III

Seneca to his Lucilius, greeting. You have handed over letters to be brought to me, as you write, to a friend of yours; then you warn me not to share with him everything concerning you, because even you yourself are not accustomed to do that. Thus, in the same letter, you both called him a friend and denied that he was one. And so, if you used that special word as though it were common property, and called him a friend in the way we call all candidates “good men,” or greet people we meet as “sir” when their name does not come to mind, let that pass.

But if you think someone a friend while trusting him less than you trust yourself, you are badly mistaken and do not sufficiently understand the force of true friendship. By all means deliberate on everything with a friend, but first deliberate about the friend himself: after friendship is formed, trust must be given; before friendship is formed, judgment must be made. Those people invert their duties, contrary to the teaching of Theophrastus, who judge after they have begun to love, and cease to love after they have judged. Think long whether someone should be received into your friendship. When you have decided that he should, admit him with your whole heart; speak with him as boldly as you speak with yourself.

Live, indeed, in such a way that you entrust nothing to yourself except what you could entrust even to your enemy; but since certain matters arise which custom has made private, share all your cares and all your thoughts with a friend. If you think him faithful, you will make him faithful; for some have taught others to deceive by fearing deception, and by their suspicion have given them a right to do wrong. Why should I hold back any words in the presence of my friend? Why should I not think myself alone when I am before him?

Some people tell casual passersby things that should be entrusted only to friends, and pour into any ears whatever burns within them; others, again, shrink even from the awareness of those dearest to them and, if they could, would not trust even themselves, pressing every secret deep inside. Neither course should be followed; for both are faults, to trust everyone and to trust no one, though I would call the one fault more honorable, the other safer.

So you should criticize both kinds of people: those who are always restless and those who are always at rest. For that bustle which delights in commotion is not industry, but the racing about of an agitated mind; and this stillness which judges every movement a nuisance is not repose, but slackness and lethargy.

And so this saying that I read in Pomponius should be committed to memory: “some have withdrawn so far into hiding that they think whatever is in the light is in turmoil.” These two things must be blended with one another: the person at rest must act, and the person in action must rest. Take counsel with the nature of things: she will tell you that she made both day and night. Farewell.