Pliny the Younger

Pliny to Pompeia Celerina (his mother-in-law) (Ep. 1.4)

What a plethora of resources you have at your villas in Ocriculum, Narnia, Carsulanus, Perusia – even a bath house at Narnia! My earlier brief letter suffices: you don’t need to mail your own. In fact my villas don’t seem to be mine as much as yours seem to belong to me! There is one difference: your slaves take more earnest and attentive care of me than my own do! Maybe you’ll experience the same whenever you take a detour to stay at our place. And I hope you’ll do so for two reasons: first, so that I may reciprocate your delightful hospitality; and, second, so that one day your visit will wake up my slaves – since they receive me rather nonchalantly, almost to the point of neglect. Over time, familiarity makes slaves’ fear of gentle masters subside. New faces and circumstances, however, revive them, since they strive to win approval through service to others more than through service to their own master. Goodbye.

Pliny to Octavius Rufus (suffect consul in 80 ce) (Ep. 1.7) September 97 ce

Look what a pedestal you’ve set me on: you’ve given me the same power and authority as Homer gives Jupiter the best and greatest when he writes: “Part the father gave him and part he refused.” For I can likewise respond to your request with both a nod of assent and a shake of my head. It’s true: just as it’s divinely right for me to refuse defending the Baetici against one man, especially when you’re making the request, it is also contrary to my loyalty and constancy – two things you love about me – to act against a whole province, and one that I’m deeply connected to through many various services, efforts, and even risks. Therefore I’ll take the middle road: out of the two choices you offer I’ll select the one that satisfies not only your liking, but also your good judgment. I must consider not so much what you would prefer in the present circumstances, honest man that you are, but what you will approve of forever and ever.

I plan to be back at Rome around mid-October, when I will repeat these same sentiments to Gallus in person, with your support. Nonetheless, for now you can convey my intent: “and he bowed his dark brow in assent.” Why shouldn’t I quote Homeric verses to you whenever I can? Besides, I have to: you refuse to allow me to quote you – something I’m burning to do, and with such great desire that I believe only this way could you bribe me to appear in court against the Baetici. Oh, I nearly passed over the most important thing: I have received your fantastic dates, which now have to compete with the figs and mushrooms! Goodbye.

Pliny to Pompeius Saturninus (Ep. 1.8) 96 ce

[Pliny writes to Pompeius about the composition and potential publication of a speech he gave at Comum. The speech commemorated the opening of a public library that Pliny donated to his hometown; in addition, he provided a fund for the education of the local children. Pliny is concerned that a published version of the speech may be seen to be too self-laudatory.]

Your letter asking that I mail you one of my compositions arrived at just the right time: I was just about to do this very thing! So you have spurred on a willing horse, so now I don’t have to feel embarrassed about making the request and you don’t have any excuse for refusing it! It wouldn’t be appropriate to hesitate taking you up on your offer, and you can’t feel burdened undertaking something you requested yourself. Nevertheless, don’t expect anything new from a slacker like me. So, please take some time again to review the speech I gave my fellow townsmen at Comum for the new library’s ribbon-cutting ceremony. Of course, I know that you’ve already provided some comments, but just general ones. Now I’m asking not just that you focus on the whole, but also that you go over the details with your usual fine-toothed comb. Then, after revisions, we can decide whether to publish it or not; in fact the very process of editing may actually help me decide one way or the other: if the speech is unsuitable for publication, that will become clear in the process of seriously reconsidering it; otherwise a thorough editing will confirm that it’s suitable.

But my reasons for vacillating are related not so much to the actual composition as to the content, for it borders on making me seem rather bigheaded and pompous. There is a burden on my restraint no matter whether my pen is curbed or given free reign, because I’m obliged to describe both my own philanthropic munificence and that of my relatives. The situation is delicate and dicey, although necessity imposes it. Indeed, even if the topic is about others, only rarely is acclamation favorably received; so ensuring that a speech in which the speaker extols himself or his relatives does not prove irksome is even more of a challenge. We get jealous over the whole notion of reputation in and of itself, but even more jealous over fame that is publicly proclaimed. It’s only the good deeds relegated to silence and obscurity that we least slander and distort. For this reason I’m usually asking myself whether I should have composed any speech, whatever it is, just for myself or for others, seeing that most things which are necessary for starting something retain neither their usefulness nor their pleasantness once they are completed. Let me give an example: it was imperious that I write out the reasons for my munificence in commissioning the library. First, the process led me to considering virtuous sentiments; then, through longer consideration, it led me to discerning their excellence; finally, it helped me avoid the regret that goes hand in hand with spontaneous, lavish gift-giving. From this point on, I more or less began the practice of denouncing my wealth. For, although nature prompts all people to safeguard their money, in my case the contrary happened: my love for generosity (pondered carefully and at length) released me from the chains of greed. Thus my philanthropic gift would garner all the more praise as it wasn’t some rash impulse that led me to give, but a deliberate decision.

To these reasons I added the fact that I wasn’t funding public games or a gladiatorial show, but a yearly donation for the maintenance of free-born children. Pleasures targeting the eye and ear don’t need a recommendation – in fact it’s better to restrain than promote them in a speech. Yet, in order to induce someone to willingly undertake the burden and weariness involved in child-rearing, it’s not just material rewards, but also carefully phrased urging that must be employed. If doctors use honeyed words to encourage a healthy diet without sweets, then isn’t it even more suitable that someone looking out for the common good utilize an attractive speaking style to encourage adoption of a service that, although very practical, may not be popularly appealing? In particular, I had to make a concerted effort to ensure that the childless approved of a service that would benefit parents specifically, and that those who were childless waited patiently and endeavored to earn a distinction that would be an honor for those who did have children.

