De legendis gentilium libris

Many things urge me to advise you, O children, what I judge to be best and what I believe will benefit you if you choose it. For both being of such an age and having already been exercised in many affairs, and also having sufficiently partaken of the change that educates in all things, has made me experienced in human matters, so that I can point out to those just beginning their life the safest path, as it were, of ways. And by the natural affinity, immediately after your parents, I happen to be such that I myself, according to the ancient editions, grant you no less goodwill than fathers; and I think that you, unless I am mistaken about your opinion, do not long for your parents when you look to me. If, then, you eagerly accept what is said, you will be of the second rank of those praised by Hesiod; but if not, I would say nothing unpleasant, but you yourselves will remember the verses, evidently, in which he says that the best is the one who perceives the necessary things by himself, and that the one who follows the indications of others is also noble, but the one fit for neither is useless for everything.

Do not be surprised if, even though you attend teachers daily and associate with the distinguished men of old through the words they have left behind, I claim to have discovered something more beneficial from myself for you. I have come to advise you of this very thing: that you must not once and for all hand over the rudders of your mind to these men, as if to a ship, and follow wherever they lead; but rather, receiving from them what is useful, you must know what to accept and what to disregard. What these things are, and how we will distinguish them, I will teach, taking up this point. We, O children, consider this human life to be nothing at all, nor do we regard or name anything as good that provides us with its fulfillment only up to this point. Therefore, we do not judge as great, nor do we look upon those who possess, such things as the distinction of ancestors, bodily strength, beauty, stature, honors from all people, or even kingship itself, nor anything else that one might call great among human affairs—not even worthy of prayer. But we advance further in our hopes, and do everything for the preparation of another life.

Now, we say, we must love and pursue with all our strength whatever contributes to this end, and disregard as worthless what does not reach it. What then is this life, and where and how we shall live it, is too long for the present impulse to attain, and requires hearers greater than you. Yet perhaps if I say this much, I might sufficiently indicate to you that if someone were to gather together all the happiness that has existed since humans came to be, and unite it into one, he would find it not even equal to a small fraction of those goods, but all the beauties here fall short of the least of those by as much as shadow and dream fall short of reality. Or rather, to use a more fitting example, as much as the soul is more valuable than the body in every respect, so great is the difference between each of these lives. Now sacred writings lead to this life, instructing us through mysteries. But as long as our age does not allow us to hear the depth of their meaning, we are trained beforehand in other things not entirely different, as if in shadows and mirrors, for the eye of the soul, imitating those who practice exercises in tactical arts, who, having gained experience in gestures and dances, enjoy the profit from the play in the contests.

And so we must consider that a contest is set before us, the greatest of all contests, for which we must do and endure everything to the best of our ability for its preparation, and we must associate with poets, storytellers, orators, and all people, from whom any benefit for the care of the soul may come. Just as dyers, having first prepared with certain treatments whatever is to receive the dye, then apply the color, whether it be purple or something else, so too we, if the reputation of the beautiful is to remain unfading for all time, having been initiated beforehand by these external things, will then listen to the sacred and secret teachings; and as if accustomed to see the sun in water, we will thus direct our eyes to the light itself. If, then, there is some affinity between the various discourses, knowledge of them would be advantageous to us; but if not, at least by placing them side by side and learning the difference, this is no small thing for confirming the better.

To which of the two kinds of education might you compare each, to obtain an image? Just as a plant’s proper excellence is to bear ripe fruit, yet it also carries some ornament in the leaves that rustle on its branches, so for the soul the fruit is truth first and foremost, but it is not without grace to be clothed also with external wisdom, like leaves that provide shelter for the fruit and a not unseasonable appearance. It is said, then, that even that famous Moses, whose name is greatest in wisdom among all men, after training his mind in the studies of the Egyptians, approached the contemplation of Being in this way. Similarly, in later times, the wise Daniel is said to have learned the wisdom of the Chaldeans in Babylon, and then to have touched upon divine teachings. But that these external studies are not useless for souls has been sufficiently stated; how you should partake of them must be said next. First, then, concerning the poets—for I will begin here—since they are of various kinds in their words, do not attend to all of them in order; but when they recount the deeds or words of good men, love and emulate them, and try as much as possible to be such men.

But when they come to wicked men, they must flee this imitation, stopping their ears no less than they say Odysseus did to the songs of the Sirens. For familiarity with base words is a kind of path to base deeds. Therefore we must guard the soul with every precaution, lest through the pleasure of words we unwittingly admit something worse, like those who take poisons mixed with honey. We shall not, then, praise the poets when they revile, mock, or imitate lovers or drunkards, nor when they define happiness by a full table and licentious songs. Least of all shall we attend to those who speak about the gods, especially when they go on about them as many and not even in agreement with one another. For among them brother quarrels with brother, parent with children, and these in turn wage an undeclared war against their begetters. And they openly describe adulteries, loves, and unions of the gods, and especially those of the highest and supreme Zeus, as they themselves say—things that would make a man blush even if he were speaking about cattle. These we shall leave to the stage.

The same things I have to say concerning prose writers, and especially when they compose stories for the sake of charming their hearers. And we will not imitate the art of lying practiced by rhetoricians. For falsehood is not suitable for us either in law courts or in other actions, we who have chosen the straight and true path of life, to whom it is commanded by law not to go to law. But we will rather accept those passages in which they have praised virtue or denounced vice. For just as in the case of flowers, for most people the enjoyment extends only to the fragrance or the color, but for bees there is also the possibility of taking honey from them, so here for those who do not pursue only the pleasant and charming aspect of such writings, it is possible to store up some benefit for the soul from them. Therefore, in accordance with the whole image of the bees, you must partake of literature. For they neither approach all flowers alike, nor do they attempt to carry off whole those on which they alight, but taking from them only what is suitable for their work, they let the rest go.

We, if we are prudent, having taken from them what is akin and congenial to the truth, will pass over the rest. And just as we pluck the flower of the rose and avoid the thorns, so too in such writings we will take what is useful and guard against what is harmful. Therefore, from the beginning, it is fitting to examine each of the disciplines and to harmonize them with the end, according to the Doric proverb, bringing the stone to the rope. And since we must direct our life through virtue, and much has been sung by poets, much by prose writers, and even more by philosophers concerning this, we must pay most attention to such words. For it is no small benefit that some affinity and familiarity with virtue be engendered in the souls of the young, since such lessons, by reason of the tenderness of their souls, are impressed deeply and remain unchangeable.

or what else are we to suppose Hesiod had in mind when he composed those verses which everyone sings, if not to exhort the young to virtue? For the path that leads to virtue is at first rough and hard to travel, full of much sweat and toil, and steep. Therefore it is not for everyone either to set foot on it because of its steepness, or, having set foot, to reach the summit easily. But when one has reached the top, one sees that it is smooth and beautiful, and easy and well-trodden, and more pleasant than the other path that leads to vice, which, as the same poet said, can be taken all at once from nearby. For it seems to me that he has set forth these things for no other purpose than to exhort us to virtue and to challenge everyone to be good, and so that we may not, becoming soft in the face of labors, abandon the goal beforehand. And indeed, if anyone else has sung of virtue in terms similar to these, let us accept their words as bearing upon the same point for us. As I once heard from a man skilled in understanding the thought of a poet, all of Homer's poetry is a praise of virtue, and everything in him tends toward this, except what is incidental, and not least in the passage where he has made the leader of the Cephallenians, after being saved naked from shipwreck, first cause the queen to feel shame merely by appearing; so far was he from incurring disgrace by being seen naked, since he made him adorned with virtue instead of garments.

and then, moreover, to be considered so worthy by the rest of the Phaeacians that, abandoning the luxury in which they lived, they all looked to that man and emulated him, and no one among the Phaeacians at that time would have prayed for anything else rather than to become Odysseus, and that after being saved from a shipwreck. For in these things the interpreter of the poet's thought said that Homer was almost crying out: that you must take care of virtue, O men, which swims out with a man even when shipwrecked, and when he appears naked on dry land, makes him more honored than the prosperous Phaeacians. And indeed it is so. Other possessions belong no more to their owners than to any chance person, like dice in a game shifting here and there; but virtue alone among possessions is inalienable, remaining with one both in life and after death. Hence Solon seems to me to have said to the wealthy: "But we will not exchange our virtue for their wealth, since virtue is always steadfast, while wealth among men changes from one to another.

Similar to these are the words of Theognis, where he says that the god—whomever he means—tilts the scale for men now one way, now another: at one time to be wealthy, at another to have nothing. And indeed the sophist Prodicus of Ceos somewhere in his writings philosophized about virtue and vice in terms akin to these; and one must attend to his thought as well, for the man is not to be rejected. His account runs something like this, as far as I remember the man’s thought—since I do not know the exact words, except that he spoke simply, without meter—that when Heracles was quite young and just about at the age you are now, and was deliberating which of the two roads to take, the one leading through toils to virtue or the easiest one, two women approached him, and these were Virtue and Vice. Immediately, even in silence, they revealed the difference by their appearance: for one was adorned by cosmetics for beauty, and was overflowing with luxury, and led a whole swarm of pleasure attached to her; and she displayed these things, and promising still more than these, she attempted to draw Heracles to herself.

