On Anger (De Ira)

in another to be splashed, so in this diverse and restless activity of life many hindrances befall us and many occasions for complaint. Our hopes one man deceives, another defers, another destroys; our projects do not proceed as they were planned. To no man is Fortune so wholly submissive that she will always respond if often tried. The result is, consequently, that when a man finds that some of his plans have turned out contrary to his expectations, he becomes impatient with men and things, and on the slightest provocation becomes angry now with a person, now with his calling, now with his place of abode, now with his luck, now with himself. In order, therefore, that the mind may have peace, it must not be tossed about, it must not, as I have said, be wearied by activity in many or great affairs, or by attempting such as are beyond its powers. It is easy to fit the shoulders to light burdens, and to shift the load from this side to that without slipping; but it is hard to support what others' hands have laid upon us, and exhausted we cast the load upon a neighbour. Even while we stand beneath the burden, we stagger if we are too weak to bear its weight. In public and in private affairs, be sure, the same condition holds. Light and easy tasks accept the control of the doer; those that are heavy and beyond the capacity of the performer are not easily mastered; and if they are undertaken, they outweigh his efforts and run away with him, and just when he thinks he has them in his grasp, down they crash and bring him down with them. So it happens that the man who is unwilling to approach easy tasks, yet wishes to find easy the tasks he approaches, is often disappointed in his desire. Whenever you would

attempt anything, measure yourself and at the same time the undertaking -both the thing you intend and the thing for which you are intended; for the regret that springs from an unaccomplished task will make you bitter. It makes some difference whether a man is of a fiery or of a cold and submissive nature; the man of spirit will be driven by defeat to anger, a dull and sluggish nature to sorrow. Let our activities, consequently, be neither petty, nor yet bold and presumptuous; let us restrict the range of hope; let us attempt nothing which later, even after we have achieved it, will make us surprised that we have succeeded. Since we do not know how to bear injury, let us endeavour not to receive one. We should live with a very calm and good- natured person - one that is never worried or captious; we adopt our habits from those with whom we associate, and as certain diseases of the body spread to others from contact, so the mind transmits its faults to those near-by. The drunkard lures his boon companions into love of wine; shameless company corrupts even the strong man and, perchance, the hero; avarice transfers its poison to its neighbours. The same principle holds good of the virtues, but with the opposite result - that they ameliorate whatever comes in contact with them; an invalid does not benefit so much from a suitable location or a more healthful climate as does the mind which lacks strength from association with a better company. You will understand what a powerful factor this is if you observe that even wild animals grow tame from intercourse with us, and that all beasts, no matter how savage, after enduring long companionship with man cease to be violent; all

their fierceness is blunted and gradually amid peaceful conditions is forgotten. Moreover, the man who lives with tranquil people not only becomes better from their example, but finding no occasions for anger he does not indulge in his weakness. It will, therefore, be a man's duty to avoid all those who he knows will provoke his anger. "Just whom do you mean?" you ask. There are many who from various causes will produce the same result. The proud man will offend you by his scorn, the caustic man by an insult, the forward man by an affront, the spiteful man by his malice, the contentious by his wrangling, the windy liar by his hollowness; you will not endure to be feared by a suspicious man, to be outdone by a stubborn one, or to be despised by a coxcomb. Choose frank, good-natured, temperate people, who will not call forth your anger and yet will bear with it. Still more helpful will be those who are yielding and kindly and suave - not, however, to the point of fawning, for too much cringing incenses hot-tempered people. I, at any rate, had a friend, a good man, but too prone to anger, whom it was not less dangerous to wheedle than to curse. It is well known that Caelius, the orator, was very hot-tempered. A client of rare forbearance was, as the story goes, once dining with Caelius in his chamber, but it was difficult for him, having got into such close quarters, to avoid a quarrel with the companion at his side; so he decided that it was best to agree with whatever Caelius said and to play up to him. Caelius, however, could not endure his compliant attitude, and cried out, "Contradict me, that there may be two of us!" But even he, angry because he was not angered, quickly subsided when

he had no antagonist. Consequently, if we are conscious of being hot-tempered, let us rather pick out those who will be guided by our looks and by our words. Such men, it is true, will pamper us and lead us into the harmful habit of hearing nothing that we do not like, but there will be the advantage of giving our weakness a period of respite. Even those who are churlish and intractable by nature will endure caressing; no creature is savage and frightened if you stroke it. Whenever a discussion tends to be too long or too quarrelsome, let us check it at the start before it gains strength. Controversy grows of itself and holds fast those that have plunged in too deeply. It is easier to refrain than to retreat from a struggle. Hot-tempered people should also abstain from the more burdensome pursuits, or at least should not ply these to the point of exhaustion, and the mind should not be engaged by too many interests, but should surrender itself to such arts as are pleasurable. Let it be soothed by the reading of poetry and gripped by the tales of history; it should be much coddled and pampered. Pythagoras used to calm his troubled spirit with the lyre; and who does not knnow that the clarion and the trumpet act as incitements to the mind, and that, similarly, certain songs are a soothing balm that brings it relaxation? Green things are good for disordered eyes, and certain colours are restful to weak vision, while by the brightness of others it is blinded, So pleasant pursuits soothe the troubled mind. We should shun the courts, court appearances, and trials, and everything that aggravates our weakness, and we should equally guard against physical exhaustion; for this destroy's what-

ever gentleness and mildness we have and engenders sharpness. Those, therefore, who distrust their digestion, before they proceed to the performance of tasks of unusual difficulty, allay their bile with food; for fatigue especially arouses the bile, possibly because it drives the body's heat toward the centre, vitiates the blood, and stops its circulation by clogging the veins, or because the body when it is worn and feeble weighs down the mind. For the same reason, undoubtedly, those who are broken by ill-health and age are more irascible than others. Hunger and thirst also, for the same reasons, must be avoided; they exasperate and irritate the mind. There is an old proverb that "the tired man seeks a quarrel," but it applies just as well to the hungry and thirsty man, and to any man who chafes under something. For just as a bodily sore hurts under the slightest touch, afterwards even at the suggestion of a touch, so the disordered mind takes offence at the merest trifles, so that even, in the case of some people, a greeting, a letter, a speech, or a question provokes a dispute. There will always be a protest if you touch a sore spot. It is best, therefore, to treat the malady as soon as it is discovered; then, too, to allow oneself the least possible liberty of speech, and to check impulsiveness. It is easy, moreover, to detect one's passion as soon as it is born; sickness is preceded by symptoms. Just as the signs of storm and rain appear before the storms themselves, so there are certain forerunners of anger, of love, and of all those tempests that shake the soul. Those who are subject to fits of epilepsy know that the attack is coming on if heat leaves their extremities, if their sight wavers,

