On the Firmness of the Wise Person Chapter 10

Quoniam priorem partem percucurrimus, ad alteram transeamus, qua quibusdam propriis, plerisque vero communibus contumeliam refutabimus. Est minor iniuria, quam queri magis quam exsequi possumus, quam leges quoque nulla dignam vindicta putaverunt. Hunc affectum movet humilitas animi contrahentis se ob dictum factumve inhonorificum: " Ille me hodie non admisit, cum alios admitteret," et " sermonem meum aut superbe aversatus est aut palam risit," et " non in medio me lecto sed in imo collocavit," et alia huius notae, quae quid vocem nisi querellas nausiantis animi ? In quae fere delicati et felices incidunt ; non vacat enim haec notare cui peiora instant. Nimio otio ingenia natura infirma et muliebria et inopia verae iniuriae lascivientia his commoventur, quorum pars maior constat vitio interpretantis. Itaque nec prudentiae quicquam in se esse nec fiduciae ostendit qui contumelia afficitur ; non dubie enim contemptum se iudicat, et hic morsus non sine quadam humilitate animi evenit supprimentis se ac descendentis. Sapiens autem a nullo contemnitur, magnitudinem suam novit nullique tantum de se licere renuntiat sibi et omnis has, quas non miserias animorum sed molestias dixerim, non vincit sed ne sentit quidem. Alia sunt quae sapientem feriunt, etiam si non pervertunt, ut dolor corporis et debilitas aut amicorum liberorumque amissio et patriae bello flagrantis calamitas. Haec non nego sentire sapientem ; nec enim lapidis illi duritiam ferrive adserimus. Nulla virtus est, quae non sentiat se perpeti. Quid ergo est ? Quosdam ictus recipit, sed receptos evincit et sanat et comprimit, haec vero minora ne sentit quidem nec adversus ea solita illa virtute utitur dura tolerandi, sed aut non adnotat aut digna risu putat.

Since we have now discussed the first part of our subject, let us pass on to the second, in which we will prove by arguments, some of which are our own, but which for the most part are Stoic commonplaces, that the wise man cannot be insulted. There is a lesser form of injury, which we must complain of rather than avenge, which the laws also have considered not to deserve any special punishment. This passion is produced by a meanness of mind which shrinks at any act or deed which treats it with disrespect. “He did not admit me to his house to-day, although he admitted others; he either turned haughtily away or openly laughed when I spoke;” or, “he placed me at dinner, not on the middle couch (the place of honour), but on the lowest one;” and other matters of the same sort, which I can call nothing but the whinings of a queasy spirit. These matters chiefly affect the luxuriously-nurtured and prosperous; for those who are pressed by worse evils have no time to notice such things as these. Through excessive idleness, dispositions naturally weak and womanish and prone to indulge in fancies through want of real injuries are disturbed at these things, the greater part of which arise from misunderstanding. He therefore who is affected by insult shows that he possesses neither sense nor trustfulness; for he considers it certain that he is scorned, and this vexation affects him with a certain sense of degradation, as he effaces himself and takes a lower room; whereas the wise man is scorned by no one, for he knows his own greatness, gives himself to understand that he allows no one to have such power over him, and as for all of what I should not so much call distress as uneasiness of mind, he does not overcome it, but never so much as feels it. Some other things strike the wise man, though they may not shake his principles, such as bodily pain and weakness, the loss of friends and children, and the ruin of his country in war-time. I do not say that the wise man does not feel these, for we do not ascribe to him the hardness of stone or iron; there is no virtue but is conscious of its own endurance. What then does he? He receives some blows, but when he has received them he rises superior to them, heals them, and brings them to an end; these more trivial things he does not even feel, nor does he make use of his accustomed fortitude in the endurance of evil against them, but either takes no notice of them or considers them to deserve to be laughed at.

Maintenant qu’est achevée la première partie de notre tâche, passons à la seconde, où, par des arguments qui en partie nous sont propres, mais dont la plupart appartiennent à tous, nous ferons voir le néant de ce qu’on appelle offense. C’est moins qu’une injure ; il est plus aisé de s’en plaindre que de s’en venger ; et les lois même ne l’ont pas trouvée digne de leur animadversion. Le ressentiment de l’offense tient à un manque d’élévation dans l’âme que froisse un procédé, un mot peu honorables. Cet homme ne m’a pas reçu aujourd’hui, quoiqu’il en reçût d’autres ; quand je parlais, il tournait dédaigneusement la tête, ou il a ri tout haut ; au lieu de m’offrir la place d’honneur, c’est la dernière qu’il m’a donnée ; et autres griefs de cette sorte. Qu’en dirai-je ? Plaintes d’esprits blasés, où tombent presque toujours les raffinés, les heureux du siècle. A-t-il le loisir, de remarquer ces riens, l’homme que pressent des maux plus sérieux ? Des âmes inoccupées, naturellement faibles et efféminées, que l’absence d’injures réelles rend plus irritables, s’émeuvent de ces choses ; et la plupart du temps tout naît d’une fausse interprétation. Il témoigne donc peu de prudence et de confiance en lui même, celui qui s’affecte à si bon marché ; évidemment il croit qu’on le méprise, et cette poignante idée ne vient point sans un certain abaissement de l’amour-propre qui se rapetisse et s’humilie. Mais le sage n’est méprisé de personne : il a conscience de sa grandeur ; il se dit dans son cœur que nul n’est en droit de le mésestimer ; et, pour tous ces tourments d’imagination, ou plutôt ces contrariétés, je ne dis point qu’il les surmonte, il ne les sent même pas. Il est d’autres atteintes qui frappent le sage, bien qu’elles ne le terrassent point, la douleur physique, les infirmités, la perte de ses amis, de ses enfants, ou les malheurs de son pays que dévore la guerre. Je ne le nie pas, le sage est sensible à tout cela. Car nous ne lui attribuons pas un cœur de fer ou de rocher. Il n’y aurait nulle vertu à supporter ce qu’on ne sentirait point.