The other path is withered, squalid, and strained to look, and speaks such other things; for it promises nothing relaxed or pleasant, but countless sweats, labors, and dangers across every continent and sea; and the prize for these is to become a god, as his account says; and finally Heracles accompanies him. And nearly all who have any reputation for wisdom, each to a greater or lesser extent according to his ability, have in their own writings set forth praise of virtue, whom we must trust and attempt to demonstrate their words in our lives. For he who confirms in deed the philosophy that among others is only in words—such a one is wise, while the others are flitting shadows. And such a thing seems to me to be similar to what would happen if a painter had imitated some wonderful beauty of a man, and the same person were in reality such as he showed on the panels. For to praise virtue splendidly in public and to spin out long speeches about it, but in private to value pleasure over temperance and gain over justice, I would say is like those who act in dramas on the stage, who often enter as kings and rulers, though they are neither kings nor rulers, nor indeed even free men at all.

Then a musician would not willingly accept a lyre that is out of tune with him, nor would a chorus leader wish to have his chorus not singing in harmony as much as possible; but each individual will be at variance with himself, and will he not present a life that is not in agreement with his words? But he will say, according to Euripides, "The tongue has sworn, but the mind is unsworn," and will pursue the appearance of being good before actually being so. But this is the extreme limit of injustice, if one must believe Plato, to seem just without being so. Let us therefore accept those discourses which contain the precepts of noble things. But since also the worthy deeds of ancient men are preserved for us either through the continuity of memory or are guarded in the words of poets or historians, let us not fall short of the benefit from this source either. For example, a certain man from the marketplace was reviling Pericles; but Pericles paid no attention. And he persisted the whole day, the one unsparingly washing him with insults, the other not caring. Then, when evening and darkness were already coming on, Pericles barely escorted him away by torchlight, so that his training in philosophy might not be ruined.

Again, when someone was provoked against Eucleides of Megara and threatened him with death, even swearing an oath to that effect, Eucleides swore in return that he would appease him and put an end to his harshness toward him. How valuable it is for such examples to enter the memory of a man already seized by anger! For one must not simply trust tragedy when it says, "Wrath arms the hand against enemies." Rather, it is best not to be roused to anger at all; but if this is not easy, then, as if placing reason as a bit in its mouth, one should not allow it to be carried further. Let us bring our discourse back again to examples of serious deeds. Someone struck Socrates, son of Sophroniscus, falling upon his face without restraint; but he did not resist, but allowed the one raging to glut his anger, so that his face became swollen and bruised from the blows he received. When the man stopped striking him, Socrates is said to have done nothing else but to inscribe on his forehead, as on a statue, the craftsman: "So-and-so made this.

And so much for that. These things, almost converging with our own teachings, I say are well worth imitating for such great men. For this saying of Socrates is akin to that precept, that when struck on the jaw, one ought to offer the other cheek as well. The saying of Pericles or of Eucleides, to endure those who pursue and bear their anger gently, and to pray for good things for enemies rather than to curse them. For one trained in these things would no longer disbelieve those other teachings as impossible. I would not pass over the example of Alexander, who, when he took the daughters of Darius captive, though they were said to possess remarkable beauty, did not deign even to look at them, judging it shameful for the conqueror of men to be conquered by women. This corresponds to that teaching, that one who looks with pleasure at a woman, even if he does not actually commit adultery, yet by admitting desire into his soul, is not free from blame.

The saying of Cleinias, one of the disciples of Pythagoras, is difficult to believe as having happened by chance to coincide with our own teachings, and not as having been imitated with earnestness. What was it that he did? When it was possible for him to avoid a penalty of three talents by means of an oath, he paid the fine rather than swear, and this though he was about to swear truly; having heard, as it seems to me, the commandment that forbids us to swear. But let us return again to the same point I was making from the beginning. We must not accept everything indiscriminately, but only what is useful. For it is shameful to reject harmful foods, but to take no account of the teachings that nourish our soul, but like a torrent to sweep along and swallow everything that comes our way. And yet what reason is there that a helmsman does not yield carelessly to the winds, but directs the ship toward harbors; and an archer shoots at the target; and indeed a smith or a carpenter aims at the end proper to his craft; but that we should fall short of such craftsmen in being able to discern our own concerns?

For is there not, in the case of manual laborers, some limit to their work, while the goal of human life has none, toward which one must look in doing and saying everything, if one is not to be altogether like the irrational animals? Or would we then be exactly like unballasted ships, with no mind sitting at the tiller of our souls, but driven aimlessly up and down through life? But just as in athletic contests, or, if you will, in music: the practices belong to those contests for which the crowns are set, and no one who is training for wrestling or the pancratium practices playing the cithara or the flute. Not so Polydamas; but before the Olympic contest, he stopped the chariots as they ran, and through this strengthened his strength. And Milo, from the oiled shield, was not pushed off, but held his ground when pushed, no less than statues bound with lead. And in a word, their practices were preparations for the contests. If they had busied themselves with the tunes of Marsyas or Olympus the Phrygians, abandoning the dust and the gymnasia, would they quickly have obtained crowns or glory, or escaped being ridiculous in body?

But Timotheus did not abandon his music to spend his time in the wrestling schools; for he would not have so far surpassed all others in music, since he had such an excess of skill that he could arouse passion through tense and harsh harmony, and also relax and soften it again through relaxed harmony, whenever he wished. Thus it is said that once, by playing the Phrygian mode to Alexander at dinner, he roused him to arms, and then led him back to the banqueters by relaxing the harmony. Such is the power in both music and gymnastic contests: practice is provided for the attainment of the end. Since I have mentioned crowns and athletes, those men, after countless sufferings and many efforts, having increased their strength from many sources, having sweated through many gymnastic labors, having received many blows from the trainer, and having chosen not the most pleasant regimen but that prescribed by the trainers, and, to avoid digression, living in such a way that the life before the contest is a preparation for the contest, then they strip for the stadium and endure every toil and danger in order to receive a crown of wild olive or celery or some such thing and to be proclaimed victors by the herald.

For us, for whom the prizes of life are so wondrous in number and magnitude that they cannot be expressed in words, will it be possible, while we sleep on both sides and live in great license, to take hold of them with one hand? Great indeed would be the value of indolence in life, and Sardanapalus would be considered first of all in happiness, or even Margites—or Margarites, if you will—whom Homer said was neither a plowman nor a digger nor anything else useful in life, if indeed these are Homer’s words. But is not rather the saying of Pittacus true, who said it is difficult to be good? For indeed, after passing through many labors, we might barely succeed in attaining those goods, of which we said in the earlier discourses there is no example among human things. Therefore we must not be indolent, nor exchange great hopes for brief ease, unless we are to incur reproaches and undergo punishments, not only here among men—though this too is no small matter for one who has sense—but in those places, whether beneath the earth or wherever in the universe they happen to be.

with justifications. For those who have sinned involuntarily against what is proper, perhaps some pardon might come from God; but for one who deliberately chooses the worse, there is no excuse, and the punishment is not merely multiplied. What then should we do? someone might say. What else but to care for the soul, taking every leisure from other things? We must not serve the body, except under absolute necessity; but we must provide the best for the soul, as if from a prison, releasing it from communion with the body's passions through philosophy, and at the same time making the body superior to its passions, serving the belly only what is necessary, not what is most pleasant, as those who devise various table-setters and cooks, and search every land and sea, as if paying tribute to a harsh master, pitiable in their busyness, suffering nothing more tolerable than those punished in Hades, literally carding fire, carrying water in a sieve, and drawing water into a perforated jar.

having no end of labors. But to concern oneself with hairstyles and clothing beyond what is necessary is, according to the saying of Diogenes, either the mark of the unfortunate or of the unjust. Therefore, I declare that one must consider it equally shameful to be or to be called a dandy, as to be a prostitute or to plot against the marriages of others. For what difference would it make to a sensible person whether he wears a luxurious robe or some ordinary garment, as long as it lacks nothing necessary for protection against winter and heat? And all other things likewise should be fashioned no more elaborately than need requires, nor should one tend to the body more than is beneficial for the soul. For it is no less a reproach to a man truly worthy of that name to be a dandy and a lover of the body than to be ignobly disposed toward any other passion. To devote all one's effort to making one's body as beautiful as possible is the mark of one who does not know himself, nor does he understand the wise precept that the visible is not the man; but some greater wisdom is needed, through which each of us, whoever he is, will come to know himself. And this is more impossible for those whose mind is not purified than it is for a bleary-eyed person to look at the sun.

Purification of the soul, to speak concisely and sufficiently for you, is to dishonor the pleasures that come through the senses: not to feast the eyes on absurd displays of wonder-workers or on sights of bodies that inject a sting of pleasure, not to pour into the soul through the ears a corrupted melody. For passions that are offspring of illiberality and baseness naturally arise from this kind of music. But we must pursue the other kind, the better one that leads to something better, the kind that David, the poet of the sacred songs, used when he restored the king from his madness, as they say. It is also said that Pythagoras, encountering revelers who were drunk, ordered the aulos-player who was leading the revel to change the harmony and play the Dorian mode for them, and that they thus regained their senses from the melody, so that they threw away their garlands and returned in shame. Others, however, are driven to Corybantic frenzy and bacchic ecstasy by the aulos; so great is the difference between being filled with a healthy or a corrupt melody. Therefore, of this currently prevailing kind, you must partake less than of anything that is manifestly most shameful.