if there is a twitching of the muscles, or if memory forsakes them and the head swims; therefore by customary remedies they try to forestall the disease in its incipiency, and they ward off whatever it is that causes unconsciousness by smelling or tasting something, or they battle against cold and stiffness with hot applications; or if the remedy is of no avail, they escape from the crowd and fall where no one may see. It is well to understand one's malady and to break its power before it spreads. Let us discern what it is that especially irritates us. One man is stirred by insulting words, another by insulting actions; this man craves respect for his rank, this one for his person; this one wishes to be considered a fine gentleman, that one a fine scholar; this one cannot brook arrogance, this one obstinacy; that one does not think his slaves worthy of his wrath, this one is violent inside his house and mild outside; that man considers it a disgrace to be put up for office, this one an insult not to be put up. We are not all wounded at the same spot; therefore you ought to know what your weak spot is in order that you may especially protect it. It is well not to see everything, not to hear everything. Many affronts may pass by us; in most cases the man who is unconscious of them escapes them. Would you avoid being provoked? Then do not be inquisitive, He who tries to discover what has been said against him, who unearths malicious gossip even if it was privately indulged in, is responsible for his own disquietude. There are words which the construction put upon them can make appear an insult; some, therefore, ought to be put aside, others derided, others condoned. In various

ways anger must be circumvented; most offences may be turned into farce and jest. Socrates, it is said, when once he received a box on the ear, merely declared that it was too bad that a man could not tell when he ought to wear a helmet while taking a walk. Not how an affront is offered, but how it is borne is our concern; and I do not see why it is difficult to practise restraint, since I know that even despots, though their hearts were puffed up with success and privilege, have nevertheless repressed the cruelty that was habitual to them. At any rate, there is the story handed down about Pisistratus, the Athenian despot - that once when a tipsy table-guest had declaimed at length about his cruelty, and there was no lack of those who would gladly place their swords at the service of their master, and one from this side and another from that supplied fuel to the flame, the tyrant, none the less, bore the incident calmly, and replied to those who were goading him on that he was no more angry at the man than he would be if some one ran against him blindfold. A great many manufacture grievances either by suspecting the untrue or by exaggerating the trivial. Anger often comes to us, but more often we go to it. It should never be invited; even when it falls upon us, it should be repulsed. No man ever says to himself, "I myself have done, or at least might have done, this very thing that now makes me angry"; no one considers the intention of the doer, but merely the deed. Yet it is to the doer that we should give thought -whether he did it intentionally or by accident, whether under compulsion or by mistake, whether he was led on by hatred or by the

hope of reward, whether he was pleasing himself or lending aid to another. The age of the offender counts for something, his station for something, so that to tolerate or to submit becomes merely indulgence or deference. Let us put ourselves in the place of the man with whom we are angry; as it is, an unwarranted opinion of self makes us prone to anger, and we are unwilling to bear what we ourselves would have been willing to inflict. No one makes himself wait; yet the best cure for anger is waiting, to allow the first ardour to abate and to let the darkness that clouds the reason either subside or be less dense. Of the offences which were driving you headlong, some an hour will abate, to say nothing of a day, some will vanish altogether; though the postponement sought shall accomplish nothing else, yet it will be evident that judgement now rules instead of anger. If ever you want to find out what a thing really is, entrust it to time; you can see nothing clearly in the midst of the billows. Plato once, when he was angry with his slave, was unable to impose delay upon himself, and, bent upon flogging him with his own hand, ordered him forthwith to take off his shirt and bare his shoulders for the blows; but afterwards realizing that he was angry he stayed his uplifted hand, and just as he was stood with his band in the air like one in the act of striking. Later, when a friend who happened to come in asked him what he was doing, he said, "I am exacting punishment from an angry man." As if stunned he maintained that attitude, unbecoming to a philosopher, of a man in the act of venting his passion, forgetful now of the slave since he had found another whom he was more anxious to punish. He therefore denied

himself all power over his own household, and once, when he was deeply provoked at some fault, he said, "Do you, Speusippus, punish this dog of a slave with a whip, for I am angry." His reason for not striking was the very reason that would have caused another to strike. "I am angry," said he; "I should do more than I ought, and with too much satisfaction; this slave should not be in the power of a master who is not master of himself." Can any one wish to entrust punishment to an angry man when even Plato denied himself this authority? Let nothing be lawful to you while you are angry. Do you ask why? Because then you wish everything to be lawful. Fight against yourself! If you will to conquer anger, it cannot conquer you. If it is kept out of sight, if it is given no outlet, you begin to conquer. Let us conceal the signs, and so far as it is possible let us keep it hidden and secret. We shall have great trouble in doing this, for it is eager to leap forth and fire the eyes and transform the countenance; but if we allow it to show itself outside of us, at once it is on top of us. It should be kept hidden in the deepest depths of the heart and it should not drive, but be driven; and more, all symptoms of it let us change into just the opposite. Let the countenance be unruffled, let the voice be very gentle, the step very slow; gradually the inner man conforms itself to the outer. In the case of Socrates, it was a sign of anger if he lowered his voice and became sparing of speech. It was evident then that he was struggling against himself. And so his intimate friends would find him out and accuse him, yet he was not displeased by the charge of concealing his anger. Why

should he not have been happy that many perceived his anger, yet no man felt it? But they would have felt it, had his friends not been granted the same right to criticize him which he himself claimed over them. How much more ought we to do this! Let us beg all our best friends to use to the utmost such liberty toward us, especially when we are least able to bear it, and let there be no approval of our anger. While we are sane, while we are ourselves, let us ask help against an evil that is powerful and oft indulged by us. Those who cannot carry their wine discreetly and fear that they will be rash and insolent in their cups, instruct their friends to remove them from the feast; those who have learned that they are unreasonable when they are sick, give orders that in times of illness they are not to be obeyed. It is best to provide obstacles for recognized weaknesses, and above all so to order the mind that even when shaken by most serious and sudden happenings it either shall not feel anger, or shall bury deep any anger that may arise from the magnitude of the unexpected affront and shall not acknowledge its hurt. That this can be done will become clear if from a great array of instances I shall cite a few examples; from these you may learn two things - how great evil there is in anger when it wields the complete power of supremely powerful men, and how great control it can impose upon itself when restrained by the stronger influence of fear. Since Cambyses was too much addicted to wine, Praexaspes, one of his dearest friends, urged him to drink more sparingly, declaring that drunkenness is disgraceful for a king, towards whom all eyes and ears are turned. To this Cambyses replied "To

convince you that I never lose command of myself, I shall proceed to prove to you that my eyes and my hands perform their duty in spite of wine." Thereupon taking larger cups he drank more recklessly than ever, and when at length he was heavy and besotted with wine, he ordered the son of bis critic to proceed beyond the threshold and stand there with his left hand lifted above his head. Then he drew his bow and shot the youth through the very heart - he had mentioned this as his mark - and cutting open the breast of the victim he showed the arrow-head sticking in the heart itself, and then turning toward the father he inquired whether he had a sufficiently steady hand. But he replied that Apollo himself could not have made a more unerring shot. Heaven curse such a man, a bondslave in spirit even more than in station! He praised a deed, which it were too much even to have witnessed. The breast of his son that had been torn asunder, his heart quivering from its wound, he counted a fitting pretext for flattery. He ought to have provoked a dispute with him about his boast and called for another shot, that the king might have the pleasure of displaying upon the person of the father himself an even steadier hand! What a bloodthirsty king! What a worthy mark for the bows of all his followers! Though we may execrate him for terminating a banquet with punishment and death, yet it was more accursed to praise that shot than to make it. We shall see later how the father should have borne himself as he stood over the corpse of his son, viewing that murder of which he was both the witness and the cause. The point now under discussion is clear, namely, that it is possible to suppress anger. He

