Mara, son of Serapion, to Serapion, my son: peace.
When your master and guardian wrote me a letter, and informed me that you were very diligent in study, though so young in years, I blessed God that you, a little boy, and without a guide to direct you, had begun in good earnest; and to myself also this was a comfort — that I heard of you, little boy as you are, as displaying such greatness of mind and conscientiousness: a character which, in the case of many who have begun well, has shown no eagerness to continue.
On this account, lo, I have written for you this record, touching that which I have by careful observation discovered in the world. For the kind of life men lead has been carefully observed by me. I tread the path of learning, and from the study of Greek philosophy have I found out all these things, although they suffered shipwreck when the birth of life took place.
Be diligent, then, my son, in attention to those things which are becoming for the free, so as to devote yourself to learning, and to follow after wisdom; and endeavour thus to become confirmed in those habits with which you have begun. Call to mind also my precepts, as a quiet person who is fond of the pursuit of learning. And, even though such a life should seem to you very irksome, yet when you have made experience of it for a little while, it will become very pleasant to you: for to me also it so happened. When, moreover, a person has left his home, and is able still to preserve his previous character, and properly does that which it behooves him to do, he is that chosen man who is called the blessing of God, and one who does not find anything else to compare with his freedom. For, as for those persons who are called to the pursuit of learning, they are seeking to extricate themselves from the turmoils of time; and those who take hold upon wisdom, they are clinging to the hope of righteousness; and those who take their stand on truth, they are displaying the banner of their virtue; and those who cultivate philosophy, they are looking to escape from the vexations of the world. And thus do you too, my son, wisely behave yourself in regard to these things, as a wise person who seeks to spend a pure life; and beware lest the gain which many hunger after enervate you, and your mind turn to covet riches, which have no stability. For, when they are acquired by fraud, they do not continue; nor, even when justly obtained, do they last; and all those things which are seen by you in the world, as belonging to that which is only for a little time, are destined to depart like a dream: for they are but as the risings and settings of the seasons.
About the objects of that vainglory, too, of which the life of men is full, be not solicitous: seeing that from those things which give us joy there quickly comes to us harm. Most especially is this the case with the birth of beloved children. For in two respects it plainly brings us harm: in the case of the virtuous, our very affection for them torments us, and from their very excellence of character we suffer torture; and, in the case of the vicious, we are worried with their correction, and afflicted with their misconduct.
You have heard, moreover, concerning our companions, that, when they were leaving Samosata, they were distressed about it, and, as if complaining of the time in which their lot was cast, said thus: We are now far removed from our home, and we cannot return again to our city, or behold our people, or offer to our gods the greeting of praise. Meet was it that that day should be called a day of lamentation, because one heavy grief possessed them all alike. For they wept as they remembered their fathers, and they thought of their mothers with sobs, and they were distressed for their brethren, and grieved for their betrothed whom they had left behind. And, although we had heard that their former companions were proceeding to Seleucia, we clandestinely set out, and proceeded on the way towards them, and united our own misery with theirs. Then was our grief exceedingly violent, and fitly did our weeping abound, by reason of our desperate plight, and our wailing gathered itself into a dense cloud, and our misery grew vaster than a mountain: for not one of us had the power to ward off the disasters that assailed him. For affection for the living was intense, as well as sorrow for the dead, and our miseries were driving us on without any way of escape. For we saw our brethren and our children captives, and we remembered our deceased companions, who were laid to rest in a foreign land. Each one of us, too, was anxious for himself, lest he should have disaster added to disaster, or lest another calamity should overtake that which went before it. What enjoyment could men have that were prisoners, and who experienced things like these?
But as for you, my beloved, be not distressed because in your loneliness you have been driven from place to place. For to these things men are born, since they are destined to meet with the accidents of time. But rather let your thought be this, that to wise men every place is alike, and that in every city the good have many fathers and mothers. Else, if you doubt it, take you a proof from what you have seen yourself. How many people who know you not love you as one of their own children; and what a host of women receive you as they would their own beloved ones! Verily, as a stranger you have been fortunate; verily, for your small love many people have conceived an ardent affection for you.