I am ashamed even to forbid mixing all sorts of fragrant vapors that bring pleasure to the sense of smell into the air, or anointing oneself with perfumes. And what could one say about not pursuing the pleasures of touch and taste, except that they compel those who devote themselves to their pursuit, like cattle, to stoop toward the belly and what lies beneath it? To live? In a word, one must despise the entire body, if one is not to be buried in its pleasures as in a bog, or else one must cling to it only so far as, according to Plato, one acquires a service for philosophy, saying something like Paul, who advises that one should take no thought for the body as a means to incite desires. Or how do those differ who care for the body to be as fine as possible, but neglect the soul that will use it as worthless, from those who are zealous about the instruments but neglect the art that works through them? On the contrary, it is fitting to discipline and restrain it like a wild beast, and to calm the disturbances arising from it in the soul, as if with a whip, by striking them with reason, and not to let every rein of pleasure go slack and allow the mind, like a charioteer, to be dragged along by the insolence of unruly horses. And to remember Pythagoras, who, when he saw one of his companions fattening himself with exercises and food, said: "Will you not stop making the prison more difficult for yourself?

It is for this reason, they say, that Plato, foreseeing the harm that comes from the body, deliberately chose the unhealthy region of Attica, the Academy, in order to cut off the excessive well-being of the body, like the excessive growth of a vine. And I have heard from physicians that extreme good health is actually precarious. Since, then, this excessive care of the body is both unprofitable for the body itself and an impediment to the soul, to be subject to it and to serve it is clear madness. But if we should practice disregarding this, we would scarcely admire anything else human. For what use will we have for wealth, if we dishonor the pleasures that come through the body? I for my part do not see, unless, like the dragons in the myths, one takes pleasure in keeping watch over buried treasures. One who has been educated to be free in relation to such things would be far from ever choosing anything low and shameful in deed or word. For whatever exceeds necessity, whether it be Lydian gold dust or the work of the gold-bearing ants, he will despise all the more, the less he needs it; and he will define need itself by the necessities of nature, not by pleasures.

like those who have gone beyond the necessary limits, they are carried along similarly to those borne down a slope, having no stable point at which to stop, they never cease their forward motion; but the more they acquire, the more they need an equal or even greater amount to satisfy their desire, as Solon, son of Execestides, says: "No limit of wealth is revealed to men." One must use Theognis as a teacher in these matters, who says: "I do not love wealth nor pray for it, but may it be mine to live from little, having no evil." And I admire Diogenes for his utter contempt for all human things; he declared himself richer than the great king, because he needed fewer things in life than that king. But for us, unless we have the talents of Pythius the Mysian, and so many acres of land, and swarms of cattle more than can be counted, nothing will suffice. But, I think, it is fitting neither to long for wealth when it is absent, nor, when it is present, to be more proud of possessing it than of knowing how to use it well. For the saying of Socrates is good:

He said that he would not admire a rich man who prides himself on his wealth until he had also tested whether he knows how to use it. Or would not Phidias and Polyclitus, if they prided themselves on the gold and ivory—of which one made the Zeus for the Eleans, the other the Hera for the Argives—be laughable, adorning themselves with another’s wealth, neglecting the art by which the gold was rendered more pleasing and more precious? And do we, supposing that human virtue is not sufficient by itself for its own adornment, think we are doing things worthy of less shame? But then, shall we despise wealth and dishonor the pleasures of the senses, yet pursue flattery and fawning, and emulate the cunning and versatility of Archilochus’s fox? But there is nothing more to be shunned by the prudent man than living for reputation, and looking to what seems good to the many, and not making right reason the guide of life, so that, even if it be necessary to contradict all men, even to be without repute and to be in danger for the sake of the good, he would choose to deviate in nothing from what has been rightly discerned.

or what shall we say that the one who is not so disposed falls short of the Egyptian sophist, who became a plant and a beast, whenever he wished, and fire and water and all manner of things, if indeed he himself will now praise justice among those who honor it, and now let loose the opposite arguments when he perceives that injustice is held in esteem—which is the very conduct of flatterers? And just as they say the octopus changes its color to match the ground beneath it, so he will change his mind to match the opinions of those he associates with. But these things we will learn more perfectly in our own writings, I suppose; for the present, however, let us outline a kind of sketch of virtue from external learning. For those who diligently gather the benefit from each source, as with the great rivers, according to Hesiod, many accretions come from many sides.

For to lay down even a small thing upon a small thing is fitting for the poet, not more in the addition of silver than in any knowledge whatsoever, to consider rightly. Now Bias, when his son was departing to the Egyptians and asked what he could do that would be most pleasing to him, said, "Acquire a provision for old age," meaning virtue as that provision, circumscribing it within small limits, since he defined the benefit from it as bounded by human life. But I, even if one speaks of the old age of Tithonus, or of Arganthonius, or of the longest-lived among us, Methuselah, who is said to have lived a thousand years lacking thirty, or even if one measures the whole time since humans came to be, I will laugh as at the thoughts of children, looking toward the long and ageless eternity, whose end it is impossible to grasp in thought, no more than to suppose an end of the immortal soul. To acquire provisions for that, I would urge you, moving every stone according to the proverb, from wherever any benefit for it may come to you. And let us not shrink back because these things are difficult and require labor; but remembering the one who advised that each should choose the best life for himself, and expect it to become pleasant through habit, let us set about the best things.

For it is shameful to abandon the present opportunity and later call back the past, when there will be no advantage to those who grieve. I, therefore, have now spoken what I judge to be best, and throughout your entire life I will advise you. But you, since there are three kinds of infirmities, do not seem to resemble the incurable one, nor show the disease of your judgment similar to that of those who have suffered misfortune in their bodies. For those who are afflicted with minor ailments come to the physicians themselves; those who are seized by greater illnesses call the healers to themselves; but those who have been carried entirely into incurable melancholy do not even admit those who approach. May you not suffer this, you who now flee from those who have sound reasoning. Many things urge me to advise you, my children, what I judge to be best, and what I believe will benefit you if you choose it. For both being of such an age and having already been exercised through many affairs, and also having sufficiently partaken of the change that educates all things in both directions, has made me experienced in human matters, so that I can point out the safest path, as it were, to those who are just now establishing their life.

by natural affinity I stand next to your parents, so that I myself do not assign you any less goodwill than fathers do; and I think that you, unless I am mistaken about your opinion, do not long for your parents when you look at me. If, then, you eagerly accept what is said, you will be of the second class of those praised by Hesiod; but if not, I would say nothing harsh, but you yourselves remember the verses, of course, in which he says that the best is the one who perceives what is necessary by himself, and that the one who follows the suggestions of others is also noble, but the one who is fit for neither is useless for everything. Do not be surprised if, even though you attend teachers every day and associate with the eloquent men of old through the words they have left behind, I claim to have discovered something more profitable from myself. This very thing, then, I have come to advise you: that you should not once and for all hand over the rudders of your mind to these men, as if to a ship, and follow wherever they lead; but, accepting what is useful from them, you should know what to take and what to disregard. What these things are, and how we will distinguish them, I will teach, beginning from this point. Many things urge me to advise you, O children, what I judge to be best and what I believe will benefit you if you choose them.

For both my age and my having been already exercised in many affairs, and also my having sufficiently partaken of that change which educates in all things, have made me experienced in human matters, so that I can point out to those who are just now settling their life the safest path, as it were, of ways. And by natural affinity I stand next to your parents, so that I myself assign you no less goodwill than fathers do; and I think that you, unless I am mistaken about your opinion, do not long for your parents when you look to me. If then you receive what is said with eagerness, you will be of the second class of those praised by Hesiod; but if not, I would say nothing disagreeable, but you yourselves remember, of course, the verses in which he says that the best is the one who discerns what is needful by himself, and that one is good who follows what is pointed out by others, but the one who is fit for neither is useless for everything. Do not be surprised if, even though you attend teachers every day and associate with the distinguished men of old through the words they have left behind, I claim to have found something more profitable from myself for you. This then is what I have come to advise: that you must not once and for all hand over the rudders of your mind to these men, as if of a ship, and follow wherever they lead; but receiving what is useful from them, you must know what to accept and what to disregard. What these things are, and how we shall distinguish them, this I shall teach, taking it up from here.

We, O children, consider this human life to be nothing at all, nor do we think or name anything good that provides us with its fulfillment only up to this point. Therefore, we do not judge ancestral renown, nor bodily strength, nor beauty, nor stature, nor honors from all people, nor even kingship itself, nor anything that one might call great among human affairs, as worthy of our regard, nor do we look upon those who possess them; but we advance further in our hopes, and we do everything for the preparation of another life. We say, then, that we must love and pursue with all our might whatever contributes to this life for us, and disregard as worthless whatever does not reach toward that life. What this life is, and where and how we shall live it, is too long to attain in the present impulse, and for hearers greater than you to hear.

