor insult, and it is more certain that the immortal gods have given Cato as a pattern of a wise man to us, than that they gave Ulysses or Hercules to the earlier ages; for these our Stoics have declared were wise men, unconquered by labours, despisers of pleasure, and superior to all terrors. Cato did not slay wild beasts, whose pursuit belongs to huntsmen and countrymen, nor did he exterminate fabu- lous creatures with fire and sword, or live in times when it was possible to believe that the heavens could be supported on the shoulders of one man. In an age which had thrown 2i MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. n. ojff its belief in antiquated superstitions, and had carried ma- terial knowledge to its highest point, he had to struggle against that many-headed monster, ambition, against that boundless lust for power which the whole world divided among three men could not satisfy. He alone withstood the vices of a worn-out State, sinking into ruin through its own bulk ; he upheld the falling commonwealth as far as it could be upheld by one man's hand, until at last his sup- port was withdrawn, and he shared the crash which he had so long averted, and perished together with that from which it was impious to separate him — for Cato did not outlive freedom, nor did freedom outlive Cato. Think you that the people could do any wrong to such a man when they tore away his praetorship or his toga ? when they be- spattered his sacred head with the rinsings of their mouths? The wise man is safe, and no injury or insult can touch him. III. I think I see your excited and boiling temper. You are preparing to exclaim : ** These are the things which take away all weight from your maxims ; you promise great matters, such as I should not even wish for, let alone believe to be possible, and then, after all your brave words, though you say that the wise man is not poor, you admit that he often is in want of servants, shelter, and food. You say that the wise man is not mad, yet you admit that he sometimes loses his reason, talks nonsense, and is driven to the wildest actions by the stress of his disorder. When you say that the wise man cannot be a slave, you do not deny that he will be sold, carry out orders, and perform menial services at the bidding of his master ; so, for all your proud looks, you come down to the level of every one else, and merely call things by different names. Consequently, I suspect that something of this kind lurks behind this maxim, which at first sight appears so beauti- ful and noble, * that the wise man can neither receive CH. III.] ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN. 25 injury nor insult.' It makes a great deal of difference whether you declare that the wise man is beyond feeling resentment, or beyond receiving injury ; for if you say that he will bear it calmly, he has no special privilege in that, for he has developed a very common quality, and one which is learned by long endurance of wrong itself, namely, patience. If you declare that he can never receive an injury, that is, that no one will attempt to do him one, then I will throw up all my occupations in life and become a Stoic." It has not been my object to decorate the wise man with mere imaginary verbal honours, but to raise him to a posi- tion where no injury will be permitted to reach him. "What? will there be no one to tease him, to try to wrong him ? " There is nothing on earth so sacred as not to be liable to sacrilege ; yet holy things exist on high none the less because there are men who strike at a greatness which is far above themselves, though with no hope of reaching it. The invulnerable is not that which is never struck, but that which is never wounded. In this class I will show you the wise man. Can we doubt that the strength which is never overcome in fight is more to be relied on than that which is never challenged, seeing that untested power is untrustworthy, whereas that solidity which hurls back all attacks is deservedly regarded as the most trust- worthy of all ? In like manner you may know that the wise man, if no injury hurts him, is of a higher type than if none is offered to him, and I should call him a brave man whom war does not subdue and the violence of the enemy does not alarm, not him who enjoys luxurious ease amid a slothful people. I say, then, that such a wise man is invulnerable against all injury ; it matters not, therefore, how many darts be hurled at him, since he can be pierced by none of them. Just as the hardness of some stones is impervious to steel, and adamant can neither be cut, 26 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. II. broken, or ground, but blunts all instruments used upon it ; just as some things cannot be destroyed by fire, but when encircled by flame still retain their hardness and shape ; just as some tall projecting cliffs break the waves of the sea, and though lashed by them through many centuries, yet show no traces of their rage ; even so the mind of the wise man is firm, and gathers so much strength, that it is as safe from injury as any of those things which I have mentioned. IV. " What then ? Will there be no one who will try to do an injury to the wise man ? " Yes, some one will try, but the injury will not reach him ; for he is separated from the contact of his inferiors by so wide a distance that no evil impulse can retsiin its power of harm until it reaches him. Kven when powerful men, raised to positions of high authority, and strong in the obedience of their dependents, strive to injure him, all their darts fall as far short of his wisdom as those which are shot upwards by bowstrings or catapults, which, although they rise so high as to pass out of sight, yet fall back again without reaching the heavens. Why, do you suppose that when that stupid king^ clouded the daylight with the multitude of his darts, that any arrow of them all went into the sun ? or that when he flung his chains into the deep, that he was able to reach Neptune ? Just as sacred things escape from the hands of men, and no injury is done to the godhead by those who destroy temples and melt down images, so whoever at- tempts to treat the wise man with impertinence, insolence, or scorn, does so in vain. " It would be better," say you, *' if no one wished to do so." You are expressing a wish that the whole human race were inoffensive, which may hardly be ; moreover, those who would gain by such wrongs not being done are those who would do them, not he who could not suffer from them even if they were done ; nay, I ' Xerxes. CH. v.] ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN. 27 know not whether wisdom is not best displayed by calm- ness in the midst of annoyances, just as the greatest proof of a general's strength in arms and men consists in his quiet- ness and confidence in the midst of an enemy's country. V. If you think fit, my Serenus, let us distinguish be- tween injury and insult. The former is naturally the more grievous, the latter less important, and grievous only to the thin-skinned, since it angers men but does not wound them. Yet such is the weakness of men's minds, that many think that there is nothing more bitter than insult ; thus you will find slaves who prefer to be flogged to being slapped, and who think stripes and death more endurable than insulting words. To such a pitch of ab- surdity have we come that we suffer not only from pain, hut from the idea of pain, like children, who are terror- stricken by darkness, misshapen masks, and distorted faces, and whose tears flow at hearing names unpleasing to their ears, at the movement of our fingers, and other things which they ignorantly shrink from with a sort of mistaken spasm. The object which injury proposes to itself is to do evil to some one. Now wisdom leaves no room for evil ; to it, the only evil is baseness, which cannot enter into the place already occupied by virtue and honour. If, therefore, there can be no injury without evil, and no evil without baseness, and baseness cannot find any place with a man who is already filled with honour, it follows that no injury can reach the wise man ; for if injury be the endurance of some evil, and the wise man can endure no evil, it follows that no injury takes effect upon the wise man. All injury implies a making less of that which it affects, and no one can sustain an injury without some loss either of his dignity, or of some part of his body, or of some of the things external to ourselves ; but the wise man can lose nothing. He has invested everything in himself, has entrusted nothing to fortune, has hi* property in safety, 4 28 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. II. pull and is content with virtue, which does not need casual accessories, and therefore can neither be increased or dimi- nished ; for virtue, as having attained to the highest posi- tion, has no room for addition to herself, and fortune can take nothing away save what she gave. Now fortune does not give virtue ; therefore she does not take it away. Virtue is free, inviolable, not to be moved, not to be shaken, and so hardened against misfortunes that she cannot be bent, let alone overcome by them. She looks unfalteringly on while tortures are being prepared for her ; she makes no change of countenance, whether misery or pleasure be offered to her. The wise man therefore can lose nothing of whose loss he will be sensible, for he is the property of virtue alone, from whom he never can be taken away. He enjoys all other things at the good pleasure of fortune ; but who is grieved at the loss of what is not his own ? If injury can hurt none of those things which are the peculiar property of the wise man, because while his virtue is safe they are safe, then it is impossible that an injury should be done to a wise man. Demetrius, who was surnamed Poliorcetes, took Megara, and the philosopher Stilbo, when asked by him whether he had lost anything, answered, *' No, I carry all my property about me." Yet his inheritance had been given up to pillage, his daughters had been outraged by the enemy, his country had fallen under a foreign dominion, and it was the king, enthroned on high, sur- rounded by the spears of his victorious troops, who put this question to him ; yet he struck the victory out of the king's hands, and proved that, though the city was taken, he himself was not only unconquered but unharmed, for he bore with him those true goods which no one can lay hands upon. What was being plundered and carried away hither and thither he did not consider to be his own, but to be merely things which come and go at the caprice of fortune ; therefore he had not loved them as his own, for ■H. VI.] ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN. 29 the possession of all things which come from without is slippery and insecure. VI. Consider now, whether any thief, or false accuser, or headstrong neighbour, or rich man enjoying the power conferred by a childless old age, could do any injury to this man, from whom neither war nor an enemy whose profes- sion was the noble art of battering city walls could take away anything. Amid the flash of swords on all sides, and the riot of the plundering soldiery, amid the flames and blood and ruin of the fallen city, amid the crash of temples falling upon their gods, one man was at peace. You need not therefore account that a reckless boast, for which I will give you a surety, if my words goes for nothing. Indeed, you would hardly believe so much con- stancy or such greatness of mind to belong to any man ; but here a man comes forward to prove that you have no reason for doubting that one who is but of human birth can raise himself above human necessities, can tranquilly behold pains, losses, diseases, wounds, and great natural convulsions roaring around him, can bear adversity with calm and prosperity with moderation, neither yielding to the former nor trusting to the latter, that he can remain the same amid all varieties of fortune, and think nothing to be his own save himself, and himself too only as regards his better part. " Behold," says he, " I am here to prove to you that although, under the direction of that destroyer of so many cities, walls may be shaken by the stroke of the ram, lofty towers may be suddenly brought low by gal- leries and hidden mines, and mounds arise so high as to rival the highest citadel, yet that no siege engines can be discovered which can shake a well-established mind. I have just crept from amid the ruins of my house, and with conflagrations blazing all around I have escaped from the flames through blood. What fate has befallen my daugh- ters, whether a worse one than that of their country, I 2(0 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. II. CH. VII.] ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN. 31 :i know not. Alone and elderly, and seeing everything around me in the hands of the enemy, still I declare that my pro- perty is whole and untouched. I have, I hold whatever of mine I have ever had. There is no reason for you to sup- pose me conquered and yourself my conqueror. It is your fortune which has overcome mine. As for those fleeting possessions which change their owners, I know not where they are ; what belongs to myself is with me, and ever will be. I see rich men who have lost their estates ; histful men who have lost their loves, the courtesans whom they cherished at the cost of much shame ; ambitious men who have lost the senate, the law courts, the places set apart for the public display of men's vices; usurers who have lost their account-books, in which avarice vainly en- joyed an unreal wealth ; but I possess everything whole and uninjured. Leave me, and go and a.sk those who are weeping and lamenting over the loss of their money, who are offering their bare breasts to drawn swords in its defence, or who are fleeing from the enemy with weighty pockets." See then, Serenus, that the perfect man, full of human and divine virtues, can lose nothing ; his goods are surrounded by strong and impa.«5sable walls. You cannot compare with them the walls of Babylon, which Alexander entered, nor the fortifications of Carthage and Numantia, won by one and the same hand,' nor the Capitol and citadel of Rome, which are branded with the marks of the victors' insults ; the ramparts which protect the wise man are safe from fire and hostile invasion ; they afford no passage; they are lofty, impregnable, divine. VII. You have no cause for saying, as you are wont to do, that this wise man of ours^ is nowhere to be found; we do not invent him as an unreal glory of the human race, or conceive a mighty shadow of an untruth, but we have dis- played and will display him just as we sketch him, though ^ Scipio. ' The Stoics. he may perhaps be uncommon, and only one appears at long intervals ; for what is great and transcends the common ordinary type is not often produced ; but this very Marcu? Cato himself, the mention of whom started this discussion, was a man who I fancy even surpassed our model. More- over, that which hurts must be stronger than that which is hurt. Now wickedness is not stronger than virtue ; therefore the wise man cannot be hurt. Only the bad attempt to injure the good. Good men are at peace among themselves; bad ones are equally mischievous to the good and to one another. If a man cannot be hurt by one weaker than himself, and a bad man be weaker than a good one, and the good have no injury to dread, except from one unlike themselves ; then, no injury takes effect upon the wise man ; for by this time I need not remind you that no one save the wise man is good. " If," says our adversary, " Socrates was unjustly condemned, he received an injury." At this point it is needful for us to bear in mind that it is possible for some one to do an injury to me, and yet for me not to receive it, as if any one were to steal something from my country-house and leave it in my town-house, that man would commit a theft, yet I should lose nothing. A man may become mischievous, and yet do no actual mischief : if a man lies with his own wife as if she were a stranger, he will commit adultery, but his wife will not ; if a man gives me poison and the poison lose its strength when mixed with food, that man, by administering the poison, has made himself a criminal, even though he has done no hurt. A man is no less a brigand because his sword becomes entangled in his victim's clothes and misses its mark. All crimes, as far as concerns their criminality, are completed before the actual deed is accomplished. Some crimes are of such a nature and bound by such conditions that the first part can take place without the second. 32f MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. II. i ii though the second cannot take place without the first. I will endeavour to explain these words : I can move my feet and yet not run ; but I cannot run without moving my feet. I can be in the water without swimming ; but if I swim, I cannot help being in the water. The matter of which we are treating is of this character : if I have re- ceived an injury, it is necessary that some one must have done it to me ; but if an injury has been done me, it is not necessary that I should have received one ; for many cir- cumstances may intervene to avert the injury, as, for example, some chance may strike the hand that is aiming at us, and the dart, after it has been thrown, may swerve aside. So injuries of all kinds may by certain circumstances be thrown back and intercepted in mid-course, so that they may be done and yet not received. VIII. Moreover, justice can suffer nothing unjust, because contraries cannot co-exist; but an injury can only be done unjustly, therefore an injury cannot be done to the wise man. Nor need you wonder at no one being able to do him an injury ; for no one can do him any good service either. The wise man lacks nothing which he can accept by way of a present, and the bad man can bestow nothing that is worthy of the wise man's acceptance ; for he must possess it before he can bestow it, and he possesses nothing which the wise man would rejoice to have handed over to him. Consequently, no one can do either harm or good to the wise man, because divine things neither want help nor are capable of being hurt ; and the wise man is near, indeed very near to the gods, being like a god in every respect save that he is mortal. As he presses forward and makes his way towards the life that is sublime, well-ordered, without fear, proceeding in a regular and harmonious course, tranquil, beneficent, made for the good of mankind useful both to itself and to others, he will neither long nor weep for anything that is grovelling. He who, trusting to CH. IX.] ON THE FIRMNKSS OF THE WISE MAN. 33 reason, passes through human affairs with godlike mind, has no quarter from which he can receive injury. Do you suppose that I mean merely from no man ? He cannot receive an injury even from fortune, which, whenever she contends with virtue, always retires beaten. If we accept with an undisturbed and tranquil mind that greatest terror of all, beyond which the angry laws and the most cruel masters have nothing to threaten us with, in which fortune's dominion is contained— if we know that death is not an evil, and therefore is not an injury either, we shall much more easily endure the other things, such as losses, pains, disgraces, changes of abode, bereavements, and partings, which do not overwhelm the wise man even if they all befall him at once, much less does he grieve at them when they assail him separately. And if he bears the injuries of fortune calmly, how much more will he bear those of powerful men, whom he knows to be the hands of fortune. IX. He therefore endures everything in the same spirit with which he endures the cold of winter and the severities of climate, fevers, diseases, and other chance accidents, nor does he entertain so high an opinion of any man as to suppose that he acts of set purpose, which belongs to the wise man alone. All other men have no plans, but only plots and deceits and irregular impulses of mind, which he reckons the same as pure accident ; now, what depends upon pure accident cannot rage around ns de- signedly. He reflects, also, that the largest sources of injury are to be found in those things by means of which danger is sought for against us, as, for example, by a suborned accuser, or a false charge, or by the stirring up agamst us of the anger of great men, and the other forms of the brigandage of civilized life. Another common type of injury is when a man loses some profit or prize for which he has long been angling, when an inheritance which he D '34 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. II. ;l I. has spent great pains to render his own is left to some one else, or the favour of some noble house, through which he makes great gain, is taken from him. The wise man escapes all this, since he knows not what it is to live for hope or for fear. Add to this, that no one receives an injury unmoved, but is disturbed by the feeling of it. Now, the man free from mistakes has no disturbance ; he is master of himself, enjoying a deep and tranquil repose of mind ; for if an injury reaches him it moves and rouses him. But the wise man is without anger, which is caused by the appearance of injury, and he could not be free from anger unless he were also free from injury, which he knows cannot be done to him ; hence it is that he is so upright and cheerful, hence he is elate with constant joy. So far, however, is he from shrinking from the encounter either of circumstances or of men, that he makes use of injury itself to make trial of himself and test his own virtue. Let us, I beseech you, show favour to this thesis and listen with impartial ears and minds while the wise man is being made exempt from injury ; for nothing is thereby taken away from your insolence, your greediest lusts, your blind rashness and pride ; it is without prejudice to your vices that this freedom is sought for the wise man ; we do not strive to prevent your doing an injury, but to enable him to sink all injuries beneath himself and protect himself from them by his own greatness of mind. So in the sacred games many have won the victory by patiently enduring the blows of their adversaries and so wearyiner them out. Think that the wise man belongs to this class, that of men who, by long and faithful practice, have acquired strength to endure and tire out all the violence of their enemies. X. Since we have now discussed the first part of our subject, let us pass on to the second, in which we will prove by arguments, some of which are our own, but on. X.] ON THE FIRMNESS OP THE WISE MAN. 35 which for the most part are Stoic commonplaces, that the wise man cannot be insulted. There is a lesser form of injury, which we must complain of rather than avenge, which the laws also have considered not to deserve any special punishment. This passion is produced by a mean- ness of mind which shrinks at any act or deed which treats it with disrespect. " He did not admit me to his house to-day, although he admitted others; he either turned haughtily away or openly laughed when I spoke;" or, "he placed me at dinner, not on the middle couch (the place of honour), but on the lowest one ;" and other matters of the same sort, which I can call nothing but the whinings of a queasy spirit. These matters chiefly affect the luxuriously, nurtured and prosperous; for those who are pressed by worse evils have no time to notice such things as these. Through excessive idleness, dispositions naturally weak and womanish and prone to indulge in fancies through want of real injuries are disturbed at these things, the "greater part of which arise from misunderstanding. He therefore who is affected by insult shows that he possesses neither sense nor trustfulness ; for he considers it certain that he is scorned, and this vexation affects him with a certain sense of degradation, as he effaces himself and takes a lower room ; whereas the wise man is scorned by no one, for he knows his own greatness, gives himself to understand that he allows no one to have such power over him, and as for all of what I should not so much call distress as uneasiness of mind, he does not overcome it, but never so much as feels it. Some other things strike the wise man, though they may not shake his principles, such as bodily pain and weakness, the loss of friends and children, and the ruin of his country in war-time. I do not say that the wise man does not feel these, for we do not ascribe to him the hard- ness of stone or iron ; there is no virtue but is conscious of its own endurance. What then does he ? He receives some 86 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. II. blows, but when he has received them he rises superior to them, heals them, and brings them to an end ; these more trivial things he does not even feel, nor does he make use of his accustomed fortitude in the endurance of evil against them, but either takes no notice of them or considers them to deserve to be laughed at. XI. Besides this, as most insults proceed from those who are haughty and arrogant and bear their prosperity ill, he has something wherewith to repel this haughty passion, namely, that noblest of all the virtues, magnanimity, which ])asses over everything of that kind as like unreal apparitions in dreams and visions of the night, which have nothing in them substantial or true. At the same time he reflects that all men are too low to venture to loolP down upon what is so far above them. The Latin word contumelia is derived from the word conte7npt, because no one does that injury to another unless he regards him with contempt; and no one can treat his elders and betters with contempt, even though he does what contemptuous persons are wont to do ; for children strike their parents' faces, infants rumple and tear their mother's hair, and spit upon her and expose what should be covered before her, and do not shrink from using dirty language ; yet we do not call any of these things contemptuous. And why ? Because he who does it is not able to show contempt. For the same reason the scurrilous raillery of our slaves against their masters amuses us, as their boldness only gains licence to exercise itself at the expense of the guests if they begin with the master; and the more contemptible and the more an object of derision each one of them is, the greater licence he gives his tongue. Some buy forward slave-boys for this purpose, cultivate their scurrility and send them to school that they may vent premeditated libels, which we do not call insults, but smart sayings ; yet what madness, at one time to be amused and at anothei to be affronted by the same thing, CH. Xll.] ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN 3/ and to call a phrase an outrage when spoken by a friend, and an amusing piece of raillery when used by a slave- boy ! XII. In the same spirit in which we deal with boys, the wise man deals with all those whose childhood still endures after their youth is past and their hair is grey. What do men profit by age when their mind has all the faults of childhood and their defects are intensified by time ? when they differ from children only in the size and appearance of their bodies, and are just as unsteady and capricious, eager for pleasure without discrimination, timorous and quiet through fear rather than through natural disposition? One cannot say that such men differ from children because the latter are greedy for knuckle-bones and nuts and coppers, while the former are greedy for gold and silver and cities ; because the latter play amongst themselves at being magistrates, and imitate the purple-edged robe of state, the lictors' axes, and the judgment-seat, while the former play with the same things in earnest in the Campus Martius and the courts of justice; because the latter pile up the sand on the seashore into the likeness of houses, and the fornver, with an air of being engaged in important business, employ themselves in piling up stones and walls and roofs until they have turned what was intended for the protection of the body into a danger to it ? Children and those more advanced in age both make the same mistake, but the latter deal with different and more important things ; the wise man, therefore, is quite justified in treat- ing the affronts which he receives from such men as jokes : and sometimes he corrects them, as he would children, by pain and punishment, not because he has received an injury, but because they have done one and in order that they may do so no more. Thus we break in animals with stripes, yet we are not angry with them when they refuse to carry their rider, but curb them in order that pain may overcome 38 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. II CH. XIY.] ON THE TIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN. 39 r I! their obstinacy. Now, therefore, you know the answer to the question which was put to us, *' Why, if the wise man receives neither injury nor insult, he punishes those who do these things ? " He does not revenge himself, but corrects them. XIII. What, then, is there to prevent your believing this strength of mind to belong to the wise man, when you can see the same thing existing in others, though not from the same cause ? — for what physician is angry with a crazy j)atient ? who takes to heart the curses of a fever-stricken one who is denied cold water ? The wise man retains in his dealings with all men this same habit of mind which the physician adopts in dealing with his patients, whoso parts of shame he does not scorn to handle should they need treatment, nor yet to look at their solid and liquid evacuations, nor to endure their reproaches when frenzied by disease. The wise man knows that all those who strut about in purple-edged togas,' healthy and embrowned, are brain-sick people, whom he regards as sick and full of follies. He is not, therefore, angry, should they in their sickness presume to bear themselves somewhat impertinently towards their physician, and in the same spirit as that in which he sets no value upon their titles of honour, he will set but little value upon their acts of disrespect to himself. He will not rise in his own esteem if a beggar pays his court to him, and he will not think it an affront if one of the dregs of the people does not return his greeting. So also he will not admire himself even if many rich men admire him ; for he knows that they differ in no respect from beggars — nay, are even more wretched than they ; for * Seneca here speaks of men wearing the tnga as officJHls, contrasted with the mass of lionian citizens, among whom the wearing of the toga was already falUng int«i disuse in the time of Augustus. See Macrob., "Sat.," vi. 5 extr., and Suetonius, "Life of Octavius," 40, where the author mcnti«>ns that Augustus used sa resist icuUy to apjily the vei*se, Virg., * JEn.,' i. 282, to the liumans of his (hiy. beggars want but a little, whereas rich men want a great deal. Again, he will not be moved if the King of the Medes, or Attalus, King of Asia, passes by him in silence with a scornful air when he offers his greeting ; for he knows that such a man's position has nothing to render it more enviable than that of the man whose duty it is in some great household to keep the sick and mad servants in order. Shall I be put out if one of those who do business at the temple of Castor, buying and selling worthless slaves, does not return my salute, a man whose shops are crowded with throngs of the worst of bondmen ? I trow not ; for what good can there be in a man who owns none but bad men ? As the wise man is indifferent to the courtesy or incivility of such a man, so is he to that of a king. "You own," says he, " the Parthians and Bactrians, but they arc men whom you keep in order by fear, they are people whose possession forbids you to unstring the bow, they are fierce enemies, on sale, and eagerly looking out for anew master." He will not, then, be moved by an insult from any man for though all men differ one from another, yet the wise man regards them all as alike on account of their equal folly ; for shonld he once lower himself to the point of being affected by either injury or insult, he could never feel safe afterwards, and safety is the especial advantage of the wise man, and he will not be guilty of showing respect to the man who has done him an injury by admitting that he has received one, because it necessarily follows that he who is disquieted at any one's scorn would value that person's admiration. XIV. Such madness possesses some men that they imagine it possible for an affront to be put upon them by a woman. What matters it who she may be, how many slaves bear her litter, how heavily her ears are laden, how soft her seat ? she is always the same thoughtless crea- ture, and nnless she possesses acquired knowledge and p ^ 40 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. II. i ^ much learning, she is fierce and passionate in her desires. Some are annoyed at being jostled by a heater of curling- tongs, and call the reluctance of a great man's porter to open the door, the pride of his nomenclator,' or the disdain- fulness of his chamberlain, insults. O ! what laughter is to be got out of such things, with what amusement the mind may be filled when it contrasts the frantic follies of others with its own peace ! " How then ? will the wise man not approach doors which are kept by a surly porter ? " Nay, if any need calls him thither, he will make trial of him, how- ever fierce he may be, will tame him as one tames a dog by offering it food, and will not be enraged at having to expend entrance-money, reflecting that on certain bridges also one has to pay toll ; in like fashion he will pay his fee to who- ever farms this revenue of letting in visitors, for he knows that men are wont to buy whatever is offered forsale.^ A man shows a poor spirit if he is pleased with himself for having answered the porter cavalierly, broken his staff, forced his way into his master's presence, and demanded a whipping for him. He who strives with a man makes himself that man's rival, and must be on equal terms with him before he can overcome him. But what will the wise man do when he receives a cuff ? He will do as Cato did when he was struck in the face ; he did not flare up and revenge the outrage, he did not even pardon it, but ignored it, showing more magnanimity in not acknowledging it than if he had forgiven it We will not dwell long upon this point ; for who is there who knows not that none of those things which are thought to be good or evil are looked upon by the wise man and by mankind in general in the same manner ? He does not regard what all men think low or wretched ; he does not follow the people's track, but as the ^ See note, " De Benf ficiis," vi. 33. ' Gertz reads ' decet eiuere venalia,' * there is no harm in buying what is for sale.' CH. XV.] ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN. 41 stars move in a path opposite to that of the earth, so he proceeds contrary to the prejudices of all. XV. Cease then to say, " Will not the wise man, then, receive an injury if he be beaten, if his eye be knocked out ? will he not receive an insult if he be hooted through the Forum by the foul voices of ruffians ? if at a court banquet he be bidden to leave the table and eat with slaves appointed to degrading duties ? if he be forced to endure anything else that can be thought of that would gall a high spirit ?" However many or however severe these crosses may be, they will all be of the same kind ; and if small ones do not affect him, neither will greater ones ; if a few do not affect him, neither will more. It is from your own weakness that you form your idea of his colossal mind, and when you have thought how much you yourselves could endure to suffer, you place the limit of the wise man's endurance a little way beyond that. But his virtue has placed him in another region of the universe which has nothing in common with you. Seek out sufferings and all things hard to be borne, repulsive to be heard or seen ; he will not be overwhelmed by their combination, and will bear all just as he bears each one of them. He who says that the wise man can bear this and cannot bear that, and restrains his magnanimity within certain limits, does wrong ; for Fortune overcomes us unless she is entirely overcome. Think not that this is mere Stoic austerity. Epicurus, whom you adopt as the patron of your laziness, and who, you imagine, always taught what was soft and slothful and conducive to plea- sure, said, "Fortune seldom stands in a wise man's way." How near he came to a manly sentiment ! Do thou dare to speak more boldly, and clear her out of the way altoge- ther ! This is the house of the wise man— narrow, un- adorned, without bustle and splendour, the threshold guarded by no porters who marshal the crowd of visitors with a haughtiness proportionate to their bribes— but For- 42 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. II. tane cannot cross this open and unguarded threshold. She knows that there is no room for her where there is nothin;^ of hers. XVI. Now if even Epicurus, who made more conces- sions to the body than any one, takes a spirited tone with regard to injuries, what can appear beyond belief or beyond the scope of human nature amongst us Stoics ? He says that injuries may be endured by the wise man," we say that they do not exist for him. Nor is there any reason why you should declare this to be repugnant to nature. We do not deny that it is an unpleasant thing to be beaten or struck, or to lose one of our limbs, but we say that none of these things are injuries. We do not take away from them the feeling of pain, but the name of " injury," which cannot be received while our virtue is unimpaired. We shall see which of the two is nearest the truth ; each of them agree in despising injury. You ask what difference there is between them ? All that there is between two very brave gladiators, one of whom conceals his wound and holds his ground, while the other turns round to the shout- ing populace, gives them to understand that his wound is nothing, and does not permit them to interfere on his behalf. You need not think that it is any great thing about which we differ ; the whole gist of the matter, that which alone concerns you, is what both schools of philosophy urge you to do, namely, to despise injuries and insults, which I may call the shadows and outlines of injuries, to despise which does not need a wise man, but merely a sensible one, who can say to himself, " Do these things befall me deservedly or undeservedly ? If deservedly, it is not an insult, but a judicial sentence ; if undeservedly, then he who does injus- tice ought to blush, not I. And what is this which is called an insult ? Some one has made a joke about the baldness of my head, the weakness of my eyes, the thinness of my legs, the shortness of my stature ; what insult is there in CH. XVII.] ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN. 43 telling me that which every one sees ? We laugh when tete-a-tete at the same thing at which we are indignant when it is said before a crowd, and we do not allow others the privilege of saying what we ourselves are wont to say about ourselves; we are amused at decorous jests, but are angry if they are carried too far." XVII. Chrysippus says that a man was enraged because some one called him a sea-sheep ; we have seen Fidus Cor- nelius, the son-in-law of Ovidius Naso, weeping in the Senate-house because Corbulo called him a plucked ostrich; his command of his countenance did not fail him at other abusive charges, which damaged his character and way of life; at this ridiculous saying he burst into tears. So deplorable is the weakness of men's minds when reason no longer guides them. What of our taking offence if any one imitates our talk, our walk, or apes any defect of our person or our pronunciation ? as if they would become more noto- rious by another's imitation than by our doing them our- selves. Some are unwilling to hear about their age and grey hairs, and all the rest of what men pray to arrive at. The reproach of poverty agonizes some men, and whoever conceals it makes it a reproach to himself ; and therefore if you of your own accord are the first to acknowledge it, you cut the ground from under the feet of those who would sneer and politely insult you ; no one is laughed at who begins by laughing at himself. Tradition tells us that Vatinius, a man born both to be laughed at and hated, was a witty and clever jester. He made many jokes about his feet and his short neck, and thus escaped the sarcasms of Cicero above all, and of his other enemies, of whom he had more than he had diseases. If he, who through constant abuse had forgotten how to blush, could do this by sheer brazenncss, why should not he who has made some progress in the education of a gentleman and the study of philo- sophy ? Besides, it is a sort of revenge to spoil a man's t in 44 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. II. enjoyment of the insult he has offered to us ; such men say, " Dear me, I suppose he did not understand it." Thus the success of an insult lies in the sensitiveness and rage of the victim ; hereafter the insulter will sometimes meet his match ; some one will be found to revenge you also. XVIII. Gains Caesar, among the other vices with which he overflowed, was possessed by a strange insolent passion for marking every one with some note of ridicule, he himself being the most tempting subject for derision j so ugly was the paleness which proved him mad, so savage the glare of the eyes which lurked under his old woman's brow, so hideous his misshapen head, bald and dotted about with a few cherished hairs; besides the neck set thick with bristles, his thin legs, his monstrous feet. It would be endless were I to mention all the insults which he heaped upon his parents and ancestors, and people of every class of life. I will mention those which brought him to ruin. An especial friend of his was Asiaticus Valerius, a proud-spirited man and one hardly likely to put up with another's insults quietly. At a drinking bout, that is, a public assembly, Gaius, at the top of his voice, reproached this man with the way his wife behaved in bed. Good gods ! that a man should hear that the emperor knew this, and that he, the emperor, should describe his adultery and his disappoint- ment to the lady's husband, I do not say to a man of consular rank and his own friend. Chaerea, on the other hand, the military tribune, had a voice not befitting his prowess, feeble in sound, and somewhat suspicious unless you knew his achievements. When he asked for the watchword Gains at one time gave him " Venus," and at another " Priapus," and by various means reproached the nian-at-arms with efPemimite vice; while he himself was dressed in transparent clothes, wearing sandals and jewel- lery. Thus he forced him to use his sword, that he might not have to ask for the watchword oftener; it was Chaerea who CH. XIX.] ON THE FIRMNESS OF THE WISE MAN. 45 first of all the conspirators raised his hand, who cut through the middle of Caligula's neck with one blow. After that, many swords, belonging to men who had public or private injuries to avenge, were thrust into his body, but he first showed himself a man who seemed least like one. The same Gaius construed everything as an insult (since those who are most eager to offer affronts are least able to endure them). He was angry with Herennius Macer for having greeted him as Gaius — nor did the chief centurion of triarii get off scot-free for having saluted him as Caligula ; having been born in the camp and brought up as the child of the legions, he had been wont to be called by this name, nor was there any by which he was better known to the troops, hut by this time he held " Caligula" to be a reproach and a dishonour. Let wounded spirits, then, console them- selves with this reflexion, that, even though our easy temper may have neglected to revenge itself, nevertheless that there will be some one who will punish the imperti- nent, proud, and insulting man, for these are vices which he never confines to one victim or one single offensive act. Let ns look at the examples of those men whose endurance we admire, as, for instance, that of Socrates, who took in good part the published and acted jibes of the comedians upon himself, and laughed no less than he did when he was drenched with dirty water by his wife Xanthippe. Antis- thenes was reproached with his mother being a barbarian and a Thracian ; he answered that the mother of the gods, too, came from Mount Ida. XIX. We ought not to engage in quarrels and wrangling; we ought to betake ourselves far away and to disregard everything of this kind which thoughtless people do (indeed thoughtless people alone do it), and to set equal value upon the honours and the reproaches of the mob ; we ought not to be hurt by the one or to be pleased by the other. Other- wise we shall neglect many essential points, shall desert our 46 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. II. dnty both to the state and in private life through excessive fear of insults or weariness of them, and sometimes we shall even miss what would do us good, while tortured by this womanish pain at hearing something not to our mind. Sometimes, too, when enraged with powerful men we shall expose this failing by our reckless freedom of speech ; yet it is not freedom to suffer nothing — we are mistaken — freedom consists in raising one's mind superior to injuries and becoming a person whose pleasures come from himself alone, in separating oneself from external circumstances that one may not have to lead a disturbed life in fear of the laughter and tongues of all men ; for if any man can offer an in- sult, who is there who cannot ? The wise man and the would- be wise man will apply different remedies to this ; for it is only those whose philosophical education is incomplete, and who still guide themselves by public opinion, who would suppose that they ought to spend their lives in the midst of insults and injuries ; yet all things happen in a more endurable fashion to men who are prepared for them. The nobler a man is by birth, by reputation, or by inheritance, the more bravely he should bear himself, remembering that the tallest men stand in the front rank in battle. As for insults, offensive language, marks of disgrace, and such-like disfigurements, he ought to bear them as he would bear the shouts of the enemy, and darts or stones flung from a distance, which rattle upon his helmet without causing a wound ; while he should look upon injuries as wounds, some received on his armour and others on his body, which he endures without falling or even leaving his place in the i-anks. Even though you be hard pressed and violently attacked by the enemy, still it is base to give way ; hold the post assigned to you by nature. You ask, what this post is ? it is that of being a man. The wise man has another help, of the opposite kind to this ; you are hard at work, while he has already won the victory. Do not Cn. XIX.] ON THE FIRMNESP Op THE WISE MAN. 47 quarrel with your own good advantage, and, until you shall have made your way to the truth, keep alive this hope in your minds, be willing to receive the news of a better life, and encourage it by your admiration and your prayers; it is to the interest of the commonwealth of mankind that there should be some one who is unconquered, some one against whom fortune has no power. 4R CH. II.] OF AKGER. 