At the time, as I wished the intent and outcome of my gift to be publicized, I was looking to the general interest and not to my own self-praise. But now I am concerned that, by considering publication, I might appear to be motivated by ideas of self-promotion rather than by altruistic philanthropy. I remind myself, too, that a “nobler heart” will preserve the rewards of virtue not within the confines of public opinion, but within the confines of a good conscience. Fame should be a reward for noble deeds, not an inducement to perform them. And if, for some reason, fame doesn’t follow, the merited deeds are no less worthy of approval when they don’t achieve public acclamation. People who embellish their good deeds with words risk being seen not as publicizing their actions as a result of doing them, but rather as having done them just so they can publicize them. In that case, an act deserving to be recognized in someone else’s literary work becomes inconsequential when it is the doer who himself describes it.

So, when people can’t ruin a doer’s good deed, they attack the doer’s vanity. If you keep quiet about a deed, then people think you’re hiding some fault; if you do a good deed, then you’re criticized for not keeping it quiet. My specific situation also presented unique difficulties. For I gave this particular speech not to the general public, but to the town councilors, and thus it was not in the open air, but within the Senate house. So I’m afraid it would be greatly inconsistent to try to win the crowd’s applause and approval in a written publication when I deliberately avoided winning its favor during the original oral presentation. As long as I kept myself secluded from the general public (which I was trying to benefit) within the doors and walls of the Senate house, I could avoid any appearance of courting popularity; now, however, it looks like I’m trying to win them over by flagrant display, even though my philanthropic gift benefits them only by presenting an example of model behavior. So, here are the reasons for my hesitation. Please give me your advice, which always provides the input I need for making a decision. Goodbye.

Pliny to Attius Clementius (Ep. 1.10)

[Pliny describes his interaction with the philosopher Euphrates.]

If our city has ever flourished through the liberal arts, it’s never done so more than now. There are many obvious examples, but let one suffice: Euphrates the philosopher. When I was a young man serving in the military in Syria, I got to know him well, spending time at his house and working to earn his friendship – although this really wasn’t necessary, since he was approachable and affable, full of the kindness he advocates in his lectures. If only I had fulfilled the hopes he had for me back then to the same degree to which he has multiplied his own numerous virtues! Or perhaps I now admire his virtues more because I understand them better. But, even now, I still don’t understand them completely: just as you have to be a master to fully appraise a painter, sculptor or modeler, so, too, only a wise man can see inside the heart and mind of a fellow wise man.

Nonetheless, insofar as I can judge, Euphrates’ many qualities radiate outwards so extensively that they affect even people of average education and steer them in his direction. He argues with nuance, seriousness, and elegance and often recreates the sublimity and sweeping style of Plato. His lectures are abundant, varied, and above all charming: he’s able to guide and incite to action even those who resist. What is more, he is tall and handsome, with flowing hair and a long white beard. Although some might consider these characteristics incidental and trivial, in fact they inspire the greatest respect for him. In terms of his dress and lifestyle, you’ll find nothing uncouth, no gloom and doom, but a type of gravitas from which, when you meet him, you’ll feel great respect, not dread. He values the sanctity of life, which he considers supreme, and civility, which he regards as equally important. He reproaches vices, not men; when it comes to wrongdoers he doesn’t chastise but offers words of improvement. You’d follow his advice as he ponders his words attentively, and you’d want to continue listening even when he has already convinced you. Moreover, he has three children, two of them sons, whom he has educated with the greatest diligence. His father-in-law, Pompeius Iulianus, is esteemed and distinguished in every aspect of his life, and especially in this: being himself a leading citizen in his province, he chose for a son-in-law, out of countless excellent options, a man who was at the front in wisdom, not in distinguished political positions.

But why do I go on an on about a man whose company I’m not free to enjoy? Is it so that I may feel even more aggravated that I don’t have this freedom? I’m stretched thin with all my obligations: they’re important, but a real burden. I sit in front of the tribunal, I sign petitions, I settle accounts, I write plenty of letters, albeit non-literary ones. I’m always complaining – well, whenever I get the chance to complain – to Euphrates about all these tasks. He consoles me and even asserts that my active role in civic life, my knowledge of how to make judgments and my promoting and exercising justice – all the things that, philosophers instruct, have a useful practicality – also hold an important place in the study of philosophy, in fact they are the most virtuous part of it. Nevertheless, he can’t persuade me of one specific thing: that completing all these duties is better than spending entire days listening and learning from him. All the more, then, I urge you; you’ve got the time: next time you come to the city (and you should come more quickly for this very reason) allow him to polish you up and make you shine. Unlike many, I for one don’t begrudge others the benefits I myself can’t enjoy. Rather I feel a certain satisfaction and pleasure if I see the pleasures I am denied abundantly left for my friends to enjoy.

Pliny to Cornelius Titianus (Ep. 1.17)

There are still people who respect loyalty and duty and continue to care about their friends even after the latter have passed away. Titinius Capito obtained permission from our emperor to erect a statue of Lucius Silanus in the forum. Using one’s connection with the emperor for this purpose deserves admiration and great praise, as does testing out your influence on other people. It’s entirely like Capito to do this, since he makes a habit of showing his respect for distinguished individuals. It’s remarkable, the veneration and attention he gives to the funeral busts of the Brutus, Cassius and Cato families, which, in the absence of any other permissible place, he hung up in his house. The same Capito embellishes the life of each of these eminent persons with his excellent poetry. It’s no secret that someone who extols others’ virtues possesses an abundance of his/her own. Capito has restored Silanus’ due honor, and in securing his immortality has likewise assured his own; for just as much honor and distinction go to the man who erects a statue in the Roman forum as to the man whom the statue celebrates.