But having said this much, I might perhaps sufficiently indicate to you that if someone were to gather together in thought all the happiness that has existed since the beginning of the human race and combine it into one whole, he would find it not even equal to a small fraction of those goods, but rather the entirety of the beauties here fall short of the least of those goods in worth by a greater distance than that by which a shadow and a dream fall short of reality. Or rather, to use a more fitting example, as much as the soul is more valuable in every respect than the body, so great is the difference between the two kinds of life. Now sacred writings lead us to this life, instructing us through hidden teachings. But as long as, due to our age, we are not yet able to grasp the depth of their meaning, we train ourselves beforehand in other things not entirely different, as if in shadows and mirrors, with the eye of the soul, imitating those who practice in tactical exercises—who, having gained experience in gestures and dances, enjoy the benefit of their practice in actual contests.

We must therefore consider that a contest lies before us, the greatest of all contests, for which we must do and endure everything to the best of our ability in preparation for it, and we must associate with poets, storytellers, orators, and all people, from wherever any benefit for the care of the soul is likely to come. Just as dyers, having first prepared with certain treatments whatever is to receive the dye, then apply the color, whether it be purple or something else, in the same way we, if the reputation of the beautiful is to remain unfading for all time, having been initiated beforehand by these external things, will then listen to the sacred and secret teachings; and as if accustomed to seeing the sun in water, we will thus direct our eyes to the light itself. We, O children, consider this human life to be nothing at all, nor do we regard or name anything as good that provides us with its completion only up to this point. Therefore, we do not look to the distinction of ancestors, nor to bodily strength, nor to beauty, nor to stature, nor to honors from all people, nor to kingship itself, nor to anything one might call great among human affairs, but we judge none of these worthy even of a prayer, nor do we gaze upon those who possess them, but we advance further in our hopes and do everything for the preparation of another life.

Those things, then, which contribute to this end for us, we must love and pursue with all our strength, we say, but those which do not reach to that end, we must disregard as worth nothing. What then is this life, and where and how we shall live it, is too long to attain in the present impulse, and too great for hearers such as you to hear. Yet by saying this much, I might perhaps sufficiently indicate to you that if someone were to gather together in thought all the happiness that has existed since men came to be, and collect it into one, he would find it not even equal to a small fraction of those goods, but rather the sum total of the beauties here falls short of the least of those in worth, more than shadow and dream fall short of reality. Or rather, to use a more fitting example, as much as soul is more honorable than body in all respects, so great is the difference between the two lives. Now sacred writings lead to this life, instructing us through mysteries. But as long as, by reason of age, it is not possible to hear the depth of their meaning, we are trained beforehand in others not entirely different, as in shadows and mirrors, with the eye of the soul, imitating those who practice exercises in tactical arts, who, having gained experience in gestures and dances, enjoy the profit from the play in the contests.

We must therefore consider that the greatest contest of all contests lies before us, for which we must do and endure everything to the best of our ability in preparation for it, and we must associate with poets, storytellers, orators, and all people from whom any benefit for the care of the soul may come. Just as dyers, having first prepared the material that is to receive the dye with certain treatments, then apply the color, whether purple or some other, so too we, in like manner, if the reputation of what is good is to remain unfading for all time, having been initiated by these external things, will then listen to the sacred and secret teachings; and as those accustomed to see the sun in water, so we will direct our eyes to the light itself. If, then, there is some kinship between the discourses, knowledge of them would be advantageous for us; but if not, at least by placing them side by side and learning the difference, it is no small thing for the confirmation of the better.

To what then might one compare each of the two kinds of education, to hit upon the image? Perhaps as a plant’s proper excellence is to bear ripe fruit, yet it also carries some ornament in the leaves that rustle on its branches, so for the soul the fruit is primarily truth, yet it is not without grace to have put on also the wisdom from outside, like leaves that provide both shelter for the fruit and a not unseasonable appearance. Now it is said that even that famous Moses, whose name is greatest among all men for wisdom, after exercising his mind in the learning of the Egyptians, thus approached the contemplation of Being. Similarly, in later times, the wise Daniel is said to have learned the wisdom of the Chaldeans at Babylon before touching divine teachings. If, then, there is some affinity between the two kinds of learning, knowledge of them would be advantageous to us; but if not, at least by setting them side by side and learning the difference, it is no small thing for confirming the better.

Similarly, in later times, the wise Daniel is said to have learned the wisdom of the Chaldeans in Babylon before he touched divine teachings. But that these external studies are not useless for souls has been sufficiently stated; how you should partake of them must be said next. First, then, from the poets—to begin there—since they are of various kinds in their words, do not attend to everything in order; but when they recount the deeds or words of good men, love and emulate them, and try as much as possible to be such men; but when they come to wicked men, you must flee from that imitation, stopping your ears no less than they say Odysseus did to the songs of the Sirens. For familiarity with base words is a path to base deeds.

Therefore, the soul must be guarded with every care, lest we unknowingly admit something worse through the pleasure of words, like those who take poisons mixed with honey. We will not, then, praise the poets when they revile, mock, or imitate lovers or drunkards, nor when they define happiness by a full table and licentious songs. Least of all will we attend to those who discourse about the gods, especially when they go on about them as many and not even in agreement with one another. For among them brother quarrels with brother, parent with children, and these in turn wage an unheralded war against their begetters. And the adulteries, loves, and open unions of the gods—and these especially of the highest and supreme Zeus, as they themselves say, at which even one speaking of cattle would blush—we will leave to the stage. The same I have to say about prose writers, especially when they fabricate stories for the entertainment of their hearers. And we will not imitate the rhetoricians' art of lying. For falsehood is not suitable for us either in courts or in other actions, we who have chosen the straight and true path of life, to whom it is commanded by law not to go to law.

But we will rather accept those parts in which they praised virtue or denounced wickedness. For just as with flowers, for the rest the enjoyment extends only to their fragrance or color, but for bees there is also the possibility of taking honey from them, so too here for those who do not pursue only the pleasant and charming in such writings, it is possible to derive some benefit from them and store it in the soul. Therefore, we must partake of these writings according to the whole image of the bees. For they neither approach all flowers alike, nor do they attempt to carry off whole those they alight upon, but taking from them as much as is suitable for their work, they let the rest go. And we, if we are prudent, having taken from them whatever is akin and related to the truth, will pass over the remainder. And just as when plucking the bloom of the rosebush we avoid the thorns, so too in such writings, having harvested what is useful, let us guard against what is harmful.

We will guard ourselves, as the ancient editions say. From the very beginning, then, it is fitting to examine each of the disciplines and to harmonize it with the end, according to the Doric proverb, bringing the stone to the rope. But that these external studies are not useless for souls has been sufficiently stated; how you should partake of them should next be said. First, then, with regard to the poets—to begin from there—since they are of all sorts in their words, do not attend to everything in order; but when they recount the deeds or words of good men, love and emulate them, and strive as much as possible to be such; but when they come to wicked men, you must flee this imitation, stopping up your ears no less than they say Odysseus did the songs of the Sirens. For familiarity with base words is a kind of path to base deeds. Therefore, the soul must be guarded with every precaution, lest through the pleasure of words we unwittingly admit something worse, like those who take poisons with honey. We will not, then, praise the poets when they revile, mock, or imitate lovers or drunkards, nor when they define happiness by a full table and licentious songs.

Above all, we will not attend to those who discourse about the gods, especially when they go through them as many and not even in agreement with one another. For among them brother is at strife with brother, parent with children, and these in turn wage an undeclared war against their begetters. And the adulteries, loves, and open unions of the gods, and these especially of the highest and supreme Zeus, as they themselves say, which even one speaking of cattle would blush at, we will leave to the stage. I have the same to say about writers, especially when they fabricate stories for the sake of charming their hearers. And we will not imitate the rhetoricians' art of lying. For falsehood is not suitable for us either in law courts or in other actions, we who have chosen the straight and true path of life, to whom it is commanded by law not to go to law. But we will rather accept those things in which they praised virtue or denounced vice. For just as in the case of flowers, for the rest the enjoyment extends only to their fragrance or color, but for bees there is also the taking of honey from them, so here for those who pursue not only the pleasant and charming in such words, it is possible to store away some benefit for the soul from them. Therefore, you must partake of words according to the image of the bees. For they neither approach all flowers alike, nor do they attempt to carry off whole those on which they alight, but taking from them as much as is suitable for their work, they let the rest go.