49 THE THIRD BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO NOVATUS. OF ANGER. BOOK I. I. Y^OU have demanded of me, Novatus, that I should write how anger may be soothed, and it appears to me that you are right in feeling especial fear of this passion, which IS above all others hideous and wild : for the others have some alloy of peace and quiet, but this consists wholly in action and the impulse of grief, raging with an utterly inhuman lust for arms, blood and tortures, careless of Itself provided it hurts another, rushing upon the very point of the sword, and greedy for revenge even when it drags the avenger to ruin with itself. Some of the wisest of men have in consequence of this called anger a short madness : for it is equally devoid of self control, regardless of decorum, forgetful of kinship, obstinately engrossed in whatever it begins to do, deaf to reason and advice, excited by trifling causes, awkward at perceiving what is true and jnst, and very like a falling rock which breaks itself to pieces upon the very thing which it crushes. That you may know that they whom anger possesses are not sane, look at their appearance ; for as there are distinct symptoms which mark madmen, such as a bold and menacing air, a gloomy brow, a stem face, a hurried walk, restless hands, chanfred colour, quick and strongly-drawn breathing ; the signs of angry men, too, are the same : their eyes blaze and sparkle, their whole face is a deep red with the blood which boils up from the bottom of their heart, their lips quiver, their teeth are set, their hair bristles and stands on end, their breath is laboured and hissing, their joints crack as they twist them about, they groan, bellow, and burst into scarcely intelligible talk, they often clap their hands together and stamp on the ground with their feet, and their whole body is highly-strung and plays those tricks which mark a dis- traught mind, so as to furnish an ugly and shocking picture of self- perversion and excitement. You cannot tell whether this vice is more execrable or more disgusting. Other vices can be concealed and cherished in secret; anger shows itself openly and appears in the countenance, and the greater it is, the more plainly it boils forth. Do you not see how in all animals certain signs appear before they proceed to mischief, and how their entire bodies put off their usual quiet appearance and stir up their ferocity ? Boars foam at the mouth and sharpen their teeth by rubbino- them against trees, bulls toss their horns in the air and scatter the sand with blows of their feet, lions growl, the necks of enraged snakes swell, mad dogs have a sullen look — there is no animal so hateful and venomous by nature that it does not, when seized by anger, show additional fierceness. I know well that the other passions, can hardly be concealed, and that lust, fear, and boldness give signs of tlieir presence and may be discovered beforehand, for there is no one of the stronger passions that does not affect the countenance : what then is the difference between them and anger ? Why, that the other passions are visible, but that this is conspicuous. II. Next, if you choose to view its results and the mis- chief that it does, no plague has cost the human race R *5 50 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. III. more dear: you will see slaughterings and poisonings, accusations and counter-accusations, sacking of cities, ruin of whole peoples, the persons of princes sold into slavery by auction, torches applied to roofs, and fires not merely confined within city- walls but making whole tracts of country glow with hostile flame. See the foundations of the most celebrated cities hardly now to be discerned ; they were ruined by anger. See deserts extending for many miles without an inhabitant : they have been desolated by anger. See all the chiefs whom tradition mentions as instances of ill fate; anger stabbed one of them in his bed, struck down another, though he was protected by the sacred rights of hospitality, tore another to pieces in the very home of the laws and in sight of the crowded forum bade one shed his own blood by the parricide hand of his son, another to have his royal throat cat by the hand of a slave, another to stretch out his limbs on the cross : and hitherto I am speaking merely of individual cases. What, if you were to pass from the consideration of those single men against whom anger has broken out to view whole assemblies cut down by the sword, the people butchered by the soldiery let loose upon it, and whole nations con- demned to death in one common ruin . ..." as though by ' Here a leaf or more has been lost, including the fragment cited in Lactantius, De ira dei, 17 "Ira est cupiditas," &c. The entire passage is :— " But the Stoics did not [>ercei\e that there is a difference between right and wrong; that there is just and unjust anger: and as they could find no remedy for it, they wished to extirpate it. The Peripatetics, on the other hand, declared that it ought not to be destroyed, but re- strained. Those I have sufficiently answered in the sixth book of my ' Institutiones.' It is clear that the philosophers did not comprehend the reason of anger, from the definitions of it which Seneca has enu- merated in the books 'On Anger' which he has written. ' Anger,' he says, • is the desire of avenging an injury.' Others, as Posidouius says, call it ' a desire to punish one by whom you think that you have been unjustly injured.' Some have defined it thus, ' Anger is an im| u!se CH. III.] OF ANGER. 51 men who either freed themselves from our charge or despised our authority ? Why, wherefore is the p^'eople angry with gladiators, and so unjust as to think itself wronged if they do not die cheerfully ? It thinks itself scorned, and by looks, gestures, and excitement turns itself from a mere spectator into an adversary. Everything of this sort is not anger, but the semblance of anger, like that of boys who want to beat the ground when they have fallen upon it, and who often do not even know why they are angry, but are merely angry without any reason or having received any injury, yet not without some semblance of injury received, or without some wish to exact a penalty for it. Thus they are deceived by the likeness of blows, and are appeased by the pretended tears of those who deprecate their wrath, and thus an unreal grief is healed by an unreal revenge. III. " We often are angry," says our adversary, " not with men who have hurt us, but with men who are going to hurt us : so you may be sure that anger is not bom oi injiury." It is true that we are angry with those who are going to hurt us, but they do ah-eady hurt us in intention, and one who is going to do an injury is already doing it! "The weakest of men," argues he, " are often angry with the most powerful : so you may be sure that anger is not a desire to punish their antagonist— for men do not desire to punish him when they cannot hope to do so." In the first place, I spoke of a desire to inflict punishment, not a power to do so : now men desire even what they cannot obtain. In the next place, no one is so low in station as not to be able to hope to inflict punishment even upon the greatest of men : we all are powerful for mischief. of the mind to injure him who either has injured you or has sought to injure you.' Aristotle's definition differs but little from our own. He S''iys, ' that anger is a desire to repay suffering,'" etc. r>2 MINOR DIALOGUES. [rK. III. Aristotle's definition differs little from mine: for he declares itn^'er to be a desire to repay suffering. It would be a lon^ task to examine the difFerences between his definition and mine : it may be urged against both of them that wild l)easts become angry without being excited by injury, and without any idea of punishing others or requiting them with pain : for, even though tliey do these things, these are not what they aim at doing. Wc must admit, how- ever, that neither wild beasts nor any other creature except man is subject to anger : for, whilst anger is the foe of reason, it nevertheless does not arise in any place where reason cannot dwell. Wild beasts have impulses, fury, cruelty, combativeness : they have not anger any more than they have luxury : yet they indulge in some pleasures with less self-control than human beings. Do not believe the poet who says : •• The boar his wrath forgets, the stag forgets the hounds, The beur forgets how midst the herd he leaped with frantic bounds."* When he speaks of beasts being angry he means that they are excited, roused up: for indeed they know no more how to be angry than they know how to pardon. Dumb creatures have not human feelings, but have certain im- pulses which resemble them : for if it w^ere not so, if they could feel love and hate, they would likewise be capable of friendship and enmity, of disiigreement and agreement. Some traces of these qualities exist even in them, though properly all of them, whether good or bad, belong to the human breast alone. To no creature besides man has been given wisdom, foresight, industry, and reflexion. To animals not only human virtues but even human vices are forbidden: their whole constitution, mental and bodily, is unlike that of human beings: in them the royal' and ' Ovid, •• Met." yii. 545-6. TO rjyffiovtKov of the Stoics. CH. v.] OF ANGER. 53 leading principle is drawn from another source, as, for in- stance, they possess a voice, yet not a clear one, but indis- imct and incapable of forming words : a tongue, but one which is fettered and not sufficiently nimble for complex movements : so, too, they possess intellect, the greatest attribute of all, but in a rough and inexact condition. It is, consequently, able to grasp those visions and semblances which rouse it to action, but only in a cloudy and indis- tinct fashion. It follows from this that their impulses and outbreaks are violent, and that they do not feel fear, anxieties, ^'rief, or anger, but some semblances of these feelings :' wherefore they quickly drop them and adopt the convcTse of them : they gi-aze after showing the most vehement rage and terror, and after frantic bellowing and plunging they sti-aightway sink into quiet sleep. IV. What anger is has been sufficiently explained. The difference between it and irascibility is evident: it is the same as that between a drunken man and a drunkard ; hetween a frightened man and a coward. It is possible for an angry man not to be irascible i an irascible man may sometimes not be angry. I shall omit the other varieties of anger, which the Greeks distinguish by various names, because we have no distinctive words for them in our lan- guage, although we call men bitter, and harsh, and also I)eevish, frantic, clamorous, snrly, and fierce : all of which are different forms of irascibility. Among these you may class sulkiness, a refined form of irascibility ; for there are some sorts of anger which go no further than noise, while some are as lasting as tliey are common : some are fierce m deed, but inclined to be sparing of words : some expend themselves in bitter words and curses : some do not go beyond complaining and turning one's back: some are great, deep-seated, and brood within a man : there are a thousand other forms of a multiform evil. V. We have now finished our enquiry as to what anger 54 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. 111. is, whether it exists in any other creature besides man, what tlie diffei-ence is between it and irascibility, and how many forms it possesses. Let us now enquire whether anger be in accordance with nature, and whether it be useful and worth entertaining in some measure. Whether it be according to nature will become evident if we consider man's nature, than which what is more gentle while it is in its proper condition ? Yet what is more cruel than anger ? What is more affectionate to others than man ? Yet what is more savage against them than anger ? Mankind is born for mutual assis- tance, anger for mutual ruin : the former loves society, the latter estrangement. The one loves to do good, the other to do harm ; the one to help even strangers, the other to attack even its dearest friends. The one is ready even to sacrifice itself for the good of others, the other to plunge into peril provided it drags others with it. Who, then, can be more ignorant of nature than he who classes this cruel and hurtful vice as belonging to her best and most polished work ? Anger, as we have said, is eager to punish ; and that such a desire should exist in man's peaceful breast is least of all according to his nature; for human life is founded on benefits and harmony, and is bound together into an alliance for the common help of all, not by terror, but by love towards one another. VI. "What, then ? Is not correction sometimes neces- sary ? " Of course it is ; but with discretion, not with anger ; for it does not injure, but heals under the guise of injury. We char crooked spearshafts to straighten them, and force them by driving in wedges, not in order to break them, but to take the bends out of them ; and, in like manner, by applying pain to the body or mind we correct dispositions which have been rendered crooked by vice. So the phy- sician at first, when dealing with slight disorders, tries not to make much change in his patient's daily habits, to rcgulito en. VI.] OF ANGER. 55 his food, drink, and exercise, and to improve his health merely by altering the order in which he takes them. The next step is to see whether an alteration in their amount will be of service. If neither alteration of the order or of the amount is of use, he cuts off some and reduces others. If even this does not answer, he forbids food, and dis- burdens the body by fasting. If milder remedies have proved useless he opens a vein; if the extremities are injuring the body and infecting it with disease he lays his hands upon the limbs ; yet none of his treatment is con- sidered harsh if its result is to give health. Similarly, it is the duty of the chief administrator of the laws, or the ruler of a state, to correct ill-disposed men, as long as he is able, with words, and even with gentle ones, that he may persuade them to do what they ought, inspire them with a love of honour and justice, and cause them to hate vice and set store upon virtue. He must then pass on to severer language, still confining himself to advising and reprimand- ing ; last of all he must betake himself to punishments, yet still making them slight and temporary. He ought to assign extreme punishments only to extreme crimes, that no one may die unless it be even to the criminal's own advantage that he should die. He will differ from the physician in one point alone; for whereas physicians render it easy to die for those to whom they cannot grant the boon of life, he will drive the condemned out of life with ig- nominy and disgrace, not because he takes pleasure in any man's being punished, for the wise man is far from such inhuman ferocity, but that they may be a warning to all men, and that, since they would not be useful when alive, the state may at any rate profit by their death. Man's nature is not, therefore, desirous of inflicting punishment ; neither, therefore, is anger in accordance with man's nature, hecause that is desirous of inflicting punishment. I will also a l('uce Plato's argument — for what harm is there in usino- % 56 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. III. other men's arguments, so far as they are on our side ? " A good man," says he, " does not do any hurt : it is only punishment which hurts. Punishment, therefore, does not accord with a good man : wherefore anger does not do so either, because punishment and anger accord one with another. If a good man takes no pleasure in punishment, he will also take no pleasure in that state of mind to which punishment gives pleasure: consequently anger is not natural to man." VII. May it not be that, although anger be not natural, it may be right to adopt it, because it often proves useful ? It rouses the spirit and excites it; and courage does nothing grand in war without it, unless its flame be supplied from this source; this is the goad which stirs up bold men and sends them to encounter perils. Some therefore consider it to be best to control anger, not to banish it utterly, but to cut off its extravagances, and force it to keep within useful bounds, so as to retain that part of it without which action will become languid and all strength and activity of mind will die away. In the first place, it is easier to banish dangerous passions than to rule them ; it is easier not to admit them than to keep them in order when admitted ; for when they have established themselves in possession of the mind they are more powerful than the lawful ruler, and will in no wise permit themselves to be weakened or abridged. In the next place, Reason herself, who holds the reins, is only strong while she remains apart from the passions ; if she mixes and befouls herself with them she becomes no longer able to restrain those whom she might once have cleared out of her path ; for the mind, when once excited and shaken up, goes whither the passions drive it. There are certain things whose beginnings lie in our own power, but which, when developed, dnig us along by their own force and leave us no retreat. Those who have flung themselves over a preci- OF ANGER. 67 CH. VIII.] pice have no control over their movements, nor can they stop or slacken their pace when once started, for their own headlong and irremediable rashness has left no room for either reflexion or remorse, and they cannot help going to leno-ths which they might have avoided. So, also, the mind, when it has abandoned itself to anger, love, or any other passion, is unable to check itself : its own weight and the downward tendency of vices must needs carry the man off and hurl him into the lowest depth. VIII. The best plan is to reject straightway the first in- centives to anger, to resist its very beginnings, and to take care not to be betrayed into it : for if once it begins to carry us away, it is hard to get back again into a healthy condition, because reason goes for nothing when once pas- sion has been admitted to the mind, and has by our own free will been given a certain authority, it will for the future do as much as it chooses, not only as much as you will allow it. The enemy, I repeat, must be met and driven back at the outermost frontier-line : for when he has once entered the city and passed its gates, he will not allow his prisoners to set bounds to his victory. The mind does not stand apart and view its passions from without, so as not to permit them to advance further than they ought, but it is itself changed into a i)assion, and is therefore unable to check what once was useful and wholesome strength, now that it has become degenerate and misapplied : for passion and reason, as I said before, have not distinct and separate provinces, but consist of the changes of the mind itself for better or for worse. How then can reason recover itself when it is conquered and held down by vices, when it has given way to ano-er ? or how can it extricate itself from a confused mixture, the greater part of which consists of the lower qualities ? " But," argues our adversary, " some men when in anger control them elves." Do they so far control them- eelves that they do nothing which anger dictates, or some- 68 MINOR DIALOG I' tS. [bK. III. what ? If they do nothing thereof, it becomes evident that anger is not essential to the conduct of affairs, although your sect advocated it as possessing greater strength than ^^^^o'* Finally, I ask, is anger stronger or weaker than reason ? If stronger, how can reason impose any check upon it, since it is only the less powerful that obey : if weaker, then reason is competent to effect its ends without anger, and does not need the help of a less power- ful quality. " But some angry men remain consistent and control themselves." When do they do so? It is when their anger is disappearing and leaving them of its own accord, not when it was red-hot, for then it was more powerful than they. "What then? do not men, even in the height of their anger, sometimes let their enemies go whole and unhurt, and refrain from injuring them ? " They do : but when do they do so ? It is when one passion over- powers another, and either fear or greed gets the upper hand for a while. On such occasions, it is not thanks to reason that anger is stilled, but owing to an untrustworthy and fleeting truce between the passions. IX. In the next place, anger has nothing useful in itself, and does not rouse up the mind to warlike deeds : for a virtue, being self-suflicient, never needs the a.s.sistance of a vice : whenever it needs an impetuous effort, it does not become angry, but rises to the occasion, and excites orsoothes Itself as far as it deems requisite, just as the machines which hurl darts may be twisted to a greater or lesser deo-ree of tension at the manager's pleasure. "Anger," says' Aris- totle, " is necessary, nor can any fight be won without it, unless it fills the mind, and kindles up the spirit. It must, however, be made use of, not as a general, but as a soldier.'* Now this is untrue; for if it listens to reason and follows whither reason leads, it is no longer anger, whose charac- teristic is obstinacy : if, again, it is di.sobedient and will not he oniet when ordered, but is carried away by its own CH. X.] OF ANGKR. 59 wilful and headstrong spirit, it is then as useless an aid to the mind as a soldier who disregards the sounding of the retreat would be to a genenil. If, therefore, anger allows limits to be imposed upon it, it must be called by some other name, and ceases to be anger, wliich I understand to be un- bridled and unmanageable : and if it does not allow limits to be imposed upon it, it is harmful and not to be counted among aids : wherefore either anger is not anger, or it is useless : for if any man demands the infliction of punish- ment, not because he is eager for the punishment itself, but because it is right to inflict it, he ought not to be counted as an angry man : that will be the useful soldier, who knows how to obey orders : the passions cannot obey any more than they can command. X. For this cause reason will never call to its aid blind and fierce impulses, over whom she herself possesses no authority, and which she never can resti-ain save by setting against them similar and equally powerful passions, as for example, fear against anger, anger against sloth, greed against timidity. May virtue never come to such a pass, that reason should fly for aid to vices ! The mind can find no safe repose there, it must needs be shaken and tempest- tossed if it be safe only because of its own defects, if it can- not be brave without anger, diligent without greed, quiet without fear : such is the despotism under which a man must live if he becomes the slave of a passion. Are you not ashamed to put virtues under the patronage of vices ? Then, too, reason ceases to have any power if she can do nothing without passion, and begins to be equal and like unto passion ; for what difference is there between them if passion without reason be as rash as reason without passion is helpless ? They are both on the same level, if one cannot exist without the other. Yet who could endure that pas- sion should be made equal to reason ? " Then," says our adversary, " passion is useful, provided it be moderate.'* I 60 MINOR DIALOGUES [bK. III. Nay, only if it be useful by nature : but if it be disobedient to authority and reason, all that we gain by its moderation is that the less there is of it, the less harm it does : wherefore a moderate passion is nothing but a moderate evil. XI. " But," argues he, " against our enemies anger is necessary." In no case is it less necessary ; since our attacks ought not to be disorderly, but regulated and under con- trol. What, indeed, is it except anger, so ruinous to itself, that overthrows barbarians, who have so much more bodily strength than we, and are so much better able to endure fatigue ? Gladiators, too, protect themselves by skill, but expose themselves to wounds when they are angry. Moreover, of what use is anger, when the same end can be arrived at by reason ? Do jou suppose that a hunter is angry with the beasts he kills ? Yet he meets them when they attack him, and follows them when they flee from him, all of which is managed by reason without anger. When so many thousands of Cimbri and Teutones poured over the Alps, what was it that caused them to perish so completely, that no messenger, only common rumour, carried the news of that great defeat to their homes, except that with them anger stood in the place of courage ? and anger, although sometimes it overthrows and breaks to pieces whatever it meets, yet is more often its own destruction. Who can be braver than the Germans ? who charge more boldly ? who have more love of arms, among which they are born and bred, for which alone they care, to the neglect of everything else ? Who can be more hardened to undergo every hardship, since a large part of them have no store of clothing for the body, no shelter from the continual rigour of the climate : yet Spaniards and Gauls, and even the unwarlike races of Asia and Syria cut them down before the main legion comes within sight, nothing but their own irascibility expos ing them to death. Give but intelligence to those CH. XII.] OP ANGER. 61 minds, and discipline to those bodies of theirs, which now are ignorant of vicious refinements, luxury, and wealth, — to say nothing more, we should cei-tainly be obliged to go back to the ancient Roman habits of life. By what did Fabius restore the shattered forces of the state, except by knowing how to delay and spin out time, which angry men know not how to do ? The empire, which then was at its last gasp, would have perished if Fabius had been as daring as anger urged him to be : but he took thought about the condition of affairs, and after counting his force, no part of which could be lost without every thino- being lost with it, he laid aside thoughts of grief and re- venge, turning his sole attention to what was profitable and to making the most of his opportunities, and conquered his anger before he conquered Hannibal. What did Scipio do ? Did he not leave behind Hannibal and the Car- thaginian army, and all with whom he had a right to be angry, and carry over the war into Africa with such de- liberation that he made his enemies think him luxurious and lazy ? What did the second Scipio do ? Did he not remain a long, long time before Numantia, and bear with calmness the reproach to himself and to his conntry that Numantia took longer to conquer than Carthage ? By i)lockading and investing his enemies, he brought them to such straits that they perished by their own swords. Anger, therefore, is not useful even in wars or battles : for it is prone to rashness, and while trying to bring others into danger, does not guard itself against danger. The most trustworthy virtue is that which long and carefully considers itself, controls itself, and slowly and deliberately brings itself to the front. XII. " What, then," asks our adversary, " is a good man not to be angry if he sees his father murdered or his mother outraged ? " No, he will not be angry, but will avenge them, or protect them. Why do you fear that i 62 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. til. CH. Xlll.] OP ANGER. 63 filiiil piety will not prove a sufficient spur to him even withoat anger ? You may as well say — " What then ? When a good man sees his father or his son being cut down, I suppose he will not weep or faint," as we see women do whenever any trifling rumour of danger reaches them. The good man will do his duty without disturbance or fear, and he will perform the duty of a good man, so as to do nothing unworthy of a m:m. My father will be murdered : then I will defend him : he has been slain, then I will avenge him, not because I am grieved, but because it is my duty. '* Good men are made angry by injuries done to their friends " When you say this, Theophrastus, you seek to throw discredit upon more manly maxims; you leave the judge and appeal to the mob : because every one is angry when such things befall his own friends, you suppose that men will decide that it is their duty to do what they do : for as a rule every man con- siders a passion which he recognises to be a righteous one. But he does the same thing if the hot water is not ready for his drink, if a glass be broken, or his shoe splashed with mud. It is not filial piety, but weakness of mind that produces this anger, as children weep when they lose their parents, just as they do when they lose their toys. To feel anger on behalf of one's friends does not show a loving, but a weak mind : it is admirable and worthy conduct to stand forth as the defender of one's parents, children, friends, and countrymen, at the call of duty itself, acting of one's own free will, forming a deliberate judgment, and looking forward to the future, not in an ini[)ulsive, frenzied fashion. No passion is more eager for revenge than anger, and for that very reason it is unapt to ol)tain it : being over hasty and frantic, like almost all desires, it hinders itself in the attainment of its own object, and therefore has never been useful either in peace or war : for it makes peace like war, and when in arms forgets that Mars belongs to neither side, and falls into the power of the enemy, because it is not in its own. In the next place, vices ought not to be received into common use because on some occa- sions they have effected somewhat : for so also fevers are good for certain kinds of ill-health, but nevertheless it is better to be altogether free from them : it is a hateful mode of cure to owe one's health to disease. Similarly, although anger, like poison, or falling headlong, or being shipwrecked, may have unexpectedly done good, yet it ought not on that account to be classed as wholesome, for poisons have often proved good for the health. XIII. Moreover, qualities which we ought to possess become better and more desirable the more extensive they are: if justice is a good thing, no one will say that it would be better if any part were subtracted from it; if bravery is a good thing, no one would wish it to be in any way curtailed: consequently the greater anger is, the better it is, for who ever objected to a good thing being increased ? But it is not expedient that anger should }^ increased : therefore it is not expedient that it should exist at all, for that which grows bad by increase cannot be a good thing. "Anger is useful," says our adversary, "because it makes men more ready to fight." According to that mode of reasoning, then, drunkenness also is a good thing, for it makes men insolent and daring, and many use their weapons better when the worse for liquor : nay, accordino" to that reasoning, also, you may call frenzy and madness essential to strength, because madness often makes men stronger. Why, does not fear often by the rule of contraries make men bolder, and does not the terror of death rouse up even arrant cowards to join battle ? Yet anger, drunken- ness, fear, and the like, are base and temporary incite- ments to action, and can furnish no arms to virtue, which has no need of vices, although they may at times be of some little assistance to sluggish and cowardly minds. G4 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. III. CH. XVI.] OF AXGER. 65 Kg man becomes braver through anger, except one who without anger would not have been brave at all: anger does not therefore come to assist courage, but to take its place. What are we to say to the argument that, if anger were a good thing it would attach itself to all the best men ? Yet the most irascible of creatures are infants, old men, and sick people. Every weakling is naturally prone to complaint. XIV It is impossible, says Theophrastus, for a good man not to be angry with bad men. By ^.his reasoning the better a man is, the more irascible he will be : yet will he not rather be more tranquil, more free from passions, and hating no one : indeed, what reason has he for hating sinners, since it is error that leads them into such crimes ? now it does not become a sensible man to hate the erring, since if so he will hate himself : let him think how many things he does contrary to good morals, how much of what he has done stands in need of pardon, and he will soon become angry with himself also, for no righteous judge pronounces a different judgment in his own case and in that of others. No one, I affirm, will be found who can acquit himself. Every one when he calls himself innocent looks rather to external witnesses than to his own con- science. How much more philanthropic it is to deal with the erring in a gentle and fatherly spirit, and to call them into the right course instead of hunting them down ? When a man is wandering about our fields because he has lost his way, it is better to place him on the right path than to drive him away. . j i at. XV. The sinner ought, therefore, to be corrected both by warning and by force, both by gentle and harsh means, and may be made a better man both towards himself and others by chastisement, but not by anger : for who is angry with the patient whose wounds he is tending ? " But they cannot be corrected, and there is nothing in them that is gentle or that admits of good hope." Then let them be removed from mortal society, if they are likely to deprave every one with whom they come in contact, and let them cease to be bad men in the only way in which they can : ye let this be done without hatred: for what reason have I for hating the man to whom I am doing the greatest good smce I am rescuing him from himself ? Does a man hate his own limbs when he cuts them off ? That is n^t an act of anger, but a lamentable method of healing We knock mad dogs on the head, we slaughter fierce and savage bulls, and we doom scabby sheep to the knife, lest they should infect our flocks : we destroy monstrous births and we a so drown our children if they are bom weakly or unnaturally formed; to separate what is useless from what IS sound 18 an act, not of anger, but of reason. Nothing becomes one who inflicts punishment less than an^er because the punishment has all the more power to work reformation if the sentence be pronounced with deliberate judgment. This is why Socrates said to the slave "I would strike you, were I not angry." He put off the 'cor- rection of the slave to a calmer season ; at the moment he corrected himself. Who can boast that he has his passions under control, when Socrates did not dare to trust himself to his anger ? XVI. We do not, therefore, need an angry chastiser to punish the erring and wicked : for since anger is a cnme of the mind, it is not right that sins should be punished by sin. "What ! am I not to be angry with a robber, or a poisoner?" No: for I am not angry with myself when I bleed myself. I apply all kinds of punish- ment as remedies. You are as yet only in the first stage of error, and do not go wrong seriously, although you do so often : then I will try to amend you by a reprimand given first in private and then in public.' You, again, have gone ' The gospel rule, Matt, iviii. 15. 66 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. III. too far to be restored to virtue by words alone ; you must be kept in order by disgrace. For the next, some stronger measure is required, something that he can feel must be branded upon him ; you, sir, shall be sent into exile and to a desert place. The next man's thorough villany needs harsher remedies : chains and public imprisonment must be applied to him. You, lastly, have an incurably vicious mind and add crime to crime : you have come to such a pass that you are not influenced by the arguments which are never wanting to recommend evil, but sin itself is to you a sufficient reason for sinning : you have so steeped vour whole heart in wickedness, that wickedness cannot be taken from you without bringing your heart with it. Wretched man ! you have long sought to die ; we will do you good service, we will take away that madness from which you suffer, and to you who have so long lived a misery to yourself and to others, we will give the only good thing which remains, that is, death. Why should I be angry with a man just when I am doing him good : sometimes the truest form of compassion is to put a man to death. If I were a skilled and learned physician, and were to enter a hospital, or a rich' man's house, I should not have prescribed the same treatment for all the patients who were suffering from various diseases. I see different kinds of vice in the vast number of different minds, and am called in to heal the whole body of citizens : let us seek for the re- medies proper for each disease. This man may be cured by his own sense of honour, that one by travel, that one by pain, that one by want, that one by the sword. If, therefore, it becomes my duty as a magistrate to put on black ' robes, and summon an assembly by the sound of a » DivUis (where there might be an army of slaves). a « Lorsque le Preteur devoit prononeer la sentence d un coupable, il se depouiUoit de la robe pretexte, et se rev^toit alors d'une simple tanique, ou d'une autre robe, presque us^, et d'un blanc sale (sorduia) OP ANGER. 67 CH. XVI.] trumpet ■ I shall walk to the seat of judgment not in a rage or ma hostile sp.nt, bnt with the countenance of a jud^e • I shall pronounce the formal sentence in a grave and gentle rather than a furious voice, and shall bid them proceed ou d'un p48 .res fonce tirant sur le noir (toga pulla), telle au'en nor .o,e„. a Ro^e ie pe.ip.e et les pauvre, (pu^^ pa„ Ca"^." our, solemnelles et mar,,u^s par un deuil^-blir, hs Senateura auk u>.ent le lafelave, e. le, Magis.ra.s la pretexte. U p-.u^re la htem. (No doubt " inside out.»-J E B M ) ' " On pourroit supposer avec assez de vraisemblance que par eette ex pression, S^„e,ue a voulu faire allusion i ce chan!emem ^ut-.t« les Magistrats qui devoient juger a n,ort „„ c^'p^rtoWnt" ansa, leur r^he renversee, ou la jettoient ils de travers on conEen ur u„ , ,,_ p„„,„.^„^ p^.^^_.^ p^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ trouble del: spnt. S, cette conjecture est vraie, comme je serais asse^ porte 4 ctJfre i xpress,on p^j,„sa vestU, dont S«„e.,ue s'est servi ic, indiqueitrZ' oeneca, edited by J. A. Naigeon. Paris, 1778 ) M nl?*"' !^'i """■"'''" ' ""' """-"^l™ «ai»s Gracchus pretend avoir ^t* prat quee de tout terns a Rome. • Lorsqu'un citoyen," dit T" avo un proc.e, cr,n„„el qui alloit i la mort, s'il refusoit d'obe r aux somm ions qui lu, ^toieot faites; lejour qu'on devoit le juger en envo^H pette, et jamais avant que cette c^r^monie eflt 6i6 observes les jJ^L donneroient leur voix contre lui : tant ces hommes sats ' alme « hard, 'iribun, ^n presence du peuple Remain que w* 1 68 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. IIT. CH. XYII.] OF ANGER. C9 sternly, yet not angrily. Even when I command a criminal to be beheaded, when I sew a parricide up in a sack, when 1 send a man to be punished by military law, when I fling a traitor or public enemy down the Tarpeian Rock, I shall be free from anger, and shall look and feel just as though I were crushing snakes and other venomous creatures. " Anger is necessary to enable us to punish." What ? do you think that the law is angry with men whom it does not know, whom it has never seen, who it hopes will never exist ? We ought, therefore, to adopt the law's frame of mind, which does not become angry, but merely defines offences : for, if it is right for a good man to be angry at wicked crimes, it will also be right for him to be moved with envy at the prosperity of wicked men : what, indeed, is more scandalous than that in some cases the very men, for whose deserts no fortune could be found bad enough, should flourish and actually be the spoiled children of suc- cess ? Yet he will see their affluence without envy, just as he sees their crimes without anger : a good judge condemns wrongful acts, but does not hate them. " What then ? when the wise man is dealing with something of this kind, will his mind not be affected by it and become excited be- yond its usual wont ? " I admit that it will : he will experience a slight and trifling emotion ; for, as Zeno says, " Even in the mind of the wise man, a scar remains after the wound is quite healed." He will, therefore, feel certain hints and semblances of passions ; but he will be free from the passions themselves. XVII. Aristotle says that " certain passions, if one makes a proper use of them, act as arms " : which would be true if, like weapons of war, they could be taken up or laid aside at the pleasure of their wielder. These arms, which Aristotle assigns to virtue, fight of their own accord, do not wait to be seized by the hand, and possess a man instead of being possessed by him. We have no need of external weapons, nature has equipped us suflBciently by giving us reason. She has bestowed this weapon upon us, which is strong, imperishable, and obedient to our will, not uncertain or capable of being turned against its master. Reason suffices by itself not merely to take thought for the future, but to manage our affairs :^ what, then, can be more foolish than for reason to beg anger for protection, that is, for what is certain to beg of what is uncertain ? what is trustworthy of what is faithless ? what is whole of what is sick ? What, indeed ? since reason is far more powerful by itself even in performing those operations in which the help of anger seems especially needful : for when reason has decided that a particular thing should be done, she perseveres in doing it; not being able to find anything better than herself to exchange with. She, therefore, abides by her purpose when it has once been formed; whereas anger is often overcome by pity : for it possesses no firm strength, but merely swells like an empty bladder, and makes a violent beginning, just like the winds which rise from the earth and are caused by rivers and marshes, which blow furiously without any continuance: anger begins with a mighty nish, and then falls away, becoming fatigued too soon : that which but lately thought of nothing but cruelty and novel forms of torture, is become quite softened and gentle when the time comes for punishment to be inflicted. Passion soon cools, whereas reason is always consistent : yet even in cases where anger has con- tinued to burn, it often happens that although there may be many who deserve to die, yet after the death of two or three it ceases to slay. Its first onset is fierce, just as the teeth of snakes when first roused from their lair are venomous, but become harmless after repeated bites have exhausted their poison. Consequently those who are * I.e. not only for counsel but for action. 70 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. III. equally guilty are not equally punished, and often he who has done less is punished more, because he fell in the way of anger when it was fresher. It is altogether irregular ; at one time it runs into undue excess, at another it falls short of its duty : for it indulges its own feelings and gives Hentence according to its caprices, will not listen to evidence, allows the defence no opportunity of being heard, clings to what it has wrongly assumed, and will not suffer its opinion to be wrested from it, even when it is a mistaken one. XVIII. Reason gives each side time to plead ; moreover, she herself demands adjournment, that she may have suffi- cient scope for the discovery of the truth ; whereas anger is in a hurry : reason wishes to give a just decision ; anger wishes its decision to be thought just : reason looks no further than the matter in hand; anger is excited by empty matters hovering on the outskirts of the case : it is irritated by anything approaching to a confident demeanour, a loud voice, an unrestrained speech, dainty apparel, high- flown pleading, or popularity with the public. It often condemns a man because it dislikes his patron ; it loves and maintains error even when truth is staring it in the face. It hates to be proved wrong, and thinks it more honour- able to persevere in a mistaken line of conduct than to retract it. I remember Gnaeus Piso, a man who was free from many vices, yet of a perverse disposition, and one who mistook harshness for consistency. In his anger he ordered a soldier to be led off to execution because he had returned from furlough without his comrade, as though he must have murdered him if he could not show him. When the man asked for time for search, he would not grant it: the condemned man was brought outside the rampart, and was just offering his neck to the axe, when suddenly there appeared his comrade who was thought to bo slain. Hereupon the centurion in charge of the execution bade the guardsman sheathe his sword, and led the condemned CH. XIX.] OF ANGER. 71 man back to Piso, to restore to him the innocence which Fortune had restored to the soldier. They were led into his presence by their fellow soldiers amid the great joy of the whole camp, embracing one another and accompanied by a vast crowd. Piso mounted the tribunal in a fury and ordered them both to be executed, both him who had not murdered and him who had not been slain. What could be more un- worthy than this ? Because one was proved to be innocent, two perished. Piso even added a third : for he actually ordered the centurion, who had brought back the con- demned man, to be put to death. Three men were set up to die in the same place because one was innocent. O, how clever is anger at inventing reasons for its frenzy ! " You," it says, " I order to be executed, because you have been con- demned to death : you, because you have been the cause of your comrade's condemnation, and you, because when ordered to put him to death you disobeyed your general." Re dis- covered the means of charging them with three crimes, because he could find no crime in them. XIX. Irascibility, I say, has this fault— it is loth to be ruled : it is angry with the truth itself, if it comes to light against its will : it assails those whom it has marked for its victims with shouting and riotous noise and gesticulation of the entire body, together with reproaches and curses. Not thus does reason act : but if it must be so, she silently and quietly wipes out whole households, destroys entire families of the enemies of the state, together with their wives and children, throws down their very dwellings, levels them with the ground, and roots out the names of those who are the foes of liberty. This she does without grinding her teeth or shaking her head, or doing anything unbecoming to a judge, whose countenance ought to be especially calm and composed at the time when he is pronouncing an important sentence. " What need is there," asks Hieronymus, " for you to bite your own lips when you want to strike some one ? " What 72 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. III. CH. XX.] OP ANGER. 73 would he have said, had he seen a proconsul leap down from the tribunal, snatch the fasces from the lictor, and tear his own clothes because those of others were not torn as fast as he wished. Why need you upset the table, throw down the drinking cups, knock yourself against the columns, tear your hair, smite your thigh and your breast ? How vehement do you suppose anger to be, if it thus turns back upon itself, because it cannot find vent on another as fast as it wishes ? Such men, therefore, are held back by the bystandei-s and are begged to become reconciled with them- selves. But he who while free from anger assigns to each man the penalty which he deserves, does none of these things. He often lets a man go after detecting his crime, if his peni- tence for what he has done gives good hope for the future, if he perceives that the man's wickedness is not deeply rooted in his mind, but is only, as the saying is, skin- deep. He will grant impunity in cases where it will hurt neither the receiver nor the giver. In some cases he will punish great crimes more leniently than lesser ones, if the former were the result of momentary impulse, not of cruelty, while the latter were instinct with secret, under- hand, long-practised craftiness. The same fault, committed by two separate men, will not be visited by him with the same penalty, if the one was guilty of it through careless- ness, the other with a premeditated intention of doing mis- chief. In all dealing with crime he will remember that the one form of punishment is meant to make bad men better, and the other to put them out of the way. In either case he will look to the future, not to the past : for, as Plato says, " no wise man punishes any one because he has smned, but that he may sin no more : for what is past cannot be recalled, but what is to come may be checked." Those, too, whom he wishes to make examples of the ill success of wickedness, he executes publicly, not merely in order that they themselves may die, but that by dying they may deter others from doing likewise. You see how free from any mental disturbance a man ought to be who has to weigh and consider all this, when he deals with a matter I which ought to be handled with the utmost care, I mean, the power of life and death. The sword of justice is ill- placed in the hands of an angry man. XX. Neither ought it to be believed that anger con- tributes anything to magnanimity: what it gives is not magnanimity but vain glory. The increase which disease produces in bodies swollen with morbid humours is not healthy growth, but bloated corpulence. All those j whose madness raises them above human considerations, ! believe themselves to be inspired with high and sublime 1 ideas ; but there is no solid ground beneath, and what is built without foundation is liable to collapse in ruin. Anger has no ground to stand upon, and does not rise from a firm and enduring foundation, but is a windy, empty quality, as far removed from true magnanimity as fool- hardiness from courage, boastfulness from confidence, gloom from austerity, cruelty from strictness. There is, I say, a great difPerence between a lofty and a proud mind : anger brings about nothing grand or beautiful. On the other hand, to be constantly irritated seems to me to be the part of a languid and unhappy mind, conscious of its own feebleness, like folk with diseased bodies covered with sores, who cry out at the Lightest touch. Anger, therefore, is a vice which for the most part affects women and children. " Yet it affects men also." Because many men, too, have womanish or childish intellects. " But what are we to say ? do not some words fall from angry men which appear to flow from a great mind ? " Yes, to those who know not what true greatness is : as, for example, that foul and hateful saying, " Let them hateme,providedthey fear me," which you may be sure was written in Sulla's time. I know not which was the worse of the two things he wished 74 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. III. for, that he might be hated or that he might be feared. It occurs to his mind that some day people will curse him, plot against him, crush him : what prayer does he add to this ? May all the gods curse him — for discovering a cure for hate so worthy of it. " Let them hate." How ? " Provided they obey me ? " No ! " Provided they ap- prove of me ? " No ! How then ? " Provided they fear me ! " I would not even be loved upon such terms. Do you imagine that this was a very spirited saying ? You are wrong: this is not greatness, but monstrosity. You should not believe the words of angry men, whose speech is very loud and menacing, while their mind within them is as timid as possible : nor need you suppose that the most eloquent of men, Titus Livius, was right in describing somebody as being " of a great rather than a good dispo- sition." The things cannot be separated : he must either be good or else he cannot be great, because I take great- ness of mind to mean that it is unshaken, sound throughout, firm and uniform to its very foundation ; such as cannot exist in evil dispositions. Such dispositions may be ter- rible, frantic, and destnictive, but cannot possess greatness ; because greatness rests upon goodness, and owes its strength to it. " Yet by speech, action, and all outward show they will make one think them great." True, they will say something which you may think shows a great spirit, like Gains Caesar, who when angry with heaven because it inter- fered with his ballet-dancers, whom he imitated more carefully than he attended to them when they acted, and because it frightened his revels by its thunders, surely ill-directed,* challenged Jove to fight, and that to the death, shouting the Homeric verse : — " Carry me off, or I will cnrrj' thee ! * ^ Prorsvs panim certis {i.e., the thunderbolts missed their aim in not Striking him dead). CH. XXI.] OF ANGER. 