did not curse the king, he let slip no word even of anguish, though he saw his own heart pierced as well as his son's. It may be said that he was right to choke back words; for even if he had spoken as an angry man, he could have accomplished nothing as a father. He may, I say, be thought to have acted more wisely in that misfortune than he had done in recommending moderation in drinking to a man who would have much better drunk wine than blood, with whom peace meant that his hands were busy with the wine-cup. He, therefore, added one more to the number of those who have shown by bitter misfortune the price a king's friends pay for giving good advice. I doubt not that Harpagus also gave some such advice to his king, the king of the Persians, who, taking offence thereat, caused the flesh of Harpagus's own children to be set before him as a course in the banquet, and kept inquiring whether he liked the cooking; then when he saw him sated with his own ills, he ordered the heads of the children to be brought in, and inquired what he thought of his entertainment. The poor wretch did not lack words, his lips were not sealed. "At the king's board," he said, "any kind of food is delightful." And what did he gain by this flattery? He escaped an invitation to eat what was left. I do not say that a father must not condemn an act of his king, I do not say that he should not seek to give so atrocious a monster the punishment he deserves, but for the moment I am drawing this conclusion - that it is possible for a man to conceal the anger that arises even from a monstrous outrage and to force himself to words that belie it. Such restraint of distress is necessary, particularly for

those whose lot is cast in this sort of life and who are invited to the board of kings. So must they eat in that company, so must they drink, so must they answer, so must they mock at the death of their dear ones. Whether the life is worth the price we shall see; that is another question. We shall not condole with such a chain-gang of prisoners so wretched, we shall not urge them to submit to the commands of their butchers; we shall show that in any kind of servitude the way lies open to liberty. If the soul is sick and because of its own imperfection unhappy, a man may end its sorrows and at the same time himself. To him to whom chance has given a king that aims his shafts at the breasts of his friends, to him who has a master that gorges fathers with the flesh of their children, I would say: "Madman, why do you moan? Why do you Wait for some enemy to avenge you by the destruction of your nation, or for a mighty king from afar to fly to your rescue? In whatever direction vou may turn your eyes, there lies the means to end; our woes. See you that precipice? Down that is the way to liberty. See you that sea, that river, that well? There sits liberty - at the bottom. See you that tree, stunted, blighted, and barren? Yet from its branches hangs liberty. See you that throat of yours, your gullet, your heart? They are ways of escape from servitude. Are the ways of egress I show you too toilsome, do they require too much courage and strength? Do you ask what is the highway to liberty? Any vein in your body!" So long indeed as there shall be no hardship so intolerable in our opinion as to force us to abandon life, let us, no matter what our station in life may

be, keep ourselves from anger. It is harmful for all who serve. For any sort of chafing grows to self-torture, and the more rebellious we are under authority, the more oppressive we feel it to be. So a wild beast by struggling but tightens its noose; so birds by trying in their alarm to get free from birdlime, smear all their plumage with it. No yoke is so tight but that it hurts less to carry it than to struggle against it. The only relief for great misfortunes is to bear them and submit to their coercion. But though it is expedient for subjects to control their passions, especially this mad and unbridled one, it is even more expedient for kings. When his position permits a man to do all that anger prompts, general destruction is let loose, nor can any power long endure which is wielded for the injury of many; for it becomes imperilled when those who separately moan in anguish are united by a common fear. Consequently, many kings have been the victims now of individual, now of concerted, violence, at times when a general animosity had foreed men to gather together their separate angers into one. Yet many kinds have employed anger as if it were the badge of real power; for example Darius, who after the dethronement of the Magian became the first ruler of the Persians and of a great part of the East. For after he had declared war on the Scythians who were on his eastern border, Oeobazus, an aged noble, besought him to use the services of two of his sons, but to leave one out of the three as a comfort to his father. Promising more than was asked, and saying that he would exempt all three, Darius flung their dead bodies before their father's eyes - for it would have been cruelty if he had taken them all with him!

But how much kinder was Xerxes! For he, when Pythius, the father of five sons, begged for the exemption of one, permitted him to choose the one he wished; then he tore into halves the son who had been chosen, and placing a half on each side of the road offered the body as an expiatory sacrifice for the success of the army. And so the army met the fate it deserved. Defeated, routed far and wide, and seeing its own destruction spread on every side, between two lines of the dead bodies of its comrades it trudged along. Such was the ferocity of barbarian kings when in anger - men who had had no contact with learning or the culture of letters. But I shall now show you a king from the very bosom of Aristotle, even Alexander, who in the midst of a feast with his own hand stabbed Clitus, his dearest friend, with whom he had grown up, because he withheld his flattery and was reluctant to transform himself from a Macedonian and a free man into a Persian slave. Lysimachus, likewise a familiar friend, he threw to a lion. Though Lysimachus escaped by some good luck from the lion's teeth, was he therefore, in view of this experience, a whit more kind when he himself became king? Not so, for Telesphorus the Rhodian, his own friend, he completely mutilated, and when he had cut of his ears and nose, he shut him up in a cage as if he were some strange and unknown animal and for a long time lived in terror of him, since the hideousness of his hacked and mutilated face had destroyed every appearance of a human being; to this were added starvation and squalor and the filth of a body left to wallow in its own dung; furthermore his hands and knees becoming all calloused -

for by the narrowness of his quarters he was forced to use these instead of feet - his sides, too, a mass of sores from rubbing, to those who beheld him his appearance was no less disgusting than terrible, and having been turned by he punishment into a monster he had forfeited even pity. Yet, while he who suffered these things was utterly unlike a human being, he who inflicted them was still less like one. Would to heaven that the examples of such cruelty had been confined to foreigners, and that along with other vices from abroad the barbarity of torture and such venting of anger had not been imported into the practices of Romans! Marcus Marius, to whom the people erected statues in every street, whom they worshipped with offerings of frankincense and wine - this man by the command of Lucius Sulla had his ankles broken, his eyes gouged out, his tongue and his hands cut off, and little by little and limb by limb Sulla tore him to pieces, just as if he could make him die as many times as he could maim him. And who was it who executed this command? Who but Catiline, already training his hands to every sort of crime? He hacked him to pieces before the tomb of Quintus Catulus, doing violence to the ashes of that gentlest of men, above which a hero - of evil influence, no doubt, yet popular and loved not so much undeservedly as to excess - shed his blood drop by drop. It was meet that a Marius should suffer these things, that a Sulla should give the orders, and that a Catiline should execute them, but it was not meet that the state should receive in her breast the swords of her enemies and her protectors alike. But why do I search out ancient crimes? Only recently Gaius Caesar slashed with the scourge

and tortured Sextus Papinius, whose father had been consul, and Betilienus Bassus, his own quaestor and the son of his procurator, and others, both Roman senators and knights, all in one day - and not to extract information but for amusement. Then so impatient was he of postponing his pleasure - a pleasure so great that his cruelty demanded it without delay - that he decapitated some of his victims by lamplight, as he was strolling with some ladies and senators on the terrace of his mother's gardens, which runs between the colonnade and the bank of the river. But what was the pressing need? What public or private danger was threatened by a single night's delay? How small a matter it would have been if he had waited just till dawn, so as not to kill the senators of the Roman people in his pumps! It is relevant, too, to note the insolence of his cruelty, though some one may consider that we are straying from the subject and embarking upon a digression; but such insolence will be an element in cruelty when it is extravagant in its fury. He had scourged senators, but he himself made it possible to say, "An ordinary event." He had tortured them by every unhappy device in existence - by the cord, by knotted bones, by the rack, by fire, by his own countenance. But here also will come the answer: "A great matter, truly! Because three senators, as if no better than worthless slaves, were mangled by whip and flame at the behest of a man who contemplated murdering the whole senate, a man who used to wish that the Roman people had only one neck in order that he might concentrate into one day and one stroke all his crimes, now spread over so many places and times." What was ever so unheard of as an

execution by night? Though robberies are generally curtained by darkness, the more publicity punishments have, the more they avail as an admonition and warning. But here also I shall hear the answer "That which surprises you so much is the daily habit of that beast; for this he lives, for this he loses sleep, for this he burns the midnight oil." But surely you will find no other man who has bidden that the mouths of all those who were to be executed by his orders should be gagged by inserting a sponge, in order that they might not even have the power to utter a cry. What doomed man was ever before deprived of the breath with which to moan? Caesar feared lest the man's last agony should give utterance to some speech too frank, lest he might hear something that he would rather not. He was well aware, too, that there were countless crimes, with which none but a dying man would dare reproach him. If no sponges were to be found, he ordered the garments of the poor wretches to be torn up, and their mouths to be stuffed with the strips. What savagery is this? Let a man draw his last breath, leave a passage for his departing soul, let it have some other course of exit than a wound! It would be tedious to add more - how he sent officers to the homes of his victims, and on that same night made away with their fathers too - that is, out of human pity he freed the fathers from their sorrow! And, indeed, my purpose is not to picture the cruelty of Gaius, but the cruelty of anger, which not only vents its fury on a man here and there, but rends in pieces whole nations, which lashes cities and rivers and lifeless things that are immune to all feeling of pain. Thus, the king of the Persians cut off the noses of

a whole population in Syria, whence it gets its name of "Land-of- the-stump-nosed." Think you he was merciful because he did not cut off their entire heads? No, he got some pleasure from a new kind of punishment. And the Ethiopians, who on account of the prodigiously long time they live are known as the "Longevals," might also have suffered some such fate. For Cambyses became enraged against them because, instead of embracing servitude with outstretched arms, they sent envoys and made reply in the independent words which kings call insults; wherefore, without providing supplies, without investigating the roads, through a trackless and desert region he hurried against them his whole host of fighting men. During the first day's march his food supplies began to fail, and the country itself, barren and uncultivated and untrodden by the foot of man, furnished them nothing. At first the tenderest parts of leaves and shoots of trees satisfied their hunger, then skins softened by fire and whatever necessity forced them to use as food. After, amid the desert sands, even roots and herbage failed them, and they viewed a wilderness destitute also of animal life, choosing every tenth man by lot, they secured the nutriment that was more cruel than hunger. And still the king was driven headlong onwards by his anger, until having lost one part of his army and having devoured another part, he began to fear that he too might be summoned to the choice by lot. Only then did he give the signal for retreat. And all the while fowls of choice breed were being kept for him, and camels carried supplies for his feasts, while his soldiers drew lots to discover who should miserably perish, who should more miserably live.

This man raged against a people unknown and inoffensive, yet able to feel his anger; Cyrus, however, raged against a river. For when, with the purpose of taking Babylon, he was hastening to war - in which the favourable opportunity is of the utmost importance - he attempted to ford the river Gyndes, then in full flood, though such an undertaking is scarcely safe even after the river has felt the heat of summer and is reduced to its smallest volume. There, when one of the white horses which regularly drew the royal chariot was swept away, the king became mightily stirred. And so he swore that he would reduce that river, which was carrying away the retinue of the king, to such proportions that even women could cross it and trample it under foot. To this task, then, he transferred all his preparations for war, and having lingered thereat long enough to cut one hundred and eighty runways across the channel of the river, he distributed its water into three hundred and sixty runnels, which flowing in different directions left the channel dry. And so he sacrificed time, a serious loss in important operations, the enthusiasm of his soldiers, which was crushed by the useless toil, and the opportunity of attacking the enemy unprepared, while he waged against a river the war he had declared against a foe. Such madness - for what else can you call it? - has befallen Romans also. For Gaius Caesar destroyed a very beautiful villa near Herculaneum because his mother had once been imprisoned in it, and by his very act gave publicity to her misfortune; for while the villa stood, we used to sail by unconcerned, but now people ask why it was destroyed.

These should be regarded as examples to be avoided; the following, on the other hand, are to be imitated, being instances of restrained and gentle men, who lacked neither the provocation to anger nor the power of requital. What indeed would have been easier than for Antigonus to order the execution of the two common soldiers, who, while they leaned against the royal tent, expressed -as men will do with equally great danger and delight - their ill opinion of their king? Antigonus heard everything, only a canvas intervening between the speakers and the listener; this he gently shook and said, "Move a little farther off, for the king might hear you. Again, one night, when he overheard some of his soldiers invoking all kinds of curses upon the king for having led them into such a road and inextricable mud, he went up to those who were struggling most, and when he had got them out, without revealing who their helper was, he said, "Now curse Antigonus, by whose fault you have fallen upon this mishap, but bless him who has led you out of this swamp." He also bore the abuse of his enemies as calmly as that of his countrymen. And so, when he was besieging some Greeks in a small fort, and they, confident in their position, showed open contempt for the enemy, and cracking many jokes upon the ugliness of Antigonus scoffed now at his diminutive stature, now at his flattened nose, he merely said, "If I have a Silenus in my camp, I am fortunate and hope for good luck." When he had subdued these wags by hunger, he disposed of his captives as follows: those who were fit for military service he assigned to regiments; the rest he put up at auction, saying that he would not have done