We, if we are to be prudent, having taken from them whatever is akin to us and related to the truth, will pass over the rest. And just as we pluck the flower from the rosebush and avoid the thorns, so too in such writings we shall take what is useful and guard against what is harmful. Therefore, from the very beginning, it is fitting to examine each of the disciplines and to harmonize them with the end, according to the Doric proverb, bringing the stone to the line. And since it is through virtue that we must conduct our life, and since much has been sung by poets, much by historians, and even more by philosophers about this virtue, we must pay most attention to such writings. For it is no small benefit that some affinity and familiarity with virtue be engendered in the souls of the young, since the lessons of such things are by nature indelible, being impressed deeply into the soul because of its tenderness.

or what else are we to suppose Hesiod had in mind when he composed those verses which everyone sings, if not to urge the young toward virtue? For the road that leads to virtue is first rough and hard to travel, full of much sweat and toil, and steep. Therefore it is not for everyone either to set foot on it because of its steepness, or, having set foot, to reach the summit easily. But when one has reached the top, one sees that it is smooth and beautiful, and easy and well-trodden, and more pleasant than the other road that leads to vice, which, as the same poet said, can be taken all at once because it lies close at hand. For it seems to me that he did nothing other than urge us toward virtue and challenge everyone to be good, and to ensure that we do not, by growing soft in the face of labors, abandon the goal beforehand. And indeed, if anyone else has sung of virtue in terms similar to these, let us accept their words as leading to the same end as ours. As I once heard from a man skilled in understanding a poet’s thought, all of Homer’s poetry is a praise of virtue, and everything in it is directed to this end, except what is incidental; and not least in the passage where he has made the general of the Cephallenians, after being saved naked from the shipwreck, first shame the queen by appearing alone—so far was he from incurring shame by being seen naked alone, since the poet made him adorned with virtue instead of garments.

and then, moreover, to be deemed so worthy by the rest of the Phaeacians that, abandoning the luxury in which they lived, they all looked to that man and emulated him, and no one among the Phaeacians at that time would have prayed for anything else rather than to become Odysseus, and this after he had been saved from a shipwreck. For in these things the interpreter of the poet's thought said that Homer almost cries out, saying: "You must take care of virtue, O men, which swims out with a man even when shipwrecked, and when he appears naked on dry land, makes him more honored than the prosperous Phaeacians." And indeed it is so. Other possessions belong no more to their owners than to any chance person, shifting here and there as in a game of dice; but virtue alone among possessions is inalienable, remaining with a man both in life and after death. Hence Solon, I think, said to the wealthy: "But we will not exchange our virtue for their wealth, since virtue stands firm forever, while riches among men belong now to one, now to another.

Similar to these are the words of Theognis, where he says that the god—whomever he means—tilts the scale for men now one way, now another: at one time to be wealthy, at another to have nothing. And indeed the Cean sophist Prodicus somewhere in his writings philosophized on virtue and vice in terms akin to these; and one must attend to his thought as well, for the man is not to be rejected. His account runs something like this, as far as I recall the man’s thought—since I do not know the exact words, except that he spoke simply, without meter—that when Heracles was very young and just about the age you are now, and was deliberating which of two paths to take, the one leading through toils to virtue or the easy one, two women approached him; and these were Virtue and Vice. At once, even in silence, they revealed their difference by their appearance: for one was adorned by cosmetics into beauty, and was dissolving in luxury, and led a whole swarm of pleasure hanging upon her; and showing these things, and promising still more than these, she attempted to draw Heracles to herself.

the other had become withered and squalid, and looked tense and spoke other such things; for she promised nothing relaxed or pleasant, but countless sweats and labors and dangers across every continent and sea; and the prize for these was to become a god, as his account goes; and finally Heracles followed her. And since we must descend into our own life through virtue, and much has been sung about this by poets, much by historians, and even more by philosophers, we must pay most attention to such words. For it is no small benefit that some familiarity and habit of virtue be engendered in the souls of the young, since the lessons of such things are naturally unchangeable, being deeply imprinted due to the tenderness of their souls. Or what else should we suppose Hesiod intended when he composed these verses that everyone sings, if not to urge the young toward virtue? That the road leading to virtue is first rough and hard to traverse, and full of much sweat and toil, and steep. Therefore it is not for everyone either to set foot on it because of its steepness, or, having set foot, to easily reach the summit. But when one has reached the top, one can see that it is smooth and beautiful, and easy and well-traveled, and more pleasant than the other road that leads to vice, which, as the same poet said, can be taken all at once because it lies nearby.

For my part, I think that he is doing nothing other than urging us toward virtue and challenging everyone to be good, and that he has set forth these things so that we may not become soft in the face of labors and abandon the goal prematurely. And indeed, if anyone else has praised virtue in terms similar to these, let us accept their words as leading to the same end as ours. As I once heard from a man skilled in understanding the thought of a poet, the whole of Homer's poetry is a praise of virtue, and everything in it, except what is incidental, is directed to this end; not least in the passage where he has represented the general of the Cephallenians, after being saved naked from shipwreck, first of all inspiring awe in the queen by his mere appearance—so far was he from incurring shame by being seen naked, since the poet had adorned him with virtue instead of garments—and then being deemed so worthy by the rest of the Phaeacians that they abandoned the luxury in which they lived, and all looked to him and emulated him, and not one of the Phaeacians at that time would have prayed for anything else rather than to become Odysseus, and this after he had been saved from shipwreck. For in these things, the interpreter of the poet's thought said that Homer was all but crying out: "Men, you must take care of virtue, which swims out with a man even when he is shipwrecked, and when he comes ashore and is seen naked, makes him more honored than the prosperous Phaeacians." And indeed it is so.

Other possessions are no more the property of their owners than of any chance person, shifting back and forth like dice in a game; virtue alone among possessions is inalienable, remaining with one both in life and after death. Hence Solon, I think, said to the wealthy: "But we will not exchange our wealth for virtue, since virtue is always steadfast, while riches belong to different men at different times." Similar to these are the words of Theognis, in which he says that the god—whomever he means—tilts the scale for men now one way, now another: at one time they are rich, at another they have nothing. And indeed the sophist Prodicus of Ceos, in his writings, philosophized in a kindred manner about virtue and vice; and one should attend to his thought as well, for the man is not to be rejected. His account goes something like this, as far as I remember the man's thought—for I do not know the exact words, except that he spoke simply, without meter—that when Heracles was quite young and just about the age you are now, and was deliberating which of two paths to take, the one leading through toils to virtue or the easy one, two women approached him, and these were Virtue and Vice. At once, even in silence, they revealed their difference by their appearance: for one was adorned by cosmetics into beauty, and was flowing with luxury, and led a whole swarm of pleasure attached to her; and she displayed these things, and promising even more than these, attempted to draw Heracles to herself.

The other woman was withered, squalid, and had a tense gaze, and spoke such other words; for she promised nothing relaxed or pleasant, but countless sweats, toils, and dangers throughout every continent and sea; and the prize for these was to become a god, according to his account; and indeed, as a result, Heracles followed her in the end. And nearly all who have any reputation for wisdom, each to a greater or lesser extent according to his ability, have set forth in their own writings a praise of virtue, whom we must trust and endeavor to demonstrate their words in our lives. For he who confirms in deed the philosophy that among others is only in words—such a one is wise, while the others are flitting shadows. And it seems to me that such a thing is similar to what would happen if a painter had imitated some wonderful beauty of a human being, and the same person were in reality such as that painter depicted on his panels. Since to praise virtue brilliantly in public and to spin out long speeches about it, but in private to honor pleasure before temperance and gain before justice, I would say is like those who act out dramas on the stage, who often enter as kings and rulers, though they are neither kings nor rulers, nor indeed perhaps free men at all.

Then a musician would not willingly accept a lyre that is out of tune with him, nor would a chorus leader fail to have the chorus singing in as much harmony as possible; but each individual will be at variance with himself, and will he not present a life that is not in agreement with his words? But the tongue has sworn, while the mind is unsworn, as Euripides would say, and he will pursue the appearance of being good before being good. But this is the extreme limit of injustice, if one must trust Plato, to seem just without being so. And nearly all who have any reputation for wisdom, whether to a lesser or greater degree, each in their own writings have set forth praise of virtue, whom one must trust and attempt to demonstrate their words in life. For he who confirms the philosophy of others even to the point of words by deed—such a one is wise, while the others are flitting shadows. And such a thing seems to me to be similar to what would happen if a painter had imitated some wonderful beauty of a human being, and the same person were in reality such as he showed on the panels. For to praise virtue splendidly in public and to spin out long speeches about it, but in private to honor pleasure before temperance and gain before justice, I would say is like those who act in dramas on stage, who often enter as kings and rulers, though they are neither kings nor rulers, nor indeed perhaps free men at all.

Then a musician would not willingly accept a lyre that is out of tune with him, nor would a chorus leader fail to have the chorus singing in as much harmony as possible; but each individual will be at variance with himself, and will he not present a life that agrees with his words? But he will say, according to Euripides, “The tongue has sworn, but the mind is unsworn,” and will pursue the appearance of being good before being so. But this is the extreme limit of injustice, if one must believe Plato, to seem just without being so. Let us therefore accept those discourses which contain the precepts of noble things; but since also the worthy deeds of ancient men are preserved for us either through the continuity of memory or guarded in the words of poets or historians, let us not deprive ourselves of the benefit from this source as well. For example, a certain man from the marketplace was reviling Pericles; but Pericles paid no attention. And he persisted the whole day, one unsparingly washing him with insults, the other not caring. Then, when evening and darkness were already coming on, Pericles escorted him, who was departing with difficulty, by torchlight, so that his training in philosophy might not be ruined.