75 How great was his madness ! He must have believed either that he could not be hurt even by Jupiter himself, or that he could hurt even Jupiter itself. I imagine that this saying of his had no small weight in nerving the minds of the conspirators for their task : for it seemed to be the height of endurance to bear one who could not hear Jupiter. XXI. There is therefore nothing great or noble in anger, even when it seems to be powerful and to contemn both gods and men alike. Any one who thinks that anger produces greatness of mind, would think that luxury produces it: such a man wishes to rest on ivory, to be clothed with purple, and roofed with gold; to remove lands, embank seas, hasten the course of rivers, suspend woods in the air. He would think that avarice shows greatness of mind: for the avaricious man broods over heaps of gold and silver, treats whole provinces as merely fields on his estate, and has larger tracts of country under the charge of single bailiffs than those which consuls once drew lots to administer. He would think that lust shows greatness of mind: for the lustful man swims across straits, castrates troops of hoys, and puts himself within reach of the swords of injured husbands with complete scorn of death. Ambition, too, he would think shows greatness of mind : for the ambitious man is not content with oflace once a year, but, if possible, would fill the calendar of dignities with his name alone, and cover the whole world with his titles. It matters nothing to what heights or lengths these passions may proceed : they are narrow, piti- able, grovelling. Virtue alone is lofty and sublime, nor is anything great which is not at the same time tranquil. 76 CH. II.] OF ANGEK, II. 77 m THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO NOVATUS. OF ANGER. BOOK II. I. \ /f Y first book, Novatus, had a more abundant subject : '*'-*■ for carriages roll easily down hill:* now we must proceed to drier matters. The question before us is whether anger arises from deliberate choice or from impulse, that is, whether it acts of its own accord or like the greater part of those passions which spring up within us without our knowledge. It is necessary for our debate to stoop to the consideration of these matters, in order that it may afterwards be able to rise to loftier themes ; for likewise in our bodies the parts which are first set in order are the bones, sinews, and joints, which are by no means fair to see, albeit they are the foundation of our frame and essential to its life : next to them come the parts of which all beauty of face and appearance consists; and after these, colour, which above all else charms the eye, is applied last of all, when the rest of the body is complete. There is no doubt that anger is roused by the appearance of an injury ' " Vehicularum ridicule Ki>ch," says Gertz, justly, **i>iiiorum makes excellent sense." — J. E. B. M. I being done : but the question before us is, whether anger straightway follows the appearance, and springs up without assistance from the mind, or whether it is roused with the sympathy of the mind. Our (the Stoics') opinion is, that anger can venture upon nothing by itself, without the approval of mind : for to conceive the idea of a wrong having been done, to long to avenge it, and to join the two propositions, that we ought not to have been injured and that it is our duty to avenge our injuries, cannot belong to a mere im- pulse which is excited without our consent. That impulse is a simple act; this is a complex one, and composed of several parts. The man understixnds something to have liappened : he becomes indignant thereat : he condemns the deed ; and he avenges it. All these things cannot be done without his mind agreeing to those matters which touched him. II. Whither, say you, does this inquiry tend ? That we may know what anger is : for if it springs up against our will, it never will yield to reason : because all the motions which take place without our volition are beyond our control and unavoidable, such as shivering when cold water is poured over us, or shrinking when we are touched in certain places. Men's hair rises up at bad news, their faces blush at indecent words, and they are seized with dizziness when looking down a precipice ; and as it is not in our power to prevent any of these things, no reasoning can prevent their taking place. But anger can be put to flight by wise maxims ; for it is a voluntary defect of the mind, and not one of those things which are evolved by the conditions of human life, and which, therefore, may happen even to the wisest of us. Among these and in the first place must be ranked that thrill of the mind which seizes us at the thought of wrongdoing. We feel this even when witnessing the mimic scenes of the stage, or when reading about things that happened long ago. We often 78 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. IV. CH. IV.] OP ANGER, XL 79 feel angry with Clodius for banishing Cicero, and with Antonius for murdering him. Who is not indignant with the wars of Marius, the proscriptions of Sulla? who is not enraged against Theodotus and Achillas and the boy king who dared to commit a more than boyish crime ? ^ Some- times songs excite us, and quickened rhythm and the martial noise of trumpets ; so, too, shocking pictures and the dreadful sight of tortures, however well deserved, affect our minds. Hence it is that we smile when others are smiling, that a crowd of mourners makes us sad, and that we take a glowing interest in another's battles ; all of which feelings are not anger, any more than that which clouds our brow at the sight of a stage shipwreck is sad- ness, or what we feel, when we read how Hannibal after Cannae beset the walls of Rome, can be called fear. All these are emotions of minds which are loth to be moved, and are not passions, but rudiments which may grow into passions. So, too, a soldier starts at the sound of a trumpet, although he may be dressed as a civilian and in the midst of a profound peace, and camp horses prick up their ears at the clash of arms. It is said that Alexander, when Xenophantus was singing, laid his hand upon his weapons. III. None of these things which casually influence the mind deserve to be called passions : the mind, if I may so express it, rather suffers passions to act upon itself than forms them. A passion, therefore, consists not in being affected by the sights which are presented to us, but in giving way to our feelings and following up these chance promptings : for whoever imagines that paleness, bursting into tears, lustful feelings, deep sighs, sudden flashes of the eyes, and so forth, are signs of passion and betray the ' The murder of Pompeius, B.C. 48. Achillas and Theodotus acted under the nominal orders of Ptolemy XII., Cleopatra's brother, then about seventeen years of age. state of the mind, is mistaken, and does not understand that these are merely impulses of the body. Consequently, the bravest of men often turns pale while he is putting on his armour ; when the signal for battle is given, the knees of the boldest soldier shake for a moment ; the heart even of . a great general leaps into his mouth just before the lines I clash together, and the hands and feet even of the most eloquent orator grow stiff and cold while he is preparincr to begin his speech. Anger must not merely move, bul break out of bounds, being an impulse : now, no impulse can take place without the consent of the mind • for it cannot be that we should deal with revenge and punish- ment without the mind being cognisant of them. A man may think himself injured, may wish to avenge his wrongs and then may be persuaded by some reason or other U> give up his intention and calm down : I do not call that anger, it is an emotion of the mind which is under the control of reason. Anger is that which goes beyond reason and carries her away with it : wherefore the first confusion of a man's mind when struck by what seems an injury is no more anger than the apparent injury itself • it 18 the subsequent mad rush, which not only receives the impression of the apparent injury, but acts upon it as true that IS anger, being an exciting of the mind to revenge' which proceeds from choice and deliberate resolve. There' never has been any doubt that fear produces flight, and anger a rush forward ; consider, therefore, whether you suppose that anything can be either sought or avoided without the participation of the mind. ly. Furthermore, that you may know in what manner passions begin and swell and gain spirit, learn that the first emotion is mvoluntary, and is, as it were, a preparation for a passion, and a threatening of one. The next is combined with a wish, though not an obstinate one, as, for example, " It IS my duty to avenge myself, because I have been in-' 80 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. IV. jured,'* or *' It is right that this man should be punished, because he has committed a crime." The third emotion is already beyond our control, because it overrides reason, and wishes to avenge itself, not if it be its duty, but whether or no. We are not able by means of reason to escape from that first impression on the mind, any more than we can escape from those things which we have mentioned as oc- curring to the body : we cannot prevent other people's yawns temping us to yawn •} we cannot help winking when fingers are suddenly darted at our eyes. Reason is unable to over- come these habits, which perhaps might be weakened by practice and constant watchfulness : they differ from an emotion which is brought into existence and brought to an end by a deliberate mental act. V. We must also enquire whether those whose cinielty knows no bounds, and who delight in shedding human blood, are angry when they kill people from whom they have received no injury, and who they themselves do not think have done them any injury ; such as were Apollo- dorus or Phalaris. This is not anger, it is ferocity : for it does not do hurt because it has received injury : but is even willing to receive injury, provided it may do hurt. It does not long to inflict stripes and mangle bodies to avenge its wrongs, but for its own pleasure. What then ai'e we to say ? This evil takes its rise from anger ; for anger, after it has by long use and indulgence made a man forget mercy, and driven all feelings of human fellowship from his mind, passes finally into cruelty. Such men therefore laugh, rejoice, enjoy themselves greatly, and are as unlike as possible in countenance to angry men, since cruelty is their relaxation. It is said that when Hannibal saw a trench full of human blood, he exclaimed, " O, what * See " De Clem." ii. 6, 4, 1 emended many years ago ivbg x"»^^oc fit TESXHKtv into e. %■, /*« TAKEXHXc*' uTtpos'. "when one has yawned, the other yawns." — J. E. B. M. cn. VI.] OF ANGER, II. 81 a beauteous sight ! " How much more beautiful would he have tliought it, if it had filled a river or a lake ? Why should we wonder that you should be charmed with this sight above all others, you who were born in bloodshed and brought up amid slaughter from a child ? Fortune will follow you and favour your cruelty for twenty years, and will display to you everywhere the sight that you love. You will behold it both at Trasumene and at Cannse, and lastly at your own city of Carthage. Volesus, who not long ago, under the Emperor Augustus, was proconsul of Asia Minor, after he had one day beheaded three hundred |)ersons, strutted out among the corpses with a haughty air, as though he had performed some grand and notable exploit, and exclaimed in Greek, " What a kingly action ! " What would this man have done, had he been really a king ? This was not anger, but a greater and an incurable disease. VI. *' Virtue," argues our adversary, " ought to be angry with what is base, just as she approves of what is honour- able." What should we think if he said that virtue ought to be both mean and great ; yet this is what he means, when he wants her to be raised and lowered, because joy at a good action is grand and glorious, while anger at another's sin is base and befits a narrow mind : and virtue will never be guilty of imitating vice while she is repressin(y it ; she considers anger to deserve punishment for it- self, since it often is even more criminal than the faults which which it is angry. To rejoice and be glad is the proper and natural function of virtue : it is as much be- neath her dignity to be angry, as to mourn : now, sorrow is the companion of anger, and all anger ends in sorrow, either from remorse or from failure. Secondly, if it be the part of the wise man to be angry with sins, he will be more angry the greater they are, and will often be angry : from which it follows that the wise man will not only be angry but iras- G H2 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. IV. cible. Yet if we do not believe that great and fi-cquent anger can find any place in the wise man's mind, why should we not set him altogether free from this passion ? for there can be no limit, if he ought to be angry in pro- portion to what every man does : because he will either be unjust if he is equally angry at unequal crimes, or he will be the most irascible of men, if he blazes into wrath as often as crimes deserve his anger. VII. What, too, can be more unworthy of the wise man, than that his passions should depend upon the wickedness of others? If so, the great Socrates will no longer be able to return home with the same expression of countenance with which he set out. Moreover, if it be the duty of the wise man to be angry at base deeds, and to be excited and saddened at crimes, then is there nothing more unhappv than the wise man, for all his life will be spent in anger and grief. What moment will there be at which he will not see something deserving of blame ? whenever he leaves his house, he will be obliged to walk among men who are criminals, misers, spendthrifts, profligates, and who are happy in being so : he can turn his eyes in no direction without their finding something to shock them. He will faint, if he demands anger from himself as often as reason calls for it. All these thousands who are hurrying to the law courts at break of day, how base are their causes, and how much baser their advocates ? One impugns his father's will, when he would have done better to deserve it ; another appears as the accuser of his mother ; a third comes to in- form against a man for committing the very crime of which he himself is yet more notoriously guilty. The judge, too, is chosen to condemn men for doing what he himself has done, and the audience takes the wrong side, led astray by the fine voice of the pleader. VIII. Why need I dwell upon individual cases? Be assured, when you see the Forum crowded with a multitude, en. IX.] OF ANGER, II. 83 the Saepta' swarming with people, or the great Circus, in which the greater part of the people find room to show themselves at once, that among them there are as many vices as there are men. Among those whom you see in the garb of peace there is no peace : for a small profit any one of them will attempt the ruin of another : no one can i^ain anything save by another's loss. They hate the for- tunate and despise the unfortunate : they grudgingly endure the great, and oppress the small : they are fired by divers lusts : they would wreck everything for the sake of a little pleasure or plunder : they live as though they were in a school of gladiators, fighting with the same people with whom they live : it is like a society of wild beasts, save that beasts are tame with one another, and refrain from biting their own species, whereas men tear one another, and gorge themselves upon one another. They differ from dumb animals in this alone, that the latter are tame with those who feed them, whereas the rage of the former preys on those very persons by whom they were brought up. IX. The wise man will never cease to be angry, if he once begins, so full is every place of vices and crimes. More evil is done than c.in be healed by punishment: men seem engaged in a vast race of wickedness. Every dav there is greater eagerness to sin, less modesty. Throwing aside all reverence for what is better and more just, lust rushes whithersoever it thinks fit, and crimes are no lonjrer committed by stealth, they tjike place before our eyes, and wickedness has become so general and gained such a footing in everyone's breast that innocence is no longer rare, but no longer exists. Do men break the law singly, or a few at a time ? Nay, they rise in all quarters at once, as though obeying some universal signal, to wipe out the boundaries of right and wrong. * 'J'he votingpla-e in the Campus Martius. i [bk. it. 84 MINOR DIALOGUES. " Host is not safe from guest, futher-in-law from son ; but seldom love Exists 'twixt brothers; wives long to destroy Their husbands, husbands long to slay their wives. Stepmothers deadly aconite prepare And child-heirs wonder when their sires will die." And how small a part of men's crimes are these ! The [)oet ' htis not described one people divided into two hostile camps, parents and children enrolled on opposite sides, Home set on fire by the hand of a Roman, troops of fierce Itorsemen scouring the country to track out the hiding- places of the proscribed, wells defiled with poison, plagues created by human hands, trenches dug by children round their beleaguered parents, crowded prisons, conflagra- tions that consume whole cities, gloomy tyrannies, secret plots to establish despotisms and ruin peoples, and men glorying in those deeds which, as long as it was possible to repress them, were counted as crimes— I mean rape, debau- chery, and lust Add to these, public acts of national bad faith, broken treaties, everything that cannot defend itself carried off as plunder by the stronger, knaveries, thefts, frauds, and disownings of debt such as three of our present law-courts would not suffice to deal with. If you want the wise man to be as angry as the atrocity of men's crimes requires, he must not merely be angry, but must go mad with rage. X. You will rather think that we should not be angry with people's faults; for what shall we say of one who is angry with those who stumble in the dark, or with deaf people who cannot hear his orders, or with children, because they forget their duty and interest themselves in the games and silly jokes of their com- panions ? What shall we say if you choose to be angry ' Ovid, Metamorphoses, i., 144, s(jq. The same l.nes are quoted in the essay on Benefits, v. 15. ,1 I I CH. X.] OF A^'^,^R, ir. 85 with weaklings for being sick, for growing old, or becoming fati^^ued ? Among the other misfortunes of humanity is this, that men's intellects ai^ confused, and they not only cannot help going wrong, but love to go wrong. To avoid being angry with individuals, you must pardon the whole mass, yon must grant forgiveness to the entire human race. If you are angry wnth joung and old men because they do wrong, you will be angry with infants also, for they soon will do wrong. Does any one become angry with children, who are too young to comprehend distinctions ? Yet, to be a human being is a greater and a better excuse than to be a child. Thus are we born, as creatures liable to as many disorders of the mind as of the body; not dull and slow-witted, but making a bad use of our keenness of wit, and leading one another into vice by our example. He who follows others who have started before him on the wrong road is surely excusable for having wandered on ^ the highway. A general's severity may be shown in the case of individual deserters ; but where a whole army deserts, it must needs be pardoned. What is it that puts a stop to the wise man's anger? It is the number of sinners. He perceives how unjust and how dangerous it is to be angry with vices which all men shire. Heraclitus, whenever he came out of doors and beheld around him such a number of men who were living wretchedly, nay, rather perishing wretchedly, used to weep : he pitied all those who met him joyous and happy. He was of a gentle but too weak dispo- sition : and he himself was one of those for whom he ought to have wept. Democritus, on the other hand, is said never to have appeared in public without laughing; so little did men's serious occupations appear serious to him. What room is there for anger ? Everything ought either to move us to tears or to laughter. The wise man will not be angry with * /. mixed in him, that nature might stand up And say to all the world, this was a /nan:" St-e Mr. Aldis Wright's note upon the passage. 94 MINOR DIALOGUES. [liK. IT. coldness mikes men cowards, for cold is slucrcrish and contracted. Because of this, some of our Stoics think- that anger is excited in our breasts bv the boilin<^ of the blood round the heart : indeed, that place is assfgned to anger for no other reason than because the breast is the warmest part of the whole body. Those who have more moisture in thorn become angry by slow degrees, baciuse they have no heat ready at h md, but it has to be obtained by movement; wherefore the anger of women and children IS sharp rather than strong, and arises on lighter provoca- tion. At dry times of life anger is violent and powerful yet without increase, and adding little to itself, because as heat dies away cold takes its place. Old men are testy and full of complaints, as also are sick people and con- valescents, and all whose store of heat has been con- sumed by weariness or loss of blood. Those who are wasted by thirst or hunger are in the same condition, as also are those whose fnime is naturally bloodless and faints from want of generous diet. Wme kindles anger, because .t increases heat; according to each man's disposition, some fly into a passion when they are heavily drunk, some vvhen they are slightly drunk : nor is there any other reason than this why yellow-haired, ruddy-complexioned people should be excessively jm.ssionate, seeing that they are naturally of the colour which others put on during anger • for their blood is hot and easily set in motion. ' XX. But just as nature makes some men prone to anger, so there are many other causes which have the same power as nature. Some are brought into this condition by gus was a slave who ai-companiod a boy to school, &c., to keep him out of misthief; he did not teach him anything. principled minds. Flattery, then, must be kept well out of the way of children. Let a child hear the truth, and sometimes fear it : let him always reverence it. Let him rise in the presence of his elders. Let him obtain nothing by fly- ing into a passion : let him be given when he is quiet what was refused him when he cried for it : let him behold, but not make use of his father's wealth : let him be reproved for what he does wrong. It will be advantageous to furnish boys with even-tempered teachers and paedagogi : what is soft and unformed clings to what is near, and takes its shape : the habits of young men reproduce those of their nurses and paedagogi. Once, a boy who was brought up in Plato's house went home to his parents, and, on seeing his father shouting with passion, said, "I never saw any one at Plato's house act like that." I doubt not that he learned to imitate his father sooner than he learned to imitate Plato. Above all, let his food be scanty, his dress not costly, and of the same fashion as that of his comrades : if you begin by putting him on a level with many others, he will not be angry when some one is compared with him. XXII. These precepts, however, apply to our children : in ourselves the accident of birth and our education no longer admits of either mistakes or advice ; we must deal with what follows. Now we ought to fight against the first causes of evil : the cause of anger is the belief that we are injured ; this belief, therefore, should not be lightly entertained. We ought not to fly into a rage even when the injury appears to be open and distinct: for some false things bear the semblance of truth. We should always allow some time to elapse, for time discloses the truth. Let not our ears be easily lent to calumnious talk : let us know and be on our guard against this fault of human nature, that we are willing to believe what we are unwilling to listen to, and that we become angry before we have formed our opinion. What shall I say ? we are influenced 1^ 98 MINOR DIALOGUKS. [bK. IV. not merely by calumnies bat by suspicions, and at the very look and smile of others we may fly into a rage with inno- cent persons because we put the worst construction upon it. We ought, therefore, to plead the cause of the absent against ourselves, and to keep our anger in abey- ance : for a punishment which h;is been postponed mav yet be inflicted, but when once inflicted cannot be recalled. XXIII. Every one knows the story of the tyrannicide who, being caught before he had accomplished his task, and being tortured by Hippias to make him betray his accom- plices, named the friends of the tyrant who stood around, and every one to whom he knew the tyrant's safety was especially dear. As the tyrant ordered each man to be slain as he was named, at last the man, being asked if anv one else remained, said, " You remain alone, for I have left no one else alive to whom you are dear." Anger had made the tyrant lend his assistance to the tyrant-slayer, and cut down his guards with his own sword. How far more spirited was Alexander, who after reading his mother's letter warning him to beware of poison from his physician Philip, nevertheless drank undismayed the medicine which Philip gave him ! He felt more confidence in his friend : he deserved that his friend should be inno- cent, and deserved that his conduct should make him inno- cent. I praise Alexander's doing this all the more because he was above all men prone to anger ; but the rat-er moderation is among kings, the more it deserves to be praised. The great Gaius Caesar, who proved such a merciful conqueror in the civil war, did the same thing ; he burned a packet of letters addressed to Gnaeus Pom- peius by persons who had been thought to be either neutrals or on the other side. Though he was never violent in his anger, yet he preferred to put it out of his power to be angry : he thought that the kindest way to pardon each of them was not to know what his offence had been. CH. XXV,] OF ANGER, II. 99 XXIV. Readiness to believe what we hear causes very ^reat mischief ; we ought often not even to listen, because Fn some cases it is better to be deceived than to suspect deceit. We ought to free our minds of suspicion and mis- trust, those most untrustworthy causes of anger. *' This man's greeting was far from civil; that one would not receive my kiss; one cut short a story I had begun to tell ; another did not ask me to dinner ; another seemed to view me with aversion." Suspicion will never lack grounds : what we want is straightforwardness, and a kindly inter- pretation of things. Let us believe nothing unless it forces itself upon our sight and is unmistakable, and let us reprove ourselves for being too ready to believe, as often as our suspicions prove to be groundless: for this dis- cipline will render us habitually slow to believe what we hear. XXV. Another consequence of this will be, that we shall not be exasperated by the slightest and most con- temptible trifles. It is mere madness to be put out of temper because a slave is not quick, because the water we are going to drink is lukewarm, or because our couch is disarranged or our table carelessly laid. A man must be in a miserably bad state of health if he shrinks from a gentle breath of wind ; his eyes must be diseased if they are listressed by the sight of white clothing; he must be broken down with debiuchery if he feels pain at seeing another man work. It is said that there was one Mindy- rides, a citizen of Sybaris, who one day seeing a man digging and vigorously brandishing a mattock, complained that the sight made him weary, and forbade the man to work where he could see him. The same man complained that he had sufl'ered from the rose-leaves upon which he lay being folded double. When pleasures have corrupted lx)th the body and the mind, nothing seems endurable, not indeed because it is hard, but because he who has to bear it n ( 100 MINOR DIALOGUES. [ek. it. OF ANGER, IT. 101 is soft : for why should we be driven to frenzy by any one's coutrhing and sneezing, or by a fly not being driven away with sufficient care, or by a dog's hanging about us, or a key dropping from a careless servant's hand ? Will one whose ears are agonised by the noise of a bench being dmsrjred alonof the floor be able to endure with unrufiied mind tlie rude language of party strife, and the abuse which speakers in the forum or the senate house heap upon their opponents ? Will he who is angry with his slave for icing his drink badly, be able to endure hunger, or the thirst of a long march in summer ? Nothing, therefore, nourishes anger more than excessive and dissatisfied luxury : the mind ought to be hardened by rough treatment, so as not to feel any blow that is not severe. XXVI. We are angry, either with those who can, or with those who cannot do us an injury. To the latter class belong some inanimate things, such as a book, which we often throw away when it is written in letters too small for us to read, or tear up when it is full of mistakes, or clothes which we destroy because we do not like them. How foolish to be angry with such things as these, which neither deserve nor feel our anger ! " But of course it is their makers who really affront us." I answer that, in the first place, we often become angry before making this distinc- tion clear in our minds, and secondly, perhaps even the makers might put forward some reasonable excuses : one of them, it may be, could not make them any better than he did, and it is not through any disrespect to you that he was unskilled in his trade : another maj have done his work so without any intention of insulting you : and, finally, what can be more crazy than to discharge upon things the ill-feeling which one has accumulated against persons? Yet as it is the act of a madman to be angry with inanimate objects, so also is it to be angry with dumb animals, which can do us no wrong because they are not able to form a CH. xxvii.] purpose ; and we cannot call anything a wrong unless it be done intentionally. They are, therefore, able to hurt us, just as a sword or a stone may do so, but they are not able to do us a wrong. Yet some men think themselves insulted when the same horses which are docile with one rider are restive with another, as though it were through their (loliber.ite choice, and not through habit and cleverness of handling that some horses are more easily managed by some men than by others. And as it is foolish to be angry with them, so it is to be angry with children, and with men who have little more sense than children : for all these sins, before a just judge, ignorance would be as effective an excuse as innocence. XXVII. There are some things which are unable to hurt ns, and whose power is exclusively beneficial and salutary, as, for example, the immortal gods, who neither wish nor are able to do harm : for their temperament is naturally gentle and tranquil, and no more likely to wrong others than to wrong themselves. Foolish people who know not the truth hold them answerable for storms at sea, excessive rain, and long winters, whereas all the while these phenomena by which we suffer or profit take place without any reference whatever to us : it is not for our sake that the universe causes summer and winter to succeed one another; these have a law of their own, according to which their divine functions are performed. We think too much of ourselves, when we imagine that we are worthy to have such prodigious revolutions effected for our sake : so, then, none of these things take place in order to do us an injury, nay, on the contrary, they all tend to our benefit. I have said that there are some things which cannot hurt us, and some which would not. To the latter class belong good men in authority, good p, rents, teachers, and judges, whose punishments ought to be submitted to by us in the same spirit m which we i 102 MINOR DIALOGUES. [BK. IV, undergo the surgeon's knife, abstinence from food, and Huch like things which hurt us for our benefit. Suppose that we are being punished ; let us think not only of what we suffer, but of what we have done : let us sit in judgement on our past life. Provided we are willing to tell ourselves the truth, we shall certainly decide that our crimes deserve a harder measure than they have received. XXVllI. If we desire to be impartial judges of all that takes place, we must first convince ourselves of this, that no one of us is faultless : for it is from this that most of our indignation proceeds. "I have not sinned, I have done no wrong." Say, rather, you do not admit that you have done any wrong. We are infuriated at being reproved, either by reprimand or actual chastisement, although we are sinning at that very time, by adding insolence and obstinacy to our wrong- doings. Who is there that can declare himself to have broken no laws ? Even if there be such a man, what a stinted innocence it is, merely to be m- nocent by the letter of the law. How much further do the rules of duty extend than those of the law ! how many things which are not to be found in the statute book, are demanded by filial feeling, kindness, generosity, equity, and honour ? Yet we are not able to warrant ourselves even to come under that first narrowest definition of innocence : we have done what was wrong, thought what was wrong, wished for what was wrong, and encouraged what was wrong : in some cases we have only remained innocent because we did not succeed. When we think of this, let us deal more justly with sinners, and believe that those who scold us are right : in any case let us not be angry with ourselves (for with whom shall we not be angry, if we are ano-ry even with our own selves?), and least of all with the gods : for whatever we suffer befalls us not by any ordinance of theirs but of the common law of all flesh. *' But diseases and pains attack us." Well, people who live in a crazy CH. xxviii.] OF ANGER, II. 103 dwelling must have some way of escape from it. Some one wUl be said to have spoken ill of you: thmk whether you did not first speak ill of him : think of how many persons you have yourself spoken ill. Let us not, I say suppose that others are doing us a wrong, but are re- pav'ing one which we have done them, that some are acting with good intentions, some under compulsion, some m ignorance, and let us believe that even he who does so inten. tionally and knowingly did not wrong us merely for the sake of wronging us, but was led into doing so by the attraction of saying something witty, or did whatever he (lid, not out of any spite against us, but because he himself could not succeed unless he pushed us back. We are often offended by flattery even while it is being lavished upon us : yet whoever recalls to his mind how often he himself has been the victim of undeserved suspicion, how often fortune has given his true service an appearance of wrong-doing, how many persons he has begun by hating and ended by loving, will be able to keep himself from becoming angry straightway, especially if he silently says to himself when each offence is committed : " I have done this very thing myself." Where, however, will you find so impartial a judge ? The same man who lusts after every- one's wife, and thinks that a woman's belonging to some- one else is a sufficient reason for adoring her, will not allow any one else to look at his own wife. No man expects such exact fidelity as a traitor: the perjurer himself takes ven- <.eance of him who breaks his word : the pettifogging lawyer Ts most indignant at an action being brought against him : the man who is reckless of his own chastity cannot endure any attempt upon that of his slaves. We have other men s vices before our eyes, and our own behind our backs : hence it is that a father, who is worse than his son, blames tl.e latter for giving extravagant feasts,^ and disapproves ot » Temj)esava, beginning before the usual hour. 104 MINOR DIALOGUES. Fbk. IV. the least sign of luxury In another, although he was wont to set no bounds to it in his own case ; hence it is that despots are nngry with homicides, and thefts are punished by those who despoil temples. A great part of mankind is not angry with sins, but with sinners. Regard to our own selves * will make us more moderate, if we inquire of ourselves : — have we ever committed any crime of this sort ? have we ever fallen into this kind of error ? is it for our interest that we should condemn this conduct ? XXIX. The greatest remedy for anger is delay : beg anger to grant you this at the first, not in order that it may pardon the offence, but that it may form a right judgment about it : if it delays, it will come to an end. Do not attempt to quell it all at once, for its first impulses are fierce ; by plucking away its parts we shall remove the whole. We are made angry by some things which we learn at second-hand, and by some which we ourselves hear or see. Now, we ought to be slow to believe what is told us. Many tell lies in order to deceive us, and many because they are themselves deceived. Some seek to win our favour by false accusations, and invent wrongs in order that they may appear angry at our having suffered them. One man lies out of spite, that he may set trusting friends at variance ; some because they are sus- picious,* and wish to see sport, and watch from a safe dis- tance those whom they have set by the ears. If you were about to give sentence in court about ever so small a sum of money, you would take nothing as proved without a wit- ness, and a witness would count for nothing except on his oath. You would allow both sides to be heard : you would allow them time : you would not despatch the matter at one sitting, because the oftener it is handled the more distinctly the truth appears. And do you condemn your friend oif- * Fear of self-condemnation. * Lipsius conjectures mpprovax, mischievous. i CB. X'lx] OF AKGER, II. 105 , .r,rl ? Are Ton an-ry with him before you hear his story, Se youha've c^sLamined him before he can Wv e ther who is bis accuser or with what he ,s charged. Why then just now. in the case which you just tned, d.d yon hear "hat was said on both sides ? Th>s very man who has imed against your .ie^ wi« s^ no mc.e_,. - - S re Clrir a" :r s ; if I am brought forw^J I Shalt deny what I have said ; unless you excuse m r^n appearing I shall never tell you anythmg At the sarn^ time he spurs you on and withdraws himself from the stnle and batt e The man who wUl tell you nothing save n. "cret ha dly tells you anything at all. What can be mo e unTust than to believe in secret, and to be angry openly ? XXX. Some offences we ourselves witness : m these cases ,et u^fxamine the disposition and purpose of Ae offendei Perhaps he is a child ; let us pardon h.s youth he know not whether he is doing wrong : or he .s a father , he has Iher rendered such great services, as to have won the St even to wrong us-or perhaps this very ac which offends us is his chief merit : or a woman ; well, she fade a --^ake. The man did it because he was ordered to do it Who but an unjust person can be angry w, h what s done under compulsion ? You had hurt him : well, Uiere s no wrong in suffering the pain which you have been tefirst t^ inflict' Suppose that your opponent is a judge; hen you ought to take his opinion rather than your own : or that he is a king ; then, if he punishes the guilty, yield Sm because he!s just, and if f P»f "-^"^'a yield to him because he is powerful. Suppose that it .s a dumb animal or as stupid as a dumb -imal Uien if you are angry with it, you will make yourse to it^ Sup nose that it is a disease or a misfortune; it w U take less effect upon yon if yon bear it quietly : or that it is a god; iJen > ou wlste your time by being angry with him as much 106 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. IV. as if you prayed him to be an^y with some one else. Is it a good man who has wronged you ? do not believe it: is it a bad one ? do not be surprised at this ; he will pay to some one else the penalty which he owes to you — indeed, by his sin he has already punished himself. XXXI. There are, as I have stated, two cases which produce anger: first, when we appear to have received an injury, about which enough has been said, and, secondly, when we appear to have been treated unjustly : this must now be discussed. Men think some things unjust because they ought not to suffer them, and some because they did not expect to suffer them : we think what is unexpected is be- neath our deserts. Consequently, we are especially excited at what befalls us contrary to our hope and expectation : and this is why we are irritated at the smallest trifles in our own domestic affairs, and why we call our friends' carelessness deliberate injury. How is it, then, asks our opponent, that we are angered by the injuries inflicted by our enemies ? It is because we did not expect those particular injuries, or, at any rate, not on so extensive a scale. This is caused by our excessive self-love: we think that we ought to remain unin- jured even by our enemies : every man bears within his breast the mind of a despot, and is willing to commit excesses, but unwilling to submit to them. Thus it is either ignorance or arrogance that makes us angry : ignorance of common facts ; for what is there to wonder at in had men committing evil deeds ? what novelty is there in your enemy hurting you, your friend quarrelling with you, your son going wrong, or your servant doing amiss ? Fabius was wont to say that the most shameful excuse a general could make was *' I did not think." I think it the most shameful excuse that a man can make. Think of everything, expect everything : even with men of good character something queer will crop up: human nature produces minds that are treacherous, ungrate- ful, greedy, and impious: whenyou are considering what any CU. XXXI.] OF ANGER, II. 107 nnn's morals may be, think what those of mankmd are. When Tou are especially enjoying yourself, be especially on I; guard : when everything seems to you to be peaceful Csure that mischief is not absent, but only asleep. Always tZe that something will occur to offend you. A pilot ^evr spreads all his canvas abroad so confidently as not to keep his tackle for shortening saU ready for use. Thmk, al lall, how base and hateful is the power of do.ng m.s- if and how unnatural in man, by whose kindness even Sc animals are rendered tame. See how bulls yield their necks to the yoke, how elephants ^ allow boys and women Tdan e on their backs unhurt, how snakes gl^^e harmless y Lr our bosoms and among our drinking-cups how w.thm he-r dens bears and lions submit to be handled w.th com- ent mouths, and wild beasts fawn upon the. master : e us blush to have exchanged habits with wild beasts. It is a ime to injure one's country : so it is, therefore, to -3ure any of our countrymen, for he is a part of our country^ it^^^ whole be sabred, the parts must be sacred too. ^ Wfo^^^^^ is also a crime to injure any man: for he is your fellow- citizen in alarger state, ^^^^-^l'^^^^^^^^^ hurt the feet^ or the eyes to hurt the hands? As all the tmbs act n unison, bJcause it is the interest of the whole body to keep each one of them safe, so men ^^ouUj.r^^^^^ ano her, because they are born for society The bond o odety, however, cannot exist unless it guards andloves a 1 its members. We should not even destroy vipers and water- snakes and other creatures whose teeth and claws are dan- gerous, if we were able to tame them as we do other animals, or to prevent their being a peril to us : neither ought we therefore, to hurt a man because he has done wrong but lest he should do wrong, and our punishment should always look tx> the future, and never to the past, because it is in- flicted in a spirit of precaution, not of anger: for if every- • 1 have adopted the transposition of Haase and Kn. viii. 702, but are inaccurately quoted. OF ANGER, II. 113 CH. XXXVI.] or, if possible, let some even more dreadful aspect be invented for this dreadful passion. XXXVI. Some angry people, as Sextius remarks, have been benefited by looking at the glass: they have been struck by so great an alteration in their own appearance: they have been, as it were, brought into their own presence and have not recognized themselves : yet how small a part of the real hidcousness of anger did that reflected image in the mirror reproduce? Could the mind be displayed or made to appear through any substance, we should be confounded when we beheld how black and stained, how agitated, distorted, and swollen it looked : even at present it is very ugly when seen through all the screens of blood, bones, and so forth : what would it be, were it displayed uncovered ? You say, that you do not believe that any one was ever scared out of anger by a mirror : and why not ? Because when he came to the mirror to change his mind, he had changed it already : to angry men no face looks tuirer than one that is fierce and savage and such as they wish to look like. We ought rather to consider, how many men anger itself has injured. Some in their excessive heat have burst their veins; some by straining their voices be- yond their strength have vomited blood, or have injured their sight by too violently injecting humours into their eyes, and have fallen sick when the fit passed off. No way leads more swiftly to madness : many have, consequently, remained always in the frenzy of anger, and, having once lost their reason, have never recovered it. Ajax was driven mad by anger, and driven to suicide by madness. Men, frantic with rage, call upon heaven to slay their children, to reduce themselves to poverty, and to ruin their houses, and yet declare that they are not either angry or insane. Kuemies to their best friends, dangerous to their nearest and dearest, regardless of the laws save where they injure, swayed by the smallest trifles, unwilling to lend their ears I II 114 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. IV. to the advice or the services of their friends, they do every- thing by main force, and are ready either to fight with their swords or to throw themselves upon them, for the greatest of all evils, and one which surpasses all vices, has gained possession of them. Other passions gain a footing in the mind by slow degrees : anger's conquest is sudden and complete, and, moreover, it makes all other passions subservient to itself. It conquers the warmest love : men have thrnst swords through the bodies of those whom they loved, and have slain those in whose arms they have lain. Avarice, that sternest and most rigid of passions, is trampled underfoot by anger, which forces it to squander its care- fully collected wealth and set fire to its house and all its property in one heap. Why, has not even the ambitious man been known to fling away the most highly valued ensigns of rank, and to refuse high office when it was oflered to him ? There is no passion over which anger does not bear absolute rule. THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO NOVATUS. OF ANGER. BOOK III. I. WE will now, my Novatus, attempt to do that which you so especially long to do, that is, to drive out anger from our minds, or at all events to curb it and restrain its impulses. This may sometimes be done openly and without concealment, when we are only suffering from a slight attack of this mischief, and at other times it must be done secretly, when our anger is excessively hot, and when every obstacle thrown in its way increases it and makes it blaze higher. It is important to know how great and how fresh its strength may be, and whether it can be driven for- cibly back and suppressed, or whether we must give way to it until its first storm blow over, lest it sweep away with it our remedies themselves. We must deal with each case according to each man's character : some yield to entreaties, others are rendered arrogant and masterful by submission : we may frighten some men out of their anger, while some may be turned from their purpose by reproaches, some by acknowledging oneself to be in the wrong, some by shame, and some by delay, a tardy remedy for a hasty disorder, which we ought only to use when all others have failed : UG MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. for other passions admit of having their case put off, and may be healed at a later time; but the eager and self- destructive violence of anger does not grow up by slow degrees, but reaches its full height as soon as it begins. Nor does it, like other vices, merely disturb men's minds, but it takes them away, and torments them till they are incapable of restraining themselves and eager for the common ruin of all men, nor does it rage merely against its object, but against every obstacle which it encounters on its way. The other vices move our minds ; anger hurls them headlong. If we are not able to withstand our passions, yet at any rate our passions ought to stand firm : but anger grows more and more powerful, like lightning flashes or hurricanes, or any other things which cannot stop themselves because they do not proceed along, but fall from above. Other vices affect our judgment, anger affects our sanity : others come in mild attacks and grow unnoticed, but men's minds plunge abruptly into anger, 'i'here is no passion that is more frantic, more destructive to its own self ; it is arrogant if successful, and frantic if it fails. Even when defeated it does not grow weary, but if chance places its foe beyond its reach, it turns its teeth against itself. Its intensity is in no way regulated by its origin : for it rises to the greatest heights from the most trivial beginnings. II. It passes over no time of life ; no race of men is exempt from it: some nations have been saved from the knowledge of luxury by the blessing of poverty ; some through their active and wandering habits have escaped from sloth ; those whose manners are unpolished and whose life is rustic know not chicanery and fraud and all the evils to which tlie courts of law srive birth : but there is no race which is not excited by anger, which is equally powerful with Ct reeks and barbarians, and is just as ruinous among law- abiding folk as among those whose only law is that of ihe cn. II.] OF ANGER, III. 117 stronger. Finally, the other passions seize upon individuals ano-er is the only one which sometimes possesses a whole state. No entire people ever fell madly in love with a woman, nor did any nation ever set its affections altogether upon gain and profit. Ambition attacks single individuals : ungovernable rage is the only passion that affects nations. People often fly into a passion by troops ; men and women, old men and boys, princes and populace all act alike, and the whole multitude, after being excited by a very few words, outdoes even its exciter : men betake themselves straight- way to fire and sword, and proclaim a war against their neighbours or wage one against their countrymen. Whole houses are burned with the entire families which they contain, and he who but lately was honoured for his popular eloquence now finds that his speech moves people to rage. Legions aim their darts at their commander ; the whole populace quarrels with the nobles ; the senate, without waiting for troops to be levied or appointing a general, hastily chooses leaders, for its anger chases well-born men through the houses of Rome, and puts them to death with its own hand. Ambassadors are outraged, the law of nations violated, and an unnatural madness seizes the state. Without allowing time for the general excitement to sub- side, fleets are straightway launched and laden with a hastily enrolled soldiery. Without organization, without taking any auspices, the populace rushes into the field guided only by its own anger, snatches up whatever comes first to hand by way of arms, and then atones by a great defeat for the reckless audacity of its anger. This is usually the fate of savage nations when they plunge into war : as soon as their easily excited minds are roused by the appearance of wrong having been done them, they straightway hasten forth, and, guided only by their wounded feelings, fall like an avalanche upon our legions, without either discipline, fear, or precaution, and wilfully seeking for danger. They 118 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. delight; in being struck, in pressing forward to meet the blow, writhing their bodies along the weapon, and perishing by a wound which they themselves make. III. "No doubt," you say, " anger is very powerful and ruinous : point out, therefore, how it may be cured." Yet, as I stated in my former books, Aristotle stands forth in defence of anger, and forbids it to be uprooted, saying that it is the spur of virtue, and that when it is taken away, our minds become weaponless, and slow to attempt great exploits. It is therefore essential to prove its unseemliness and ferocity, and to place distinctly before our eyes how monstrous a thing it is that one man should rage against another, with what frantic violence he rushes to destroy alike himself and his foe, and overthrows those very things whose fall he himself must share. What, then ? can any one call this man sane, who, as though caught up by a hurricane, does not go but is driven, and is the slave of a senseless disorder ? He does not commit to another the duty of revenging him, but himself exacts it, raging alike in thought and deed, butchering those who are dearest to him, and for whose loss he himself will ere long weep. Will any one give this passion as an assistant and companion to vii-tue, although it disturbs calm reason, without which virtue can do nothing ? The strength which a sick man owes to a paroxysm of disease is neither lasting nor wholesome, and is strong only to its own destruction. You need not, there- fore, imagine that I am wasting time over a useless task in defaming anger, as though men had not made up their minds about it, when there is some one, and he, too, an illustrious philosopher, who assigns it services to perform, and speaks of it as useful and supplying energy for battles, for the management of business, and indeed for everything which requires to be conducted with spirit. Lest it should delude any one into thinking that on certain occasions and in certain positions it may be useful, we must show its CH. IV.] OF ANGER, III. 119 unbridled and frenzied madness, we must restore to it it. attributes, the rack, the cord, the dungeon, aud the cross the fires lighted round men's buried bodies, the hook that drags both living men and corpses, the different kinds o fettLs, and of punishments, the mutilations of l-bs the branding of the forehead, the dens of savage beasts. Anger should be represented as standing among these her instru- ments, growHng in an ominous and terrible fasliion herself more sfocking than any of the means by which she gives vent to her fury. -u i. ^i. IV There may be some doubt about the others, but at any rate no passion has a worse look. We have described the angry man's appearance in our former books how sharp and keen he looks, at one time pale as his blood .s dnveu inwards and backwards, at another with all the heat and fire of his body directed to his face, making it reddish-coloured as if stained with blood, his eyes uow restless and starting out of his head, now set motionless in one fi^^ed gaze Add to this his teeth, which gnash against one another, as though he wished to eat somebody, with exactly the sound of a wild boar sharpening his tusks: add also the cracking of his joints, the involuntary wringing of his hands, tbe frequent slaps he deals himself on the chest, his hurried breathing and deep-drawn sighs, his reeling body, his abrupt broken speech, and his trembling lips, which sometimes he draws ti.ht as he hisses some curse through them. By Hercules, no wild beast, neither when tortured by hunger, or with a weapon struck through its vitals, not even when it gathers its I'lst breath to bite its slayer, looks so shocking as a man raging with anger. Listen, if you have leisure, to his words . The h,«,k alluded to w« fastened to the neck of oondemned criminals and by it they «ere dragged to the Tiber. Also the bodies of dead ana oy m^-j' , j ^.,f «f thp orpiia The hook by which tlie gladiators were thus dragj,'ed out of the arena, xne ^^ ,^ , . . „ dead bull .s drawn away at a modern Spanish bull-fight is probabl> a survival of this custuoi. Ill 120 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. and threats : how dreadful is the language of his agonized mind ! Would not every man wish to lay aside anger when he sees that it begins by injuring himself ? When men employ anger as the most powerful of agents, consider it to be a proof of power, and reckon a speedy revenge among the greatest blessings of great prosperity, would you not wish me to warn them that he who is the slave of his own anger is not powerful, nor even free ? Would you not wish me to warn all the more industrious and circumspect of men, that while other evil passions assail the base, anger gradually obtains dominion over the minds even of learned and in other respects sensible men ? So true is that, that some declare anger to be a proof of straight-forwardness, and it is commonly believed that the best-natured people are prone to it. V. You ask me, whither does all this tend ? To prove, I answer, that no one should imagine himself to be safe from anger, seeing that it rouses up even those who are naturally gentle and quiet to commit savage and violent acts. As strength of body and assiduous care of the health avail nothing against a pestilence, which attacks the strong and weak alike, so also steady and good-humoured peo[)le are just as liable to attacks of anger as those of unsettled character, and in the case of the former it is both more to be ashamed of and more to be feared, because it makes a greater alteration in their habits. Now as the first thing is not to be angry, the second to lay aside our anger, and the third to be able to heal the anger of others as well as our own, I will set forth first how we may avoid falling into anger ; next, how we may set ourselves free from it, and, lastly, how we may restrain an angry man, appease his wrath, and bring him back to his right mind. We shall succeed in avoiding anger, if from time to time we lay before our minds all the vices connected with anger, and estimate it at its real value : it must be prose- CH. v.] OF ANGEE, III. 121 cuted before us and convicted : its evils must be thoroughly investigated and exposed. That we may see what it is, let it be compared with the worst vices. Avarice scrapes together and amasses riches for some better man to use : anger spends money : few can indulge in it for nothing. How many slaves an angry master drives to run away or to commit suicide ! how much more he loses by his anger than the value of what he originally became angry about ! Ancrer brings grief to a father, divorce to a husband, hatred to I magistrate, failure to a candidate for office. It is worse than luxury, because luxury enjoys its own pleasure, while anger enjoys another's pain. It is worse than either spitefuluess or envy ; for they wish that some one may become unhappy, while anger wishes to make him so : they are pleased when evil befalls one by accident, but anger cannot wait upon Fortune ; it desires to injure its victim personallv, and is not satisfied merely with his being in- jured. Nothing is more dangerous than jealousy : it is produced by anger. Nothing is more ruinous than war : it is the outcome of powerful men's anger ; and even the • anger of humble private persons, though without arms or armies, is nevertheless war. Moreover, even if we pass over its immediate consequences, such as heavy losses, treacherous plots, and the constant anxiety produced by strife, anger pays a penalty at the same moment that it exacts one : it forswears human feelings. The latter urge us to love, anger urges us to hatred : the latter bid us do men good, anger bids us do them harm. Add to this that, although its rage arises from an excessive self-respect and appears to show high spirit, it really is contemptible and mean : for a man must be inferior to one by whom he thinks himself despised, whereas the truly great mind, which takes a true estimate of its own value, does not revenge an insult because it does not feel it. As weapons rebound from a hard surface, and solid substances hurt ^^A^M^iUL MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. those who strike them, so also no insult can make a reallj preat mind sensible of its presence, being weaker than that at^ainst which it is aimed. How far more glorious is it to throw back all wrongs and insults from oneself, like one wearing armour of proof against all weapons, for revenge is an admission that we have been hurt. That cannot be a great mind which is disturbed by injury. He who has hurt you must be either stronger or weaker than yourself. If he be weaker, spare him : if he be stronger, spare yourself. VI. There is no greater proof of magnanimity than that nothing which befalls you should be able to move you to nnger. The higher region of the universe, being more excellently ordered and near to the stars, is never gathered into clouds, driven about by storms, or whirled round by cyclones : it is free from all disturbance : the lightnings flash in the region below it. In like manner a lofty mind, always placid and dwelling in a serene atmosphere, re- sti-aining within itself all the impulses from which anger springs, is modest, commands respect, and remains calm and collected : none of which qualities will you find in an angry man : for who, when under the influence of grief and rage, does not first get rid of bashfulness ? who, when excited and confused and about to attack some one, does not fling away any habits of shamefacedness he may have possessed ? what angry man attends to the number or routine of his duties ? who uses moderate language ? who keeps any part of his body quiet ? who can guide himself when in full career ? We shall find much profit in that sound mnxim of Democritus which defines peace of mind to consist in not labouring much, or too much for our strength, either in public or private matters. A man's day, if he is engaged in many various occupations, never passes so happily that no man or no thing should give rise to some offence which makes the mind ripe for anger. Just as when one hurries through the crowded parts of the city CH. VII.] OF ANGER, III. 123 one cannot help jostling many people, and one cannot help slipping at one place, being hindered at another, and splashed at another, so when one's life is spent m dis- connected pursuits and wanderings, one must meet with many troubles and many accusations. One man deceives our hopes, another delays their fulfilment, another destroys them- our projects do not proceed according to our intention. No one is so favoured by Fortune as to find her always on his side if he tempts her often : and from this it follows that he who sees several enterprises turn out contrary to his wishes becomes dissatisfied with both men and things, and on the slightest provocation flies into a ra-e with people, with nndertakings, with places, with fortune, or with himself. In order, therefore, that the mind may be at peace, it ought not to be hurried hither and thither, nor, as I said before, wearied by labour at great matters, or matters whose attainment is beyond its strength. It is easy to fit one's shoulder to a light burden, and to shift it from one side to the other without droppmg it : but we have difficulty in bearing the burdens which others hands lay upon us, and when overweighted by them we fling them off upon our neighbours. Even when we do stand upright under our load, we nevertheless reel beneath a weicrht which is beyond our strength. vfl Be assured that the same rule apphes both to public and private life: simple and manageable nndertakings pro- ceed according to the pleasure of the person in charge of them, but enormous ones, beyond his capacity to manage, are not easily undertaken. When he has got them to ad- minister, they hinder him, and press hard upon him, and 3ust as he thinks that success is within his grasp, they collapse, and carry him with them : thus it comes about that a man s wishes are often disappointed if he does not apply himself to easy tasks, yet wishes that the tasks which he undertakes may be easy. Whenever you would attempt anything, first M — ■ ^^1 Ju A 124 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. V. form an estimate both of yonr own powers, of the extent of the matter which you are undertaking, and of the means by which you are to accomplish it: for if you have to abandon your work when it is half done, the disappointment will sour your temper. In such cases, it makes a difference whether one is of an ardent or of a cold and unenterprising temperament: for failure will rouse a generous spirit to anger, and will move a sluggish and dull one to sorrow. Let our undertakings, therefore, be neither petty nor yet presumptuous and reck- less: let our hopes not range far from home : let us attempt nothing which if we succeed will make us astonished at our success. VIII. Since we know not how to endure an injury, let us take care not to receive one: we should live with the quietest and easiest-tempered persons, not with anxious or with sullen ones : for our own habits are copied from those with whom we associate, and just as some bodily diseases are com- municated by touch, so also the mind transfers its vices to its neighbours. A drunkard leads even those who reproach him to grow fond of wine: profligate society will, if per- mitted, impair the morals even of robust-minded men : ava- rice infects those nearest it with its poison. Virtues do the same thing in the opposite direction, and improve all those with whom they are brought in contact: it is as good for one of unsettled principles to associate with better men than himself as for an invalid to live in a warm country with a healthy climate. You will understand how much may be effected this way, if you observe how even wild beasts o-row tame by dwelling among us, and how no animal, however ferocious, continues to be wild, if it has long been accustomed to human companionship: all its savageness becomes softened, and amid peaceful scenes is gradually forgotten. We must add to this, that the m:in who lives with quiet people is not only improved by their example, but also by the fact that he finds no reason for anger and does not practise his CH. VIII.] OF ANGER, III. 125 vice • it will, therefore, be his duty to avoid all those who he knows will excite his anger. You ask, who these are: many will brincr about the same thing by various means ; a proud man will offend you by his disdain, a talkative man by his abuse, an impudent man by his insults, a spiteful man by his malice, a quarrelsome man by his wrangling, a braggart and liar by his vain-gloriousness : you will not endure to be feared by a suspicious man, conquered by an obstinate one, or scorned by an ultra-refined one : Choose straightforward, good-natured, steady people, who will not provoke your wrath, and will bear with it. Those whose dispositions are yielding, polite and suave, will be of even greater service, provided they do not flatter, for excessive obsequiousness irritates bad-t^mpered men. One of my own friends was a good man indeed, but too prone to anger, and it was as dangerous to flatter him as to curse him. Caelius the orator, it is°well known, was the worst-tempered man possible. It is said that once he was dining in his own chamber with an especially long-suffering client, but had great difficulty when thrown thus into a man's society to avoid qaan^elling with him The other thought it best to agree to whatever he said, and to play second fiddle, but Caelius could not bear his obsequious agreement, and exclaimed, " Do contradict me m something, that there may be two of us ! " Yet even he, who was angry at not being angry, soon recovered his temper, because he had no one to fight with. If,then, we are conscious of an irascible disposition, let us especially choose for our friends those who will look and speak as we do: they will pamper us and lead us into a bad habit of listening to nothing that does not please us, but it will be good to give our anger respite and repose. Even those who are naturally crabbed and wild will yield to caresses : no creature continues either angry or frightened if you pat him. Whenever a controversy seems likelv^'to be longer or more keenly disputed than usual, let us check its first beginnings, before it gathers strength. 126 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. A dispute nourishes itself as it proceeds, and takes hold of those who plunge too deeply into it : it is easier to stand aloof than to extricate oneself from a struggle. IX. Irascible men ought not to meddle with the more serious class of occupations, or, at any rate, ought to stop short of weariness in the pursuit of them ; their mind ought not to be engaged upon hard subjects, but handed over to pleasing arts : let it be softened by reading poetry, and in- terested by legendary history : let it be treated with luxury and refinement. Pythagoras used to calm his troubled spirit by playing upon the lyre : and who does not know that trum- pets and clarions are irritants, just as some airs are lulla- bies and soothe the mind ? Green is good for wearied eyes, ftnd some colours are grateful to weak sight, while the brightness of others is painful to it. In the same way cheer- ful pursuits soothe unhealthy minds. We must avoid law CO irts, pleadings, verdicts, and everything else that aggra- vates our fault, and we ought no less to avoid bodily weari- ness; for it exhausts all that is quiet and gentle in us, and rouses bitterness. For this re ison those who catmot trust their digestion, when they are about to transact business of importance always allay their bile with food, for it is pecu- liarly irritated by fatigue, either because it draws the vital heat into the middle of the body, and injures the blood and stops its circulation by the clogging of the veins, or else be- cause the worn-out and weakened body reacts upon the mind : this is certainly the reason why those who are broken by ill- health or age are more irascible than other men. Hunger also and thirst should be avoided for the same reason ; they exasperate and irritate men's minds : it is an old saying that " a weary man is quarrelsome " : and so also is a hungry or a thirsty man, or one who is suffering from any cause what- ever : for just as sores pain one at the slightest touch, and afterwards even at the fear of being touched, so an unsound mind takes offence at the slightest things, so that even a CH. XI.] OP ANGER, III. 127 greeting, a letter, a speech, or a question, provokes some men to anger. X That which is diseased can never bear to be handled without complaining : it is best, therefore, to apply remedies to oneself as soon as we feel that anything is wrong, to allow oneself as little licence as possible in speech, and to restrain one's impetuosity : now it is easy to detect the first growth of onr passions : the symptoms precede the disorder. Just as the sicrns of storms and rain come before the storms them- selves, so there are certain forerunners of anger, love, and all the storms which torment our minds. Those who suffer from epilepsy know that the fit is coming on if their ex- tremities become cold, their sight fails, their sinews trembh>, their memory deserts them, and their head swims : they accordingly check the growing disorder by applymg the usual remedies : they try to prevent the loss of their senses bv smelling or tasting some drug ; they battle against cold a^d stiffness of limbs by hot fomentations ; or, if all remedies fail, they retire apart, and faint where no one sees them fall. It is useful for a man to understand his disease, and to break its strength before it becomes developed. Let us see what it is that especially irritates us. Some men take offence at insulting words, others at deeds : one wishes his pedigree, another his person, io be treated with respect. This man wishes to be considered especially fashionable, that man to be thought especially learned : one cannot bear pride, another cannot bear obstinacy. One thinks it beneath him to be anery with his slaves, another is cruel at home, but gentle abroad One imagines that he is proposed for office because he is unpopular, another thinks himself insulted because he is not proposed. People do not all take offence in the same way ; you ought then to know what your own weak pomt is, that 'you may guard it with especial care. XI It is better not to see or to hear everythmg : many causes of offence may pass by us, most of which are disre- 128 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. garded by the man who ignores them. Would you not be irascible ? then be not inquisitive. He who seeks to know what is said about him, who digs up spiteful tales even if they were told in secret, is himself the destroyer of his own peace of mind. Some stories may be so construed as to appear to be insults : wherefore it is best to put some aside, to laugh at others, and to pardon others. There are many ways in which anger may be checked; most things may be turned into jest. It is said that Socrates when he was given a box on the ear, merely said that it was a pity a man could not tell when he ought to wear his helmet out walking. It does not so much matter how an injury is done, as how it is borne ; and I do not see how moderation can be hard to practise, when I know that even despots, though success and impunity combine to swell their pride, have sometimes re- strained their natural ferocity. At any rate, tradition informs us that once, when a guest in his cups bitterly reproached Pisistratus, the despot of Athens, for his cruelty, many oi those present offered to lay hands on the traitor, and one said one thing and one another to kindle his wrath, he bore it coolly, and replied to those who were egging him on, that he was no more angry with the man than he should be with one who ran against him blindfold. XII. A large part of mankind manufacture their own grievances either by entertaining unfounded suspicions or by exaggerating trifles. Anger often comes to us, but we often go to it. It ought never to be sent for : even when it falls in our way it ought to be flung aside. No one says to himself, " I myself have done or might have done this very thing which I am angry with another for doing." No one con- sidere the intention of the doer, but merely the thing done : yet we ought to think about him, and whether he did it intentionally or accidentally, under compulsion or under a raistiike, whether he did it out of hatred for us, or to gain Bomethincr for himself, whether he did it to please himself CH. XII.] OP ANGER, III. 129 or to serve a friend. In some cases the age, in others the worldly fortunes of the culprit may render it humane or ad- vantageous to bear with him and put up with what he has done. Let us put ourselves in the place of him with whom we are angry : at present an overweening conceit of our own importance makes us prone to anger, and we are quite willing to do to others what we cannot endure should be done to our- selves. No one will postpone his anger : yet delay is the best remedy for it, because it allows its first glow to subside, and gives time for the cloud which darkens the mind either to disperse or at any rate to become less dense. Of these wrono-s which driveyon frantic, some will grow lighter after an inter- val, not of a day, but even of an hour: some will vanish alto- gether. Even if you gain nothing by your adjournment, still what you do after it will appear to be the result of mature deliberation, not of anger. If you want to find out the truth about anything, commit the task to time : nothing can be accurately discerned at a time of disturbance. Plato, when angry with his slave, could not prevail upon himself to wait, but straightway ordered him to take off his shirt and present his shoulders to the blows which he meant to give him with his own hand : then, when he perceived that he was angry, he stopped the hand which he had raised in the air, and stood like one in act to strike. Being asked by a friend who happened to come in, what he was doing, he answered : "I am making an angry man expiate his crime." He retained the posture of one about to give way to passion, as if struck with astonishment at its being so degrading to a philosopher, forgetting the slave, because he had found another still more deserving of punishment. He therefore denied himself the exercise of authority over his own household, and once, being rather angry at some fault, said, " Speusippus, will you please to correct that slave with stripes ; for I am in a rage." He would not strike him, for the very reason for which another man would have struck him. "I am in a rao-e," said 130 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. ▼ he • "I should beat hira more than I ought: I should take mo're pleasure than I ought in doing so : let not that slave fall into the power of one who is not in his own power. Can any one wish to grant the power of revenge to an angry man, when Plato himself gave np his own right to exercise it? While you are angry, you ought not to be allowed to do any- thing. "Why?" do you ask? Because when you are angry there is nothing that you do not wish to be allowed to do. XIII. Fight hard with yourself and if you cannot conquer anger, do not let it conquer you : yon have begun to get the better of it if it does not show itself, if it is not given vent Let us conceal its symptoms, and as far as possible keep it secret and hidden. It will give us great trouble to do this, for it is eager to burst forth, to kindle our eyes and to transform our face ; l)nt if we allow it to show itself in our outward appearance, it is our master. Let it rather be locked in the innermost recesses of our breast, and be borne by us, not bear us : nay, let us replace all its symptoms by their opposites ; let us make our countenance more com- posed than usnal, our voice milder, our step slower. Our inward thoughts gradually become influenced by our out- ward demeanour. With Socrates it was a sign of anger when he lowered his voice, and became sparing of speech ; it was evident at such times that he was exercising restraint over himself. His friends, consequently, used to detect him acting thus, and convict him of being angry ; nor was he displeased at being charged with concealment of anger; indeed, how could he help being glad that many men should perceive his anger, yet that none should feel it ? they would however, have felt it had not he granted to his friends the same right of criticizing his own conduct which he himself assumed over theirs. How much more needful is it for us to do this ? let us beg all our best friends to give us their opinion with the greatest freedom at the very time when we can bear it least, and never to be compliant with us en. xiY.] OF ANOLR, nr. 131 when we are angry. While we are in our right senses, while we are under our own control, let us call for help against so powerful an evil, and one which we regard with such unjust favour. Those who cannot carry their wine discreetly, and fear to be betrayed into some rash and inso- lent act, give their slaves orders to take them away from the banquet when they are drunk ; those who know by experience how unreasonable they are when sick give orders that no one is to obey them when they are in ill health. It is best to prepare obstacles beforehand for vices which are known, and above all things so to tranquilize our mind that it may bear the most sudden and violent shocks either without feeling anger, or, if anger be provoked by the extent of some unexpected wrong, that it may bury it deep, and not betray its wound. That it is possible to do this will be seen, if I quote a few of an abundance of examples, from which we may learn both how much evil there is in anger, when it exercises entire dominion over men in supreme power, and how completely it can control itself when over- awed by fear. XIV. King Cambyses ^ was excessively addicted to wine Praexaspes was the only one of his closest friends who ad- vised him to drink more sparingly, pointing out how shameful a thing drunkenness was in a king, upon whom all eyes and ears were fixed. Cambyses answered, " That you may know that I never lose command of myself, I will presently prove to you that both my eyes and my hands are fit for service after I have been drinking." Hereupon he drank more freely than usual, using larger cups, and when heavy and besotted with wine ordered his reprover's son to go beyond the threshold and stand there with his left hand raised above his head ; then he bent his bow and pierced the youth's heart, at which he had said that he aimed. He ' Hdt. ill. 34, 35. 132 MINOR DiALOaUES. [niT. r. then had his breast cut open, showed the arrow sticking exactly into the heart, and, looking at the boy's father, jisked whether his hand was not steady enough. He replied, that Apollo himself could not have taken better aim. God confound such a man, a slave in mind, if not in station ! He actually praised an act which he ought not to have en- dured to witness. He thought that the breast of his son being torn assunder, and his heart quivering with its wound, gave him an opportunity of making a compli- mentary speech. He ought to have raised a dispute with him about his success, and have called for another shot, that the king might be pleased to prove upon the person of the father that his hand was even steadier than when he shot the son. What a savage king ! what a worthy mark for all his follower's arrows ! Yet though we curse him for making his banquet end in cruelty and death, still it was worse to praise that arrow-shot than to shoot it. We shall see hereafter how a father ought to bear himself when standing over the corpse of his son, whose murder he had both caused and witnessed : the matter which we are now discussing, has been proved, I mean, that anger can be suppressed. He did not curse the king, he did not so much as let fall a single inauspicious word, though he felt his own heart as deeply wounded as that of his son. He may be said to have done well in choking down his words ; for though he might have spoken as an angry man, yet he could not have expressed what he felt as a father. He may, I ref)eat, be thought to have behaved with greater wisdom on that occasion than when he tried to regulate the drink of one who was better employed in drinking wine than in drinking blood, and who granted men peace while his hands were busy with the winecup. He, therefore, added one more to the number of those who have shown to their bitter cost how little kings care for their friends' good advice. CH. XV.] OF ANGER, III. 133 XV. I have no doubt that Harpagus must have given some such advice to the king of the Persians and of him- self, in anger at which the king placed Harpagus's own cliildren before him on the dinner-table for him to eat, and asked him from time to time, whether he liked the seasoning. Then, when he saw that he was satiated with his own misery, he ordered their heads to be brought to him, and asked him how he liked his entertainment. The wretched man did not lose his readiness of speech ; his face did not change. " Every kind of dinner," said he, " is pleasant at the king's table." What did he gain by this obsequiousness ? He avoided being invited a second time to dinner, to eat what was left of them. I do not forbid a father to blame the act of his king, or to seek for some revenge worthy of so bloodthirsty a monster, but in the meanwhile I gather from the tale this fact, that even the anger which arises from unheard of outrages can be concealed, and forced into using language which is the very reverse of its mean- ing. This way of curbing anger is necessary, at least for those who have chosen this sort of life and who are ad- mitted to dine at a king's table ; this is how they must eat and drink, this is how they must answer, and how they must laugh at their own deaths. Whether life is worth having at such a price, we shall see hereafter ; that is another question. Let us not console so sorry a crew, or encourage them to submit to the orders of their butchers ; let us point out that however slavish a man's condition may be, there is always a path to liberty open to him, un- less his mind be diseased. It is a man's own fault if he suffers, when by putting an end to himself he can put an end to his misery. To him whose king aimed arrows at the breasts of his friends, and to him whose master gorged fathers with the hearts of their children, I would say *' Madman, why do you groan ? for what are you waiting ? for some enemy to avenge you by the destruction of your 134 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. entire nation, or for some powerful king to arrive from a distant land ? Wherever you turn your eyes you may see an end to your woes. Do you see that precipice ? down that lies the road to liberty ; do you see that sea ? that river ? that well ? Liberty sits at the bottom of them. Do you see that tree ? stunted, blighted, dried up though it be, yet liberty hangs from its branches. Do you see your own throat, your own neck, your own heart ? they are so many ways of escape from slavery. Are these modes which T point out too laborious, and needing much strength and courage? do you ask what path leads to liberty? I answer, any vein ^ in your body. XYI. As long, however, as we find nothing in our life so unbearable as to drive us to suicide, let us, in whatever position we may be, set anger far from us : it is destructive to those who are its slaves. All its rage turns to its own misery, and authority becomes all the more irksome the more obstinately it is resisted. It is like a wild animal whose struggles only pull the noose by which it is caught tighter ; or like birds who, while Hurriedly trying to shake themselves free, smear birdlime on to all their feathers. No yoke is so grievous as not to hurt him who struggles against it more than him who yields to it : the only way to alleviate great evils is to endure them and to submit to do what they compel. This control of our passions, and espe- cially of this mad and unbridled passion of anger, is useful to subjects, but still more useful to kings. All is lost when a man's position enables him to carry out whatever anger prompts him to do; nor can power long endure if it be exercised to the injury of many, for it becomes endangered as soon as common fear draws together those who bewnil themselves separately. Many kings, therefore, have fallen victims, some to single individuals, others to entire peoples, * Seneca's own death, by opening his veins, gives a melancholy in- terest to this {Kissuge. CH. XVII.] OF ANGKR, III. 135 who have been forced by general indignation to make one man the minister of their wrath. Yet many kings have indulged their anger as though it were a privilege of royalty, like Darius, who, after the dethronement of the Magian, was the first ruler of the Persians and of the greater part of the East : for when he declared war ' against the Scythians who bordered on the empire of the East, Oeobazus, an aged noble, begged that one of his three sons might be left at home to comfort his father, and that the king might be satisfied with the services of two of them. Darius promised him more than he asked for, say- ing that he would allow all three to remain at home, and flung their dead bodies before their father's eyes. He would have been harsh, had he taken them all to the war with him. How much more good-natured was Xerxes,^ who, when Pythias, the father of five sons, begged for one to be excused from service, permitted him to choose which he wished for. He then tore the son whom the father had chosen into two halves, placed one on each side of the road, and, as it were, purified hie army by means of this j)ropitiatory victim. He therefore had the end which he deserved, being defeated, and his army scattered far and wide in utter rout, while he in the midst of it walked among the corpses of his soldiers, seeing on all sides the signs of his own overthrow. XVII. So ferocious in their anger were those kings who had no learning, no tincture of polite literature : now I will show you King Alexander (the Great), fresh from the lap of Aristotle, who with his own hand while at table stabbed Clitus, his dearest friend, who had been brought up with him, because he did not flatter him enough, and was too slow in transforming himself from a free man and a Macedonian into a Persian slave. Indeed he shut up » Hut. iv. 84. » Ildt. vii. 38, 39. 136 MINOR DIALOGL'ES. [bk. V. Lysimachus,^ who was no less his friend than Clitus, in a cage with a Jion ; yet did this make Lysimachus, who escaped by some happy chance from the lion's t«eth, any gentler when he became a king ? Why, he mutilated his own friend, Telesphorus the Rhodian, cutting off his nose and ears, and kept him for a long while in a den, like some new and strange animal, after the hideousness of his hacked and disfigured face had made him no longer appear to be human, assisted by starvation and the squalid filth of a body left to wallow in its own dung ! Besides this, his hands and knees, which the narrowness of his abode forced him to use instead of his feet, became hard and callous, while his sides were covered with sores by rubbing against the walls, so that his appearance was no less shock- ing than frightful, and his punishment turned him into so monstrous a creature that he was not even pitied. Yet, however unlike a man he was who suffered this, even more unlike was he who inflicted it. XVIII. Would to heaven that such savagery had con- tented itself with foreign examples, and that barbarity in anger and punishment had not been imported with other outlandish vices into our Roman manners ! Marcus Marius, to whom the people erected a statue in every street, to whom they made offerings of incense and wine, had, by the command of Lucius Sulla, his legs broken, his eyes pulled out, his hands cut off, and his whole body gradually torn to pieces limb by limb, as if Sulla killed him as many times as he wounded him. Who was it who carried out Sulla's orders ? who but Catiline, already practising his hands in every sort of wickedness ? He tore him to pieces before the tomb of Quintus Catulus, an unwelcome burden to the ashes of that gentlest of men, above which one who was no doubt a cnminal, yet never- * riut. Dem. 27. CH. XIX.] OF ANGER, III. 137 theless the idol of the people, and who was not undeserv- ing of love, although men loved him beyond all reason, was forced to shed his blood drop by drop. Though Marius deserved such tortures, yet it was worthy of Sulla to order them, and of Catiline to execute them ; but it was un- worthy of the State to be stabbed by the swords of her enemy and her avenger alike. Why do I pry into ancient history ? quite lately Gains Caesar flogged and tortured Sextus Papinius, whose father was a consular, Betilienus Bassus, his own quaestor, and several others, both senators and knights, on the same day, not to carry out any judicial inquiry, but merely to amuse himself. Indeed, so impa- tient was he of any delay in receiving the pleasure which his monstrous cruelty never delayed in asking, that when walking with some ladies and senators in his mother's gardens, along the walk between the colonnade and the river, he struck off some of their heads by lamplight. What did he fear ? what public or private danger could one night threaten him with ? how very small a favour it would have been to wait until morning, and not to kiU the Roman people's senators in his slippers ? XIX. It is to the purpose that we should know how haughtily his cruelty was exercised, although some one might suppose that we are wandering from the subject and embarking on a digression ; but this digression is itself connected with unusual outbursts of anger. He beat senators with rods ; he did it so often that he made men able to say, " It is the custom." He tortured them with all the most dismal engines in the world, with the cord, the boots, the rack, the fire, and the sight of his own face. Even to this we may answer, " To tear three sena- tors to pieces with stripes and fire like criminal slaves was no such great crime for one who had thoughts of butcher- ing the entire Senate, who was wont to wish that the Roman people had but one neck, that he might concentrate 138 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. v. into one day and one blow all the wickedness which he divided among so many places and times. Was there ever anything so unheard-of as an execution in the night-time? Highway robbery seeks for the shelter of darkness, but the more public an execution is, the more power it has as an example and lesson. Here I shall be met by: "This, which you are so surprised at, was the daily habit of that monster; this was what he lived for, watched for, sat up at night for." Certainly one could find no one else who would have ordered all those whom he condemned to death to have their mouths closed by a sponge being fastened in them, that they might not have the power even of uttering a sound. What dying man was ever forbidden to groan ? He feared that the last agony might find too free a voice, that he might hear what would displease him. He knewi moreover, that there were countless crimes, with which none but a dying man would dare to reproach him. When sponges were not forthcoming, he ordered the wretched men's clothes to be torn up, and the rags stuffed into their mouths. What savagery was this ? Let a man draw his last breath : give room for his soul to escape through : let it not be forced to leave the body through a wound. It l)ecomes tedious to add to this that in the same night he sent centurions to the houses of the executed men and made an end of their fathers also, that is to say, being a compassionate-minded man, he set them free from sorrow : for it is not my intention to describe the ferocity of Gaius, but the ferocity of anger, which does not merely vent its rage upon individuals, but rends in pieces whole nations, and even lashes cities, rivers, and things which have no sense of pain. XX. Thus, the king of the Persians cut off the noses of a whole nation in Syria, wherefore the place is called Rhino- oolura. Do you think that he was merciful, because he did not cut their heads off altogether? no, he was delighted at CH. XXI.] OF ANGER, III. 130 having invented a new kind of punishment. Something of the same kind would have befallen the ^thiopians,^ who on account of their prodigiously long lives are called Macro- biotae ; for, because they did not receive slavery with hands uplifted to heaven in thankfulness, and sent an embassy which used independent, or what kings call insulting language, Cambyses became wild with rage, and, without any store of provisions, or any knowledge of the roads, started with all his fighting men through an arid and track- less waste, where during the first day's march the neces- saries of life failed, and the country itself furnished nothing, being barren and uncultivated, and untrodden by the foot of man. At first the tenderest parts of leaves and shoots of trees relieved their hunger, then hides softened by fire, and anything else that their extremity drove them to use as food. When as they proceeded neither roots nor herbs were to be found in the sand, and they found a wilderness destitute even of animal life, they chose each tenth man by lot and made of him a meal which was more cruel than hunger. Rage still drove the king madly forwards, until after he had lost one part of his army and eaten another lie began to fear that he also might be called upon to draw the lot for his life ; then at last he gave the order for retreat. Yet all the while his well-bred hawks were not sacrificed, and the means of feasting were carried for him on camels, while his soldiers were drawing lots for who should miserably perish, and who should yet more miser- ably live. XXI. This man was angry with an unknown and inof- fensive nation, which nevertheless was able to feel his wrath ; but Cyrus ^ was angry with a river. When hurry- ing to besiege Babylon, since in making war it is above all things important to seize one's opportunity, he tried to ford the wide-spread river Gyndes, which it is hardly safe to ' Ildt. iii. 17, sqq. ^ Ildt. i. 189, 190. 