so had it not seemed good for men who had such an evil tongue to find a master. The grandson of this man was Alexander, who used to hurl his spear at his dinner-guests, who, of the two friends mentioned above, exposed one to the fury of a wild beast, the other to his own. Of these two, however, the one who was thrown to a lion lived. Alexander did not get this weakness from his grandfather, nor from his father either; for if Philip possessed any virtues at all, among them was the ability to endure insults - a great help in the maintenance of a throne. Demochares, surnamed Parrhesiastes" on account of his bold and impudent tongue, came to him once in company with other envoys from the Athenians. Having granted the delegation a friendly hearing, Philip said, "Tell me what I can do that will please the Athenians." Demochares took him at his word and replied, "Hang yourself." All the bystanders flared up in indignation at such brutal words, but Philip bade them keep quiet and let that Thersites withdraw safe and unharmed. "But you," he said, "you other envoys, go tell the Athenians that those who speak such words show far more arrogance than those who listen to them without retaliation." The deified Augustus also did and said many things that are memorable, which prove that was not ruled by anger. Timagenes, a writer of history, made some unfriendly remarks about the emperor himself, his wife, and all his family, and they had not been lost; for reckless wit gets bandied about more freely and is on everybody's lips. Often did Caesar warn him that he must have a more prudent tongue; when he persisted, he forbade

him the palace. After this, Timagenes lived to old age in the house of Asinius Pollio, and was lionized by the whole city. Though Caesar had excluded him from the palace, he was debarred from no other door. He gave readings of the history which he had written after the incident, and the books which contained the doings of Augustus Caesar he put in the fire and burned. He maintained hostility against Caesar, yet no one feared to be his friend, no one shrank from him as a blasted man; though he fell from such a height, he found some one ready to take him to his bosom. As I have said, Caesar bore all of this patiently, not even moved by the fact that his renown and his achievements had been assailed; he made no complaint against the host of his enemy. To Asinius Pollio he merely said, "You're keeping a wild beast." Then, when the other was trying to offer some excuse, he stopped him and said, "enjoy yourself, my dear Pollio, enjoy yourself!" and when Pollio declared, "If you bid me, Caesar, I shall forthwith deny him the house," he replied, "Do you think that I would do this, when it was I who restored the friendship between you? For the fact is, Pollio had once had a quarrel with Timagenes, and his only reason for ending it was that Caesar had now begun one. Whenever a man is provoked, therefore, let him say to himself, "Am I more mighty than Philip? Yet he was cursed and did not retaliate. Have I more authority over my house than the deified Augustus had over all the world? Yet he was content merely to keep away from his maligner. "What right have I to make my slave atone by stripes and manacles for too loud a reply, too rebellious a

ON ANGER, III. xxiv. x-xxv. 2 look, a muttering of something that I do not quite hear? Who am I that it should be a crime to offend my ears? Many have pardoned their enemies; shall I not pardon the lazy, the careless, and the babbler? Let a child be excused by bis age, a woman by her sex, a stranger by his independence, a servant by the bond of intercourse. Does some one offend for the first time? Let us reflect how long he has pleased us. At other times and often has he given offence? Let us bear longer what we have long borne. Is he a friend? He has done what he did not mean to do. Is he an enemy? He did what he had a right to do. One that is sensible let us believe, one that is foolish let us forgive. Whoever it may be, let us say to ourselves on his behalf that even the wisest men have many faults, that no man is so guarded that he does not sometimes let his diligence lapse, nor so seasoned that accident does not drive his composure into some hot-headed action, none so fearful of giving offence that he does not stumble into it while seeking to avoid it. As to the humble man, it brings comfort in trouble that great men's fortune also totters, and as he who weeps for his son in a

hovel is more content if he has seen the piteous procession move from the palace also, so a man is more content to be injured by one, to be scorned by another, if he takes thought that no power is so great as to be beyond the reach of harm. But if even the wisest do wrong, whose sin will not have good excuse? Let us look back upon our youth and recall how often we were too careless about duty, too indiscreet in speech, too intemperate in wine. If a man gets angry, let us give him enough time to discover what he has done;

he will chastise himself. Suppose in the end he deserves punishment; then there is no reason why we should match his misdeeds. There will be no doubt about this - that whoever scorns his tormentors removes himself from the common herd and towers above them. The mark of true greatness is not to notice that you have received a blow. So does the huge wild beast calmly turn and gaze at barking dogs, so does the wave dash in vain against a mighty cliff. The man who does not get angry stands firm, unshaken by injury; he who gets angry is overthrown. But he whom I have just set above the reach of all harm holds, as it were, in his arms the highest good, and not only to a man, but to Fortune herself, he will say: "Do what you will, you are too puny to disturb my serenity. Reason, to whom I have committed the guidance of my life, forbids it. My anger is likely to do me more harm than your wrong. And why not more? The limit of the injury is fixed, but how far the anger will sweep me no man knows." "I cannot," you say, "be forbearing; it is difficult to submit to a wrong." That is not true; for who that can tolerate anger will yet be unable to tolerate wrong? Besides, what you now propose is to tolerate both anger and wrong. Why do you tolerate the delirium of a sick man, the ravings of a lunatic, or the wanton blows of children? Because, of course, they seem not to know what they are doing. What difference does it make what weakness it is that makes a person irresponsible? The plea of irresponsibility holds equally good for all. "What then?" you say; "shall the man go unpunished?" Grant that you wish it so, nevertheless it will not be

so; for the greatest punishment of wrong-doing is the having done it, and no man is more heavily punished than he who is consigned to the torture of remorse. Again, we must consider the limitations of our human lot if we are to be just judges of all that happens; he, however, is unjust who blames the individual for a fault that is universal. Amongst his own people the colour of the Ethiopian is not notable, and amongst the Germans red hair gathered into a knot is not unseemly for a man. You are to count nothing odd or disgraceful for an individual which is a general characteristic of his nation, even those examples that I have cited can plead in defence the practice of some one section and corner of the world. Consider now how much more justly excuse may be made for those qualities that are common to the whole human race. We are all inconsiderate and unthinking, we are all untrustworthy, discontented, ambitious - why should I hide the universal sore by softer words? - we are all wicked. And so each man will find in his own breast the fault which he censures in another. Why do you notice the pallor of A, the gauntness of B? These qualities are epidemic! And so let us be more kindly toward one another; we being wicked live among the wicked. Only one thing can bring us peace -the compact of mutual indulgence. You say, perhaps, "That man has already injured me, but I have not yet injured him." But perhaps you have already harmed, perhaps you will some day harm, some man. Do not count only this hour or this day; consider the whole character of your mind - even if you bave done no wrong, you are capable of doing it. How much better it is to heal than to avenge an

ANGER, III. xxvii. 1-5 injury! Vengeance consumes much time, and it exposes the doer to many injuries while he smarts from one; our anger alays lasts longer than the hurt. How much better it is to take the opposite course and not to match fault with fault. Would any one think that he was well balanced if he repaid a mule with kicks and a dog with biting? But you say, "Those creatures do not know that they are doing wrong." In the first place, how unjust is he in whose eyes being a man is fatal to obtaining pardon! In the second place, if other creatures escape your anger for the very reason that they are lacking in understanding, every man who lacks understanding should hold in your eyes a like position. For what difference does it make that his other qualities are unlike those of dumb animals if he' resembles them in the one quality that excuses dumb animals for every misdeed - a mind that is all darkness? "He did wrong," you say. Well, was this the first time? Will it be the last time? You need not believe him even if he should say, "I will never do it again." He will go on sinning and some one else will sin against him , and the whole of life will be a tossing about amid errors. Kindness must be treated with kindness. The words so often addressed to one in grief will prove most effective also for a man in anger: "Will you ever desist - or never?" If ever, how much better it is to forsake anger than to wait for anger to forsake you! Or shall this turmoil continue for ever? Do you see to what life-long unrest you are dooming yourself? For what will be the life of one who is always swollen with rage? Besides, when you have successfully inflamed yourself with passion, and have repeatedly

renewed the causes that spur you on, your anger will leave you of its own accord, and lapse of time will reduce its power. How much better it is that it should be vanquished by you than by itself! You will be angry first with this man, then with that one; first with slaves, then with freedmen; first with parents, then with children; first with acquaintances, then with strangers; for there are causes enough everywhere unless the mind enters to intercede. Rage will sweep you hither and yon, this way and that, and your madness will be prolonged by new provocations that constantly arise. Tell me, unhappy man, will you ever find time to love? What precious time you are wasting upon an evil thing! How much better would it be at this present moment to be gaining friends, reconciling enemies, serving the state, devoting effort to private affairs, than to be casting about to see what evil you can do to some man, what wound you may deal to his position, his estate, or his person, although you cannot attain this without struggle and danger even if your adversary be an inferior! You may take him in chains and at your pleasure expose him to every test of endurance; but too great violence in the striker has often dislocated a joint, or left a sinew fastened in the very teeth it had broken. Anger has left many a man crippled, many disabled, even when it has found its victim submissive. Besides, there lives no creature so weak that it will die without trying to harm its destroyer; sometimes pain, sometimes a mishap, makes the weak a match for the strongest. And is it not true that most of the things that make us angry offend us more than they harm us? But it makes a great difference whether a man

thwarts my wish or fails to further it, whether he robs me or merely fails to give. And yet we attach the same value to both - whether a man deprives us of something or merely withholds it, whether be shatters our hope or defers it, whether he acts against us or in his own interest, whether from love of another or from hatred of us. Some men, indeed, have not only just, but even honourable reasons for opposing us. One is protecting his father, another his brother, another his country, another his friend. Nevertheless, we do not excuse these for doing the very thing which we should blame them for not doing; nay, more, though it is quite unbelievable, we often think well of an act, but ill of its doer. But, in very truth, a great and just man honours those of his foes who are bravest and are most stubborn in the defence of the liberty and the safety of their country, and prays that fortune may grant him such men as fellow-citizens, such as fellow-soldiers. It is base to hate a man who commands your praise, but how much baser to hate any one for the very reason that he deserves your pity. If a captive, suddenly reduced to servitude, still retains some traces of his freedom and does not run nimbly to mean and toilsome tasks, if sluggish from inaction he does not keep pace with the speed of his master's horse and carriage, if worn out by his daily vigils he yields to sleep, if when transferred to hard labour from service in the city with its many holidays he either refuses the toll of the farm or does not enter into it with energy - in such cases let us discriminate, asking whether he cannot or will not serve. We shall acquit many if we begin with discernment instead of with anger. But as it is, we obey our first impulse; then,

although we have been aroused by mere trifles, we continue to be angry for fear that we may seem to have had no reason to be so from the first, and -what is most unjust - the very injustice of our anger makes us the more obstinate. For we hold on to it and nurse it, as if the violence of our anger were proof of its justice. How much better it is to perceive its first beginnings - how slight, how harmless they are! You will find that the same thing happens with a man which you observe in dumb animals; we are ruffled by silly and petty things. The bull is aroused by a red colour, the asp strikes at a shadow, bears and lions are irritated by a handkerchief; all creatures by nature wild and savage are alarmed by trifles. The same is true of men, whether they are by nature restless or inert. They are smitten with suspicions, so powerfully, even,that they sometimes call moderate benefits injuries; these are the most common, certainly the most bitter, source of anger. For we become angry at our dearest friends because they have bestowed less than we anticipated, and less than they conferred upon another; and yet for both troubles there is a ready remedy. More favour has been shown another; then let us without making comparison be pleased with what we have. That man will never be happy whom the sight of a happier man tortures. I may have less than I hoped for; but perhaps I hoped for more than I ought. It is from this direction that we have most to fear; from this springs the anger that is most destructive, that will assail all that is most holy. Among those who dispatched the divine Julius there were more friends than enemies - friends whose insatiate hopes he had failed to satisfy, He wished

indeed to do so - for no man ever made a more generous use of victory, from which he claimed nothing for himself except the right to give away - but how could he gratify such unconscionable desires, since every one of them coveted as much as any one could possibly covet? And so he saw his fellow-soldiers around his chair with their swords drawn - Tillius Cimber, a little while before the boldest defender of his cause, and others who, after Pompey was no more, had at length become Pompeians. It is this that turns against kings their own weapons, and drives their most trusted followers to the point of planning for the death of those for whom and before whom they had vowed to die. No man when he views the lot of others is content with his own. This is why we grow angry even at the gods, because some person is ahead of us, forgetting how many men there are behind us, and how huge a mass of envy follows at the back of him who envies but a few. Nevertheless such is the presumptuousness of men that, although they may have received much, they count it an injury that they might have received more. "He gave me the praetorship, but I had hoped for the consulship; he gave me the twelve fasces, but he did not make me a regular consul; he was willing that my name should be attached to the year, but he disappointed me with respect to the priesthood; I was elected a member of the college, but why of one only? he crowned me with public honour, but he added nothing to my patrimony; what he gave me he had to give to somebody - he took nothing out of his own pocket." Express thanks rather for what you have received; wait for the rest, and be glad that you are not yet surfeited. There is a

pleasure in having something left to hope for. Have you outstripped all others? Rejoice that you are first in the regard of your friend. Are there many who outstrip you? Consider how many more you are ahead of than behind, Do you ask me what is your greatest fault? Your book-keeping is wrong; what you have paid out you take high; what you have received, low. Different considerations should in different cases restrain us. From some let fear stay our anger, from others respect, from others pride. A fine thing we shall have done, no doubt, if we send a wretched slave to prison! Why are we in such a hurry to flog him at once, to break his legs forthwith? Such power,though deferred, will not perish. Wait for the time when the order will be our own; at the moment we shall speak under the dictation of anger; when that has passed, then we shall be able to see at what value we should appraise the damage. For it is in this that we are most liable to be wrong. We resort to the sword and to capital punishment, and an act that deserves the censure of a very light flogging we punish by chains, the prison, and starvation. "In what way," you ask, "do you bid us discover how paltry, how pitiful, how childish are all those things by which we think we are injured?" I, assuredly, could suggest nothing better than that you acquire a truly great spirit, and that you realize how sordid and worthless are all these things for the sake of which we wrangle, rush to and fro, and pant; these do not deserve a thought from the man who has any high and noble purpose. Most of the outcry is about money. It is this which wearies the courts, pits father against son, brews poisons, and gives swords alike to the legions and to