Again, when someone was provoked against Euclides of Megara and threatened him with death, even swearing an oath to that effect, Euclides swore in return that he would appease him and put an end to his harshness toward him. How valuable it is for such examples to enter the memory of a man already seized by anger! For one must not simply trust tragedy when it says, "Wrath arms the hand against enemies." Rather, it is best not to be roused to anger at all; but if this is not easy, then, as if placing reason as a bit upon it, one should not allow it to be carried further. Let us bring our discourse back again to examples of virtuous deeds. Someone struck Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, directly in the face, falling upon him without restraint; but Socrates did not resist, instead allowing the one who was acting in a frenzy to sate his anger, so that his face became swollen and bruised from the blows he received. When the man finally stopped striking him, Socrates is said to have done nothing else but to inscribe upon his forehead, as if on a statue, the name of the maker: "So-and-so made this.

And so much of this, as it were, bearing on the same point as our own teachings, I declare it to be very valuable to imitate such great men. For this saying of Socrates is akin to that precept, that when struck on the cheek, one ought to offer the other cheek as well. And the saying of Pericles or that of Euclides, to endure those who pursue and to bear their anger gently, and to pray for good things for one's enemies, rather than to curse them. For one who has been educated in these matters would no longer disbelieve those other teachings as impossible. I would not pass over the saying of Alexander, who, when he took the daughters of Darius captive, and they were attested to possess a wonderful beauty, did not deign even to look at them, judging it shameful that the man who had conquered men should be defeated by women. For this bears on the same point as that saying, that he who looks with pleasure at a woman, even if he does not actually commit adultery, yet by admitting desire into his soul, is not free from the charge.

The saying of Cleinias, one of the disciples of Pythagoras, it is difficult to believe happened by chance to coincide with our own teachings, and not that he imitated them with zeal. And what was it that he did? When he could have avoided a penalty of three talents by an oath, he paid the fine rather than swear, even though he was about to swear truly; having heard, as it seems to me, the commandment forbidding us to swear. Let us therefore accept those discourses which contain the precepts of noble things in this way. But since also serious deeds of ancient men are preserved for us either by the continuity of memory or kept in the words of poets or historians, let us not deprive ourselves of the benefit from this source as well. For example, a certain man from the marketplace was reviling Pericles; but he paid no attention; and he endured the whole day, the one unsparingly washing him with insults, the other not caring about it. Then, when evening and darkness had already come, Pericles escorted him, who was departing with difficulty, by torchlight, so that his training in philosophy might not be ruined. Again, someone, provoked against Euclides of Megara, threatened him with death and swore an oath; but he swore in return that he would certainly appease him and stop him from being harshly disposed toward him. How valuable it is for such examples to enter the memory of a man already seized by anger! For one must not simply believe the tragedy when it says, "Anger arms the hand against enemies"; but rather, first of all, not to be roused to anger at all; but if this is not easy, then, as if putting a bit of reason into it, not to allow it to be carried further. Let us bring our discourse back again to the examples of serious deeds.

Someone struck Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, directly in the face without restraint; he did not resist, but allowed the drunken man to indulge his anger, so that his face was already swollen and bruised from the blows he received. When the man stopped striking him, Socrates is said to have done nothing else but to inscribe on his forehead, as if on a statue by the craftsman: "So-and-so made this," and that was his only retaliation. These things, which almost coincide with our own teachings, I say are well worth imitating by such great men. For this deed of Socrates is akin to that precept, that when someone strikes you on the cheek, it is fitting to offer the other one as well, and not to retaliate to such an extent. And the example of Pericles or of Euclides, to endure those who pursue you and to bear their anger gently, and to pray for good things for your enemies rather than to curse them. For one who has been educated in these matters beforehand would no longer disbelieve those other teachings as impossible. I would not pass over the example of Alexander, who, when he took the daughters of Darius captive, and they were attested to possess a remarkable beauty, did not deign even to look at them, judging it shameful for the conqueror of men to be conquered by women. For this corresponds to that precept, that one who looks with pleasure at a woman, even if he does not commit adultery in deed, yet by admitting desire into his soul, is not free from the charge.

The story of Cleinias, one of the associates of Pythagoras, is difficult to believe as having happened spontaneously to our people, and not as a result of his earnest imitation. What was it that he did? When he could have avoided a penalty of three talents by taking an oath, he chose to pay the fine rather than swear, even though he was about to swear truly; having heard, I think, the commandment that forbids us to swear. But let us return to the point I was making from the beginning. We must not accept everything indiscriminately, but only what is useful. For it is shameful to reject harmful foods, but to take no account of the teachings that nourish our soul, and like a torrent to sweep in and swallow everything that comes our way. Yet what reason is there that a pilot does not yield carelessly to the winds, but steers the ship toward harbors; that an archer shoots at the target; that a smith or a carpenter aims at the end proper to his craft; while we fall short of even such craftsmen in our ability to discern what is our own?

For there is a limit to the work of manual laborers, but is there no goal for human life, looking to which one must do and say everything, if one is not to be altogether like the irrational animals? Or would we then be exactly like ships without ballast, with no mind sitting at the helm of our soul, but carried aimlessly up and down through life? But just as in athletic contests, or, if you will, in music, the practices are for those contests for which the crowns are set, and no one training for wrestling or the pancratium practices playing the cithara or the flute. So it is with Polydamas; but before the contest at Olympia, he stopped the chariots as they ran, and through this he strengthened his strength. And Milo was not pushed off the oiled shield, but held his ground when pushed, no less than statues bound with lead. And in a word, their practices were preparations for the contests. If they had busied themselves with the tunes of Marsyas or Olympus the Phrygians, abandoning the dust and the gymnasia, would they quickly have obtained crowns or glory, or escaped being ridiculous in body?

But Timothy did not, of course, abandon melody to spend his time in the wrestling schools; for he would not otherwise have been so preeminent over all in music, since he had such an excess of skill that he could both rouse passion through tense and severe harmony, and also relax and soften it again through relaxed harmony, whenever he wished. And likewise, it is said that once, by playing the Phrygian mode on the flute to Alexander during a banquet, he roused him to arms, and then led him back to the banqueters by slackening the harmony. Such is the power in both music and athletic contests, where practice is directed toward the attainment of the goal. Since I have mentioned crowns and athletes, those men, after suffering countless things for countless ends, and having increased their strength from many sources, having sweated through many gymnastic labors, having received many blows from the trainer, and having chosen not the most pleasant regimen but that prescribed by their trainers, and—to avoid digression—living in such a way that their life before the contest was a preparation for the contest, then they strip for the stadium and endure every toil and danger in order to receive a crown of wild olive or celery or some such thing, and to be proclaimed victors by the herald.

For us, however, for whom the prizes of life are so wondrous in number and magnitude that they cannot be expressed in words, will it be possible, while we sleep on both sides and live in great license, to take hold of them with one hand? Great indeed would be the value of indolence in life, and Sardanapalus would be carried off first of all in happiness, or even Margites—or Margarites, if you will—whom Homer said was neither a plowman nor a digger nor anything else useful in life, if indeed these are Homer's words. But is not the saying of Pittacus rather true, who said it is difficult to be good? For indeed, after passing through many labors, we might barely succeed in attaining those goods of which we said in the earlier discourses that there is no example among human things. Therefore we must not be indolent, nor must we exchange great hopes for brief ease, unless we are to incur reproaches and undergo punishments—not only here among men, though this too is no small thing for one who has sense, but also in those places, whether beneath the earth or wherever in the universe they happen to be.

in courts of law. The ancient editions read "courts." For if someone errs involuntarily from what is proper, perhaps some pardon might come from God; but for one who deliberately chooses the worse, there is no excuse, and he must undergo not merely a single but a manifold punishment. But, as I said from the beginning, let us return to the same point. Not everything is to be accepted indiscriminately by us, but only what is useful. For it is shameful to reject harmful foods, yet to take no account of the studies that nourish our soul, but like a torrent to sweep in and swallow everything that comes along. Indeed, what sense does it make for a pilot not to yield carelessly to the winds, but to steer the ship toward harbors; for an archer to shoot at a target; and for a smith or a carpenter to aim at the end proper to his craft—while we fall short even of such craftsmen in being able to discern our own concerns? For surely it is not the case that manual laborers have some limit to their work, while human life has no goal, looking to which one must do and say everything if he is not to resemble irrational animals altogether? Or would we then be exactly like ships without ballast, with no mind seated at the helm of our souls, drifting aimlessly up and down through life? But just as in athletic contests—or, if you will, in music—the practices belong to those contests for which the crowns are set, and no one training for wrestling or the pancratium practices playing the cithara or the flute. So too Polydamas—

But that man, before the Olympic contest, would set his chariots running and through this strengthen their power. And Milo, at any rate, was not pushed off the oiled shield, but held his ground when pushed, no less than statues bound with lead. And in a word, their practices were preparations for the contests. But if they had busied themselves with the Phrygian melodies of Marsyas or Olympus, abandoning the dust and the gymnasia, would they quickly have attained crowns or glory, or escaped being ridiculous in body? Yet neither did Timotheus, having abandoned melody, spend his time in the wrestling schools; for he would not have so far surpassed all others in music, he who had such an excess of his art that he could arouse passion through the tense and severe harmony, and again relax and soften and mollify through the relaxed harmony, whenever he wished. And by this means, it is said that once, when he played the Phrygian mode for Alexander during a meal, he made him rise to arms, and then led him back to the banqueters by slackening the harmony. Such is the power that practice provides, both in music and in athletic contests, for the attainment of the goal.