140 MINOR DIALOGUES. [lk. T. attempt even when the river has been dried up by tlie summer heat and is at its lowest. Here one of the white horses which drew the royal chariot was washed away, and his loss moved the king to such violent rage, that he swore to reduce the river which had carried off his royal retinue to so low an ebb that even women should walk across it and trample upon it. He thereupon devoted all the resources of his army to this object, and remained working until by cutting one hundred and eighty channels across the bed of the river he divided it into three hundred and sixty brooks, and left the bed dry, the waters flowing through other channels. Thus he lost time, which is very important in great operations, and lost, also, the soldiers' courage, which was broken by useless labour, and the oppor- tunity of falling upon his enemy unprepared, while he was waging against the river the war which he had declared against his foes. This frenzy, for what else can you call it, has befallen Romans also, for G. Cffisar destroyed a most beautiful villa at Herculaneum because his mother wns once imprisoned in it, and has thus made the place noto- rious by its misfortune ; for while it stood, we used to sail past it without noticing it, but now people inquire why it is in ruins. XXII. These should be regarded as examples to be avoided, and what I am about to relate, on the conti-ary, to be followed, being examples of gentle and lenient con- duct in men who both had reasons for anger and power to avenge themselves. What could have been easier than for Antigonus to order those two common soldiers to be exe- cuted who leaned against their king's tent while doing what all men especially love to do, and run the greatest danger by doing, I mean while they spoke evil of their king. Antigonus heard all they said, as was likely, since there was only a piece of cloth between the speakers and the listener, who gently raised it, and said " Go a little CH. XXIII.] OF ANGER, III. 141 further off, for fear the king should hear you." He also on one night, hearing some of his soldiers invoking every- thing that was evil upon their king for having brought them along that road and into that impassable mud, went to those who were in the greatest difficulties, and having extricated them without their knowing who was their helper, said, " Now curse Antigonus, by whose fault you have fallen into this trouble, but bless the man who has hroufht you out of this slough." This same Antigonus hore the abuse of his enemies as good-naturedly as that of his countrymen ; thus when he was besieging some Greeks in a little fort, and they, despising their enemy through their confidence in the strength of their position, cut many jokes upon the ugliness of Antigonus, at one time mocking liira for his shortness of stature, at another for his broken nose, he answered, " I rejoice, and expect some good for- tune because I have a Silenus in my camp." After he had conquered these witty folk by hunger, his treatment of them was to form regiments of those who were fit for ser- vice, and sell the rest by public auction ; nor would he, said he, have done this had it not been better that men who had such evil tongues should be under the control of a master. XXIII. This man's grandson' was Alexander, who used to hurl his lance at his guests, who, of the two friends which I have mentioned above, exposed one to the rage of a wild beast, and the other to his own ; yet of these two men, he who was exposed to the lion survived. He did not derive this vice from his grandfather, nor even from his father ; for it was an especial virtue of Philip's to endure insults patiently, and was a great safeguard of his kingdom. Dcmochares, who was sumamed Parrhesiastes on account of his unbridled and impudent tongue, came on an embassy to him with other ambassadors from Athens. After gra- ' A mistake : Antigonus (Monophthalmus) was one of Alexander's generals. 142 MINOR DIALOGUES. [PK. V. CH. XXV.] OF ANGER, III. U3 ciously listening to what they had to say, Philip said to them, " Tell me, what can I do that will please the Athe- nians ? " Demochares took him up, and answered, " Hang yourself." All the bystanders expressed their indignation at so brutal an answer, but Philip bade them be silent, and let this Thersites depart safe and sound. " But do you," said he, " you other ambassadors, tell the Athenians that those who say such thini^s are much more arrogant than those who hear them without revenging themselves." The late Emperor Augustus also did and said many memorable things, which prove that he was not under the dominion of anger. Timagenes, the historical writer, made some remarks upon him, his wife, and his whole family : nor did his jests fall to the ground, for nothing spreads more widely or is more in people's mouths than reckless wit. Caesar often warned him to be less audacious in his talk, and as he continued t-o offend, forbade him his hou.se. Timagenes after this passed the later years of his life as the guest of Asinius Pollio, and was the favourite of the whole city : the closing of Caesar's door did not close any other door against him. He read aloud the history which he wrote after this, but burned the books which contained the doings of Augustus Caesar. He was at enmity with Caesar, but yet no one feared to be his friend, no one shrank from him as though he were blasted by lightning : although he fell from so high a place, yet some one was found to catch him in his lap. Caesar, I say, bore this with patience, and was not even irritated by the historian's having laid violent hands upon his own glories and acts: he never complained of the man who afforded his enemy shelter, but merely said to Asinius Pollio " You are keeping a wild beast: " then, when the other would have excused his con- duct, he stopped him, and said " Enjoy, my Pollio, enjoy his friendship.*' When Pollio said, " If you order me, Caesar, I will straightway forbid him my house," he answered, " Do you think that I am likely to do this, after having made you friends again ? " for formerly Pollio had been angry with Timagenes, and ceased to be angry with him for no other reason than that Caesar began to be so. XXIV. Let every one, then, say to himself, whenever he is provoked, " Am I more powerful than Philip ? yet he allowed a man to curse him with impunity. Have I more authority in my own house than the Emperor Augustus possessed throughout the world ? yet he was satisfied with leaving the society of his maligner. Why should I make my slave atone by stripes and manacles for having an- swered me too loudly or having put on a stubborn look, or muttered something which I did not catch ? Who am I, that it should be a crime to shock my ears ? Many men have forgiven their enemies : shall I not forgive men for being lazy, careless, and gossipping?" We ought to plead age as an excuse for children, sex for women, freedom for a stranger, familiarity for a house-servant. Is this his first offence ? think how long he has been acceptable. Has he often done wrong, and in many other cases ? then let us continue to bear what we have borne so long. Is he a triend ? then he did not intend to do it. Is he an enemy ? then in doing it he did his duty. If he be a sensible man, let us believe his excuses ; if a fool, let us grant him pardon ; whatever he may be, let us say to ourselves on his behalf, that even the wisest of men are often in fault, that no one is so alert that his carefulness never beti-ays itself, that no one is of so ripe a judgment that his serious mind cannot be goaded by circumstances into some hotheaded action, that, in fine, no one, however much he may fear to erive offence, can help doing so even while he tries to avoid it. XXV. As it is a consolation to a humble man in trouble that the greatest are subject to reverses of fortune, and a man weeps more calmly over his dead son in the corner of 144 MINOR DIALOGUES. [UK. V, CH. XXYI.] OF ANGER, III. 145 his hovel if he sees a piteous ^ funeral proceed out of the palace as well ; so one bears injury or insult more calmly if one remembers that no power is so great as to be above the reach of harm. Indeed, if even the wisest do wrong, who cannot plead a good excuse for his faults ? Let ns look back npon our own youth, and think how often we then were too slothful in our duty, too impudent in our speech, too intemperate in our cups. Is any one angry ? then let us give him enough time to reflect upon wha^t he has done, and he will correct his own self. But suppose he ought to pay the penalty of his deeds : well, that is no rea.son why we should act as he does. It canot be doubted tliat he who regards his tormentor with contempt raises himself above the common herd and looks down upon them from a loftier position : it is the property of true magnanimity not to feel the blows which itmay receive. So does a huge wild beast turn slowly and gaze at yelping curs: so does the wave dash in vain against a great cliff. The man who is not angry remains unshaken by injury : he who is angry has been moved by it. He, however, whom I have described as being placed too high for any mischief to reach him, holds as it were the highest good in his arms : he can reply, not only to any man, but to fortune herself : " Do what yon will, you are too feeble to disturb my serenity • this is forbidden by reason, to whom I liave entrusted the guidance of my life : to become angry would do me more harm than your violence can do me. ' More harm ? ' say you. Yes, certainly : I know how much injury you have done me, but I cannot tell to what excesses anger might not carry me." XXVI. You say, " I cannot endure it : injuries are hard to bear." You lie ; for how can any one not be able to bear injury, if he can bear to be angry ? Besides, what you ' Acerhum = atopoi^ ; the funeral of one who has I>een cut off in the flower of his youth. intend to do is to endure both injury and anger. Why do you bear with the delirium of a sick man, or the ravings of a madman, or the impudent blows of a child ? Because, of course, they evidently do not know what they are doing : if a man be not responsible for his actions, what does it matter by what malady he became so : the plea of ignorance holds equally good in every case. '* What then ? " say you, "shall he not be punished ? " He will be, even supposing that you do not wish it : for the greatest punishment for having done harm is the sense of having done it, and no one is more severely punished than he who is given over to the punishment of remorse. In the next place, we ought to con- sider the whole state of mankind, in order to pass a just judgment on all the occurrences of life : for it is unjust to blame individuals for a vice which is common to all. The colour of an ^thiop is not remarkable amongs this own people, nor is any man in Germany ashamed of red hair rolled into a knot. You cannot call anything peculiar or disgrace- ful in a particular man if it is the general characteristic of his nation. Now, the cases whi('h I have quoted are defended only by the usage of one out-of-the-way quarter of the world : see now, how far more deserving of pardon those crimes are which are spread abroad among all mankind. We all are hasty and careless, we all are untrustworthy, dissatis- fied, and ambitious : nay, why do I try to hide our common wickedness by a too partial description ? we all are bad. Every one of us therefore will find in his own breast the vice which he blames in another. Why do you remark how pale this man, or how lean that man is ? there is a general I)estilence. Let us therefore be more gentle one to another : we are bad men, living among bad men : there is only one thing which can afford us peace, and that is to agree to forgive one another. " This man has already injured me," say you, "and I have not yet injured him." No, but you have probably injured some one else, and you will injure L 146 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. y. him some day. Do not form your judgment by one hour, or one day : consider the whole tendency of your mind : even thongh you have done no evil, yet you are capable of doing it. XXVII. How far better is it to heal an injury than to avenge it ? Revenge takes up much time, and throws itself in the way of many injuries while it is smarting under one. We all retain our anger longer than we feel our hurt : how far better it were to take the opposite course and not meet one mischief by another. Would any one think himself to be in his perfect mind if he were to return kicks to a mule or bites to a dog ? '* These crea- tures," you say, " know not that they are doing wrong." Then, in the first place, what an unjust judge you must be if a man has less chance of gaining your forgiveness than a beast ! Secondly, if animals are protected from your anger by their want of reason, you ought to treat all foolish men in the like manner: for if a man has that mental darkness which excuses all the wrong-doings of dumb animals, what dif- ference does it make if in other respects he be unlike a dumb animal? He has sinned. Well, is this the first time, or will this be the last time ? Why, you should not believe him even if he said, *' Never will I do so again." He will sin, and another will sin against him, and all his life he will wallow in wickedness. Savagery must be met by kindness : we ought to use, to a man in anger, the argu- ment which is so effective with one in grief, that is, " Shall 3'ou leave off this at some time, or never r* If you will do so at some time, how better is it that you should abandon anger than that anger should abandon you ? Or, will this excitement never leave you ? Do you see to what an unquiet life you condemn yourself ? for what will be the life of one who is always swelling with rage?" Add to this, that after you have worked yourself up into a rage, and have from time tc time renewed the causes of your CH. XXVIII.] OF AXGER, III. 147 excitement, yet your anger will depart from you of its own accord, and time will sap its strength : how much better then is it that it should be overcome by you than by itself ? XXVIII. If you are angry, you will quarrel first with this man, and then with that : first with slaves, then with freedmen : first with parents, then with children : first with acquaintances, then with strangers: for there are grounds for anger in every case, unless your mind steps in and intercedes with you : your frenzy will drag you from one place to another, and from thence to elsewhere, your madness will constantly meet with newly-occurrin"- irritants and will never depart from you. Tell mc, miserable man,' what time you will have for loving ? O, what good time yoii are wasting on an evil thing ! How much better it would be to win friends, and disarm enemies : to serve the state, or to busy oneself with one's private affairs, rather than to cast about for what harm you can do to somebody, what wound you can inflict either upon his social position, his fortune, or his person, although you cannot succeed in doing so without a struggle and risk to yourself, even if your antagonist be inferior to you. Even supposing that he were handed over to you in chains, and that you were at liberty to torture him as much as you please, yet even then excessive violence in striking a blow often causes us to dislo- cate a joint, or entangles a sinew in the teeth which it has broken. Anger makes many men cripples, or invalids, even when it meets with an unresisting victim : and besides this, no creature is so weak that it can be destroyed without any danger to its destroyer : sometimes grief, sometimes chance, puts the weakest on a level with the strongest. What shall we say of the fact that the greater part of the things which enrage us are insults, not injuries ? It makes a great difference whether a man thwarts my wishes or merelv fails to carry them out, whether he robs me or does not give me anything : yet we count it all the same whether a Ii8 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. man takes anything from us or refuses to give anything to us, whether he extinguishes our hope or defers it, whether his object be to hinder us or to help himself, whether he acts out of love for some one or out of hatred for us. Some men are bound to oppose us not only on the ground of justice, but of honour : one is defending his father, another his brotlier, another his country, another his friend : yet we do not forgive men for doing what we should blame them for not doing; nay, though one can hardly believe it, we often think well of an act, and ill of the man who did it. But, by Hercules, a great and just man looks with respect at the bravest of his enemies, and the most obstinate defender of his freedom and his coun- tiy, and wishes that he had such a man for his own coun- tryman and soldier. XXIX. It is shameful to hate him whom you praise : but how much more shameful is it to hate a man for some- thing for which he deserves to be pitied ? If a prisoner of war, who has suddenly been reduced to the condition of a slave, still retains some remnants of liberty, and does not run nimbly to perform foul and toilsome tasks, if, having grown slothful by long rest, he cannot run fast enough to keep pace with his master's horse or carriage, if sleep over- powers him when weary with many days and nights of watching, if he refuses to undertake farm work, or does not do it heartily when brought away from the idleness of city service and put to hard labour, we ought to make a dis- tinction between whether a man cannot or will not do it : we should pardon many slaves, if we began to judge them before we began to be angry with them : as it is, however, we obey our first impulse, and then, although we may j)rove to have been excited about mere trifles, yet we con- tinue to be angry, lest we should seem to have begun to bo angry without cause ; and, most unjust of all, the injustice of our anger makes us persist in it all the more ; for we CH. XXX.] OP ANGER, III. 149 nurse it and inflame it, as though to be violently angry proved our anger to be just. XXX. How much better is it to observe how trifling, how inoffensive are the first beginnings of anger ? You will see that men are subject to the same influences as dumb animals : we are put out by trumpery, futile matters. Bulls are excited by red colour, the asp raises its head at a shadow, bears or lions are irritated at the shaking of a rag, and all creatures who are naturally fierce and wild are alarmed at trifles. The same thing befalls men both of restless and of sluggish disposition ; they are seized by suspicions, sometimes to such an extent that they call slight benefits injuries : and these form the most common and certainly the most bitter subject for anger : for we become angry with our dearest friends for having bestowed less upon us than we expected, and less than others have received from them : yet there is a remedy at hand for both these grievances. Has he favoured our rival more than ourselves ? then let us enjoy what we have without making any comparisons. A man will never be well off to whom it is a torture to see any one better off than himself. Have I less than I hoped for ? well, perhaps I hoped for more than I ought. This it is against which we ought to be espe- cially on our guard : from hence arises the most destruc- tive anger, sparing nothing, not even the holiest. The Emperor Julius was not stabbed by so many enemies as by friends whose insatiable hopes he had not satisfied. He was willing enough to do so, for no one ever made a more generous use of victory, of whose fruits he kept nothing for himself save the power of distributing them ; but how could he glut such unconscionable appetites, when each man coveted as much as any one man could possess ? This was why he saw his fellow-soldiers standing round his chair with drawn swords, Tillius Cimber, though he had a short time before been the keenest defender of his party, 150 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. and others who only became Pompeians after Pompeius was dead. This it is which has turned the arms of kings against them, and made their trustiest followers meditate the death of him for whom and before whom ^ they once would have been glad to die. XXXI. No man is satisfied with his own lot if he fixes his attention on that of another : and this leads to our being angry even with the gods, because somebody precedes us, though wc forget of how many we take precedence, and that when a man envies few people, he must be followed in the background by a huge crowd of people who envy him. Yet so churlish is human nature, that, however much men may have received, they think themselves wronged if they are able to receive still more. "He gave me the pmetorship. Yes, but I had hoped for the consulship. He bestowed the twelve axes upon me : true, but he did not make me a regular 2 consul. He allowed me to give my name to the year, but he did not help me to the priesthood. I have been elected a member of the college : but why only of one ? He has bestowed upon me every honour that the state affords : yes, but he has added nothing to my private for- tune. What he gave me he was obliged to give to some- body : he brought out nothing from his own pocket." Rather than speak thus, thank him for what you have received : wait for the rest, and be thankful that you are not yet too full to contain more : there is a pleasure in having something left to hope for. Are you preferred to every one ? then rejoice at holding the first place in the thoughts of your friend. Or are many others preferred before you ? then think how many more are below you than there are ^ In point of time. ' Consul ordinarius, a regular consul, on© who administered in office from the fii'st of January, in opposition to consul suffectus, one chosen in the course ot the year in the place of one who had died. The consul ordinarius gave his name to ihe year. OF ANGER, III. 151 CH. XXXIII.] above you. Do you ask, what is your greatest fault ? It is, that you keep your accounts wrongly : you set a high value upon what you give, and a low one upon what you receive. XXXII. Let different qualities in different people keep us from quarrelling with them . let us fear to be angry with some, feel ashamed of being angry with others, and disdain to be angry with others. We do a fine thing, indeed, when we send a wretched slave to the workhouse! Why are we in such a hurry to flog him at once, to break his legs straightway ? we shall not lose our boasted power if°we defer its exercise. Let us wait for the time when we ourselves can give orders : at present we speak under constraint from anger. When it has passed away we shall see what amount of damage has been done; for this is what we are especially liable to make mistakes about: we use the sword, and capital punishment, and we appoint chains, imprisonment, and starvation to punish a crime which deserves only flogging with a light scourge. "In what way," say you, "do you bid us look at those thino"S by which we think ourselves injured, that we may see how paltry, pitiful, and childish they are ? " Of all things I would charge you to take to yourself a magnani- mous spirit, and behold how low and sordid all these matters are about which we squabble and run to and fro till we are out of breath ; to any one who entertains any lofty and magnificent ideas, they are not worthy of a thought. XXXIII. The greatest hullabaloo is about money: this it is which wearies out the law-courts, sows strife between father and son, concocts poisons, and gives swords to murderers just as to soldiers : it is stained with our blood : on account of it husbands and wives wrangle all night long, crowds press round the bench of magistrates, kings rage and plunder, and overthrow communities which it has taken the labour of centuries to build, that they may seek for gold and 152 MINOR DIALOGUES. [BK. V. silver in the ashes of their cities. Do yoa like to look at your money-bags lying in the corner ? it is for these that men shout till their eyes start from their heads, that the law-courts ring with the din of trials, and that jurymen brought from great distances sit to decide which man's covetousuess is the more equitable. What shall we say if it be not even for a bag of money, but for a handful of coppers or a shilling scored up by a slave that some old man, soon to die without an heir, bursts with rage ? what if it be an invalid money-lender whose feet are distorted by the gout, and who can no longer use his hands to count -with, who calls for his interest of one thousandth a month, ^ and by his sureties demands his pence even during the paroxysms of his disease ? If you were to bring to me all the money from all our mines, which we are at this moment sinking, if you were to bring to-night all that is concealed in hoards, where avarice returns money to the earth from whence it came, and pity that it ever was dug out — all that mass I should not think worthy to cause a wrinkle on the brow of a good man. What ridicule those things deserve which bring tears into our eyes ! XXXIV. Come now, let us enumerate the other causes of anger : they are food, drink, and the showy apparatus connected with them, words, insults, disrespectful move- ments of the body, suspicions, obstinate cattle, lazy slaves, and spiteful construction put upon other men's words, so that even the gift of language to mankind becomes reckoned among the wrongs of nature. Believe mo, the things which cause us such great heat are trifles, the sort of things that chilren fight and squabble over : there is nothing serious, nothing important in all that we do with such gloomy faces. It is, I repeat, the setting a great value on trifles that is the cause of your anger and madness. This * It seems inconceivable that so small an interest, 1^ percent, per an., can be meant. OP ANGER, III. 153 CH. XXXV.] man wanted to rob me of my inheritance, that one has brought a charue against me before persons ' whom I had long courted with g'reat'' expectations, that one has coveted my mistress. A wish for the same things, which ought to have been a bond of friendship, becomes a source of quarrels and hatred. A narrow path causes quarrels among those who pass up and down it ; a wide and broadly spread road may be used by whole tribes without jostling. Those objects of desire of yours cause strife and disputes among those who covet the same things, because they are petty, and cannot be given to one man without being taken away from another. XXXV. You are indignant at being answered back by your slave, your freedman, your wife, or your client : and then you complain of the state having lost the freedom which you have destroyed in your own house : then again if he is silent when you question him, you call it sullen obstinacy. Let him both speak and be silent, and laugh too. " In the presence of his master ? " you ask. Nay, say rather "in the presence of the house-father." Why do you shout? why do you storm ? why do you in the middle of dinner call for a whip, because the slaves are talking, because a crowd as large as a public meeting is not as silent as the wilderness? You have ears, not merely that you may listen to musical sounds, softly and sweetly drawn out and harmonized : you ought to hear laughter and weep- ing, coaxing and quarrelling, joy and sorrow, the human voice and the roaring and barking of animals. Miserable one ! why do you shudder at the noise of a slave, at the rattling of brass or the banging of a door ? you cannot help hearing the thunder, however refined you may be. You may apply these remarks about your ears with equal trutb to your eyes, which are just as dainty, if they have been badly schooled : they are shocked at stains and » Captatis, Madvig. Adv. II. 394. 154 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. V. dirt, at silver plate which is not suflSciently bright, or at a pool whose water is not clear down to the bottom. Those same eyes which can only endure to see the most variegated marble, and that which has just been scoured bright, which will look at no table whose wood is not marked with a net- work of veining, and which at home are loth to tread upon anything that is not more precious than gold, will, when out of doors, gaze most calmly upon rough and miry paths, will see unmoved that the greater number of persons that meet them are shabbily dressed, and that the walls of the houses are rotten, full of cracks, and uneven. What, then, can be the reason that they are not distressed out of doors by sights which would shock them in their own home, un- less it be that their temper is placid and long-suffering in one case, sulky and fault-finding in the other ? XXXVI. All our senses should be educated into strength : they are naturally able to endure much, provided that the spirit forbears to spoil them. The spirit ought to be brought up for examination daily. It was the custom of Sextius when the day was over, and he had betaken him- self to rest, to inquire of his spirit : " What bad habit of yours have you cured to-day ? what vice have you checked ? in what respect are you better ? " Anger will cease, and become more gentle, if it knows that every day it will have to appear before the judgment seat. What can be more admirable than this fashion of discussing the whole of the day's events ? how sweet is the sleep which follows this self-examination ? how calm, how sound, and careless is it when our spirit has either received praise or reprimand, and when our secret inquisitor and censor has made his rejKDrt about our morals ? I make use of this privilege, and daily plead my cause before myself ; when the lamp is taken out of my sight, and my wife, who knows my habit, has ceased to talk, I pass the whole day in review before myself, and repeat all that I have said and done : I conceal nothing CH. XXXYII.] OF ANGER, III. 155 from myself, and omit nothing : for why should I be afraid of any of my shortcomings, when it is in my power to say, *' I pardon you this time : see that you never do that any more? In that dispute you spoke too contentiously : do not for the future argue with ignorant people : those who have never been taught are unwilling to learn. You repri- manded that man with more freedom than you ought, and consequently you have offended him instead of amending his ways : in dealing with other cases of the kind, you should look carefully, not only to the truth of what you say, but also whether the person to whom you speak can bear to be told the truth." A good man delights in re- ceiving advice : all the worst men are the most impatient of guidance. XXXVII. At the dinner-table some jokes and sayings intended to give you pain have been directed against you : avoid feasting with low people. Those who are not modest even when sober become much more recklessly impudent after drinking. You have seen your friend in a rage with the porter of some lawyer or rich man, because he has sent him back when about to enter, and you yourself on behalf of your friend have been in a rage with the meanest of slaves. Would you then be angry with a chained house- dog ? Why, even he, after a long bout of barking, becomes gentle if you offer him food. So draw back and smile ; for the moment your porter fancies himself to be somebody, because he guards a door which is beset by a crowd of litigants ; for the moment he who sits within is prosperous and happy, and thinks that a street-door through which it is hard to gain entrance is the mark of a rich and powerful man ; he knows not that the hardest door of all to open is that of the prison. Be prepared to submit to much. Is any one surprised at being cold in winter ? at being sick at sea ? or at being jostled in the street ? The mind is strong enouc-h to bear those evils for which it is prepared. When 156 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. you are not given a sufficiently distinguished place at table yon have begun to be angry with your fellow-guests, with your host, and with him who is preferred above you. Idiot ! What difference can it make what part of the couch you rest upon ? Can a cushion give you honour or take it away ? You have looked askance at somebody because he has spoken slightingly of your talents ; will you apply this rule to yourself ? If so, Knnius, whose poetry you do not care for, would have hated you. Hortensius, if you had found fault with his speeches, would have quar- relled with you, and Cicero, if you had laughed at his poetry, would have been your enemy. A candidate for office, will you resent men's votes ? XXX VIII. Some one has offered you an insult ? Not a greater one, probably, than was offered to the Stoic phi- losopher Diogenes, in whose face an insolent young man spat just when he was lecturing upon anger. He bore it mildly and wisely. *' I am not angry," said he, " but I am not sure that I ought not to be angry." Yet how much better did our Cato behave ? When he was pleading, one Lentulus, whom our fathers remember as a demagogue and passionate man, spat all the phlegm he could muster upon his forehead. Cato wiped his face, and said, " Len- tulus, I shall declare to all the world that men are mis- taken when they say that you are wanting in cheek." XXXIX. We have now succeeded, my Novatus, in pro- perly regulating our own minds : they either do not feel anger or are above it : let us next see how we may soothe the wrath of others, for we do not only wish to be whole, but to heal. You should not attempt to allay the first burst of anger by words : it is deaf and frantic : we must give it scope ; our remedies will only be effective when it slackens. We do not meddle with men's eyes when they are swollen, because we should only irritate their hard stiffness by CH. XL.] OF ANGER, III. 157 touching them, nor do we try to cure other diseases when at their height : the best treatment in the first stage of illness is rest. " Of how very little value," say you, " is your remedy, if it appeases anger which is subsiding of its own accord ? " In the first place, I answer, it makes it end quicker: in the next, it prevents a relapse. It can render harmless even the violent impulse which it dares not soothe : it will put out of the way all weapons which might be used for revenge : it will pretend to be angry, in order that its advice may have more weight as coming from an assistant and comrade in grief. It will invent delays, and postpone immediate punishment while a greater one is being sought for : it will use every artifice to give the man a respite from his frenzy. If his anger be un- usually strong, it will inspire him with some irresistible feeling of shame or of fear : if weak, it will make use of conversation on amusing or novel subjects, and by play- ing upon his curiosity lead him to forget his passion. We are told that a physician, who was forced to cure the king's daut^hter, and could not without using the knife, conveyed a lancet to her swollen breast concealed under the sponge with which he was fomenting it. The same girl, who would have shrunk from the remedy if he had applied it openly, bore the pain because she did not expect it. Some diseases can only be cured by deceit. XL. To one class of men yon will say, " Beware, lest your anger give pleasure to your foes : " to the other, •' Beware lest your greatness of mind and the reputation it bears among most people for strength become impaired. I myself, by Hercules, am scandalized at your treatment and am grieved beyond measure, but we must wait for a proper opportunity. He shall pay for what he has done ; be well assured of that : when you are able you shall return it to him with interest." To reprove a man when he is angry is to add to his anger by being angry oneself. You 158 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. V. should approach him in different ways and in a compliant fashion, unless perchance you be so great a personage that you can quash his anger, as the Emperor Augustus did when he was dining with Vedius PoUio.' One of the slaves had broken a crystal goblet of his : Vedius ordered him to be led away to die, and that too in no common fashion : he ordered him to be thrown to feed the muraenae, some of which fish, of great size, he kept in a tank. Who would not think that he did this out of luxury ? but it was out of cruelty. The boy slipped through the hands of those who tried to seize him, and flung himself at Caesar's feet in order to beg for nothing more than that he might die in some different way, and not be eaten. Caesar was shocked at this novel form of cruelty, and ordered him to be let go, and, in his place, all the crystal ware which he saw before him to be broken, and the tank to be filled up. This was the proper way for Caesar to reprove his friend : he made a good use of his power. What are you, that when at dinner you order men to be put to death, and mangled by an unheard-of form of torture ? Are a man's bowels to be torn asunder because your cup is broken ? You must think a great deal of yourself, if even when the emperor is present you order men to be executed. XLT. If any one's power is so great that he can treat anger with the tone of a superior let him crush it out of existence, but only if it be of the kind of which I have just spoken, fierce, inhuman, bloodthirsty, and incurable save by fear of something more powerful than itself let us give the mind that peace which is given by constant meditation upon wholesome maxims, by good actions, and by a mind directed to the pursuit of honour alone. Let us set our own conscience fully at rest, but make no efforts to gain credit for ourselves : so long as we » See " On Clemency," i. 18, 2. OF ANGER, HI. 159 CH. XLII.] deserve well, let us be satisfied, even if we should be ill spoken of. " But the common herd admires spirited actions, and bold men are held in honour, while quiet ones are thought to be indolent." True, at first sight they may appear to be so : but as soon as the even tenor of their life proves that this quietude arises not from dullness but from peace of mind, then that same populace respects and reverences them. There is, then, nothing useful in that hideous and destruc- tive passion of anger, but on the contrary, every kind of evil, fire and sword. Anger tramples self-restraint under- foot, steeps its hands in slaughter, scatters abroad the limbs of its children : it leaves no place unsoiled by crime, it has no thoughts of glory, no fears of disgrace, and when once anger has hardened into hatred, no amendment is possible. XLII. Let us be free from this evil, let us clear our minds of it, and extirpate root and branch a passion which grows again wherever the smallest particle of it finds a resting-place. Let us not moderate anger, but get rid of it altogether : what can moderation have to do with an evil habit? We shall succeed in doing this, if only we exert ourselves. Nothing will be of greater service than to bear in mind that we are mortal : let each man say to himself and to his neighbour, " Why should we, as though we were born to live for ever, waste our tiny span of life in declaring anger against any one ? why should days, which we might spend in honourable enjoyment, be misapplied in grieving and torturing others ? Life is a matter which does not admit of waste, and we have no spare time to throw away. Why do we rush into the fray ? why do we go out of our way to seek disputes ? why do we, forgetful of the weakness of our nature, undertake mighty feuds, and, frail though we be, summon up all our strength to out down other men ? Ere long, fever or some other bodily ailment will make us unable to carry on this warfare of 160 MINOR DIALOG CES. [BK. T. CH. XLIII.] OF ANGER, III. IGl hatred which we so implacably wage: death will soon part the most vigorous pair of combatants. Why do we make disturbances and spend our lives in rioting? fate hangs over our heads, scores up to our account the days as they pass, and is ever drawing nearer and nearer. The time which you have marked for the death of another perhaps includes your own." XLIII. Instead of acting thus, why do you not rather draw together what there is of your short life, and keep it peaceful for others and for yourself ? why do you not rather make yourself beloved by every one while you live, and regretted by every one when you die ? Why do you wish to tame that man's pride, because he takes too lofty a tone with you ? why do you try with all your might to crush that other who snaps and snarls at you, a low and contemptible wretch, but spiteful and offensive to his betters ? Master, why are you angry with your slave ? Slave, why are you angry with your master ? Client, why are you angry with your patron ? Patron, why are you angry with your client? Wait but a little while. See, here comes death, who will make you all equals. We often see at a morning performance in the arena a battle between a bull and a bear, fastened together, in which the victor, after he has torn the other to pieces, is himself slain. We do just the same thing: we worry some one who is connected with us, although the end of both victor and vanquished is at hand, and that soon. Let us rather pass the little remnant of our lives in peace and quiet : may no one loathe us when we lie dead. A quarrel is often brought to an end by a cry of " Fire ! " in the neigh- bourhood, and the appearance of a wild beast parts the highwayman from the traveller: men have no leisure to battle with minor evils when menaced by some overpower- ing terror. What have we to do with fighting and ambus- cades ? do you want anything more than death to befall him with whom you are angry ? well, even though you sit quiet, he will be sure to die. You waste your pains : you want to do what is certain to be done. You say, " I do not wish necessarily to kill him, but to punish him by exile, or public disgrace, or loss of property." I can more easily pardon one who wishes to give his enemy a wound than one who wishes to give him a blister : for the latter ia not only bad, but petty -minded. Whether you are thinking of extreme or slighter punishments, how very short is the time during which either your victim is tortured or you enjoy an evil pleasure in another's pain ? This breath that we hold so dear will soon leave us : in the meantime, while we draw it, while we live among human beings, let us practise humanity : let us not be a terror or a danger to any one. Let us keep our tempers in spite of losses, wrongs, abuse or sarcasm, and let us endure with magna- nimity our shortlived troubles : while we are considering what is due to ourselves, as the saying is, and worrying ourselves, death will be upon us. lea OF CONSOLATION. 1G3 THE SIXTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO MARCIA. OF CONSOLATION. T^ID I not know, Marcia, that you have as little of a woman's weakness of mind as of her other vices, and that yonr life was regarded as a pattern of antique virtue, I should not have dared to combat your grief, which is one that many men fondly nurse and embrace, nor should 1 have conceived the hope of persuading you to hold for- tune blameless, having to plead for her at such an unfa- vorable time, before so partial a judge, and against such an odious charge. I derive confidence, however, from the proved strength of your mind, and your virtue, which has been proved by a severe test. All men know how well you behaved towards your father, whom you loved as dearly as your children in all respects, save that you did not wish him to survive you : indeed, for all that I know you may have wished that also : for great affection ventures to break some of the golden i-ules of life. You did all that lay in your power to avert the death of your father, Aulus Cremutius Cordus;^ but when it became clear that, sur- rounded as he was by the myrmidons of Sejanus, there was no other way of escape from slavery, you did not ' See Merivale's " History of the Romans under the Empire," ch. xlv. CH. I.] indeed approve of his resolution, but gave up all attempts to oppose it ; you shed tears openly, and choked down your sobs, yet did not screen them behind a smiling face ; and you did all this in the present century, wheu not to be unnatural towards one's parents is considered the height of filial affection. When the changes of our times gave you an opportunity, you restored to the use of man that genius of your father for which he had suffered, and made him in real truth immortal by publishing as an eternal memorial of him those books which th it bravest of men had written with his own blood. You have done a great service to Roman literature : a large part of Cordus's books had been burned ; a great service to posterity, who will receive a true account of events, which cost its author so dear ; and a great service to himself, whose memory flourishes and ever will flourish, as long as men set any value upon the facts of Roman history, as long as any one lives who wishes to review the deeds of our fathers, to know what a true Roman was like — one who still remained unconquered when all other necks were broken in to receive the yoke of Sejanus, one who was free in every thought, feeling, and act. By Hercules, the state would h ive sustained a great loss if you had not brought him forth from the oblivion to which his two splendid qualities, eloquence and independence, had consigned him : he is now read, is popular, is received into men's hands and bosoms, and fears no old age : but as for those who butchered him, before long men will cease to speak even of their crimes, the only things by which they are remembered. This greatness of mind in you has forbidden me to take into consideration your sex or your face, still clouded by the sorrow by which so many years ago it was suddenly over- cast. See ; I shall do nothing underhand, nor try to steal away your sorrows : I have reminded you of old hurts, and tu prove that your present wound may be healed, I havo 1G4 MINOR DIALOGL'ES. [BK. YI. sliown you the scar of one which was equally severe. Let others use soft measures and caresses ; I have determined to do battle with your grief, and I will dry those weary and exhausted eyes, which already, to tell you the truth, are weeping more from habit than from sorrow. I will effect this cure, if possible, with your goodwill : if you disapprove of my efforts, or dislike them, then you must continue to hug and fondle the grief which you have adopted as the survivor of your son. What, I pray you, is to be the end of it ? All means have been tried in vain : the consolations of your friends, who are weary of offerincr them, and the influence of great men who are related to you : literature, a taste which your father enjoyed and which you have inherited from him, now linds your ears closed, and affords you but a futile consolation, which scarcely engages your thoughts for a moment. Even time itself, nature's greatest remedy, which quiets the most bitter grief, loses its power with you alone. Three years have already passed, and still your grief has lost none of its first poignancy, but renews and strengthens itself day by day, and has now dwelt so long with you that it has acquired a domicile in your mind, and actually thinks that it would be base to leave it. All vices sink into our whole beino- if we do not crush them before they gain a footing ; and in like manner these sad, pitiable, and discordant feelings end by feeding upon their own bitterness, until the unhappy mind takes a sort of morbid delight in grief. I should have liked, therefore, to have attempted to effect this cure in the earliest stages of the disorder, before its force was fully developed; it might have been checked by milder remedies, but now that it havS been confirmed by time it cannot be beaten without a hard struggle. In like manner wonnds heal easily when the blood is fresh upon them : they can then be cleared out and brought to tlie surface, and admit of being probed by the finger: when disease CH. II.] OF CONSOLATION. 165 has turned them into malignant ulcers, their cure is more difficult. I cannot now influence so strong a grief by polite and mild measures : it must be broken down by force. II. I am aware that all who wish to give any one advice begin with precepts, and end with examples : but it is sometimes useful to alter this fashion, for we must deal differently with different people. Some are guided by reason, others must be confronted with authorit3'^ and the names of celebrated persons, whose brilliancy dazzles their mind and destroys their power of free judgment. I will place before your eyes two of the greatest examples be- longing to your sex and your century : one, that of a woman who allowed herself to be entirely carried away by grief ; the other, one who, though afflicted by a like misfortune, and an even greater loss, yet did not allow her sorrows to reign over her for a very long time, but quickly restored her mind to its accustomed frame. Octavia and Li via, the former Augustus's sister, the latter his wife, both lost their sons when they were young men, and when they were certain of succeeding to the throne. Octavia lost Mar- cellus, whom both his father-in-law and his uncle had begun to depend upon, and to place upon his shoulders the weight of the empire — a young man of keen intelli- gence and firm character, frugal and moderate in his desires to an extent which deserved especial admiration in one so young and so wealthy, strong to endure labour, averse to indulgence, and able to bear whatever burden his uncle might choose to lay, or I may say to pile upon his shoulders. Augustus had well chosen him as a founda- tion, for he would not have given way under any weight, however excessive. His mother never ceased to weep and sob during her whole life, never endured to listen to wholesome advice, never even allowed her thoughts to be diverted from her sorrow. She remained during her whole life just as she was during the funeral, with all the < 1G6 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. VI. strength of her mind intently fixed upon one subject. I do not say that she lacked the courage to shake off her grief, but she refused to be comforted, thought that it would be a second bereavement to lose her tears, and would not have any portrait of her darling son, nor allow any allusion to be made to him. She hated all mothers, and riged against Livia with especial fury, because it seemed as though the brilliant prospect once in store for her own child was now transferred to Livia's son. Passing all her days in darkened rooms and alone, not conversing even with her brother, she refused to accept the poems which were composed in memory of Marcellus, and all the other honours paid him by literature, and closed her ears ngrainst all consolation. She lived buried and hidden from view, neglecting her accustomed duties, and actually angry with the excessive splendour of her brother's prosperity, in which she shared. Though surrounded by her children and grnndchildren, she would not lay aside her mourning garb, though by retaining it she seemed to put a slight upon all her relations, in thinking herself bereaved in spite of their being alive. III. Livia lost her son Drusus, who would have been a great emperor, and was already a great general : he had marched far into Germany, and had planted the Roman standards in places where the very existence of the Romans was hardly known. He died on the march, his very foes treating him with respect, observing a reciprocal truce, and not having the heart to wish for what would do them most service. In addition to his dying thus in his coun- try's service, great sorrow for him was expressed by the citizens, the provinces, and the whole of Italy, through which his corpse was attended by the people of the free towns and colonies, who poured out to perform the last sad offices to him, till it reached Rome in a procession which resembled a triumph. His mother was not permitted to OF CONSOLATION. 