cut-throats it is daubed with our blood; because of it husbands and wives make night hideous with their quarrels, crowds swarm to the tribunals of the magistrates, kings rage and plunder and overthrow states that have been built by the long labour of centuries, in order that they may search for gold and silver in the very ashes of cities. It is a pleasure, you say, to see money-bags lying in the corner. But these are what men shout for until their eyeballs start; for the sake of these the law-courts resound with the din of trials, and jurors summoned from distant parts sit in judgement to decide which man's greed has the juster claim. But what if it is not even a bag of money, but only a handful of copper or a silver piece, reckoned by a slave, which causes an heirless old man on the verge of the grave to split with rage? And what if it is only a paltry one per cent of interest that causes the moneylender, sick though he be, with crippled feet and with gnarled hands that no longer serve for counting money, to shout aloud, and in the very throes of his malady to require securities for his pennies? If you were to offer me all the money from all the mines, which we are now so busy in digging, if you were to cast before my eves all the money that buried treasures hold - for greed restores to earth what it once in wickedness drew forth - I should not count that whole assembled hoard worth even a good man's frown. With what laughter should we attend the things that now draw tears from our eyes! Come, now, run through the other causes of anger - foods, drinks, and the refinements in regard to them devised to gratify pride, insulting words, disrespectful gestures, stubborn beasts of burden and lazy slaves,

suspicion and the malicious misconstruction of another's words, the result of which is that the very gift of human speech is counted among the injustices of nature. Believe me, these things which incense us not a little are little things, likc the trifles that drive children to quarrels and blows. Not one of them, though we take them so tragically, is a serious matter, not one is important. From this, I say, from the fact that you attach great value to petty things, come your anger and your madness. This man wanted to rob me of my inheritance; this one slandered me to people whom I had long courted in the expectation of a legacy; this one coveted my mistress. The desire for the same thing, which ought to have been a bond of love, becomes the source of discord and of hatred. A narrow path drives passers-by to blows; on a wide and open road even a multitude will not jostle. Because the things you strive for are trifles, and yet cannot be given to one without robbing another, they provoke those desiring the same things to struggle and strife. You are indignant because your slave, your freedman, your wife, or your client answered you back; and then you complain that the state has been deprived of that liberty of which you have deprived your own household. Again, you call it obstinacy if a man keeps silent when he is questioned. But let him speak and let him keep silent and let him laugh! "In the presence of his master?" you ask. Yes, even in the presence of the head of the family. Why do you shout? Why do you rant? Why do you call for the whip in the midst of dinner, all because the slaves are talking, because there is not the silence of the desert in a room that holds a crowd big as a

mass-meeting? You do not have ears only for the purpose of listening to melodious sounds, soft and sweetly drawn and all in harmony; you should also lend ear to laughter and weeping, to soft words and bitter, to happiness and sorrow, to the voices of men and the roars and barking of animals. Poor fellow! why do you shudder at the shouting of a slave, at the rattling of bronze, or the banging of a door? Although you are so sensitive, you have to listen to thunder. And all this which I have said about the ears you may apply as well to the eyes, which if they are not well schooled suffer not less from squeamishness. They are offended by a spot, by dirt, by tarnished silver, and by a pool that isonot transparent to the bottom. These same eyes, forsooth, that cannot tolerate marble unless it is mottled and polished with recent rubbing, that cannot tolerate a table unless it is marked by many a vein, that at home would see under foot only pavements more costly than gold - these eyes when outside will behold, all unmoved, rough and muddy paths and dirty people, as are most of those they meet, and tenement walls crumbled and cracked and out of line. Why is it, then, that we are not offended on the street, yet are annoyed at home, except that in the one case we are in an unruffled and tolerant state of mind, and in the other are peevish and fault-finding? All our senses ought to be trained to endurance. They are naturally long-sufffering, if only the mind desists from weakening them. This should be summoned to give an account of itself every day. Sextius had this habit, and when the day was over and he had retired to his nightly rest, he would put

these questions to his soul: "What bad habit have you cured to- day? What fault have you resisted? In what respect are you better?" Anger will cease and become more controllable if it finds that it must appear before a judge every day. Can anything be more excellent than this practice of thoroughly sifting the whole day? And how delightful the sleep that follows this self- examination - how tranquil it is, how deep and untroubled, when the soul has either praised or admonished itself, and when this secret examiner and critic of self has given report of its own character! I avail myself of this privilege, and every day I plead my cause before the bar of self. When the light has been removed from sight, and my wife, long aware of my habit, has become silent, I scan the whole of my day and retrace all my deeds and words. I conceal nothing from myself, I omit nothing. For why should I shrink from any of my mistakes, when I may commune thus with myself? "See that you never do that again; I will pardon you this time. In that dispute, you spoke too offensively; after this don't have encounters with ignorant people; those who have never learned do not want to learn. You reproved that man more frankly than you ought, and consequently you have, not so much mended him as offended him. In the future, consider not only the truth of what you say, but also whether the man to whom you are speaking can endure the truth. A good man accepts reproof gladly; the worse a man is the more bitterly he resents it." At a banquet the wit of certain people and some words aimed to sting you reached their mark. But remember to avoid the entertainments of the vulgar;

after drinking their licence becomes too lax, because they want any sense of propriety even when they are sober. You saw one of your friends in a rage because the porter had thrust him out when he was trying to enter the house of some pettifogger or rich man, and you yourself on your friend's account became angry with that lowest kind of a slave. Will you then become angry with a chained watchdog? He, too, after all his barking, will become gentle if you toss him food. Retire a little way and laugh! As it is, the fellow thinks himself a somebody because he guards a threshold beset by a throne of litigants; as it is, the gentleman who reclines within is blissful and blest and considers it the mark of a successful and powerful man to make it difficult to darken his door. He forgets that the hardest door of all to open is the prison's. Make up your mind that there are many things which you must bear. Is any one surprised that he is cold in winter? That he is sick at sea? That he is jolted about on the highroad? The mind will meet bravely everything for which it has been prepared. Because you were given a less honourable place at the table, you began to get angry at your host, at the writer of the invitation, at the man himself who was preferred above you. Madman! what difference does it make on what part of the couch you recline? Can a cushion add to either your honour or your disgrace? You did not look with fair eyes upon a certain man because he spoke ill of your talent. Do you accept this as a principle? Then Ennius, whose poetry you do not like, would hate you, and Hortensius, if you disapproved of his speeches, would proclaim animosity to you, and Cicero, if you made fun of his poetry, would be your