Since I have mentioned crowns and athletes, those men, after countless sufferings upon countless sufferings, having increased their strength from many sources, having sweated much over gymnastic labors, having received many blows from the trainer, and choosing not the most pleasant regimen but that prescribed by their trainers, and living in such a way—to avoid wasting words—that their life before the contest was a preparation for the contest, then they strip for the stadium and undergo every toil and danger in order to receive a crown of wild olive or celery or some such thing and, if victorious, to be proclaimed by the herald. But for us, for whom the prizes of life are so marvelous in number and magnitude that they cannot be expressed in words, will it be possible to take hold of them with one hand while we sleep on both sides and live in great ease? Then indeed laziness would be of great value to life, and Sardanapalus would be considered foremost in happiness, or even Margites—or Margarites, if you will—whom Homer said was neither a plowman nor a digger nor anything else useful in life, if indeed those verses are Homer's. But is not the saying of Pittacus truer, who said it is difficult to be good? For indeed, only after passing through many labors would it perhaps be possible for us to attain those goods which in the earlier discourses we said have no parallel among human things.

Therefore we must not be idle, nor must we exchange great hopes for a brief respite, if we are not to incur reproach and undergo punishment—not only among men here, which is no small thing for one who has sense, but in the places of judgment, whether beneath the earth or wherever in the universe they may be. For one who has erred involuntarily from what is fitting, there might perhaps be some pardon from God; but for one who has deliberately chosen the worse, there is no excuse, and the punishment is not merely multiplied. What then are we to do? someone might say. What else but to care for the soul, withdrawing all leisure from other things? Therefore we must not be enslaved to the body, except when absolutely necessary; but we must provide the best things for the soul, as if from a prison, releasing it from communion with the affections of the body through philosophy, and at the same time making the body superior to its passions, serving the belly only what is necessary, not what is most pleasant, as those do who devise table-setters and cooks, and search every land and sea, as if paying tribute to a harsh master, pitiable in their busyness, suffering nothing more tolerable than those punished in Hades, literally carding wool into fire, carrying water in a sieve, and drawing water into a perforated jar.

having no end of labors. To be overly concerned with haircuts and clothing beyond what is necessary is, according to the saying of Diogenes, either for the unfortunate or for the unjust. Therefore I say that one must consider it equally shameful for such men to be and to be called a dandy, as to be a prostitute or to plot against others' marriages. For what difference would it make to one who has sense, whether he wears a luxurious robe or some common garment, as long as nothing is lacking for protection against winter and heat? And all other things likewise should not be fashioned more elaborately than need requires, nor should the body be tended more than is beneficial for the soul. For it is no less a reproach to a man who is truly worthy of this name to be a dandy and a lover of the body than to be ignobly disposed toward any other passion. For to apply all one's effort to making his body as beautiful as possible is characteristic of one who does not know himself, nor understand the wise precept that the visible is not the man; but some greater wisdom is needed, through which each of us, whoever he is, will come to know himself. And this is more impossible for those whose mind is not purified than for a bleary-eyed person to look at the sun.

Purification of the soul, to speak concisely and sufficiently for you, is to dishonor the pleasures that come through the senses: not to feast the eyes on the absurd displays of wonder-workers or on the sights of bodies that inject the sting of pleasure, not to pour into the soul through the ears a corrupted melody. For passions that are offspring of illiberality and baseness naturally arise from this kind of music. But we must pursue the other kind, the better one that leads to something better, the kind that David, the poet of the sacred songs, used when he brought the king back from his madness, as they say. It is also said that Pythagoras, encountering revelers who were drunk, ordered the aulete who was leading the revel to change the harmony and play the Dorian mode for them, and that they regained their senses from the melody to such an extent that they threw away their garlands and returned in shame. Others are driven to Corybantic frenzy and Bacchic ecstasy by the aulos; so great is the difference between being filled with a healthy or a depraved melody. Therefore, of this kind that now prevails, you must partake less than of anything that is manifestly most shameful.

or to mix into the air all sorts of vapors that bring pleasure to the sense of smell, or to anoint themselves with perfumes—I am ashamed even to forbid it. And what could one say about not pursuing the pleasures of touch and taste, except that these compel those who have devoted themselves to their pursuit, like beasts, to live bent over their belly and the parts beneath it? In a single word, one must despise the entire body, if one is not to be buried, as in a bog, in its pleasures; or one must cling to it only to the extent that, as Plato says, one acquires a service for philosophy—speaking somewhat like Paul, who advises that one should take no thought for the body as a means of providing for desires. Or how do those differ who care for the body so that it may be as fine as possible, but neglect the soul that will use it, as if it were worth nothing—like those who are zealous about the instruments but neglect the art that works through them? On the contrary, it is fitting to discipline the body and restrain its impulses like a wild beast, and to quiet the disturbances arising from it in the soul, striking them, as with a whip, by reason; and not to let every rein of pleasure go slack and allow the mind, like a charioteer, to be dragged along, carried away by the insolence of unruly horses. And to remember Pythagoras, who, when he observed one of his companions fattening himself excessively with exercises and food, said: "Will you not stop making the prison more difficult for yourself?

Therefore, they say that Plato, foreseeing the harm that comes from the body, deliberately chose the unhealthy region of Attica, the Academy, so that he might cut off the excessive well-being of the body, like the excessive growth of a vine. And I have heard from physicians that extreme good health is also dangerous. Since this excessive care of the body is both unprofitable for the body itself and an obstacle to the soul, to be subject to it and to serve it is clear madness. But if we should practice disregarding this, we would scarcely admire anything else among human concerns. For what use will we have for wealth, if we dishonor the pleasures that come through the body? I do not see, unless, like the dragons in the myths, one takes pleasure in keeping watch over buried treasures. One who has been educated to be free in relation to such things would be far from ever choosing anything low or shameful in deed or word. For whatever exceeds necessity, whether it be Lydian gold dust or the work of the gold-bearing ants, he will despise all the more, the less he needs it; and he will define need itself by the necessities of nature, not by pleasures.

like those who have gone beyond the necessary limits, they are similar to those carried down a slope, having no stable point to stop, they never cease their forward motion; but the more they acquire, the more they need an equal or even greater amount to fulfill their desire, according to Solon, son of Execestides, who says: "No visible limit of wealth is set for men." One must use Theognis as a teacher in these matters, who says: "I do not love wealth nor pray for it, but may it be mine to live from little, having no evil." I also admire Diogenes' utter contempt for all human things; he declared himself richer than the great king, because he needed fewer things in life than that king. But for us, unless we have the talents of Pythius the Mysian, and so many acres of land, and swarms of cattle more than can be counted, nothing will suffice. But, I think, it is fitting not to long for wealth when it is absent, and when it is present, to pride oneself not so much on possessing it as on knowing how to use it well. For the saying of Socrates is good:

He said that he would not admire a rich man who prides himself on his wealth until he had also tested whether he knows how to use it. Or would not Phidias and Polyclitus be laughable if they prided themselves on the gold and ivory—of which one made the Zeus for the Eleans, the other the Hera for the Argives—adorning themselves with another's wealth, while neglecting the art by which the gold was rendered more pleasing and more precious? And do we, supposing that human virtue is not sufficient by itself for its own adornment, think we are doing something worthy of less shame? But shall we indeed despise wealth and dishonor the pleasures of the senses, yet pursue flattery and fawning, and emulate the cunning and versatility of Archilochus' fox? But there is nothing more to be shunned by the prudent man than living for reputation, and looking to what seems good to the many, and not making right reason the guide of life, so that, even if it be necessary to contradict all men, to be without repute, and to run risks for the sake of the honorable, he would choose to disturb none of the things rightly recognized.

or what shall we say of one who is not so, but falls short of the Egyptian sophist, who became a plant and a beast, whenever he wished, and fire and water and all things, if indeed he himself will now praise justice among those who honor it, and now let loose the opposite arguments when he perceives that injustice is in favor—which is the very mark of flatterers? And just as they say the octopus changes its color to match the ground beneath it, so he will change his mind to match the opinions of those he is with. What then shall we do? someone might say. What else but to take care of the soul, withdrawing all leisure from other things? Therefore we must not serve the body, except under absolute necessity; but we must provide the best for the soul, as if releasing it from a prison, from its communion with the body's affections, through philosophy, and at the same time making the body superior to its passions, serving the belly only what is necessary, not what is most pleasant, as do those who devise various table-setters and cooks, and search out every land and sea, as if paying tribute to some harsh master, pitiable in their busyness, suffering nothing more tolerable than those punished in Hades, literally carding fire, carrying water in a sieve, and drawing water into a perforated jar, having no end to their labors. But to fuss over hairstyles and garments beyond what is necessary is, according to Diogenes' saying, either the mark of the unfortunate or of the unjust.

