(_Fam._, XXIV, 5)
On another occasion, O Seneca, I begged and obtained the pardon of
a great man indeed.[24] I should desire similar indulgence on thy
part, if I express myself more sharply than is quite consistent with
the reverence due to thy calling and to the peace of the grave.
Whosoever has seen that I have not spared Marcus Cicero--whom (upon
thy authority[25]) I called the bright luminary and fountain-head
of Latin eloquence--will surely have no just cause for indignation
because in continuing to speak the truth, I shall not spare thee
or anyone else. I derive great enjoyment from speaking with you,
O illustrious characters of antiquity. Each succeeding age has
suffered your works to remain in great neglect; but our own age
is quite content, in its ignorance, with a dearth that has become
extraordinary. For my part, I daily listen to your words with more
attention than can be believed; and so, perchance, I shall not be
considered impertinent in desiring you in your turn to listen to me
once.
I am fully aware that thou art to be numbered among those whose
names are illustrious. Were I unable to gather this from any other
source, I should still learn it from a great foreign authority.
Plutarch, a Greek and the tutor of Emperor Trajan, in comparing
the renowned men of his country with those of ours, opposed Marcus
Varro to Plato and Aristotle (the former of whom the Greeks call
divine, the latter inspired), Vergil to Homer, and Marcus Tullius to
Demosthenes. He finally dared to discuss even the vexed question of
military leaders, in the treatment of which he was not hampered by
the respect due to his great pupil. In one department of learning,
however, he did not blush to acknowledge that the genius of the
Greeks was distinctly inferior, saying that he knew not whom to place
on a par with thee in the field of moral philosophy.[26] Great praise
this, especially from the mouth of a man proud of his race, and a
startling concession, seeing that he had opposed his Alexander the
Macedon to our Julius Caesar.
I cannot explain why it is, but often the most perfect mold of either
mind or body is marred by some serious blemish of nature, which
speaks in such various language. It may be that our common mother
denies perfection to mankind (the more so, indeed, the nearer we
seem to approach it), or else that among so much that is beautiful
even the slightest defect becomes noticeable. That which in a face of
average beauty might be considered an engaging and attractive mark
becomes a positively ugly scar on features of surpassing beauty.
The juxtaposition of contradictory things always sheds light upon
doubtful points.
And yet do thou, O venerable sir and (according to Plutarch)
incomparable teacher of moral philosophy, do thou review with me
calmly the great error of thy life. Thou didst fall upon evil days,
in the reign of the most savage ruler within the memory of man.[27]
Though thyself a peaceful mariner, thou didst guide thy bark, heavily
laden as it was with the most precious goods, toward an unspeakably
dangerous and tempestuous reef. But, I ask, why didst thou tarry
there? Was it, perhaps, that thou mightest the better evince thy
masterly skill in so stormy a sea? None but a madman would have thus
chosen. To be sure, it is the part of a brave man to face danger
resolutely, but not that of a wise man to seek it. Were the prudent
man to be given a free choice, he would so live that there would
never be need of bravery; for nothing would ever happen to him that
would compel him to make any call upon it. The wise man will rather
(as the name implies) check all excessive demonstrations of joy, and
confine his desires within proper bounds. But since the accidents
of life are countless, and since our best-laid plans are many times
undone thereby, we must oppose to mad fortune an unconquerable
fortitude, not from choice (as I have already said), but in obedience
to the hard, inexorable laws of necessity.
But shall I not seem to have lost my senses if I continue to preach
on virtue to the great teacher of morality, and if I labor to prove
that which can by no manner of means be confuted, namely, that it was
folly to remain among the shoals? I leave it for thee to judge--nay,
for anyone who has learned to sail the sea of life even tolerably
well. If thy object was to reap glory from the very difficulty of
thy situation, I answer that it would have been most glorious to
extricate thyself therefrom and to bring thy ship in safety to some
port. Thou didst see the sword hanging perpetually over thy head, yet
didst fear not, nor didst thou take any step to escape from such a
perilous existence. And thou shouldst have, especially since thou
must have realized that thy death was to be that most wretched of all
deaths--one entirely devoid of advantage to others and of glory to
thyself. Thou hadst fallen, O pitiable man, into the hands of one who
had the power to do what he willed,[28] but who willed nothing except
it were most vile. At the very beginning of thy intimate acquaintance
with him thou wert warned by a startling dream,[29] and thereafter,
whenever thou wert closely observant, thou didst discover many traits
that proved thy fears to be well grounded. What, therefore, could
induce thee to remain so long a member of his household? What couldst
thou have in common with such an inhuman and bloodstained pupil? or
with courtiers so repugnant to thy very nature? Thou mayest answer:
“I wished to flee, but could not;” and thou mayest adduce as a plea
that verse of Cleanthes which thou art wont to quote in its Latin
form: