Moral Letters to Lucilius

​This vice follows us, as in other matters, so also in this one: to be fashioned according to the examples of the majority, and to look not at what is proper, but at what is customary. We depart from nature, we surrender ourselves to the crowd, which is the promoter of nothing good and, in this matter as in all others, most inconsistent. It sees someone strong in his grief: it calls him impious and savage; it sees someone collapsing and prostrated over the body: it calls him effeminate and weak.

​All things, therefore, must be recalled to reason. But nothing is more foolish than to hunt for a reputation of sadness and to approve tears, which I judge, even for a wise man, are at one time permitted to fall, and at another brought by their own force. I will tell you what the difference is. When the first news of a bitter death has struck us, when we hold the body that is about to pass from our embrace into the fire, a natural necessity squeezes out tears, and the breath, shaken by the blow of grief, just as it shakes the whole body, so also shakes the eyes, from which it presses and expels the adjacent moisture.

​These tears fall through squeezing, against our will; there are others to which we give passage when the memory of those whom we have lost is recalled. And there is a certain sweetness in sadness, when their pleasant conversations, cheerful company, and dutiful affection occur to us; then the eyes are relaxed as if in joy. To the latter we indulge, by the former we are overcome.

​There is no reason, therefore, for you either to restrain or to squeeze out tears on account of the crowd standing and sitting around; they never cease or flow so shamefully as when they are feigned; let them go of their own accord. But they can go even for those who are calm and composed. Often, with the wise man’s authority preserved, they have flowed with such moderation that neither humanity nor dignity was lacking in them. It is permitted, I say, to obey nature while maintaining gravity.

​I myself have seen at the funeral of their loved ones men worthy of respect, in whose faces love was prominent, with all the theatrical display of mourners removed; there was nothing except what was given to true emotions. There is also a certain beauty in mourning; this must be preserved by the wise man, and just as in all other things, so also in tears, something is enough; the griefs, like the joys, of the foolish have overflowed.

​Accept what is inevitable with an even mind. What incredible, what new thing has happened? For how many is a funeral being arranged at this very moment, for how many are grave-clothes being bought, how many are mourning after your mourning! Whenever you think that he was a boy, think also that he was a man, to whom nothing certain is promised, whom fortune does not by all means lead to old age; from where it has seemed good, she dismisses him.

​Moreover, speak of him frequently and celebrate his memory as much as you can. It will return to you more often if it is to come without bitterness; for no one associates willingly with a sad person, much less with sadness itself. If you had heard with pleasure any of his conversations, or any of his jokes, however small he was, repeat them often; assert boldly that he could have fulfilled your hopes, which you had conceived with a father’s mind.

​To forget indeed one’s own people, and to carry out their memory together with their bodies, and to weep most effusively while remembering most sparingly—this is the mark of an inhuman mind. Thus birds, thus wild beasts love their young; their love is excited and almost mad, but it is completely extinguished when they are lost. This does not befit a wise man; let him persevere in remembering, let him cease to mourn.