so that I say one must consider it shameful to be and be called a dandy, just as to be a courtesan or to plot against others' marriages. For what difference would it make to a sensible person whether he wears a fine robe or some common garment, as long as it lacks nothing for protection against winter and heat? And likewise, the rest should not be equipped more elaborately than need requires, nor should one tend to the body more than is better for the soul. For it is no less a reproach to a man truly worthy of this name to be a dandy and a lover of the body than to be ignobly disposed toward any other passion. For to exert every effort so that his body may be as beautiful as possible is not the mark of one who knows himself, nor of one who understands the wise precept that the visible is not the man; but some more profound wisdom is needed, through which each of us, whoever he is, will come to know himself. But this is more impossible for those whose mind is not purified than for a bleary-eyed person to look at the sun. Purification of the soul, to speak concisely and sufficiently for you, is to dishonor the pleasures that come through the senses: not to feast the eyes on absurd displays of wonder-workers or on sights of bodies that inject a sting of pleasure, not to pour into the soul through the ears a corrupted melody. For passions born of illiberality and baseness naturally arise from this kind of music.

but we must pursue the other, the better one, which leads to a better state, the one which David, the poet of the sacred songs, used to bring the king back from his madness, as they say. It is also said that Pythagoras, encountering revelers who were drunk, ordered the flute-player who was leading the revel to change the harmony and play the Dorian mode for them, and that they thus recovered their senses through the melody, so that they threw away their garlands and returned in shame. Others, however, are driven into a Corybantic frenzy and become ecstatic to the flute; such is the difference between being filled with a healthy or a corrupt melody. So that you must partake less of this currently prevailing one than of anything manifestly most shameful. As for mixing all sorts of vapors that bring pleasure to the sense of smell into the air, or anointing ourselves with perfumes, I am ashamed even to forbid it. And what could one say about not pursuing the pleasures of touch and taste, except that they compel those who have devoted themselves to their pursuit to live, like cattle, bent over their belly and what lies beneath it? In a word, one must despise the entire body, if one is not to be buried, as in a bog, in its pleasures, or one must cling to it only to the extent that, as Plato says, one acquires service for philosophy, speaking somewhat like Paul, who advises that one should take no thought for the body as a means of inciting desires.

or what difference is there between those who take care that the body should be as beautiful as possible, but neglect the soul that will use it as something worthless, and those who are zealous about the instruments but neglect the art that works through them? On the contrary, it is fitting to chastise and restrain it like a wild beast, and to calm the disturbances arising from it in the soul, as if with a whip, by striking with reason, and not to let every rein of pleasure go slack and allow the mind, like a charioteer, to be dragged along by unruly horses carried away by insolence. And remember Pythagoras, who, observing one of his companions fattening himself excessively with exercises and food, said: "Will you not stop making your prison more grievous for yourself?" For this reason, they say that Plato, foreseeing the harm from the body, deliberately chose the Academy, a sickly region of Attica, in order to cut off the excessive well-being of the body, like the excessive growth of a vine. And I have heard from physicians that extreme good health is also dangerous. Since, then, this excessive care of the body is both unprofitable for the body itself and an impediment to the soul, to be subject to it and to serve it is clear madness. But if we should practice disregarding this, we would scarcely admire anything else human. For what use shall we have for wealth, if we dishonor the pleasures of the body? I do not see, except perhaps, like the dragons in the myths, to take some pleasure in watching over buried treasures.

One who has been educated to be free in his attitude toward such things would be far from ever choosing anything base or shameful in deed or word. For whatever exceeds the need, even if it be Lydian gold dust or the work of the gold-bearing ants, he will despise all the more, the less he requires it; and he will define need itself by the necessities of nature, not by pleasures. For those who go beyond the bounds of necessity, like those carried down a slope, have no stable point at which to stop, and nowhere do they halt their forward motion; but the more they acquire, the more they require an equal or even greater amount to satisfy their desire, as Solon, son of Execestides, says: "No limit of wealth is revealed for men." And one should use Theognis as a teacher in these matters, who says: "I do not love wealth nor pray for it, but may it be mine to live from little, having nothing evil." I also admire Diogenes' utter contempt for all human things; for he declared himself richer than the great king, because he needed fewer things in life than that king. But for us, unless we have the talents of Pythius the Mysian, and so many acres of land, and swarms of cattle more than can be counted, nothing will suffice. But, I think, it is fitting not to long for wealth when it is absent, and when it is present not to pride oneself more on possessing it than on knowing how to use it well. For the saying of Socrates holds good.

He who said that he would not admire a rich man proud of his wealth until he had first tested whether he knew how to use it. Or Phidias and Polyclitus, if they had taken great pride in the gold and ivory—of which one fashioned the Zeus for the Eleans, the other the Hera for the Argives—they would have been laughable, adorning themselves with another’s wealth, while neglecting the art by which the gold was shown to be more pleasant and more precious. And do we, supposing that human virtue is not sufficient by itself for its own adornment, think we are doing things worthy of less shame? But then shall we despise wealth and dishonor the pleasures of the senses, yet pursue flattery and fawning, and emulate the cunning and versatility of Archilochus’s fox? But there is nothing more to be shunned by the prudent man than living for reputation, and looking to what the many think, and not making right reason the guide of life, so that, even if it be necessary to contradict all men, even if it be necessary to be ill-reputed and to face danger for the sake of the good, one should choose to disturb none of the things rightly recognized. Or shall we say that the man who is not so disposed differs from the Egyptian sophist, who became a plant and a beast, whenever he wished, and fire and water and everything else, if indeed he himself now praises justice among those who honor it, and now lets loose the opposite arguments when he perceives that injustice is in favor—which is precisely the way of flatterers?

And just as they say the octopus changes its color to match the underlying ground, so he himself will change his mind to match the opinions of those with whom he associates. But these things we will learn more perfectly in our own writings; for now, let us sketch out some outline of virtue from external teachings. For to those who diligently gather the benefit from each source, as to the great rivers, according to Hesiod, many additions come from many places. For the practice of laying down even a small thing upon a small thing, no more for the increase of money than for any knowledge whatsoever, it was fitting for the poet to consider rightly. Bias, then, when his son was departing to the Egyptians and asked what he could do that would most please him, said: "Acquire a provision for old age," meaning virtue as that provision, circumscribing it within small limits, since he defines it in terms of human life.

from it defined benefit. But I, whether one speaks of the old age of Tithonus, or of Arganthonius, or of the most long-lived among us, Methuselah, who is said to have lived a thousand years lacking thirty, or even if one measures the whole time since humans came to be, I will laugh as at the thoughts of children, looking toward the long and ageless age, of which there is no end to grasp in thought, any more than one could suppose an end of the immortal soul. For which I would advise you to acquire provisions, moving every stone according to the proverb, from wherever some benefit to you for it is going to come. And let us not shrink back because these things are difficult and require labor; but let us remember the one who advised that each person should choose the best life for themselves, and expect it to become pleasant through habit, and set about the best things. For it is shameful to waste the present opportunity, and later to recall the past, when there will be no more benefit to those who grieve.

I have now told you what I consider best, and I will advise you throughout your entire life. But you, since there are three kinds of illness, do not seem to resemble the incurable one, nor show that the disease of your judgment is similar to that of those who have suffered misfortune in their bodies. For those who suffer from minor ailments come to the physicians themselves; those overtaken by greater illnesses call the healers to themselves; but those who have been carried completely into incurable melancholy do not even admit those who approach. May you not suffer this, you who now flee from right reasoning. But we will learn these things more perfectly in our own writings; for the present, let us sketch out some outline of virtue from external teachings. For to those who diligently gather benefit from each source, as with great rivers, according to Hesiod, many additions come from many sides. For laying down small thing upon small thing is fitting for the poet to consider rightly, no more for the increase of money than for any knowledge whatsoever. So Bias, when his son was departing to the Egyptians and asked what he could do that would be most pleasing to him, said, "Acquire a provision for old age," meaning virtue by the provision, circumscribing it within small limits, since he defined the benefit from it as bounded by human life.

But I—whether one speaks of the longevity of Tithonus, or of Arganthonius, or of the most long-lived among us, Methuselah, who is said to have lived a thousand years lacking thirty, or even if one measures the whole time since humans came to be—I will laugh as at the thoughts of children, looking toward the long and ageless age, whose end it is impossible to grasp in thought, no more than one could suppose an end to the immortal soul. For the sake of that age, I would urge you to acquire provisions, moving every stone, as the proverb says, from whatever source some benefit for it may come to you. And let us not shrink from these things because they are difficult and require labor; but, remembering the one who advised that each person should choose the best life for himself, and expect it to become pleasant through habit, let us set about the best things. For it is shameful to abandon the present opportunity and later to recall the past, when there will be no advantage in grieving. I have now told you what I consider best, and I will advise you throughout your entire life. But you, since there are three kinds of illness, do not seem to resemble the incurable one, nor show that the disease of your mind is similar to that of those who have suffered misfortune in their bodies. For those who suffer from minor ailments go themselves to the physicians; those seized by greater illnesses call the healers to themselves; but those who have been carried entirely into incurable madness do not even admit those who approach.

which you may not suffer, as one manuscript has it. You, however, avoid the right reasoning, as two manuscripts have it.