167 CH. III.] receive his last kiss and gather the last fond words from his dying lips : she followed the relics of her Drusus on theii long journey, though every one of the funeral pyres with which all Italy was glowing seemed to renew her grief, as though she had lost him so many times. When, however, she at last laid him in the tomb, she left her sorrow there with him, and grieved no more than was becoming to a Caesar or due to a son. She did not cease to make frequent mention of the name of her Drusus, to set up his portrait in all places, both public and private, and to speak of him and listen while others spoke of him with the greatest plea- sure : she lived with his memory ; which none can embrace and consort with who has made it painful to himself.^ Choose, therefore, which of these two examples you think the more commendable : if you prefer to follow the former, you will remove yourself from the number of the living ; you will shun the sight both of other people's children and of your own, and even of him whose loss you deplore ; you will be looked upon by mothers as an omen of evil ; you will refuse to take part in honourable, permissible plea- sures, thinking them unbecoming for one so afflicted ; you will be loth to linger above ground, and will be especially angry with your age, because it will not straightway bring your life abruptly to an end. I here put the best con- struction on what is really most contemptible and foreign to your character. I mean that you will show yourself unwilling to live, and unable to die. If, on the other hand, showing a milder and better regulated spirit, you try to follow the example of the latter most exalted lady, you will not be in misery, nor will you wear your life out with suf- fering. Plague on it ! what madness this is, to punish one's self because one is unfortunate, and not to lessen, but to increase one's ills ! You ought to display, in this ' If it is a pain to dwell upon the thought of lost friends, of course you do not continually refresh the memory of them by speaking of them. 168 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VI. matter also, that decent behaviour and modesty which has characterised all your life : for there is such a thing as self-restraint in grief also. You will show more respect for the youth himself, who well deserves that it should make you glad to speak and think of him, if you make him able to meet his mother with a cheerful countenance, even as he was wont to do when alive. IV. I will not invite you to practise the sterner kind of maxims, nor bid you bear the lot of humanity with more than human philosophy ; neither will I attempt to dry a mother's eyes on the very day of her son's burial. I will appear with you before an arbitrator: the matter upon which we shall join issue is, whether grief ought to be deep or unceasing. I doubt not that you will prefer the example of Julia Augusta, who was your intimate friend : she invites you to follow her method : she, in her first paroxysm, when grief is especially keen and hard to bear, betook herself for consolation to Areus, her husband's teacher in philosophy, and declared that this did her much good ; more good than the thought of the Roman people, whom she was unwilling to sadden by her mourning; more than Augustus, who, staggering under the loss of one of his two chief supporters, ought not to be yet more bowed down by the sorrow of his relatives; more even than her son Tiberius, whose affection during that untimely burial of one for whom whole nations wept made her feel that she had only lost one member of her family. This was, I imagine, his introduction to and grounding in philosophy of a woman peculiarly tenacious of her own opinion : — '♦ Even to the present day, Julia, as far as I can tell — and I was your husband's constant com- panion, and knew not only what all men were allowed to know, but all the most secret thoughts of your hearts — you have been careful that no one should find anything to blame in your conduct; not only in matters of importance, CH. v.] OP CONSOLATION. 169 but even in trifles you have taken pains to do nothing which you could wish common fame, that most frank judge of the acts of princes, to overlook. Nothing, I think, is more admirable than that those who are in high places should pardon many shortcomings in others, and have to ask it for none of their own. So also in this matter of mourning you ought to act up to your maxim of doing nothing which you could wish undone, or done otherwise. V. " In the next place, I pray and beseech you not to be self-willed and beyond the management of your friends. You must be aware that none of them know how to behave, whether to mention Drusus in your presence or not, as they neither wish to wrong a noble youth by forgetting him^ nor to hurt you by speaking of him. When we leave you and assemble together by ourselves, we talk freely about his sayings and doings, treating them with the respect which they deserve : in your presence deep silence is observed about him, and thus you lose that gi'eatest of pleasures, the hearing the praises of your son, which I doubt not you would be willing to hand down to all future ages, had you the means of so doing, even at the cost of your own life. Wherefore endure to listen to, nay, encou- rage conversation of which he is the subject, and let your ears be open to the name and memory of your son. You ought not to consider this painful, like those who in such a case think that part of their misfortune consists in listening to consolation. As it is, you have altogether run into the other extreme, and, forgetting the better aspects of your lot, look only upon its worse side : you pay no attention to the pleasure you have had in your son's society and your joyful meetings with him, the sweet caresses of his baby- hood, the progress of his education : you fix all your atten- tion upon that last scene of all : and to this, as though it were not shocking enough, you add every horror you can. Do not, I implore you, take a perverse pride in appearing 170 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. VT. the most unhappy of women : and reflect also that there is no great credit in behaving bravely in times of prosperity, when life glides easily with a favouring current • neither does a calm sea and fair wind display the art of the pilot • some foul weather is wanted to prove his courage. Like him, then, do not give way, but rather plant yourself firmly, and endure whatever burden may fall upon you from above, scared though you may have been at the first roar of the tempest. There is nothing that fastens such a reproach ' on Fortune as resignation." After this he points out to her the son who is yet alive : he points out grandchildren from the lost one. VI. It is your trouble, IMarcia, which has been dealt with here : it is beside your couch of mourning that Areus his been sitting : change the characters, and it is you whom he has been consoling. But, on the other hand, Marcia, suppose that you have sustained a greater loss than ever mother did before you : see, I am not soothing you or making light of your misfortune : if fate can be overcome by tears, let us bring tears to bear upon it : let every day be passed in mourning, every night be spent in sorrow instead of sleep : let your breast be torn by your own hands, your very face attacked by them, and every kind of cruelty be practised by your grief, if it will profit you. But if the dead cannot be brought back to life, however much we may beat our breasts, if destiny remains fixed and im- moveable for ever, not to be changed by any sorrow, how- ever great, and death does not loose his hold of anything that he once has taken away, then let our futile grief be brought to an end. Let us, then, steer our own course, and no longer allow ourselves to be driven to leeward by the force of our misfortune. He is a sorry pilot who lets the waves wring his rudder from his grasp, who leaves the sails to fly loose, and abandons the ship to the storm : but he who ' See my note on invidiam facere alicui in Juv. 15.— J. E. B. Mator. CH. til] OF CONSOLATION. 171 boldly grasps the helm and clings to it until the sea closes over him, deserves praise even though he be shipwrecked. VII. '* But," say you, " sorrow for the loss of one's own children is natural." Who denies it? provided it be reasonable ? for we cannot help feeling a pang, and the stoutest- hearted of us are cast down not only at the death of those dearest to us, but even when they leave us on a journey. Nevertheless, the mourning which public opinion enjoins is more than nature insists upon. Observe how intense and yet how brief are the sorrows of dumb animals : we hear a cow lowing for one or two days, nor do mares })ursue their wild and senseless gallops for longer : wild beasts after they have tracked their lost cubs throughout the forest, and often visited their plundered dens, quench their rage within a short space of time. Birds circle round their empty nests with loud and piteous cries, yet almost immediately resume their ordinary flight in silence ; nor does any creature spend long periods in sorrowing for the loss of its offspring, except man, who encourages his own grief, the measure of which depends not upon his sufferings, but upon his will. You may know that to be utterly broken down by grief is not natural, by observing that the same bereavement inflicts a deeper wound upon women than upon men, upon savages than upon civilised and cultivated persons, upon the unlearned than upon the learned : yet those passions which derive their force from nature are equally powerful in all men : therefore it is clear that a passion of varying strength cannot be a natural one. Fire will burn all people equally, male and female, of every rank and every age : steel will exhibit its cutting power on all bodies alike : and why ? Because these things derive their strength from nature, which makes no distinction of persons. Poverty, grief, and ambition,^ are ^ Koch declares that this cannot be the true reading, and suggests deminKtio, ' degradation,' 172 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. TI. felt differently by different people, according as they are influenced by habit: a rooted prejudice about the terrors of these things, though they are not really to be feared, makes a man weak and unable to endure them. VIII. Moreover, that which depends upon nature is not weakened by delay, but grief is gradually effaced by time. However obstinate it may be, though it be daily renewed and be exasperated by all attempts to soothe it, yet even this becomes weakened by time, which is the most efficient means of taming its fierceness. You, Marcia, have still a mighty sorrow abiding with you, nevertheless it already appears to have become blunted: it is obstinate and enduring, but not so acute as it was at first : and this also will be taken from you piecemeal by succeeding years. Whenever you are engaged in other pursuits your mind will be relieved from its burden : at present you keep watch over yourself to prevent this. Yet there is a great difference between allowing and forcing yourself to grieve. How much more in accordance with your cultivated taste it would be to put an end to your mourning instead of looking for the end to come, and not to wait for the day when your sorrow shall cease against your will : dismiss it of your own accord. IX. "Why then," you ask, "do we show such per- sistence in mourning for our friends, if it be not nature that bids us do so ? " It is because we never expect that any evil will befall oureelves before it comes, we will not be taught by seeing the misfortunes of others that they are the common inheritance of all men, but imagine that the path which we have begun to tread is free from them and less beset by dangers than that of other people. How many funerals piiss our houses ? yet we do not think of death. How many untimely deaths ? we think only of our son's coming of age, of his service in the army, or of his succession to his father's estate. How many rich men sud- CH. IX.] OF CONSOLATION. 173 denly sink into poverty before our very eyes, without its ever occurring to our minds that our own wealth is exposed to exactly the same risks ? When, therefore, misfortune befalls us, we cannot help collapsing all the more com- pletely, because we are struck as it were unawares : a blow which has long been foreseen falls much less heavily upon us. Do you wish to know how completely exposed you are to every stroke of fate, and that the same shafts which have transfixed others are whirling around yourself ? then imagine that you are mounting without sufficient armour to assault some city wall or some strong and lofty position manned by a great host, expect a wound, and suppose that all those stones, arrows, and darts which fill the upper air are aimed at your body : whenever any one falls at your side or behind your back, exclaim, " Fortune, you will not outwit me, or catch me confident and heedless : I know what you are preparing to do: you have struck down another, but you aimed at me." Who ever looks upon his own affairs as though he were at the point of death ? which of us ever dares to think about banishment, want, or mourning ? who, if advised to meditate upon these subjects, would not reject the idea like an evil omen, and bid it depart from him and alight on the heads of his enemies, or even on that of his untimely adviser ? "I never thought it would happen ! " How can you think that anything will not happen, when you know that it may happen to many men, and has happened to many ? That is a noble verse, and worthy of a nobler source than the stage : — " What one hath suffered may befall us all." That man has lost his children : you may lose yours. That man has been convicted : your innocence is in peril. We are deceived and weakened by this delusion, when we suffer what we never foresaw that we possibly could suffer : but by looking forward to the coming of our sorrows we take the sting out of them when they come. ,^^i» ^^ ^^ 174 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VI. CH. XI.] OF CONSOLATION. 175 X. My Marcia, all these adventitious circiirastances which glitter around us, such as children, office in the state, wealth, large halls, vestibules crowded with clients seeking vainly for admittance, a noble name, a well-born or beautiful wife, and every other thing which depends entirely upon uncertain and changeful fortune, are but furniture which is not our own, but entrusted to us on loan : none of these things are given to us outright : the st ige of our lives is adorned with properties gathered from various sources, and soon to be returned to their several owners : some of them will be taken away on the first day, some on the second, and but few will remain till the end. We have, therefore, no grounds for regarding ourselves with complacency, as though the things which surround us were our own : they are only borrowed : we have the use and enjoyment of them for a time regulated by the lender, who controls his own gift : it is our duty always to be able to lay our hands upon what has been lent us with no fixed date for its return, and to restore it when called upon without a murmur: the most detestable kind of debtor is he who rails at his creditor. Hence all our rela- tives, both those who by the order of their birth we hope will outlive ourselves, and those who themselves most properly wish to die before us, ought to be loved by ns as persons whom we cannot be sure of having with us for ever, nor even for long. We ought frequently to remind our- selves that we must love the things of this life as we would what is shortly to leave us, or indeed in the very act of leaving us. Whatever gift Fortune bestows upon a man, let him think while he enjoys it, that it will prove as fickle as the goddess from whom it came. Snatch what pleasure you can from your children, allow your children in their turn to take pleasure in your society, and drain every pleasure to the dregs without any delay. We cannot reckon on to-night, nay, I have allowed too long a delay. we cannot reckon on this hour : we must make haste : the enemy presses on behind us : soon that society of youra will be broken up, that pleasant company will be taken by assault and dispersed. Pillage is the universal law : un- happy creatures, know you not that life is but a flight ? If you grieve for the death of your son, the fault lies with the time when he was born, for at his birth he was told that death was his doom : it is the law under which he was born, the fate which has pursued him ever since he left his mother's womb. We have come under the dominion of Fortune, and a harsh and unconquerable dominion it is : at her caprice we must suffer all things whether we deserve them or not. She maltreats our bodies with anger, insult, and cruelty : some she burns, the fire being sometimes applied as a punishment and sometimes as a remedy : some she imprisons, allowing it to be done at one time by our enemies, at another by our countrymen : she tosses others naked on the changeful seas, and after their struggle with the waves will not even cast them out upon the sand or the shore, but will entomb them in the belly of some huce sea-monster : she wears away others to a skeleton by dive'rs kinds of disease, and keeps them long in suspense between life and death: she is as capricious in her rewards and punishments as a fickle, whimsical, and careless mistress is with those of her slaves. XI. Why need we weep over parts of our life ? the whole of it calls for tears : new miseries assail us before we have freed ourselves from the old ones. You, therefore, who allow them to trouble you to an unreasonable extent ought especially to restrain yourselves, and to muster all the powers of the human breast to combat yourfears and your pains. Moreover, what forgetful ness of your own position and that of mankind is this ? You were born a mortal, and you have given birth to mortals : yourself a weak and fragile body, liable to all diseases, can you have hoped to 170 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VI. produce anything strong and lasting from such unstable materials ? Your son has died : in other words he has reached that goal towards which those whom you regard as more fortunate than your offspring are still hastening : this is the point towards which move at different rates all the crowds which are squabbling in the law courts, sitting in the theatres, praying in the temples. Those whom you love and those whom you despise will both be made equal in the same ashes. This is the meaning of that command, KNOW THYSELF, which is written on the shrine of the Pythian oracle. What is man ? a potter's vessel, to be broken by the slightest shake or toss : it requires no great storm to rend you asunder : you fall to pieces wherever you strike. What is man ? a weakly and frail body, naked, without any natural protection, dependent on the help of others, exposed to all the scorn of Fortune ; even when his muscles are well trained he is the prey and the food of the first wild beast he meets, formed of weak and unstable substances, fair in outward feature, but unable to endure cold, heat, or labour, and yet falling to ruin if kept in sloth and idleness, fearing his very victuals, for he is starved if he has them not, and bursts if he has too much. He cannot be kept safe without anxious care, his breath only stays in the body on sufferance, and has no real hold upon it ; he starts at every sudden danger, every loud and unexpected noise that reaches his ears. Ever a cause of anxiety to ourselves, diseased and useless as we are, can we be surprised at the death of a creature which can be killed by a single hiccup ? Is it a great undertaking to put an end to us ? why, smells, tastes, fatigue and want of sleep, food and drink, and the very necessaries of life, are mortal. Whithei^soever he moves he straightway becomes conscious of his weakness, not being able to bear all climates, falling sick after drinking strange water, breathing an air to which he is not accustomed, or CH. XII.] OF CONSOLATION. 177 from other causes and reasons of the most trifling kind, frail, sickly, entering upon his life with weeping ; yet nevertheless what a disturbance this despicable creature makes ! what ideas it conceives, forgetting its lowly con- dition ! It exercises its mind upon matters which are immortal and eternal, and arranges the affairs of its grand- children and great-grandchildren, while death surprises it in the midst of its far-reaching schemes, and what we call old age is but the round of a very few years. XII. Supposing that your sorrow has any method at all, is it your own sufferings or those of him who is gone that it has in view ? Why do you grieve over your lost son ? ia it because you have received no pleasure from him, oi because you would have received more had he lived longer ? If you answer that you have received no pleasure from him you make your loss more endurable : for men miss less when lost what has given them no enjoyment or glad- ness. If, again, you admit that you have received much pleasure, it is your duty not to complain of that part which you have lost, but to return thanks for that which you have enjoyed. His rearing alone ought to have brought you a sufficient return for your labours, for it can hardly be that those who take the greatest pains to rear puppies, birds, and such like paltry objects of amusement derive a certain pleasure from the sight and touch and fawning caresses of these dumb creatures, and yet that those who rear children should not find their reward in doing so. Thus, even though his industry may have gained nothing for you, his carefulness may have saved nothing for you, his foresight may have given you no advice, yet you found sufficient reward in having owned him and loved him. " But," say you, " it might have lasted longer." True, but you have been better dealt with than if you had never had a son, for, supposing you were given your choice, which is the better lot, to be happy for a short time or not at all ? N it 178 MINOR DIALOGUES. [hk. VI. CH. XIII.] OF CONSOLATION. 179 It is better to enjoy pleasures which soon leave us than to enjoy none at all. Which, again, would you choose ? to have had one who was a disgrace to you, and who merely filled the position and owned the name of your son, or one of such noble character as your son's was ? a youth who soon grew discreet and dutiful, soon became a husband and a father, soon became eager for public honours, and soon obtained the priesthood, winning his way to all these admirable things with equally admirable speed. It falls to scarcely any one's lot to enjoy great prosperity, and also to enjoy it for a long time : only a dull kind of happiness can last for long and accompany us to the end of our lives. The immortal gods, who did not intend to give you a son for long, gave you one who was straightway what another would have required long training to Ixjcome. You cannot even say that you have been specially marked by the gods for misfortune because you have had no pleasure in your son. Look at any company of people, whether they be known to you or not : everywhere you will see some who have endured greater misfortunes than your own. Great genei-als and princes have undergone like bereavements : mythology tells us that the gods themselves are not exempt from them, its aim, I suppose, being to lighten our sorrow at death by the thought that even deities are subject to it. Look around, I repeat, at every one : you cannot mention any house so miserable as not to find comfort in the fact of another being yet more miserable. I do not, by Hercules, think so ill of your principles as to suppose that you would bear your sorrow more lightly were I to show you an enormous company of mourners : that is a spiteful sort of consolation which we derive from the number of our fellow-sufferers : nevertheless I will quote some instances, not indeed in order to teach you that this often befalls men, for it is absurd to multiply examples of man's mortiility, but to let you know that there have been many who have lightened their misfortunes by patient endurance of them. I will begin with the luckiest man of all. Lucius Sulla lost his son, yet this did not impair either the spitefulness or the brilliant valour which he dis- played at the expense of his enemies and his countrymen alike, nor did it make him appear to have assumed his well-known title untruly that he did so after his son's death, fearing neither the hatred of men, by whose sufferings that excessive prosperity of his was purchased, nor the ill-will of the gods, to whom it was a reproach that Sulla should be so truly The Fortunate. What, however, Sulla's real character was may pass among questions still undecided : even his enemies will admit that he took up arms with honour, and laid them aside with honour: his example proves the point at issue, that an evil which befalls even the most prosperous cannot be one of the first magnitude. XIII. That Greece cannot boast unduly of that father who, bemg in the act of offering sacrifice when he heard the news of his son's death, merely ordered the flute-player to be silent, and removed the garland from his head, but accomplished all the rest of the ceremony in due form, is due to a Roman, Pulvillus the high priest. When he was in the act of holding the doorpost' and dedicating the Capitol the news of his son's death was brought to him. He pretended not to hear it, and pronounced the form of words proper for the high priest on such an occasion, without his prayer being interrupted by a single groan, begging that Jupiter would show himself gracious, at the very instant that he heard his son's name mentioned as dead. Do you imagine that this man's mourning knew no end, if the first day and the first shock could not drive him, though a father, away ' This seems to have been part of the ceremony of dedication. Pulvillus was dedicating the Temple of Jupiter in the Capitol. See Livy ii. 8 ; Cic. Pro Domo. paragraph cxxi. 180 MINOR DIALOGUES. [BK. VI. from the puLlic altar of the state, or cause him to mar the ceremony of dedication by words of ill omen ? Worthy, indeed, of the most exalted priesthood was he who ceased not to revere the gods even when they were angry. Yet he, after he had gone home, filled his eyes with tears, said a few words of lamentation, and performed the rites with which it was then customary to honour the dead, resumed the expression of countenance which he had worn in the Capitol. Paulus,' about the time of his magnificent triumph, in which he drove Perses in chains before his car, gave two of his sons to be adopted into other families, and buried those whom he had kept for himself. What, think you, must those whom he kept have been, when Scipio was one of those whom he gave away ? It was not without emotion that the Roman people looked upon Paulus's empty chariot :^ nevertheless he made a speech to them, and returned thanks to the gods for having granted his prayer : for he had prayed that, if any offering to Nemesis were due in consequence of the stupendous victory which he had won, it might be paid at his own expense rather than at that of his country. Do you see how magnanimously he bore his loss ? he even congratulated himself on being left childless, though who had more to suffer by such a change ? he lost at once his comforters and his helpers. Yet Perses did not have the pleasure of seeing Paulus look sorrowful. XIV. Why should I lead you on through the endless * Lucius -^milius Paullus conquered Perses, the last King of Mace- donia, B.C. 168. ' " For he had four sons, two, as has been already related, adopted into other families, Scipio and Fabius; and two others, who were still chil- dren, by his second wife, who lived in his own house. Of these, one died five days before iEinilius's triumph, at the age of fourteen, and the other, twelve years old, died three days after it : so that there was no Koman that did not grieve for him," &c.— Plutarch, •' Life of iEmilius,'' ih. XXXV. CH. XV.] OP CONSOLATION. Ibi series of great men and pick out the unhappy ones, as though it were not more difficult to find happy ones ? for how few households have remained possessed of all their members until the end ? what one is there that has not suffered some loss ? Take any one year you please and name the consuls for it : if you like, that of ^ Lucius Bibulua and Gains Caesar; you will see that, though these colleagues were each other's bitterest enemies, yet their fortunes agi-eed. Lucius Bibulus, a man more remarkable for goodness than for strength of character, had both his sons murdered at the same time, and even insulted by the Egyptian soldiery, so that the agent of his bereavement was as much a subject for tears as the bereavement itself. Nevertheless Bibulus, who during the whole of his year of office had remained hidden in his house, to cast reproach upon his colleague Caesar on the day follow- ing that upon which he heard of both his sons' deaths, came forth and went through the routine business of his magistracy. Who could devote less than one day to mourning for two sons ? Thus soon did he end his mourn- ing for his children, although he had mourned a whole year for his consulship. Grains Caesar, after having tra- versed Britain, and not allowed even the ocean to set bounds to his successes, heard of the death of his daughter, which hurried on the crisis of affairs. Already Grnaeus Pompeins stood before his eyes, a man who would ill endure that any one besides himself should become a great power in the state, and one who was likely to place a check upon his advancement, which he had regarded as onerous even when each gained by the other's rise : yet within three days* time he resumed his duties as general, and conquered his grief as quickly as he was wont to conquer everything el«e. XV. Why need I remind you of the deaths of the other » A. U. C. 69.0, B.C. 59. 182 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. TI. Caesars, whom fortune appears to me sometimes to have out- raged in order that even by their deaths they might be useful to mankind, by proving that not even they, although they were styled " sons of gods," and '* fathers of gods to come," could exercise the same power over their own fortunes which they did over those of others ? The Emperor Augustus lost his children and his grandchildren, and after all the family of Caesar had perished was obliged to prop his empty house by adopting a son : yet he bore his losses as bi-avely as though he were already personally con- cerned in the honour of the gods, and as though it were especially to his interest that no one should complain of the injustice of Heaven. Tiberius Caesar lost both the son whom he begot and the son whom he adopted, yet he himself pronounced a panegyric upon his son from the Rostra, and stood in full view of the corpse, which merely had a curtain on one side to prevent the eyes of the high priest resting upon the dead body, and did not change his countenance, though all the Romans wept: he gave Sejanus, who stood by his side, a proof of how patiently he could endure the loss of his relatives. See you not what numbers of most eminent men there have been, none of whom have been spared by this blight which prostrates us all: men, too, adorned with every grace of character, and every dis- tinction that public or private life can confer. It appears as though this plague moved in a i-egular orbit, and spread ruin and desolation among us all without distinction of persons, all being alike its prey. Bid any number of indi- viduals tell you the storj- of their lives : you will find that all have paid some penalty for beino- born. XVI. I know what you will say, " You quote men as examples : you forget that it is a woman that you are trying to console." Yet who would say that nature has dealt grudg- ingly with the minds of women, and stunted their virtues ? Believe me, they have the same intellectual power as men, CH. XVI.] OP CONSOLATION. 183 and the same capacity for honourable and generous action. If trained to do so, they are just as able to endure sorrow or labour. Ye good gods, do I say this in that very city in which Lucretia and Brutus removed the yoke of kings from the necks of the Romans ? We owe liberty to Brutus, but we owe Brutus to Lucretia — in which Cloelia, for the sublime courage with which she scorned both the enemy and the river, has been almost reckoned as a man. The statue of Cloelia, mounted on horseback, in that busiest of thorough- fares, the Sacred Way, continually reproaches the youth of the present day, who never mount anything but a cushioned seat in a carriage, with journeying in such a fashion through that very city in which we have enrolled even women among our knights. If you wish me to point out to you examples of women who have bravely endured the loss of their children, I shall not go far afield to search for them : in one family I can quote two Cornelias, one the daughter of Scipio, and the mother of the Gracchi, who made acknow- ledgment of the birth of her twelve children by burying them all : nor was it so hard to do this in the case of the others, whose birth and death were alike unknown to the public, but she beheld the murdered and unburied corpses of both Tiberius Gracchus and Gains Gracchus, whom even those who will not call them good must admit were great men. Yet to those who tried to console her and called her unfortunate, she answered, " I shall never cease to call my- self happy, because I am the mother of the Gracchi." Cornelia, the wife of Livius Drusus, lost by the hands of an unknown assassin a young son of great distinction, who was treading in the footsteps of the Gracchi, and was murdered in his own house just when he had so many bills half way through the process of becoming law : nevertheless she bore the untimely and unavenged death of her son with as lofty a spirit as he had shown in carrying his laws. Will you not, Marcia, forgive fortune because she has not re- 184 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. VI. fraihed from striking you with the darts with which she launched at the Scipios, and the mothers and daughters of the Scipios, and with which she has attacked the Caesars themselves ? Life is full of misfortunes ; our path is beset with them : no one can make a long peace, nay, scarcely an armistice with fortune. You, Marcia, have borne four children : now they say that no dart which is hurled into a close column of soldiers can fail to hit one,— ought you then to wonder at not having been able to lead along such a company without exciting the ill-will of Fortune, or suffer- ing loss at her hands? ''But," say you, "Fortune has treated me unfairly, for she not only has bereaved me of my son, but chose my best beloved to deprive me of." Yet you never can say that yon have been wronged, if you divide the stakes equally with an antagonist who is stronger than yourself : Fortune has left you two daughters, and their children : she has not even taken away altogether him who you now mourn for, forgetful of his elder brother : you have two daughters by him, who if you support them ill will prove great burdens, but if well, great comforts to you. You ought to prevail upon yourself, when you see them, to let them remind you of your son, and not of your grief. When a husbandman's trees have either been torn up, roots and all, by the wind, or broken off short by the force of a hurricane, he takes care of what is left of their stock, straight- way plants seeds or cuttings in the place of those which he has lost, and in a moment— for time is as swift in repairing losses as in causing them— more flourishing trees are grow- ing than were there before. Take, then, in the place of your Metilius these his two daughters, and by their two- fold consolation lighten your single sorrow. True, human nature is so constituted as to love nothing so much as what it has lost, and our yearning after those who have been taken from us makes us judge unfairly of those who are left to us : nevertheless, if you choose to reckon up how merci- CH. XVII.] OP CONSOLATION. 185 ful Fortune has been to you even in her anger, you will feel that you have more than enough to console you. Look at all your grandchildren, and your two daughters : and say also, Marcia: — " I should indeed be cast down, if everyone's fortune followed his deserts, and if no evil ever befel good men : but as it is I perceive that no distinction is made, and that the bad and the good are both harassed alike." XVII. " Still, it is a sad thing to lose a young man whom you have brought up, just as he was becoming a defence and a pride both to his mother and to his country." No one denies that it is sad : but it is the common lot of mor- tals. You were born to lose others, to be lost, to hope, to fear, to destroy your own peace and that of others, to fear and yet to long for death, and, worst of all, never to know what your real position is. If you were about to journey to Syracuse, and some one were to say : — " Learn beforehand all the discomforts, and all the pleasures of your coming voyage, and then set sail. The sights which you will enjoy will be as follows : first, you will see the island itself, now separated from Italy by a narrow strait, but which, we know, once formed part of the mainland. The sea suddenly broke through, and * Sever'd Sicilia from the western shore.' * Next, as you will be able to sail close to Charybdis, of which the poets have sung, you will see that greediest of whirlpools, quite smooth if no south wind be blowing, but whenever there is a gale from that quarter, sucking down ships into a huge and deep abyss. You will see the foun- tain of Arethusa, so famed in song, with its waters bright and pellucid to the very bottom, and pouring forth an icy stream which it eil'ier finds on the spot or else plunges it under ground, conveys it thither as a separate river beneath so many seas, free from any mixture of less pure water, and » Virg. JE. III. 418. 186 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. VI. there brings it again to the surface. You will see a harbour which is more sheltered than all the others in the world, whether they be natural or improved by human art for the protection of shipping ; so safe, that even the most violent storms are powerless to disturb it. You will see the place where the power of Athens was broken, where that natural prison, hewn deep among precipices of rock, received so many thousands of captives : you will see the great city itself, occupying a wider site than many capitals, an ex- tremely warm resort in winter, where not a single day passes without sunshine : but when you have observed all this, you must remember that the advantages of its winter climate are counterbalanced by a hot and pestilential summer : that here will be the tyrant Dionysius, the de- stroyer of freedom, of justice, and of law, who is greedy of power even after conversing with Plato, and of life even after he has been exiled ; that he will burn some, flog others, and behead others for slight offences ; that he will exercise his lust upon both sexes You have now heard all that can attract you thither, all that can deter you from going : now, then, either set sail or remain at home ! " If, after this declaration, anybody were to say that he wished to go to Syracuse, he could blame no one but himself for what befel him there, because he would not stumble upon it unknowingly, but would have gone thither fully aware of what was before him. To every- one Nature says : " I do not deceive any person. If you choose to have children, they may be handsome, or they may be deformed ; perhaps they will be born dumb. One of them may perhaps prove the saviour of his country, or perhaps its betmyer. You need not despair of their being raised to such honour that for their sake no one will dare to speak evil of you : yet remember that they may reach such a pitch of infamy as themselves to become curses to you. There is nothing to prevent their performing the CH. XVIII.] OF CONSOLATION. 187 last offices for you, and your panegyric being spoken by your children : but hold yourself prepared nevertheless to place a son as boy, man, or greybeard, upon the funeral pyre: for years have nothing to do with the matter, since every sort of funeral in which a parent buries his child must alike be untimely.^ If you still choose to rear children, after I have explained these conditions to you, you render yourself in- capable of blaming the gods, for they never guaranteed anything to you." XVIII. You may make this simile apply to your whole entrance into life. I have explained to you what attractions and what drawbacks there would be if you were thinking of going to Syracuse : now suppose that I were to come and give you advice when you were going to be born. " You are about," I should say, " to enter a city of which both gods and men are citizens, a city which contains the whole universe, which is bound by irrevocable and eternal laws, and wherein the heavenly bodies run their unwearied courses : you will see therein innumerable twinkling stars, and the sun, whose single light pervades every place, who by his daily course marks the times of day and night, and by his yearly course makes a more equal division between summer and winter. You will see his place taken by night by the moon, who borrows at her meetings with her brother a gentle and softer light, and who at one time is invisible, at another hangs full- faced above the earth, ever waxing and waning, each phase unlike the last. You will see five stars, moving in the opposite direction to the others, stemming the whirl of the skies towards the West : on the slightest motions of these depend the fortunes of nations, and according as the aspect of the planets is auspicious or malignant, the greatest empires rise and fall : you will see with wonder the gathering clouds, the falling showers, the ' See Mayors note on Juv. i., and above, c, 16, § 4. 188 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. VI. zigzag lightning, the crashing together of the heavens. When, sated with the wonders above, you turn your eyes towards the earth, they will be met by objects of a different yet equally admirable aspect : on one side a boundless expanse of open plains, on another the towering peaks of lofty and snow-clad mountains : the downward course of rivers, some streams running eastward, some westward from the same source : the woods which wave even on the mountain tops, the vast forests with all the creatures that dwell therein, and the confused harmony of the birds : the variously-placed cities, the nations which natural obstacles keep secluded from the world, some of whom withdraw themselves to lofty mountains, while others dwell in fear and trembling on the sloping banks of rivers : the crops which are assisted by cultivation, and the trees which bear fruit even without it : the rivers that flow gently through the meadows, the lovely bays and shores that curve inwards to form harbours : the countless islands scattered over the main, which break and spangle the seas. What of the brilliancy of stones and gems, the gold that rolls amid the sands of rushing streams, the heaven-bom fires that burst forth from the midst of the earth and even from the midst of the sea ; the ocean itself, that binds land to land, dividing the nations by its three- fold indentations, and boiling up with mighty rage ? Swimming upon its waves, making them disturbed and swelling without wind, you will see animals exceeding the size of any that belong to the land, some clumsy and requiring others to guide their movements, some swift and moving faster than the utmost efforts of rowers, some of them that drink in the waters and blow them out again to the great perils of those who sail near them : you will see here ships seeking for unknown lands : you will see that man's audacity leaves nothing unattempted, and you will yourself be both a witness and a sharer in great ce. XIX.] OF CONSOLATION. 189 attempts. You will both learn and teach the arts by which men's lives are supplied with necessaries, are adorned, and are ruled : but in this same place there will be a thousand pestilences fatal to both body and mind, there will be wars and highway robberies, poisonings and shipwrecks, extremes of climate and excesses of body, un- timely griefs for our dearest ones, and death for ourselves, of which we cannot tell whether it will be easy or by torture at the hands of the executioner. Now consider and weigh carefully in your own mind which you would choose. If you wish to enjoy these blessings you must pass through these pains. Do you answer that you choose to live ? * Of course.' Nay, I thought you would not enter upon that of which the least diminution causes pain. Live, then, as has been agreed on. You say, " No one has asked my opinion." Our parents' opinion was taken about us, when, knowing what the conditions of life are, they brought us into it. XIX. But, to come to topics of consolation, in the first place consider if you please to what our remedies must be applied, and next, in what way. It is regret for the absence of his loved one which causes a mourner to grieve : yet it is clear that this in itself is bearable enough ; for we do not weep at their being absent or intending to be absent during their lifetime, although when they leave our sight we have no more pleasure in them. What tortures us, therefore, is an idea. Now every evil is just as great a? we consider it to be : we have, therefore, the remedy in our own hands. Let us suppose that they are on a journey, and let us deceive ourselves : we have sent them away, or, rather, we have sent them on in advance to a place whither we shall soon follow them.^ Besides this, mourners are wont to suffer from the thought, " I shall ' Lipsius points out that this idea is borrowed from the comic poet Antiphanes. See Meineke's " Comic Fragments," p. 3. 190 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. TI. have no one to protect me, no one to avenge me when I am scorned.** To use a very disreputable but very true mode of consolation, I may say that in our country the loss of children bestows more influence than it takes away, and loneliness, which used to bring the aged to ruin, now makes them so powerful that some old men have pretended to pick quarrels with their sons, have disowned their own children, and have made themselves childless by their own act. I know what you will say : " My own losses do not grieve me : " and indeed a man does not deserve to be con- soled if he is sorry for his son's death as he would be for that of a slave, who is capable of seeing anything in his son beyond his son's self. What then, Marcia, is it that grieves you ? is it that your son has died, or that he did not live long ? If it be his having died, then you ought always to have grieved, for you always knew that he would die. Reflect that the dead huffer no evils, that all those stories which make us dread the nether world are mere fables, that he who dies need fear no darkness, no prison, no blazing streams of fire, no river of Lethe, no judg- ment seat before which he must appear, and that Death is such utter freedom that he need fear no more despots. All that is a phantasy of the poets, who have terrified us with- out a cause. Death is a release from and an end of all pains : beyond it our sufPerings cannot extend : it restores us to the peaceful rest in which we la) before we were born. If any one pities the dead, he ought also to pity those who have not been bom. Death is neither a good nor a bad thing, for that alone which is something can be a good or a bad thing : but that which is nothing, and reduces all things to nothing, does not hand us over to either fortune, because good and bad require some material to work upon. Fortune cannot take hold of that which Nature has let go, nor can a man be unhappy if he is nothing. Your son has passed beyond the border of the CH. XX.] OF CONSOLATION. 