Moral Letters to Lucilius

​Your letter wandered through several minor questions, but halted at one and desires this to be explained: how the concept of the good and the honorable reached us. These two are different among others, but among us they are only divided.

​I will tell you what this is. Some think that the good is that which is useful; and so they apply this name even to riches, a horse, wine, and a shoe; so great is the cheapening of the good among them, and to such low things does it descend. They think the honorable is that to which the principle of right duty is established, such as a father’s old age dutifully cared for, a friend’s poverty assisted, a brave military expedition, and a prudent and moderate opinion. We indeed make those two, but from one.

​Nothing is good except what is honorable. What is honorable is by all means good. I judge it superfluous to add what distinction there is between these, since I have often said it. This one thing I will say, that nothing seems good to us which anyone can also use badly. But you see how many people use riches, high birth, and physical strength badly. Now therefore I return to that about which you desire me to speak, how the first concept of the good and the honorable reached us.

​Nature could not teach us this; she gave us the seeds of knowledge, she did not give knowledge. Some say that we fell upon the concept, which is incredible, that the appearance of virtue occurred to someone by chance. It seems to us that observation and the comparison of things frequently done have gathered them, and by analogy our intellects judge both the honorable and the good. Since Latin grammarians have given this word citizenship, I do not think it should be condemned; I think it should be brought back into its own city. Therefore, I shall use it not only as accepted, but as customary.

​I will tell you what this analogy is. We knew the health of the body; from this we reasoned that there is also some health of the mind. We knew the strength of the body; from these we inferred that there is also strength of the mind. Certain kind deeds, certain humane deeds, certain brave deeds had amazed us; these we began to admire as if they were perfect. Many vices lay underneath them, which the appearance and luster of some conspicuous deed concealed; these we ignored. Nature commands us to magnify what is to be praised, and there is no one who has not carried glory beyond the truth; from these, therefore, we drew the image of a mighty good.

​Fabricius rejected the gold of King Pyrrhus and judged it greater than a kingdom to be able to despise royal wealth. The same man, when the physician of Pyrrhus promised that he would give poison to the king, warned Pyrrhus to beware of treachery. It was of the same mind not to be conquered by gold, and not to conquer by poison. We admired this great man, whom neither the promises of the king nor those against the king had swayed, who was tenacious of a good example (which is most difficult), innocent in war, who believed that there was some wrongdoing even against enemies, and who, in extreme poverty (which he had made an honor for himself), avoided riches no differently than poison. “Live,” he said, “by my benefit, Pyrrhus, and rejoice in what you were grieving about until now: that Fabricius cannot be corrupted.”

​Horatius Cocles alone filled the narrow passage of the bridge and ordered his return to be cut off from behind, provided that the way was taken from the enemy, and he resisted those pressing upon him until the beams resounded, torn down with a mighty crash. After he looked back and perceived that his country was out of danger by his own danger, he said, “Let him come, whoever wishes, to follow one who goes thus,” and he threw himself headlong. No less anxious in that rapid riverbed to emerge armed than safe, having retained the honor of his victorious arms, he returned as safe as if he had come by the bridge.