ANGER, III. xxxvii. 5-xxxtx. 3 enemy. But when you are a candidate, you are willing to put up calmly -with the votes! Some one, perhaps, has offered you an insult; was it any greater than the one Diogenes, the Stoic philosopher, suffered, who at the very time he was discoursing upon anger was spat upon by a shameless youth. Yet he bore this calmly and wisely. Really, I am not angry," he said, "but nevertheless am not sure but that I ought to be angry." Yet how much better the course of our own Cato! For when he was pleading a case, Lentulus, that factious and unruly man who lingers in the memory of our fathers, gathering as much thick saliva as he could, spat it full upon the middle of Cato's forehead. But he wiped it off his face and said, "To all who affirm that you have no cheek, Lentulus, I'll swear that they are mistaken." We have now succeeded, Novatus, in bringing composure to the mind; it either does not feel anger, or is superior to it. Let us now see how we may allay the anger of others. For we wish not merely to be healed ourselves, but also to heal. We shall not venture to soothe the first burst of anger with words. It is both deaf and mad; we must give it room. Remedies are effective when the malady subsides. We do not tamper with the eyes when they are swollen - for in their stiff condition we are likely to irritate them by moving them -nor with other affected parts while they are inflamed. Rest is the cure in the first stages of illness. "How little," you say, "is your remedy worth, if it quiets anger when it is subsiding of its own accord!" In the first place, it makes it subside all the more quickly; in the second, it prevents its recurrence;

it will baffle, also, even the first outburst which it makes no effort to soothe, for it will remove all the weapons of revenge; it will feign anger in order that, posing thus as a helper and comrade of our resentment, it may have more influence in counsel; it will contrive delays, and will postpone immediate punishment by looking about for a heavier one. It will employ every artifice to give respite to the madness. If the victim grows violent, it will enforce on him a sense of shame or fear that he cannot resist; if calmer, it will introduce conversation that is either interesting or novel, and will divert him by stirring his desire for knowledge. There is a story that once a physician had to cure the daughter of a king, and yet could not without using the knife. And so, while he was gently dressing her swollen breast, be inserted a lance concealed in a sponge. The girl would have fought against the remedy openly applied, but because sbe did not expect it, she endured the pain. Some matters are cured only by deception. To one man you will say, "See to it that you do not by your anger give pleasure to your foes"; to another, "See to it that you do not lose your greatness of mind and the reputation you have in the eyes of many for strength. By heavens, I myself am indignant and I angry beyond measure, but we must await our time. He shall pay the penalty; keep that well in mind. When you can, you will make him pay for the delay as well." To reprove a man when he is angry and in turn to become angry at him serve only to increase his anger. You will approach him with various appeals and persuasively, unless you happen to be an important enough person to be able to quell his anger by the same tactics the

deified Augustus used when he was dining with Vedius Pollio. When one of his slaves had broken a crystal cup, Vedius ordered him to be seized and doomed him to die, but in an extraordinary way he ordered him to be thrown to the huge lampreys, which he kept in a fish-pond. Who would not suppose that he did this merely for display? It was really out of cruelty. The lad slipped from his captors and fled to Caesar's feet, begging only that he might die some other way - anything but being eaten. Caesar, shocked by such an innovation in cruelty, ordered that the boy be pardoned, and, besides, that all the crystal cups be broken before his eyes and that the fish-pond be filled up. It was so that it befitted Caesar to rebuke a friend; he employed his power rightly: "Do you order men to be hurried from a banquet to death, and to be torn to pieces bytortures of an unheard-of kind? If your cup was broken, is a man to have his bowels torn asunder? Will you vaunt yourself so much as to order a man to be led to death in the very presence of Caesar?" Thus if any man's power is so great that he can assail anger from an eminent position, let him deal with it harshly, but only such anger as that I have illustrated - fierce, inhuman, and bloodthirsty, and now quite incurable unless it is made to fear something more powerful. Let us give to the soul that peace wbich is afforded by constant meditation on wholesome instruction, by noble deeds, and a mind intent upon the desire for only what is honourable. Let us satisfy our conscience; for reputation let us strive not at all. Let even a bad name attend us, provided that we are really well-deserving. "But the populace," you

say, admires spirited action, and the bold are held in honour - while quiet people are considered ineffective." Perhaps so, at first sight. But when these have proved by the even tenor of their lives that they seek, not inaction, but peace of mind, that same public will reverence and respect them. Consequently this hideous and ruinous passion serves not a single useful end, but, on the contrary, evil of every sort, the sword, and flame. Trampling under foot every scruple, it stains the hands with murder, it scatters abroad the limbs of children, it suffers no place to be free from crime, with no thought of glory, with no fear of disgrace, it is incurable when once, from anger, it has hardened into hate. Let us be freed from this evil, let us clear it from our minds and tear it up by the roots, for if there should linger the smallest traces, it will grow again; and let us not try to regulate our anger, but be rid of it altogether -for what regulation can there be of any evil thing? Moreover, we can do it, if only we shall make the effort. And nothing will help us so much as pondering our mortality. Let each man say to himself and to his fellow-mortal: "Why do we, as if born to live for ever, take delight in proclaiming our wrath and in wasting the little span of life? Why do we delight to employ for somebody's distress and torture the days that we might devote to virtuous pleasure? Your fortunes admit no squandering and you have no spare time to waste. Why do we rush into the fray? Why do we invite trouble for ourselves? Why do we, forgetting our weakness, take up the huge burden of hate, and, easily broken as we are, rise up to break? Soon a fever or some other bodily ill will stay that war of hatred, which

we now wage with such unrelenting purpose. Soon death will step in and part the fiercest pair of fighters. Why do we run riot and perturb life with our uproar? Fate looms above our heads, and scores up to our account the days as they go by, and draws ever nearer and nearer. That hour which you appoint for the death of another is perchance near your own." Why do you not rather gather up your brief life and render it a peaceful one to yourself and all others? Why do you not rather make yourself beloved by all while you live, and regretted by all when you die? Why do vou long to drag down the man who deals with you from too lofty a height? Why do you try with all your might to crush the man who rails against you, a low and contemptible fellow, but sharp-tongued and troublesome to his betters? Why are you angry with your slave, you with your master, you with your patron,you with your client? Wait a little. Behold, death comes, who will make you equals. At the morning performances in the arena we often see a battle between a bull and a bear tied together, and when they have harried each other, an appointed slayer awaits them. Their fate is ours; we harass some one bound closely to us, and yet the end, all too soon, threatens the victor and the vanquished. Rather let us spend the little time that is left in repose and peace! Let no man loathe us when we lie a corpse! A cry of fire in the neighbourhood often ends a fight, and the arrival of a wild beast rescues a traveller from the brigand. We have no time to struggle with lesser ills when a more threatening fear appears. Why do we concern ourselves with combat and with snares? Can you wish for the victim of your wrath a greater ill than death? Even

though you do not move a finger, he will die. You waste your pains if you wish to do what needs must be. "I do not wish," you say, "to kill him at all, but to punish him with exile, with public disgrace, with material loss." But I am more indulgent to the man who would give his enemy a wound than to the one who would give him a blister; for the latter has not only an evil mind, but a petty mind as well. Whether your thoughts run on tortures severe or slight, how short is the time in which either your victim can writhe under your torments, or you derive a wicked joy from another's pain! Soon shall we spew forth this frail spirit. Meanwhile, so long as we draw breath, so long as we live among men, let us cherish humanity. Let us not cause fear to any man, nor danger; let us scorn losses, wrongs, abuse, and taunts, and let us endure with heroic mind our short-lived ills. While we are looking back, as they say, and turning around, straightway death will be upon us.