191 country where men are forced to labour ; he has reached deep and everlasting peace. He feels no fear of want, no anxiety about his riches, no stings of lust that tears the heart in guise of pleasure : he knows no envy of another's prosperity, he is not crushed by the weight of his own ; even his chaste ears are not wounded by any ribaldry : he is menaced by no disaster, either to his country or to himself. He does not hang, full of anxiety, upon the issue of events, to reap even great^er uncertainty as his reward : he has at last taken up a position from which nothing can dislodge him, where nothing can make him afraid. XX. O how little do men understand their own miserv, that they do not praise and look forward to death as the best discovery of Nature, whether because it hedges in happiness, or because it drives away misery : because it puts an end to the sated weariness of old age, cuts down youth in its bloom while still full of hope of better things, or calls home childhood before the harsher stages of life are reached : it is the end of all men, a relief to many, a desire to some, and it treats none so well as those to whom it comes before they call for it. Death frees the slave though his master wills it not, it lightens the captive's chains : it leads out of prison those whom headstrong power has forbidden to quit it : it points out to exiles, whose minds and eyes are ever turned towards their own country, that it makes no difference under what people's soil one lies. When Fortune has unjustly divided the common stock, and has given over one man to another, though they were bom with equal rights, Death makes them all equal. After Death no one acts any more at another's bidding; in death no man suffers any more from the sense of his low position. It is open to all : it was what your father, Marcia, longed for : it is this, I say, that renders it no misery to be bom, which enables me to face the threatenings of misfortune without quailing, and to keep 102 MINOR DIALOGUES. [BK. VI. my mind unharmed and able to command itself. I have a last appeal. I see before me crosses not all alike, but differently made by different peoples : some hang a man head downwards, some force a stick upwards through his groin, some stretch out his arms on a forked gibbet. I see cords, scourges, and instruments of torture for each limb and each joint : but I see Death also. There are bloodthirsty enemies, there are overbearing fellow- countrymen, but where they are there I see Death also. Slavery is not grievous if a man can gain his freedom by one step as soon as he becomes tired of thraldom. Life, it is thanks to Death that I hold thee so dear. Think how great a blessing is a timely death, how many have been injured by living longer than they ought. If sickness had carried off that glory and support of the empire, Gnaeus Pompeius, at Naples, he would have died the undoubted head of the Roman people, but as it was, a short extension of time cast him down from his pinnacle of fame : he beheld his legions slaughtered before his eyes : and what a sad relic of that battle, in which the Senate formed the first line, was the survival of the general. He saw his Egyptian butcher, and offered his body, hallowed by so many victories, to a guardsman's sword, although even had he been unhurt, he would have regretted his safety : for what could have been more infamous than that a Pompeius should owe his life to the clemency of a kino* ? If Marcus Cicero had fallen at the time when he avoided those daggers which Catiline aimed equally at him and at his country, he might have died as the saviour of the commonwealth which he had set free : if his death had even followed upon that of his daughter, he might have died happy. He would not then have seen swords drawn for the slaughter of Roman citizens, the goods of the murdered divided among the murderers, that men might pay from their own purse the price of their CH. XXI.] OF CONSOLATION. 193 own blood, the public auction of the consul's spoil in the civil war, the public letting out of murder to be done, brigandage, war, pillage, hosts of Catilines. Would it not have been a good thing for Marcus Cato if the sea had swallowed him up when he was returning from Cyprus after sequestrating the king's hereditary posses- sions, even if that very money which he was bringing to pay the soldiers in the civil war had been lost with him ? He certainly would have been able to boast that no one would dare to do wrong in the presence oi Cato : as it was, the extension of his life for a very few more years forced one who was born for personal and political freedom to flee from Caesar and to become Pompeius's follower. Pre- mature death therefore did him no evil : indeed, it put an end to the power of any evil to hurt him. XXI. " Yet," say you, " he perished too soon and un- timely." In the first place, suppose that he had lived to extreme old age : let him continue alive to the extreme limits of human existence: how much is it after all? Born for a very brief space of time, we regard this life as an inn which we are soon to quit that it may be made ready for the coming guest. Do I speak of our lives, which we know roll away incredibly fast ? Reckon up the centuries of cities : you will find that even those which boast of their antiquity have not existed for long. All human works are brief and fleeting ; they take up no part whatever of infinite time. Tried by the standard of the universe we regard this earth of ours, with all its cities, nations', rivers, and sea-board as a mere point: our life occupies less than a point when compared with all time, the measure of which exceeds that of the world, for indeed the world is contained many times in it. Of what importance, then, can It be to lengthen that which, however much you add to it, will never be much more than nothing ? We can only make our lives long by one expedient, that is, by being o 4 194 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VI. Hatisfied with their length : you may tell me of long-lived men, whose length of days has been celebrated by tradi- tion, you may assign a hundred and ten years apiece to them : yet when you allow your mind to conceive the idea of eternity, there will be no difference between the shortest and the longest life, if you compare the time during which any one has been alive with that during which he has not been alive. In the next place, when he died his life was complete : he had lived as long as he needed to live : there was nothing left for him to accomplish. All men do not grow old at the same age, nor indeed do all animals : some are wearied out by life at fourteen years of age, and what is only the first stage of life with man is their extreme limit of longevity. To each man a varying length of days has been assigned : no one dies before his time, because he was not destined to live any longer than he did. Every- one's end is fixed, and will always remain where it has lieen placed : neither industry nor favour will move it on any further. Believe, then, that you lost him by advice : he took all that was his own, ♦* And reached the goal allotted to his life * so you need not burden yourself with the thought, " He might have lived longer." His life has not been cut short, nor does chance ever cut short our years : every man re- ceives as much as was promised to him : the Fates go their own way, and neither add anything nor take away any- thing from what they have once promised. Prayers and endeavours are all in vain : each man will have as much life as his first day placed to his credit: from the time when he first saw the light he has entered on the path that leads to death, and is drawing nearer to his doom : those same years which were added to his youth were subti-acted from his life. We all fall into this mistake of supposing that it is only old men, already in the decline of life, who are drawing CH. XXII.] OF CONSOLATION. 195 near to death, whereas our first infancy, our youth, indeed every time of life leads thither. The Fates ply their own work : they take from us the consciousness of our death, and, the better to conceal its approaches, death lurks under the very names we give to life : infancy changes into boy- hood, maturity swallows up the boy, old age the man : these stages themselves, if you reckon them properly, are so many losses. XXII. Do you complain, Marcia, that your son did not live as long as he might have done ? How do you know that it was to his advantage to live longer ? whether his interest was not served by this death ? Whom can you find at the present time whose fortunes are grounded on such sure foundations that they have nothing to fear in the future ? All human affairs are evanescent and perishable, nor is any part of our life so frail and liable to accident as that which we especially enjoy. We ought, therefore, to pray for death when our fortune is at its best, because so great is the uncertainty and turmoil in which we live, that we can be sure of nothing but what- is past. Think of your son's handsome person, which you had guarded in perfect purity among all the temptations of a voluptuous capital. Who could have undertaken to keep that clear of all diseases, so that it might preserve its beauty of form unimpaired even to old age ? Think of the many taints of the mind : for fine dispositions do not always con- tinue to their life's end to make good the promise of their youth, but have often broken down : either ex- travagance, all the more shameful for being indulged in late in life, takes possession of men and makes their well- begun lives end in disgrace, or they devote their entire thoughts to the eating-house and the belly, and they become interested in nothing save what they shall eat and what they shall drink. Add to this conflagrations, falling houses, shipwrecks, the agonizing operations of surgeons, who cut <] 196 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. VI. pieces of bone out of men's living bodies, plange their whole hands into their entrails, and inflict more than one kind of pain to effect the cure of shameful diseases. After these comes exile; your son was not more innocent than Rutilius : imprisonment ; he was not wiser than Socrates : the piercing of one's breast by a self-inflicted wound ; he was not of holier life than Cato. When you look at these examples, you will perceive that nature deals very kindly with those whom she puts speedily in a place of safety because there awaited them the payment of some such price as this for their lives. Nothing is so deceptive, nothing is so treacherous as human life ; by Hercules, were it not given to men before they could form an opinion, no one would take it. Not to be bom, therefore, is the happiest lot of all, and the nearest thing to this, I imagine, is that we should soon finish our strife here and be restored again to our former rest. Recall to your mind that time, so painful to you, during which Sejanus handed over your father as a present to his client Satrius Secundus : he was angry with him about something or other which he had said with too great freedom, because he was not able to keep silence and see Sejanus climbing up to take his seat upon our necks, which would have been bad enough had he been placed there by his master. He was decreed the honour of a statue, to be set up in the theatre of Pompeius, which had been burned down and was being restored by Caesar. Cordus exclaimed that " Now the theatre was really destroyed." What then ? should he not burst with spite at a Sejanus being set up over the ashes of Gnaeus Pompeius, at a faithless soldier being commemorated within the memorial of a consummate commander ? The inscription was put up:' and those keen-scented > This I believe to be the meaning of the text, but Koch reasonably conjectures that the true reading is " editur subscriptio," " an indict- ment was made out against him." See " On Benefits," iii. 26. CH. XXII.] OF CONSOLATION. 19; hounds whom Sejanus used to feed on human blood, to make them tame towards himself and fierce to all the world beside, began to bay around their victim and even to make premature snaps at him. What was he to do ? If he chose to live, he must gain the consent of Sejanus ; if to die, he must gain that of his daughter ; and neither of them could have been persuaded to grant it : he therefore determined to deceive his daughter, and having taken a bath in order to weaken himself still further, he retired to his bed-chamber on the pretence of taking a meal there. After dismissing his slaves he threw some of the food out of the window, that he might appear to have eaten it : then he took no supper, making the excuse that he had already had enough food in his chamber. This he continued to do on the second and the third day : the fourth betrayed his condition by his bodily weakness ; so, embracing you, " My dearest daughter," said he, " from whom I have never throughout your whole life concealed aught but this, I have begun my journey towards death, and have already travelled half-way thither. You cannot and you ought not to call me back." So saying he ordered all light to be excluded from the room and shut himself up in the dark- ness. When his determination became known there was a general feeling of pleasure at the prey being snatched out of the jaws of those ravening wolves. His prosecutors, at the instance of Sejanus, went to the judgment-seat of the consuls, complained that Cordus was dying, and begged the consuls to interpose to prevent his doing what they themselves had driven him to do ; so true was it that Cordus appeared to them to be escaping : an important matter was at stake, namely, whether the accused should lose the right to die. While this point was being debated, and the prosecutors were going to attend the court a second time, he had set himself free from them. Do you see, Marcia, how suddenly evil days come upon a man ? 198 MINOR DIALOGUES. [hk. VI. and do you weep because one of your family could not avoid dying ? one of your family was within a very little of not being allowed to die. XXIII. Besides the fact that everything that is future is uncertain, and the only certainty is that it is more likely to turn out ill than well, our spirits find the path to the Gods above easiest when it is soon allowed to leave the society of mankind, because it has then contracted fewest impurities to weigh it down : if set free before they become hardened worldlings, before earthly things have sunk too deep into them, they fly all the more lightly back to the place from whence they came, and all the more easily wash away the stains and defilements which they may have con- tracted. Great minds never love to linger long in the body : they are eager to burst its bonds and escape from it, they chafe at the narrowness of their prison, having been wont to wander through space, and from aloft in the upper air to look down with contempt upon human affairs. Hence it is that Plato declares that the wise man's mind is entirely given up to death, longs for it, contemplates it, and through his eagerness for it is always striving after tilings which lie beyond this life. Why, Marcia, when you saw him while yet young displaying the wisdom of age, with a mind that could rise superior to all sensual enjoy- ments, faultless and without a blemish, able to win riches without greediness, public office without ambition, pleasure without extravagance, did you suppose it would long be vour lot to keep him safe by your side ? Whatever has arrived at perfection, is ripe for dissolution. Consummate virtue flees away and betakes itself out of our sight, and those things which come to maturity in the first stage of their being do not wait for the last. The brigiiter a fire glows, the sooner it goes out: it lasts longer when it is made up with bad and slowly burning fuel, and shows a dull light through a cloud of smoke : its being poorly fed CH. XXIV.] OF CONSOLATION. 199 makes it linger all the longer. So also the more brilliant men's minds, the shorter lived they are : for when there is no room for further growth, the end is near. Fabianus tells us, what our parents themselves have seen, that there was at Rome a boy of gigantic stature, exceeding that of a man : but he soon died, and every sensible person always said that he would soon die, for he could not live to reach the age which he had assumed before it was due. So it is : too complete maturity is a proof that destruction is near and the end approaches when growth is over. XXIV. Begin to reckon his age, not by years, but by virtues : he lived long enough. He was left as a ward in the care of guardians up to his fourteenth year, and never passed out of that of his mother : when he had a household of his own he was loth to leave yours, and continued to dwell under his mother's roof, though few sons can endure to live under their father's. Though a youth whose height, beauty, and vigour of body destined him for the army, yet he refused to serve, that he might not be separated from you. Consider, Marcia, how seldom mothers who live in separate houses see their children : consider how they lose and pass in anxiety all those years during which they have sons in the army, and you will see that this time, none of which you lost, was of considerable extent : he never went out of your sight : it was under your eyes that he applied himself to the cultivation of an admirable intellect and one which would have rivalled that of his grandfather, had it not been hindered by shyness, which has concealed many men's accomplishments: though a youth of unusual beauty, and living among such throngs of women who made it their business to seduce men, he gratified the wishes of none of them, and when the effrontery of some led them so far as actually to tempt him, he blushed as deeply at having found favour in their eyes as though he had been guilty. By this holiness of life he caused himself, while yet quite a 200 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VI. boy, to be thought worthy of the priesthood, which no doubt he owed to hie mother's influence; but even his mother's influence would have had no weight if the candi- date for whom it was exerted had been unfit for the post. Dwell upon these virtues, and nurse your son as it were in your lap: now he is more at leisure to respond to your caresses, he has nothing to call him away from you, he will never be an anxiety or a sorrow to you. You have grieved at tbe only grief so good a son could cause y9U : all else is beyond the power of fortune to harm, and is full of pleasure, if only you know how to make use of your son, if you do but know what his most precious quality was. It is merely the outward semblance of your son that has perished, his likeness, and that not a very good one ; he himself is immortal, and is now in a far better state, set free from the burden of all that was not his own, and left simply by himself : all this apparatus which you see about us of bones and sinews, this covering of skin, this face, these our servants the hands, and all the rest of our environ- ment, are but chains and darkness to the soul : they over- whelm it, choke it, corrupt it, fill it with false ideas, and keep it at a distance from its own true sphere : it has to struggle continually against this burden of the flesh, lest it be dragged down and sunk by it. It ever strives to rise up again to the place from whence it was sent down on earth : there eternal rest awaits it, there it will behold what is pure and clear, in place of what is foul and turbid. XXV. You need not, therefore, hasten to the burial- place of your son : that which lies there is but the worst part of him and that which gave him most trouble, only bones and ashes, which are no more parts of him than clothes or other coverings of his body. He is complete, and without leaving any part of himself behind on earth has taken wing and gone away altogether : he has tarried a brief space above us while his soul was being cleansed CH. XXV I. ^ OF CONSOLATION. 201 and purified from the vices and rust which all mortal lives must contract, and from thence he will rise to the high heavens and join the souls of the blessed : a saintly company will welcome him thither,— Scipios and Catos ; and among the rest of those who have held life cheap and set themselves free, thanks to death, albeit all there are alike akin, your father, Marcia, will embi-ace his grandson as he rejoices in the unwonted light, will teach him the motion of the stars which are so near to them, and introduce him with joy into all the secrets of nature, not by guesswork but by real knowledge. Even as a stranger is grateful to one who shows him the way about an unknown city, so is a searcher after the causes of what he sees in the heavens to one of his own family who can explain them to him. He will delight in gazing deep down upon the earth, for it is a delight to look from aloft at what one has left below. Bear yourself, therefore, Marcia, as though you were placed before the eyes of your father and your son, yet not such as you knew them, but far loftier beings, placed in a higher sphere. Blush, then, to do any mean or common action, or to weep for those your relatives who have been changed for the better. Free to roam through the open, boundless realms of the everliving universe, they are not hindered in their course by intervening seas, lofty mountains, impassable valleys, or the treacherous flats of the Syrtes : they find a level path everywhere, are swift and ready of motion, and are permeated in their turn by the stars and dwell together with them. XXVI. Imagine then, Marcia, that your father, whose influence over you was as great as yours over your son, no longer in that frame of mind in which he deplored the civil wars, or in which he for ever proscribed those who would have proscribed him, but in a mood as much more joyful as his abode now is higher than of old, is snying, as 202 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. VI. he looks down from the height of heaven, " My daughter, why does this sorrow possess you for so long? why do you live in such ignorance of the truth, as to think that your son has been unfairly dealt with because he has returned to his ancestors in his prime, without decay of body or mind, leaving his family flourishing ? Do you not know with what storms Fortune unsettles everything? how she proves kind and compliant to none save to those who have the fewest possible dealings with her ? Need I remind you of kings who would have been the happiest of mortals had death sooner withdrawn them from the ruin which was approaching them ? or of Roman generals, whose greatness, had but a few years been taken from their lives, would have wanted nothing to render it complete ? or of men of the highest distinction and noblest birth who have calmly offered their necks to the stroke of a soldier's sword ? Look at your father and your grandfather : the former fell into the hands of a foreign murderer : I allowed no man to take any liberties with rae, and by abstinence from food showed that my spirit was as great as my writings had re- presented it. Why, then, should that member of our house- hold who died most happily of all be mourned in it the longest ? We have all assembled together, and, not being plunged in utter darkness, we see that with you on earth there is nothing to be wished for, nothing grand or magni- ficent, but all is mean, sad, anxious, and hardly receives a fractional part of the clear light in which we dwell. I need not say that here are no frantic charges of rival armies, no fleets shattering one another, no parricides, actual or meditated, no courts where men babble over law- suits for days together, here is nothing underhand, all hearts and minds are open and unveiled, our life is public and known to all, and that we command a view of all time and of things to come. I used to take pleasure in com- piling the history of what took place in one century among CH. XXVI.] OF CONSOLATION. 203 a few people in the most out-of-the-way comer of the world : here I enjoy the spectacle of all the centuries, the whole chain of events from age to age as long as years have been. I may view kingdoms when they rise and when they fall, and behold the ruin of cities and the new channels made by the sea. If it will be any consolation to you in your bereavement to know that it is the common lot of all, be assured that nothing will continue to stand in the place in which it now stands, but that time will lay everything low and bear it away with itself : it will sport, not only with men — for how small a part are they of the dominion of Fortune? — but with districts, provinces, quarters of the world : it will efface entire mountains, and in other places will pile new rocks on high : it will dry up seas, change the course of rivers, destroy the intercourse of nation with nation, and break up the communion and fellowship of the human race: in other regions it will swallow up cities by opening vast chasms in the earth, will shake them with earthquakes, will breathe forth pesti- lence from the nether world, cover all habitable ground with inundations and destroy every creature in the flooded world, or burn up all mortals by a huge conflagration. When the time shall arrive for the world to be brought to an end, that it may begin its life anew, all the forces of nature will perish in conflict with one another, the stars will be dashed together, and all the lights which now gleam in regular order in various parts of the sky will then blaze in one fire with all their fuel burning at once. Then we also, the souls of the blest and the heirs of eternal life, whenever God thinks fit to reconstruct the universe, when all things are settling down again, we also, being a small accessory to the universal wreck, ^ shall be changed into our old elements. Happy is your son, Marcia, in that he already knows this." * Biiinat ; Koch's urinae is a misprint. :;l 204 I THE SEVENTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO GALLIO. OF A HAPPY LIFE. I. ALL men, brother Gallic, wish to live happily, hnt are dull at perceiving exactly what it is that makes life happy : and so far is it from being easy to attain to happiness that the more eagerly a man straggles to reach it the further he departs from it, if he takes the wrong road ; for, since this leads in the opposite direction, his very Bwiftuess carries him all the further away. We must therefore first define clearly what it is at which we aim : next we must consider by what path we may most speedily reach it, for on our journey itself, provided it be made in the right direction, we shall learn how much progress we have made each day, and how much nearer we are to the goal towards which our natural desires urge us. But as long as we wander at random, not following any guide except the shouts and discordant clamours of those who invite us to proceed in different directions, our short life will be wasted in useless roamings, even if we labour both day and night to get a good understanding. Let us not therefore decide whither we must tend, and by what path, without the advice of some experienced person who has ex- plored the region which we are about to enter, because this CH. I.] OF A HAPPY LIFB. 205 journey is not subject to the same conditions as others ; for in them some distinctly understood track and inquiries made of the natives make it impossible for us to go wrong, but here the most beaten and frequented tracks are those which lead us most astray. Nothing, therefore, is more important than that we should not, like sheep, follow the flock that has gone before us, and thus proceed not whither we ought, but whither the rest are going. Now nothing gets us into greater troubles than our subservience to common rumour, and our habit of thinking that those things are best which are most generally received as such, of taking many counterfeits for truly good things, and of livino" not by reason but by imitation of others. This is the cause of those great heaps into which men rush till they are piled one upon another. In a great crush of people, when the crowd presses upon itself, no one can fall without drawing some one else down upon him, and those who go before cause the destruction of those who follow them. You may observe the same thing in human life : no one can merely go wrong by himself, but he must become both the cause and adviser of another's wrong- doing. It is harmful to follow the march of those who go before us, and since every one had rather believe another than form his own opinion, we never pass a deliberate judgment upon life, but some traditional error always entangles us and brings us to ruin, and we perish because we follow other men's examples : we should be cured of this if we were to disengage ourselves from the herd ; but is it is, the mob is ready to fight against reason in defence 5f its own mistake. Consequently the same thing happens IS at elections, where, when the fickle breeze of popular favour has veered round, those who have been chosen consuls and praetors are viewed with admiration by the very men who made them so. That we should all approve and disapprove of the same things is the end of every 206 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VII. decision which is given according to the voice of the majority. II. When we are considering a happy life, you cannot answer me as though after a division of the House, •' This view has most supporters ; " because for that very reason it is the worse of the two : matters do not stand so well with mankind that the majority should prefer the better course : the more people do a thing the worse it is likely to be. Let us therefore inquire, not what is most commonly done, but what is best for us to do, and what will establish us in the possession of undying happiness, not what is approved of by the vulgar, the worst possible exponents of truth. By " the vulgar " I mean both those who wear woollen cloaks and those who wear crowns;' for I do not regard the colour of the clothes with which they are covered : I do not trust my eyes to tell me what a man is : I have a better and more trustworthy light by which I can distinguish what is true from what is false : let the mind find out what is good for the mind. If a man ever allows his mind some breathing space and has leisure for com- muning with himself, what truths he will confess to himself, after having been put to the torture by his own self ! He will say, " Whatever I have hitherto done I wish were undone : when I think over what I have said, I envy dumb people: whatever I have longed for seems to have been what my enemies would pray might befall me : good heaven, how far more endurable what I have feared seems to be than what I have lusted after. I have been at enmity with many men, and have changed my dislike of them into friendship, if friendship can exist between bad men : yet I have not yet become reconciled to myself. I have striven with all my strength to raise myself above the * Lipsius's conjecture, " those who are dressed in white as well as those who are dressed in coloured clothes," alluding to the white robes of candidates for office, seems reauonable. CH. III.] OF A HAPPY LIFE. 207 common herd, and to make myself remarkable for some talent : what have I effected save to make myself a mark for the arrows of ray enemies, and show those who hate me where to wound me ? Do you see those who praise your eloquence, who covet your wealth, who court your favour, or who vaunt your power ? All these either are, or, which comes to the same thing, may be your enemies : the number of those who envy you is as great as that of those who admire you ; why do I not rather seek for some good thing which I can use and feel, not one which I can show ? these good things which men gaze at in wonder, which they crowd to see, which one points out to another with speechless admiration, are outwardly brilliant, but within are miseries to those who possess them." III. Let us seek for some blessing, which does not merely look fine, but is sound and good throughout alike, and most beautiful in the parts which are least seen : let us unearth this. It is not far distant from us ; it can be dis- covered : all that is necessary is to know whither to stretch out your hand : but, as it is, we behave as though we were in the dark, and reach out beyond what is nearest to us, striking as we do so against the very things that we want. However, that I may not draw you into digressions, I will pass over the opinions of other philosophers, because it would take a long time to state and confute them all : take ours. When, however, I say " ours," I do not bind myself to any one of the chiefs of the Stoic school, for I too have a right to form my own opinion. I shall, therefore, follow the authority of some of them, but shall ask some others to discriminate their meaning : ' perhaps, when after having ' The I^tin words are literally "to divide" their vote, that is, "to separate things of different kinds comprised in a single vote so that they might be voted for separately." — Andrews. S6neque fait allusion ici li une coutume pratiqu^e dans les assemblies du Senat j et il nous I'explique lui-m6me ailleurs d'un maniere tr^sclaire : 208 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VII. CH. IV.] OF A HAPPY LIPB. 209 reported all their opinions, I am asked for my own, I shall impugn none of my predecessors' decisions, and shall say, " I will also add somewhat to them." Meanwhile I follow nature, which is a point upon which every one of the Stoic philosophers are agreed: true wisdom consists in not departing from nature and in moulding our conduct according to her laws and model. A happy life, therefore, is one which is in accordance with its own nature, and cannot be brought about unless in the first place the mind he sound and remain so without interruption, and next, be bold and vigorous, enduring all things with most admirable courage, suited to the times in which it lives, careful of the body and its appurtenances, yet not troublesomely careful. It must also set due value upon all the things which adorn our lives, without over-estimating any one of them, and must be able to enjoy the bounty of Fortune without becoming her slave. You understand without my men- tioning it that an unbroken calm and freedom ensue, when we have driven away all those things which either excite us or alarm us : for in the place of sensual pleasures and and those slight perishable matters which are connected with the basest crimes, we thus gain an immense, un- changeable, equable joy, together with peace, calmness and greatness of mind, and kindliness : for all savageness is a sign of weakness. IV. Our highest good may also be defined otherwise, that is to say, the same idea may be expressed in different language. Just as the same army may at one time be extended more widely, at another contracted into a smaller compass, and may either be curved towards the wings by a depression in the line of the centre, or drawn up in a straight line, while, in whatever figure it be arrayed, its *' Si quelqu'un dans le Senat," dit il, *' ouvre un avis, dont une partie me convienne, je le somme de la detacher du reste, et j'y adhere."— i^. 21 La Grakoe. strength and loyalty remain unchanged ; so also our defini- tion of the highest good may in some cases be expressed diffusely and at great length, while in others it is put into a short and concise form. Thus, it will come to the same thing, if I say " The highest good is a mind which despises the accidents of fortune, and takes pleasure in virtue " : or, "It is an unconquerable strength of mind, knowing the world well, gentle in its dealings, showing great courtesy and consideration for those with whom it is brouo-ht into contact." Or we may choose to define it by calling that man happy who knows good and bad only in the form of good or bad minds : who worships honour, and is satisfied with his own virtue, who is neither puffed up by good fortune nor cast down by evil fortune, who knows no other good than that which he is able to bestow upon himself, whose real pleasure lies in despising pleasures. If you choose to pursue this digression further, you can put this same idea into many other forms, without impairing or weakening its meaning : for what prevents our saying that a happy life consists in a mind which is free, upright, undaunted, and steadfast, beyond the influence of fear or desire, which thinks nothing good except honour, and nothing bad except shame, and regards everything else as a mass of mean details which can neither add anything to nor take any- thing away from the happiness of life, but which come and go without either increasing or diminishing the highest good ? A man of these principles, whether he will or no, must be accompanied by a continual cheerfulness, a high happiness, which comes indeed from on high because he delights in what he has, and desires no greater pleasures than those which his home affords. Is he not right in allowing these to turn the scale against petty, ridiculous and shortlived movements of his wretched body ? on the •lay on which he becomes proof against pleasure he also i)ecomes proof against pain. See, on the other hand, how I i 210 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VII. CH. VII.] OF A HAPPY LIFE. 211 evil and guilty a filavery the man is forced to serve who is dominated in turn by pleasures and pains, those most un- trnstworthy and passionate of masters. We must, there- fore, escape from them into freedom. This nothing will bestow upon us save contempt of Fortune : but if we atttiin to this, then there will dawn upon us those invaluable blessings, the repose of a mind that is at rest in a safe haven, its lofty imaginings, its great and steady delight at casting out errors and learning to know the truth, its courtesy, and its cheerfulness, in all of which we shall take delight, not regarding them as good things, but as proceeding from the proper good of man. V. Since I have begun to make my definitions without a too strict adherence to the letter, a man may be called " happy " who, thanks to reason, has ceased either to hope or to fear : but rocks also feel neither fear nor sadness, nor do cattle, yet no one would call those things happy which cannot comprehend what happiness is. With them you may class men whose dull nature and want of self-know- ledge reduces them to the level of cattle, mere animals : there is no difference between the one and the other, be- cause the latter have no reason, while the former have only a corrupted form of it, crooked and cunning to their own hurt. For no one can be styled happy who is beyond the influence of truth : and consequently a happy life is un- changeable, and is founded upon a true and trustworthy dis- cernment ; for the mind is uncontaminated and freed from all evils only when it is able to escape not merely from wounds but also from scratches, when it will always be able to maintain the position which it has taken up, and defend it even against the angry assaults of Fortune : for with regard to sensual pleasures, though they were to surround one on every side, and use every means of assault, trying to win over the mind by caresses and making trial of every conceivable stratagem to attract either our entire selves or our separate parts, yet what mortal that retains any traces of human origin would wish to be tickled day and night, and, neglecting his mind, to devote himself to bodily enjoyments? VI. " But,*' says our adversary, " the mind also will have pleasures of its own." Let it have them, then, and let it sit in judgment over luxury and pleasures ; let it in- dulge itself to the full in all those matters which give sensual delights : then let it look back upon what it enjoyed before, and with all those faded sensualities fresh in its memory let it rejoice and look eagerly forward to those other pleasures which it experienced long ago, and intends to experience again, and while the body lies in helpless re- pletion in the present, let it send its thoughts onward towards the future, and take stock of its hopes : all this will make it appear, in my opinion, yet more wretched, because it is insanity to choose evil instead of good : now no insane person can be happy, and no one can be sane if he regards what is injurious as the highest good and strives to obtain it. The happy man, therefore, is he who can make a right judgment in all things : he is happy who in his present circumstances, whatever they may be, is satisfied and on friendly terms with the conditions of his life. That man is happy, whose reason recommends to him the whole posture of his affairs. VII. Even those very people who declare the hio-hest good to be in the belly, see what a dishonourable position they have assigned to it : and therefore they say that plea- sure cannot be parted from virtue, and that no one can either live honourably without living cheerfully, nor yet live cheerfully without living honourably. I do not see how these very different matters can have any connexion with one another. What is there, I pray you, to prevent virtue existing apart from pleasure ? of course the reason is that all good things derive their origin from virtue, and there- fore even those things which you cherish and seek for 212 MINOR DIALOGUES. LBK. VII. come originally from its roots. Yet, if they were entirely inseparable, we should not see some things to be pleasant, but not honourable, and others most honourable indeed, but hard and only to be attained by suffermg. Add to this that pleasure visits the basest lives, but virtue cannot co-exist with an evil life ; yet some unhappy people are not without pleasure, nay, it is owing to pleasure itself that they are unhappy ; and this could not take place if pleasure had any connexion with virtue, whereas virtue is often without pleasure, and never stands in need of it Why do you put together two things which are unlike and even incompatible one with another? virtue is a lofty quality, sublime, royal, unconquerable, untiring: pleasure is low, slavish, weakly, perishable ; its haunts and homes are the brothel and the tavern. You will meet virtue in the temple, the market-place, the senate house, manning the walls, covered with dust, sunburnt, horny-handed : you will find pleasure skulking out of sight, seeking for shady „ooks at the public baths, hot chambers, and places which dread the visits of the aedile, soft, effeminate, reeking of wine and perfumes, pale or perhaps painted and made up with cosmetics. The highest good is immortal : it knows no ending, and does not admit of either satiety or regret: for a right-thinking mind never alters or becomes hateful to itself nor do the best things ever undergo any change : but pleasure dies at the very moment when it charms us most it has no great scope, and therefore it soon cloys and wearies us, and fades away as soon as its first impulse is over- indeed, we cannot depend upon anythmg whose nature is to change. Consequently it is not even possible that there should be any solid substance in that which comes and goes so swiftly, and which perishes by the very exercise of its own functions, for it arrives at a point at which it ceases to he, and even while it is beginning always keeps its end in view. OH. VIII.] OF A HAPPY LIFE. 213 VIII. What answer are we to make to the reflexion that pleasure belongs to good and bad men alike, and that bad men take as much delight in their shame as good men in noble things ? This was why the ancients bade us lead the highest, not the most pleasant life, in order that pleasure might not be the guide but the companion of a right-think- ing and honourable mind ; for it is Nature whom we ought to make our guide : let our reason watch her, and be advised by her. To live happily, then, is the same thing as to live according to Nature : what this may be, I will ex- plain. If we guard the endowments of the body and the ad- vantages of nature with care and fearlessness, as things soon to depart and given to us only for a day ; if we do not fall under their dominion, nor allow ourselves to become the slaves of what is no part of our own being ; if we assign to all bodily pleasures and external delights the same position which is held by auxiliaries and light-armed troops in a camp ; if we make them our servants, not our masters — then and then only are they of value to our minds. A man should be unbiassed and not to be conquered by external things : he ought to admire himself alone, to feel confidence in his own spirit, and so to order his life as to be ready alike for good or for bad fortune. Let not his confidence be without knowledge, nor his knowledge without steadfastness : let him always abide by what he has once determined, and let there be no erasure in his doctrines. It will be under- stood, even though I append it not, that such a man will be tranquil and composed in his demeanour, high-minded and courteous in his actions. Let reason be encouraged by the senses to seek for the truth, and draw its first princi- ples from thence : indeed it has no other base of operations or place from which to start in pursuit of truth : it must fall back upon itself. Even the all-embracing universe and God who is its guide extends himself forth into outward things, and yet altogether returns from all sides back to 214 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VII. 01 X.] OF A HAPPY LIFE. 21 himself. Let our miud do the same thing : when, follow- ing its bodily senses it has bj means of them sent itself forth into the things of the outward world, let it remain still their master and its own. By this means we shall ob- tain a strength and an ability which are united and allied together, and shall derive from it that reason which never halts between two opinions, nor is dull in forming its percep- tions, beliefs, or convictions. Such a mind, when it has ranged itself in order, made its various parts agree together, and, if I may so express myself, harmonized them, has attained to the highest good : for it has nothing evil or hazardous remaining, nothing to shake it or make it stumble: it will do everything under the guidance of its own will, and nothing unexpected will befal it, but what- ever may be done by it will turn out well, and that, too, readily and easily, without the doer having recourse to any underhand devices: for slow and hesitating action are the signs of discord and want of settled purpose. You may, then, boldly declare that the highest good is singleness of mind : for where agreement and unity are, there must the virtues be : it is the vices that are at war one with another. IX. "But," says our adversary, "you yourself only practise virtue because you hope to obtain some pleasure from it." In the first place, even though virtue may afford us pleasure, still we do not seek after her on that account : for she does not bestow this, but bestows this to boot, nor is this the end for which she labours, but her labour wins this also, although it be directed to another end. As in a tilled-field, when ploughed for corn, some flowers are found amongst it, and yet, though these posies may chai-m the eye, all this labour was not spent in order to produce them — the man who sowed the field had another object in view, he gained this over and above it — so pleasure is not the reward or the cause of virtue, but comes in addition to it; nor do we choose virtue because she gives us pleasure, but she gives us pleasure also if we choose her. The highest good lies in the act of choosing her, and in the attitude of the noblest minds, which when once it has fulfilled its function and established itself within its own limits has attained to the highest good, and needs nothing more : for there is nothing outside of the whole, any more than there is anything beyond the end. You are mistaken, therefore, when you ask me what it is on account of which I seek after virtue : for you are seeking for something above the highest. Do you ask what I seek from virtue ? I answer, Herself : for she haa nothing better ; she is her own reward. Does this not appear great enough, when I tell you that the highest good is an unyielding strength of mind, wisdom, magna- nimity, sound judgment, freedom, harmony, beauty ? Do you still ask me for something greater, of which these may be regarded as the attributes ? Why do you talk of pleasures to me ? I am seeking to find what is good for man, not for his belly ; why, cattle and whales have larger ones than he. X. " You purposely misunderstand what I say," says he, " for I too say that no one can live pleasantly unless he lives honorably also, and this cannot be the case with dumb animals who measure the extent of their happiness by that of their food. I loudly and publicly proclaim that what I call a pleasant life cannot exist without the addition of virtue." Yet who does not know that the greatest fools drink the deepest of those pleasures of yours ? or that vice is full of enjoyments, and that the mind itself suggests to itself many perverted, vicious forms of pleasure ? — in the first place arrogance, excessive self-esteem, swaggering pre- cedence over other men, a shortsighted, nay, a blind devotion to his own interests, dissolute luxury, excessive delight springing from the most trifling and childish causes, and also talkativeness, pride that takes a pleasure in insulting others, sloth, and the decay of a dull mind which goes to sleep over itself. All these are dissipated by virtue, which plucks a 216 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. Vll. man by the ear, and measures the valne of pleasures before she permits them to be used ; nor does she set much store by those which she allows to pass current, for she merely allows their use, and her cheerfulness is not due to her use of them, but to her moderation in using them. "Yet when moderation lessens pleasure, it impairs the highest good." You devote yourself to pleasures, I check them ; you indulge in pleasure, I use it ; you think that it is the highest good, I do not even think it to be good : for the sake of pleasure I do nothing, you do everything. XL When I say that I do nothing for the sake of pleasure. I allude to that wise man, whom alone you admit to be capable of pleasure : now I do not call a man wise who is overcome by anything, let alone by pleasure : yet, if engrossed by pleasure, how will he resist toil, danger, want, and all the ills which surround and threaten the life of man ? How will he bear the sight of death or of pain ? How will he endure the tumult of the world, and make head against so many most active foes, if he be conquered by so effeminate an antagonist? He will do whatever pleasure advises him : well, do you not see how many things it will advise him to do ? '' It will not," says our adversary, " be able to give him any bad advice, because it is combined with virtue?" Again, do you not see what a poor kind of highest good that must be which requires a guardian to ensure its being good at all ? and how is virtue to rule pleasure if she follows it, seeing that to follow is the duty of a subordinate, to rule that of a commander? do you put that which commands in the background ? According to your school, virtue has the dignified office of preliminary taster of pleasures. We shall, however, see whether virtue still remains virtue among those who treat her with such contempt, for if she leaves her proper station she can no longer keep her proper name : in the meanwhile, to keep to the point, I will show you many men beset by pleasures, OF A HAPPY LIFE. 217 CH. XII.] men upon whom Fortune has showered all her gifts, whom you must needs admit to be bad men. Look at Nomen- tanus and Apicius, who digest all the good things, as they call them, of the sea and land, and review upon their tables the whole animal kingdom. Look at them as they he on beds of roses gloating over their banquet, delightmg their ears with music, their eyes with exhibitions, their palates with flavours : their whole bodies are titillated witli soft and soothing applications, and lest even their nostrils should be idle, the very place in which they solemnize ' the rites of luxury is scented with various perfumes. You will say that these men live in the midst of pleasures. Yet they are ill at ease, because they take pleasure in what is not good. XII. "They are ill at ease," replies he, "because many things arise which distract their thoughts, and their minds are disquieted by conflicting opinions." I admit that this is true: still these very men, foolish, inconsistent, and certain to feel remorse as they are, do nevertheless receive gi-eat pleasure, and we must allow that in so doing they are as far from feeling any trouble as they are from forming a right judgment, and that, as is the case with many people, they are possessed by a merry madness, and laugh while they rave. The pleasures of wise men, on the other hand, are mild, decorous, verging on dulness, kept under restraint and scarcely noticeable, and are neither invited to come nor received with honour when they come of their own accord, nor are they welcomed with any delight by those whom they visit, who mix them up with their hves and fill up empty spaces with them, like an amusing farce in the intervals of serious business. Let them no longer, then, join incongruous matters together, or connect pleasure with 1 ParentaUir seems to mean where an offering is made to luxury— where they sacrifice to luxury. Perfumes were used at funerals. Lipsuis suggests that these feasts were like fuuerals because the guests were carried away from them dead drunk. 218 MINOK DIALOGUES. [liK. VII. virtue, a mistake whereby they court the worst of men. The reckless profligate, always in liquor and belching out the fumes of wine, believes that he lives with virtue, because he knows that he lives with pleasure, for he hears it said that {)leasure cannot exist apart from virtue ; consequently he dubs his vices with the title of wisdom and parades all that he ought to conceal. So, men are not encouraged by Epicurus to run riot, but the vicious hide their excesses in the lap of philosophy, and flock to the schools in which they hear the praises of pleasure. They do not consider how sober and temperate — for so, by Hercules, I believe it to be — that " pleasure " of Epicurus is, but they rush at his mere name, seeking to obtain some protection and cloak for their vices. They lose, therefore, the one virtue which their evil life possessed, that of being ashamed of doing wrong : for they praise what they used to blush at, and boast of their vices. Thus modesty can never reassert itself, when shameful idleness is dignified with an honoumble name. The reason why that praise which your school lavishes upon pleasure is so hurtful, is because the honour- able part of its teaching passes unnoticed, but the degrading part is seen by all. XIII. I myself believe, though my Stoic comrades would be unwilling to hear me say so, that the teaching of Epi- curus was upright and holy, and even, if you examine it narrowly, stern : for this much talked of pleasure is reduced to a very narrow compass, and he bids pleasure submit to the same law which we bid virtue do — I mean, to obey nature. Luxury, however, is not satisfied with what is enough for nature. What is the consequence ? Whoever thinks that happiness consists in lazy sloth, and alterna- tions of gluttony and profligacy, requires a good patron for a bad action, and when he has become an Epicurean, having been led to do so by the attractive name of that school, he follows, not the pleasure which he there hears OF A HAPPY LIFE. 219 CH. Xlll.] spoken of, but that which he brought thither with him, and, having learned to think that his vices coincide with the maxims of that philosophy, he indulges in them no longer timidly and in dark corners, but boldly in the face of day. I will not, therefore, like most of our school, say that the sect of Epicurus is the teacher of crime, but what I say is : it is ill spoken of, it has a bad reputation, and yet it does not deserve it. " Who can know this without having been admitted to its inner mysteries ? " Its very outside gives opportunity for scandal, and encourages men's baser desires : it is like a brave man dressed in ;i woman's gown : your chastity is assured, your manhood is safe, your body is submitted to nothing disgraceful, but your hand holds a drum (like a priest of Cybele). Choose, then, some honourable superscription for your school, some writing which shall in itself arouse the mind : that which at present stands over your door has been invented by the vices. He who ranges himself on the side of virtue gives thereby a proof of a noble disposition : he who follows plea- sui-e appears to be weakly, worn out, degrading his man- hood, likely to fall into infamous vices unless someone discriminates his pleasures for him, so that he may know which remain within the bounds of natural desire, which are frantic and boundless, and become all the more in- satiable the more they are satisfied. But come ! let virtue lead the way : then every step will be safe. Too much pleasure is hurtful : but with virtue we need fear no excess of any kind, because moderation is contained in virtue her- self. That which is injured by its own extent cannot be a good thing : besides, what better guide can there be than reason for beings endowed with a reasoning nature? so if this combination pleases you, if you are willing to proceed to a happy life thus accompanied, let virtue lead the way, let pleasure follow and hang about the body like a shadow : it is the part of a mind incapable of great things to hand 220 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VII. OF A HAPPY LIFE. 221 over virtue, the highest of all qualities, as a handmaid to pleasure. XIV. Let virtue lead the way and bear the standard : we shall have pleasure for all that, but we shall be her masters and controllers ; she may win some concessions from us, but will not force us to do anything. On the contrary, those who have permitted pleasure to lead the van, have neither one nor the other : for they lose virtue altogether, and yet they do not possess pleasure, but are possessed by it, and are either tortured by its absence or choked by its excess, being wretched if deserted by it, and yet more wretched if overwhelmed by it, like those who are caught in the shoals of the Syrtes and at one time are left on dry ground and at another tossed on the flowing waves. This arises from an exaggerated want of self- control, and a hidden love of evil : for it is dangerous for one who seeks after evil instead of good to attain his object. As we hunt wild beasts with toil and peril, and even when they are caught find them an anxious possession, for they often tear their keepers to pieces, even so are great plea- sures : they turn out to be great evils and take their owners prisoner. The more numerous and the greater they are, the more inferior and the slave of more masters does that man become whom the vulgar call a happy man. I may even press this analogy further : as the man who tracks wild animals to their lairs, and who sets great store on — and " Sinking with snares the wandering brutes to noose," " Making their hounds the spacious glade surround," that he may follow their ti*acks, neglects far more desii-able things, and leaves many duties unfulfilled, so he who pur- sues pleasure postpones everything to it, disregards that first essential, lilierty, and sacrifices it to his belly ; nor does he buy pleasure for himself, but sells himself to pleasure. CH. XV.] XV. "But what," asks our adversary, "is there to hinder virtue and pleasure being combined together, and a highest good being thus formed, so that honour and pleasure may be the same thing?" Because nothing except what is honourable can form a part of honour, and the highest good would lose its purity if it were to see within itself any- thing unlike its own better part. Even the joy which arises from virtue, although it be a good thing, yet is not a part of absolute good, any more than cheerfulness or peace of mind, which are indeed good things, but which merely follow the highest good, and do not contribute to its perfection, although they are generated by the noblest causes. Whoever on the other hand forms an alliance, and that, too, a one-sided one, between virtue and pleasure, clogs whatever strength the one may possess by the weak- ness of the other, and sends liberty under the yoke, for liberty can only remain unconquered as long as she knows nothing more valuable than herself : for he begins to need the help of Fortune, which is the most utter slavery : his life becomes anxious, full of suspicion, timorous, fearful of acci- dents, waiting in agony for critical moments of time. You do not afford virtue a solid immoveable base if you bid it stand on what is unsteady : and what can be so unsteady as dependence on mere chance, and the vicissitudes of the body and of those things which act on the body r How can such a man obey God and receive everything which comes to pass in a cheerful spirit, never com- plaining of fate, and putting a good construction upon everything that befalls him, if he be agitated by the petty pin-pricks of pleasures and pains ? A man cannot be a good protector of his country, a good avenger of her wrongs, or a good defender of his friends, if he be inclined to plea- sures. Let the highest good, then, rise to that height from whence no force can dislodge it, whither neither pain can ascend, nor hope, nor fear, nor anything else that can 222 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bk. vir. OP A HAPPY LIFR. 223 li i 1 impair the anthority of the " highest good." Thither virtue alone can make her way: by her aid that hill must be climbed : she will bmvely stand her ground and endure whatever may befal her not only resignedly, but even willingly: she will know that all hard times come in obedience to natural laws, and like a good soldier she will bear wounds, count scars, and when transfixed and dying will yet adore the general for whom she falls : she will bear in mind the old maxim " Follow God." On the other hand he who grumbles and complains and bemoans himself is nevertheless forcibly obliged to obey orders, and is dragged away, however much against his will, to carry them out: yet what madness is it to be dragged rather than to follow? as great, by Hercules, as it is folly and ignorance of one's true position to grieve because one has not got something or because something has caused ns rough treatment, or to be surprised or indignant at those ills which befal good men as well as bad ones, I mean diseases, deaths, illnesses, and the other cross accidents of human life. Let us bear with magnanimity whatever the system of the universe makes it needful for us to bear : we are all bound by this oath : " To l^ear the ills of mortal life, and to submit with a good grace to what we cannot avoid." We have been born into a monarchy : our liberty is to obey God. XVI. True happiness, therefore, consists in virtue: and what will this virtue bid you. do ? Not to think anything bad or good which is connected neither with virtue nor with wickedness: and in the next place, both to endure un- moved the assaults of evil, and, as far as is right, to form a god out of what is good. What reward does she promise \'OU for this campaign ? an enormous one, and one that raises you to the level of the gods : you shall be subject to no restraint and to no want ; you shall be free, safe, unhurt ; you shall fail in nothing that you attempt ; you shall be de- barred from nothing ; everything shall turn out according CH. XVII.] to your wish ; no misfortune shall befal you ; nothing shall happen to you except what you expect and hope for. '' What I does virtue alone suflice to make you happy ? " why, of course, consummate and god-like virtue such as this not only suffices, but more than suffices : for when a man is placed beyond the reach of any desire, what can he possibly lack ? if all that he needs is concentred in him- self, how can he require anything from without ? He, however, who is only on the road to virtue, although he may have made great progress along it, nevertheless needs some favour from fortune while he is still struggling among mere human interests, while he is untying that knot, and all the bonds which bind him to mortality. What, then, is the difference between them ? it is that some ai-e tied more or less tightly by these bonds, and some have even tied themselves with them as well ; whereas he who has made progress towards the upper regions and raised him- self upwards drags a looser chain, and though not yet free, is yet as good as free. XVII. If, therefore, any one of those dogs who yelp at philosophy were to say, as they are wont to do, " Why, then, do you talk so much more bravely than you live? why do you check your words in the presence of youi superiors, and consider money to be a necessary implement :' why are you disturbed when you sustain losses, and weep on hearing of the death of your wife or your friend ? why do you pay regard to common rumour, and feel annoyed b;; calumnious gossip? why is your estate more elaboratel;^ kept than its natural use requires ? why do you not dinn according to your own maxims? why is your furnituK; smarter than it need be ? why do you drink wine that in older than youi-self ? why are your grounds laid out ? why do you plant trees which afford nothing except shade ? whj does your wife wear in her ears the price of a rich mail's house ? why are your children at school dressed in costly 224 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VII. CH. XIX.] OF A HAPPY LIFE. 225 clothes ? why is it a science to wait upon yon at table ? why is your silver plate not set down anyhow or at ran- dom, but skilfully disposed in regular order, with a super- intendent to preside over the carving of the viands ? " Add to this, if you like, the questions " Why do you own property beyond the seas ? why do you own more than you know of ? it is a shame to you not to know your slaves by sight : for you must be very neglectful of them if you only own a few, or very extravagant if you have too many for your memory to retain." I will add some reproaches after- wards, and will bring more accusations against myself than you think of : for the present I will make you the follow- ing answer. " I am not a wise man, and I will not be one in°order to feed your spite : so do not require me to be on a level with the best of men, but merely to be better than the woi-st : I am satisfied, if every day I take away some- thing from my vices and correct my faults. I have not arrived at perfect soundness of mind, indeed, I never shall arrive at it : I compound palliatives rather than remedies for my gout, and am satisfied if it comes at rarer intervals and does not shoot so painfully. Compared with your feet, which are lame, I am a racer." I make this speech, not on my owxi behalf, for I am steeped in vices of every kind, but on behalf of one who has made some progress in virtue. XVIII. "You talk one way," objects our adversary, •' and live another." You most spiteful of creatures, you who always show the bitterest hatred to the best of men, this reproach was flung at Plato, at Epicurus, at Zeno : for all these declared how they ought to live, not how they did live. I speak of virtue, not of myself, and when I blame vices, I blame my own first of all : when I have the power, I shall live as I ought to do : spite, however deeply steeped in venom, shall not keep me back from what is best : that poison itself with which you bespatter others, with which you choke youi-selves, shall not hinder me from continuing to praise that life which I do not, indeed, lead, but which I know I ought to lead, from loving virtue and from following after her, albeit a long way behind her and with halting gait. Am I to expect that evil speaking will respect any- thing, seeing that it respected neither Rutilius nor Cato ? Will any one care about being thought too rich by men for whom Diogenes the Cynic was not poor enough ? That most energetic philosopher fought against all the desires of the body, and was poorer even than the other Cynics, in that besides having given up possessing anything he had also given up asking for anything : yet they reproached him for not being sufficiently in want : as though forsooth it were poverty, not virtue, of which he professed knowledge. XIX. They say that Diodorus, the Epicurean philo- sopher, who within these last few days put an end to his life with his own hand, did not act according to the precepts of Epicurus, in cutting his throat : some choose to regard this act as the result of madness, others of recklessness ; he, meanwhile, happy and filled with the consciousness of his own goodness, has borne testimony to himself by his manner of departing from life, has com- mended the repose of a life spent at anchor in a safe harbour, and has said what you do not like to hear, because you too ought to do it "I've lived, I've run the race which Fortune set me." You argue about the life and death of another, and yelp at the name of men whom some peculiarly noble quality has rendered great, just as tiny curs do at the approach of strangers : for it is to your interest that no one should appear to be good, as if virtue in another were a reproach to all your crimes. You enviously compare the glories of others with your own dirty actions, and do not understand how greatly to your disadvantage it is to venture to do so : for if they who follow after virtue be greedy, lustful, •226 MINOR DIALOGUES. [bK. VII. and fond of power, what must you be, who hate the veiy name of virtue ? You say that no one acts up to his pro- fessions, or lives according to the standard which he sets up in his discourses : what wonder, seeing that the words which they speak are brave, gigantic, and able to weather all the storms which wreck mankind, whereas they them- selves are struggling to tear themselves away from crosses into which each one of you is driving his own nail. Yet men who are crucified hang from one single pole, but these who punish themselves are divided between as many crosses as they have lusts, but yet are given to evil speak- ing, and are so magnificent in their contempt of the vices of others that I should suppose that they had none of t])eir own, w^ere it not that some criminals when on the gibbet spit upon the spectators. XX. " Philosophers do not carry into effect all that they teach." No ; but they effect much good by their teaching, by the noble thoughts which they conceive in their minds : would, indeed, that they could act up to their talk : what could be happier than they would be ? but in the mean- while you have no right to despise good sayings and hearts full of good thoughts. Men deserve pi-aisc for engaging in profitable studies, even though they stop short of pro- ducing any results. Why need we wonder if those who begin to climb a steep path do not succeed in ascending it very high ? yet, if you be a man, look with respect on those who attempt great things, even though they fall. It is the act of a generous spirit to proportion its efforts not to its own strength but to that of human nature, to entertain lofty aims, and to conceive plans which are too vast to be carried into execution even by those who are endowed with gigantic intellects, who appoint for them- selves the following rules : " I will look upon death or upon a comedy with the same expression of countenance : I will submit to labours, however great they may be, supporting cH. XX.] OF A HAPPY LIFE. 227 the strength of my body by that of my mind : T will despise viches when I have them as much as when I have them not ; if they be elsewhere I will not be more gloomy, if they sparkle around me I will not be more lively than I should otherwise be : whether Fortune conies or goes I will take no notice of her: I will view all lands as though they belong to me, and my own as though they belonged to all man- kind ; I will so live as to remember that I was born for othei*s, and will thank Nature on this account : for in what fashion could she have done better for me ? she has given me alone to all, and all to me alone. Whatever I may pos- sess, I will neither hoard it greedily nor squander it reck- lessly. I will think that I have no possessions so real as those which I have given away to deserving people : I will not reckon benefits by their magnitude or number, or by anything except the value set upon them by the receiver : I never will consider a gift to be a large one if it be bestowed upon a worthy object. I will do nothing because of public opinion, but everthing because of conscience : whenever I do anything alone by myself I will believe that the eyes of the Roman people are upon me while I do it. In eating and drinking my object shall be to quench the desires of Nature, not to fill and empty my belly. I will be agreeable with my friends, gentle and mild to my foes : I will grant pardon before I am asked for it, and will meet the wishes of honourable men half way : I will bear in mind that the world is my native city, that its governors are the gods, and that they stand above and around me, criticizing whatever I do or say. Whenever either Nature demands my breath jigain, or reason bids me dismiss it, I will quit this life, calling all to witness that I have loved a good conscience, and good pursuits ; that no one's freedom, my own least of all, has been impaired through me." He who sets up these as the rules of his life will soar aloft and strive to make his way to the gods : of a truth, even though he fails, yet he 228 MINOR DIALOGUKS. [bk. Vll. " Fails ill a lii;:h ein prise." * Hut you, who hate both virtue and those who practise it, do nothing at which we need be surprised, for sickly lights cannot bear the sun, nocturnal creatures avoid the bright- ness of day, and at its first dawning become bewildered and all betake themselves to their dens together : creatures that fear the light hide themselves in crevices. So croak away, and exercise your miserable tongues in reproaching good men : open wide your jaws, bite hard : you will break many teeth before you make any impression. XXI. " But how is it that this man studies philosophy and nevertheless lives the life of a rich man ? Why does he say that wealth ought to be despised and yet possess it ? that life should be despised, and yet live ? that health should be despised, and yet guard it with the utmost care, and wish it to be as good as possible ? Does he consider banishment to be an empty name, and say, " What evil is there in changing one country for another ? " and yet, if per- mitted, does he not grow old in his native land ? does he declare that there is no difference between a longer and a shorter time, and yet, if he be not prevented, lengthen out his life and flourish in a green old age ? " His answer is, that these things ought to be despised, not that he should not possess them, but that he should not possess them with fear and trembling : he does not drive them away from him, but when they leave him he follows after them uncon- cernedly. Where, indeed, can fortune invest riches more securely than in a place from whence they can always be recovered without any squabble with their trustee ? Marcus Cato, when he was praising Curius and Coruncanius and that century in which the possession of a few small silver coins were an offence which was punished by the Censor, himself owned four million sesterces; a less fortune, no ' The quotation is from the epitaph on Thaeton.— See Ovid, Met. II. 327. CH. XXII.] OF A HAPPY LIFE. 220 doubt, than that of Crnssus, but larger than of Cato the Censor. If the amounts be compared, he had outstripped his great-grandfather further than he himself was outdone by Crassus, and if still greater riches had fallen to his lot, lie would not have spurned them : for the wise man does not think himself unworthy of any chance presents : he does not love riches, but he prefers to have them ; he does not receive them into his spirit, but only into his house : nor does he cast away from him what he already possesses, but keeps them, and is willing that his virtue should receive a larger subject-matter for its exercise. XXII. Who can doubt, however, that the wise man, if he is rich, has a wider field for the development of his powers than if he is poor, seeing that in the latter case the only virtue which he can display is that of neither being perverted nor crushed by his poverty, whereas if he has riches, he will have a wide field for the exhibition of tem- perance, generosity, laboriousness, methodical arrange- ment, and grandeur. The wise man will not despise him- .self, however short of stature he may be, but nevertheless he will wish to be tall : even though he be feeble and one- eyed he may be in good health, yet he would prefer to have bodily strength, and that too, while he knows all the while that he has something which is even more powerful : he will endure illness, and will hope for good health : for some things, though they may be trifles compared with the sum total, and though they may be taken away without destroying the chief good, yet add somewhat to that con- stant cheerfulness which aiises from virtue. Riches encou- rage and brighten up such a man just as a sailor is de- lighted at a favourable wind that bears him on his way, or as people feel pleasure at a fine day or at a sunny spot in the cold weather. What wise man, I mean of our school, whose only good is virtue, can deny that even these matters which we call neither good nor bad have in themselves a f: 230 MINOR DIALOGUES. [rK. VII. CH. XXIV.] OP A HAPPT LIFE. 231 certain valne, and that some of them are preferable to others ? to some of them we show a certain amount of respect, and to some a great deal. Do not, then, make any mistake : riches beloiijr to the class of desirable things. " Why then," say yon, " do you laugh at me, since yon place them in the same position that I do?" Do you wish to know how different the position is in which we place them ? If my riches leave me, they will carry away with them nothing except themselves : you will be bewil- dered and will seem to be left without yourself if they should pass away from you : with me riches occr.py a certain place, but with you they occupy the highest place of all. In fine, my riches belong to me, you belong to your riches. XXIII. Cease, then, forbidding philosophei-s to possess money : no one has condemned wisdom to poverty. The philosoplUr may own ample wealth, but will not own wealth that which has been torn from another, or which is stained with another's blood : his must be obtained with- out wronging any man, and without its being won by base means ; it must he alike honourably come by and honour- ably spent, and must be such as spite alone could shake its head at. Raise it to whatever figure you please, it will still be an honourable possession, if, while it includes much which every man would like to call his own, thei-e be nothing which any one can say is his own. Such a man will not forfeit his right to the favour of Fortune, and will neither boast of his inheritance nor blush for it if it was honourably acquii*ed : yet he will have something to boast of, if he throw his house open, let all his country- men come among his property, and say, " If any one recog- nizes here anything belonging to him, let him take it." What a great man, how excellently rich will he be, if after this speech he possesses as much as he had before ! I say, then, that if he can safely and confidently submit his accounts to the scrutiny of the people, and no one can find in them any item upon which he can lay hands, such a man may boldly and unconcealedly enjoy his riches. The wise man will not allow a single ill-won penny to cross his threshold : yet he will not refuse or close his door against great riches, if they are the gift of fortune and the product of virtue: what reason has he for grudging them good quarters : let them come and be his guests : he will neither brag of them nor hide them away : the one is the part of a silly, the other of a cowardly and paltry spirit, which, as it were, muffles up a good thing in its lap. Neither will he, as I said before, turn them out of his house : for what will he say ? will he say, " You are useless," or " I do not know how to use riches ? " As he is capable of performing a journey upon his own feet, but yet would prefer to mount a carriage, just so he will be capable of being poor, yet will wish to be rich ; he will own wealth, but will view it as an uncertain possession which will some day fly away from him. He will not allow it to be a burden either to himself or to any one else: he will give it— why do you prick up your ears ? why do you open your pockets ? — he will give it either to good men or to those whom it may make into good men. He will give it after having taken the utmost pains to choose those who are fittest to receive it, as becomes one who bears in mind that he ought to give an account of what he spends as well as of what he receives. He will give for good and commendable reasons, for a gift ill bestowed counts as a shameful loss : he will have an easily opened pocket, but not one with a hole in it, so that much may be tiken out of it, yet nothing may fall out of it. XXIV. He who believes giving to be an easy matter, is mistaken : it offers very great difficulties, if we bestow our bounty rationally, and do not scatter it impulsively and at random. I do this man a service, I requite a good turn done me by that one : I help this other, because I pity him : this man, again, I teach to be no fit object for poverty to 232 MINOR DIALOGUES. [T'K. VII. hold down or degrade. I shall not give some men anything, although they are in want, because, even if I do give to them they will still be in want : I shall proffer my bounty to some, and shall forcibly thrust it upon others : I cannot be neglecting my own interests while I am doing this : at no time do I make more people in my debt than when I am giving things away. " What ? " say you, ** do you give that you may receive again ?" At any rate I do not give that I may throw my bounty away : what I give should be so placed that although I cannot ask for its return, yet it may be given back to me. A benefit should be invested in the same manner as a treasure buried deep in the earth, which you would not dig up unless actually obliged. Why, what opportunities of conferring benefits the mere house of a rich man affords ? for who considers generous behaviour due only to those who wear the too'a ? Nature bids me do good to mankind — what difference does it make whether they be slaves or freemen, free-born or emancipated, whether their freedom be legally acquired or betowed by arrangement among friends ? Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a benefit : consequently, money may be distributed even within one's own threshold, and a field may be found there for the practice of freehandedness, which is not so called because it is our duty towards free men, but because it takes its rise in a free-born mind. In the case of the wise man, this never falls upon base and unworthy recipients, and never becomes so exhausted as not, whenever it finds a worthy object, to How as if its store was undiminished. You have, therefore, no grounds for misunderstanding the honourable, brave, and spirited language which you hear from those who are studying wisdom : and first of all observe this, that a student of wisdom is not the same thing as a man who has made himself perfect in wisdom. The former will Bay to you, '* In my talk I express the most admirable senti- OF A HAPPY LIFE. 233 CH XXV.] nients, yet I am still weltering amid countless ills. You must not force me to act up to my rules : at the present time I am forming myself, moulding my character, and striving to rise myself to the height of a great example. If I should ever succeed in carrying out all that I have set myself to accomplish, you may then demand that my words and deeds should correspond." But he who has reached the summit of human perfection will deal otherwise with you, and will say, " In the first place, you have no business to allow yourself to sit in judgment upon your betters:" I have aiready obtained one proof of my righteousness in having become an object of dislike to bad men : however, to make you a rational answer, which I grudge to no man, listen to what I declare, and at what price I value all things. Riches, I say, are not a good thing ; for if they were, they would make men good : now since that which is found even among V)ad men cannot be termed good, I do not allow them to be called so : nevertheless I admit that they are desirable and useful and contribute great comforts to our lives. XXV. Learn, then, since we both agree that they are desirable, what my reason is amongst counting them among good things, and in what respects I should behave differently to you if I possessed them. Place me as master in the house of a very rich man : place me where gold and silver plate is used for the commonest purposes; I shall not think more of myself because of things which even though they are in my house are yet no part of me. Take me away to the wooden bridge ^ and put me down there among the beggars: I shall not despise myself because I am sitting among those who hold out their hands for alms : for .-what can the lack of a piece of bread matter to one ' The " Pons Sublicius," or " pile bridge," was built over the TiV>«'r by Ancus Martins, one of the early kings of Rome, and was always kopt in rt'pair out of a sujK'/stitious feeling. 2;u MINOR DIALOGUKS. [bk'. vri. CH. XXVI.] OF A HAPPY LIFE. 235 who does not lack the power of dying ? Well, then ? I prefer the magnificent house to the beggar's bridge. Place me among magnificent furniture and all the appliances of luxury : I shall not think myself any happier because my cloak is soft, because my guests rest upon purple. Change the scene : I shall be no more miserable if my weary head rests upon a bundle of hay, if I lie upon a cushion from the circus, with all the stuffing on the point of coming out through its patches of threadbare cloth. Well, then ? I prefer, as far as my feelings go, to show myself in public dressed in woollen and in robes of office, rather than with naked or half-covered shoulders : I should like every day's business to turn out just as I wish it to do, and new con- gratulations to be constantly following upon the former ones : yet I will not pride myself upon this : change all this good fortune for its opposite, let my spirit be dis- tracted by losses, grief, various kinds of attacks : let no hour pass without some dispute : I shall not on this account, though beset by the greatest miseries, call myself the most miserable of beings, nor shall I curse any particular day, for I have taken care to have no unlucky days. What, then, is the upshot of all this ? it is that I prefer to have to regulate joys than to stifle sorrows. The great Socrates would say the same thing to you. " Make me," he would say, " the conqueror of all nations: let the voluptuous car of Bacchus bear me in triumph to Thebes from the rising of the sun : let the kings of the Persians receive laws from me : yet I shall feel myself to be a man at the very moment when all around salute me as a God. Straightway connect this lofty height with a headlong fall into misfortune : let me be placed upon a foreign chariot that I may grace the triumph of a proud and savage conqueror : I will follow another's ciir with no more humility than I showed when I stood in my own. What then ? In spite of all this, I had rather bj a conqueror than a captive. I despise the whole dominion of Fortune, but still, if I were given my choice, I would choose its better part«. I shall make whatever befals me become a good thing, but I prefer that what befals me should be comfortable and pleasant and unlikely to cause me annoyance : for you need not suppose that any virtue exists without labour, but some virtues need spurs, while others need the curb. As we have to check our body on a downward path, and to urge it to climb a steep one ; so also the path of some virtues leads down hill, that of others uphill. Can we doubt that patience, courage, constancy, and all the other virtues which have to meet strong opposi- tion, and to trample Fortune under their feet, are climbing, struggling, winning their way up a steep ascent? Why! is it not equally evident that generosity, moderation, and gentleness glide easily downhill? With the latter we must hold in our spirit, lest it run away with us : with the former we must urge and spur it on. We ought, therefore, to apply these energetic, combative virtues to poverty, and to riches those other more thrifty ones which trip lightly along, and merely support their own weight. This being the distinction between them, 1 would rather have to deal with those which I could practise in comparative quiet, than those of which one can only make trial through blood and sweat. " Wherefore," says the sage, " I do not talk one way and live another : but you do not rightly understand what I say : the sound of my words alone reaches your ears, you do not try to find out their meaning." XXVI. "What difference, then, is there between me, who am a fool, and you, who are a wise man ? " " All the difference in the world : for riches are slaves in the house of a wise man, but masters in that of a fool. You accustom yourself to them and cling to them as if somebody had pro- mised that they should be yours for ever, but a wise man never thinks so much about poverty as when he is sur- rounded by riches. No general ever trusts so implicitly in I 236 MINOR DIALOGUKS. [bK. VII. the maintenance of peace as not to make himself ready for a war, which, though it may not actually be waged, has nevertheless been declared ; you are rendered over-proud by a tine house, as though it could never be burned or fall down, and your heads are turned by riches as though they were beyond the reach of all dangers and were so great that Fortune has not sufficient strength to swallow them up. You sit idly playing with your wealth and do not foresee the perils in store for it, as savages generally do when besieged, for, not understanding the nse of siege artillery, they look on idly at the labours of the besiegers and do not under- stand the object of the machines which they are putting together at a distance : and this is exactly what happens to you : you go to sleep over your property, and never re- flect how many misfortunes loom menacingly around you on all sides, and soon will plunder you of costly spoils , but if one tiikes away riches from the wise man, one leaves him still in possession of all that is his : for he lives happy in tiie present, and without fear for the future. The great Sociates, or any one else who had the same superiority to and power to withstand the things of this life, would say, ' I have no more fixed principle than that of not altering the course of my life to suit your prejudices : you may pour your accustomed talk upon me from all sides : I shall not think that you are abusing me, but that you are merely wailing like poor little babies.' " This is what the man will say who possesses wisdom, whose mind, being free from vices, bids him reproach others, not because he hates them, but in order to improve them : and to this he will add, " Your opinion of me affects me with pain, not for my own sake but for yours, because to hate perfection and to ass »il virtue is in itself a resignation of all hope of doing well. You do me no harm ; neither do men harm the gods when they overthrow their altars : but it is clear that your inten- tion is an evil one and that you will wish to do harm even CH. XXVI.] OF A HAPPT LIFE. 237 where yon are not able. I bear with your prating in the same spirit in which Jupiter, best and greatest, bears with the idle tales of the poets, one of whom represents him with wings, another with horns, another as an adulterer staying out all night, another is dealing harshly with the gods, another as unjust to men, another as the seducer of noble youths whom he carries off by force, and those, too, his own relatives, another as a parricide and the conqueror of another's kingdom, and that his father's. The only result of such tales is that men feel less shame at committing sin if they believe the gods to be guilty of such actions. But although this conduct of yours does not hurt me, yet, for your own sakes, I advise you, respect virtue : believe those who having long followed her cry aloud that what tliey follow is a thing of might, and daily appears mightier. Reverence her as you would the gods, and reverence her followers as you would the priests of the gods : and whenever any mention of sacred writings is made, favete Unguis, favour us with silence : this word is not derived, as most people imagine, from favour, but commands silence, that divine service may be performed without being inter- rupted by any words of evil omen. It is much more neces- sary that you should be ordered to do this, in order that whenever utterance is made by that oi'acle, you may listen to it with attention and in silence. Whenever any one beats a sistrum,' pretending to do so by divine command, any proficient in grazing his own skin covers his arms and shoulders with blood from light cuts, any one crawls on his knees howling along the street, or any old man clad in linen comes forth in daylight with a lamp and laurel branch and cries out that one of the gods is angry, you crowd round him and listen to his words, and each increases the ' Sistruoi. A metallic rattle used by the Egyptians in celebrating the rites of Isis, &c. — Andrkws. 1 238 MINOR DIALOGUSS. [bK. VII. other's wonderment by declaring him to be divinely in- spired. XXVII. Behold ! from that prison of his, which by en- terinsr he cleansed from shame and rendered more honour- able than any senate house, Socrates addresses you, s lying : •• What is this madness of yours P what is this disposition, at war alike with gods and men, which leads you to calum- niate virtue and to outrage holiness with malicious accu- sations ? Praise good men, if you are able : if not, pass them by in silence : if indeed you take pleasure in this offensive abusiveness, fall foul of one another: for when you rave against Heaven, I do not say that you commit sacrilege, but you waste your time. I once afforded Aristo- phanes with the subject of a jest : since then all the crew of comic poets have made me a mark for their envenomed wit : my virtue has Ijeen made to shine more brightly by the very blows which have been aimed at it, for it is to its advantage to be brought before the public and exposed to temptation, nor do any people understand its greatness more than those who by their assaults have made trial of its strength. The hardness of flint is known to none so well as to those who strike it. I offer myself to all attacks, like some lonely rot-k in a shallow sea, which the waves never cease to beat u{)()n from whatever quarter they may come, but which they cannot thereby move from its place nor yet wear away, for however many yeai's they may un- ceasingly dash against it. Bound upon me, rush upon me, I will overcome you by enduring your onset : whatever strikes against that %hich is firm and unconquerable merely in- jures itself by its own violence. Wherefore, seek some soft and yielding object to pierce with your darts. But have you leisure to peer into other men's evil deeds and to sit in judgment upon anybody ? to ask how it is that this philosopher has so roomy a house, or that one so good a dinner ? Do you look at other people's pimples while you CH. XXVIII.] OF A HAPPY LIFE. 230 yourselves are covered with countless ulcers ? This is as though one who was eaten up by the mange were to point with scorn at the moles and warts on the bodies of the handsomest men. Reproach Plato with having sought for money, reproach Aristotle with having obtained it, Demo- critus with having disregarded it, Epicurus with having spent it : cast Phaedrus and Alcibiades in my own teeth, you who reach the height of enjoyment whenever you get an opportunity of imitating our vices ! Why do you not rather cast your eyes around yourselves at the ills which tear you to pieces on every side, some attacking you from without, some burning in your own bosoms ? However little you know your own place, mankind has not yet come to such a pass that you can have leisure to wag your tongues to the reproach of yonr betters. XXVIII. This you do not understand, and you bear a countenance which does not l3efit your condition, like many men who sit in the circus or the theatre without having learned that their home is already in mourning : but I, look- ing forward from a lofty standpoint, can see what storms are either threatening you, and will burst in torrents upon yon somewhat later, or are close upon you and on the point of sweeping away all that you possess. Why, though yon are hardly aware of it, is there not a whirling hurricane at this moment spinning round and confusing yonr minds, making them seek and avoid the very same things, now raisinir them aloft and now dashing: them below ? " 210 THE EIGHTH BOOK OF THE DIALOGUES OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO SEHENCS. OF LEISURE. I. .... why do they with great unanimity recommend vices to us? even though we attempt nothing else that would do us good, yet retirement in itself will be bene- ficial to us : we shall be better men when taken singly — and if so, what an advantage it will be to retire into the society of the best of men, and to choose some example by which we may guide our lives ! This cannot be done without leisure : with leisure we can carry out that which we have once for all decided to be best, when there is no one to interfere with us and with the help of the mob per- vert our as yet feeble judgment: with leisure only can life, which we distract by aiming at the most incompatible objects, flow on in a single gentle stream. Indeed, the worst of our various ills is that we change our very vices, and so we have not even the advantage of dealing with a well-known form of evil : we take pleasure first in one and then in another, and are, besides, troubled by the fact that our opinions are not only wrong, but lightly formed ; we toss as it were on waves, and clutch at one thing after another : we let go what we just now sought for, and CH. II.] OF LEISURE. 241 strive to recover what we have let go. We oscillate be- tween desire and remorse, for we depend entirely upon the opinions of others, and it is that which many people praise and seek after, not that which deserves to be praised and sought after, which we consider to be best. Nor do we take any heed of whether our road be good or bad in Itself, but we value it by the number of footprints upon it among which there are none of any who have returned' You will say to me, " Seneca, what are yon doing ? do you desert your party ? I am sure that our Stoic philosophers say we must be in motion up to the very end of our life we will never cease to labour for the general good, to help individual people, and when stricken in years to afford assistance even to our enemies. We are the sect that gives no discharge for any number of years' service, and m the words of the most eloquent of poets :— * We wear the helmet when our locks are grey.' » We are they who are so far from indulging in any leisure until we die, that if circumstances permit it, we do not allow ourselves to be at leisure even when we are dyin^ Why do you preach the maxims of Epicurus in the verv headquarters of Zeno? nay, if you are ashamed of your party, why do you not go openly altogether over to the enemy rather than betray your own side ? " I will answer this question straightway : What more can you wish than that I should imitate my leaders ? What then follows ? I shall go whither they lead me, not whither they send me. "^ II. Now I will prove to you that I am not deserting the ' Virg. - ^n."ix. 612. Compare Sir Walter Scott, " Lay of the Last Minstrel," canto iv. :— ^ " And still, in age, he spurned at rest, And still his brows the helmet pressed, Aibeit the blanched locks below Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow,"