17. R. Do you not see that these eyes of the body, even when sound, are often so smitten by the light of this visible sun, as to be compelled to turn away and to take refuge in their own obscurity? Now you are proposing to yourself what you are moved to seek, but are not proposing to yourself what you desire to see: and yet I would discuss this very thing with you, what advance you think we have made. Are you without desire of riches? A. This at least no longer chiefly. For, being now three and thirty years of age, for almost these fourteen years last past I have ceased to desire them, nor have I sought anything from them, if by chance they should be offered, beyond the necessities of life and such a use of them as agrees with the state of a freeman. A single book of Cicero has thoroughly persuaded me, that riches are in no wise to be craved, but that if they come in our way, they are to be with the utmost wisdom and caution administered. R. What of honors? A. I confess that it is only lately, and as it were yesterday, that I have ceased to desire these. R. What of a wife? Are you not sometimes charmed by the image of a beautiful, modest, complying maiden, well lettered, or of parts that can easily be trained by you, bringing you too (being a despiser of riches) just so large a dowry as will relieve your leisure of all burden on her account? It is implied, moreover, that you have good hope of coming to no grief through her. A. However much thou please to portray her and adorn her with all manner of gifts, I have determined that nothing is so much to be avoided by me as such a bedfellow: I perceive that nothing more saps the citadel of manly strength, whether of mind or body, than female blandishments and familiarities. Therefore, if (which I have not yet discovered) it appertains to the office of a wise man to desire offspring, whoever for this reason only comes into this connection, may appear to me worthy of admiration, but in no wise a model for imitation: for there is more peril in the essay, than felicity in the accomplishment. Wherefore, I believe, I am contradicting neither justice nor utility in providing for the liberty of my mind by neither desiring, nor seeking, nor taking a wife. R. I inquire not now what thou hast determined, but whether thou dost yet struggle, or hast indeed already overcome desire itself. For we are considering the soundness of thine eyes. A. Nothing of the kind do I any way seek, nothing do I desire; it is even with horror and loathing that I recall such things to mind. What more wouldst thou? And day by day does this benefit grow upon me: for the more I grow in the hope of beholding that supernal Beauty with the desire of which I glow, the more my love and delight is wholly converted thereto. R. What of pleasant viands? How much do you care for them? A. Those things which I have determined not to eat, tempt me not. As to those which I have not cut off, I allow that I take pleasure in their present use, yet so that without any disturbance of mind, either the sight or the taste of them may be withdrawn. And when they are entirely absent, no craving of them dares intrude itself to the disturbance of my thoughts. But no need to inquire concerning food or drink, or baths: so much of these do I seek to have, as is profitable for the confirmation of health.

CAPUT X. Amor rerum corporis et externarum.

17. R. Nonne vides hos corporis oculos etiam sanos, luce solis istius saepe repercuti et averti, atque ad illa sua obscura confugere? Tu autem quid promoveris cogitas, quid velis videre non cogitas: et tamen tecum hoc ipsum discutiam, quid profecisse nos putas. Divitias nullas cupis? A. Hoc quidem non nunc primum. Nam cum triginta tres annos agam , quatuordecim fere anni sunt ex quo ista cupere destiti, nec aliud quidquam in his, si quo casu offerrentur, praeter necessarium victum liberalemque usum cogitavi. Prorsus mihi unus Ciceronis liber facillime persuasit, nullo modo appetendas esse divitias, sed si provenerint, sapientissime atque cautissime administrandas. R. Quid honores? A. Fateor, eos modo, ac pene his diebus cupere destiti. R. Quid uxor? Nonne te delectat interdum pulchra, pudica, morigera, litterata, vel quae abs te facile possit erudiri, afferens etiam dotis tantum, quoniam contemnis divitias, quantum eam prorsus nihilo faciat onerosam otio tuo, praesertim si speres certusque sis nihil ex ea te molestiae esse passurum? A. Quantumlibet velis eam pingere atque cumulare bonis omnibus, nihil mihi tam fugiendum quam concubitum esse decrevi: nihil esse sentio quod magis ex arce dejiciat animum virilem, quam blandimenta feminea, corporumque ille contactus, sine quo uxor haberi non potest. Itaque, si ad officium pertinet sapientis (quod nondum comperi) dare operam liberis, quisquis rei hujus tantum gratia concumbit, mirandus mihi videri potest, at vero imitandus nullo modo: nam tentare hoc periculosius est, quam posse felicius. Quamobrem, satis, credo, juste atque utiliter pro libertate animae meae mihi imperavi non cupere, non quaerere, non ducere uxorem. R. Non ego nunc quaero quid decreveris, sed utrum adhuc lucteris, an vero jam ipsam libidinem viceris. Agitur enim de sanitate oculorum tuorum. A. Prorsus nihil hujusmodi quaero, nihil desidero; etiam cum horrore 0879 atque aspernatione talia recordor. Quid vis amplius? Et hoc mihi bonum in dies crescit: nam quanto augetur spes videndae illius qua vehementer aestuo pulchritudinis, tanto ad illam totus amor voluptasque convertitur. R. Quid ciborum jucunditas? quantae tibi curae est? A. Ea quae statui non edere, nihil me commovent. Iis autem quae non amputavi, delectari me praesentibus fateor, ita tamen ut sine ulla permotione animi vel visa vel gustata subtrahantur. Cum autem non adsunt prorsus, non audet haec appetitio se inserere ad impedimentum cogitationibus meis. Sed omnino sive de cibo et potu, sive de balneis, caeteraque corporis voluptate nihil interroges: tantum habere appeto , quantum in valetudinis opem conferri potest.