Lucius Annaeus Seneca→Lucilius Junior|c. 64 AD|Seneca the Younger|From Southern Italy (regional)|To Sicily (regional)|AI-assisted
The matter you ask me about was once clear to me on its own account, so well had I once learned it; but it is a long time since I have put my memory to the test on it, and so it does not readily come back to me. I sense that what happens to books when they cling together from neglect has happened to me: the mind must be unrolled, and whatever has been stored away in it must be shaken out from time to time, so that it stands ready whenever use demands it. For the present, then, let us put this off; it calls for much labor, much diligence. The first moment I can hope for a longer stay in one place, I will take it in hand.
For there are some things you can write even sitting in a gig, and others that require a couch, leisure, and seclusion. Even so, on these busy days too let something be accomplished, and indeed on every one of them. For there will never fail to be new occupations: we sow them, and so from one many come forth. Then, too, we keep granting ourselves delay: 'when I have finished this off, I will apply myself with my whole mind,' and 'if I can settle this troublesome business, I will give myself to study.'
Philosophy is not to be pursued only once you have free time; rather, you must make free time in order to pursue philosophy. Everything else is to be set aside so that we may sit by her side - she for whom no span of time is great enough, even if a life is drawn out from boyhood to the very furthest bounds of human age. It makes little difference whether you abandon philosophy altogether or merely interrupt it; for it does not remain where it was broken off, but, like things that spring apart when they are stretched taut, it recoils all the way back to its beginnings, since it has departed from its continuity. We must resist our occupations; they are not to be untangled but cleared out of the way. No time at all is too unsuitable for the study that saves us; and yet many men, amid the very circumstances on account of which they ought to study, do not study.
'Something will come up to hinder me.' Not, surely, in the man whose mind is glad and eager in every undertaking. It is in those still imperfect that gladness is cut short; but the wise man's joy is woven into a single fabric, broken by no cause, by no turn of Fortune; always and everywhere he is tranquil. For he does not depend on what is another's, nor does he await the favor of Fortune or of any man. His happiness is his own household possession; it would go out of his soul if it had entered from outside - but there it is born.
Sometimes something does come in from outside to remind him of his mortality, but it is slight, and grazes only the surface of the skin. He is breathed upon, I say, by some inconvenience; but that greatest good of his stands fixed. So I say, there are certain inconveniences from outside, just as on a body otherwise robust and solid there may now and then break out certain pustules and little sores - yet there is no malady deep within.
This, I say, is the difference between a man of consummate wisdom and another who is still advancing: it is the difference between a man who is healthy and one who is emerging from a grave and lingering illness, for whom a milder bout of it passes for health. The latter, unless he takes care, is soon weighed down again and slides back into the same condition; but the wise man cannot relapse - cannot even fall ill again at all. For to the body good health belongs only for a time, and the physician, even when he has restored it, does not guarantee it - often he is summoned out to the very same person who called him before; the mind, once made whole, is healed completely and for good.
I will tell you how you may recognize the man who is healthy: if he is content with himself, if he has confidence in himself, if he knows that all the prayers of mortals, all the benefits that are given and sought after, carry no weight at all in the happy life. For whatever can have something added to it is imperfect; whatever can have something taken from it is not lasting: let the man whose joy is to be everlasting rejoice in what is his own. But all the things the crowd gapes after flow this way and that: Fortune gives nothing as a possession to keep. Yet even these gifts of Fortune delight us when reason has tempered and blended them - reason, which makes even external things agreeable, though to those who crave them their use is thankless.
Attalus [the Stoic philosopher, Seneca's teacher] used to make use of this image: 'Have you ever seen a dog snapping with open mouth at scraps of bread or meat tossed by his master? Whatever he catches he at once gulps down whole, and he always gapes in hope of what is to come. The same thing happens to us: whatever Fortune flings to us as we wait for it, we swallow down at once without any pleasure, on the alert and frantic to snatch the next.' This does not happen to the wise man: he is full; even if something comes his way, he accepts it without anxiety and lays it by; he enjoys a joy that is greatest, unbroken, his own.
There is a man who has good will, who has made progress, but who still falls far short of the summit: he is by turns pressed down and lifted up, now raised to the sky, now carried down to the ground. For the inexperienced and untrained there is no end to the plunge; they fall into that Epicurean chaos - the void without limit.
There is still a third kind, those who play at the edges of wisdom: they have not indeed reached it, yet they have it in sight and, so to speak, within striking distance. These men are not shaken, nor do they slip away; they are not yet on dry land, but already in harbor.
Therefore, since the distances between the highest and the lowest are so great, and since even those in the middle are followed by a swell of their own, and followed too by a vast danger of slipping back to worse, we ought not to indulge our occupations. They must be shut out: if once they have entered, they will put others in their own place. Let us oppose them at their beginnings: better that they not begin than that they should later cease. Farewell.
The subject concerning which you question me was once clear to my mind, and required no thought, so thoroughly had I mastered it. But I have not tested my memory of it for some time, and therefore it does not readily come back to me. I feel that I have suffered the fate of a book whose rolls have stuck together by disuse; my mind needs to be unrolled, and whatever has been stored away there ought to be examined from time to time, so that it may be ready for use when occasion demands. Let us therefore put this subject off for the present; for it demands much labour and much care. As soon as I can hope to stay for any length of time in the same place, I shall then take your question in hand. For there are certain subjects about which you can write even while travelling in a gig, and there are also subjects which need a study-chair, and quiet, and seclusion. Nevertheless I ought to accomplish something even on days like these,—days which are fully employed, and indeed from morning till night. For there is never a moment when fresh employments will not come along; we sow them, and for this reason several spring up from one. Then, too, we keep adjourning our own cases, saying: “As soon as I am done with this, I shall settle down to hard work,” or: “If I ever set this troublesome matter in order, I shall devote myself to study.”
But the study of philosophy is not to be postponed until you have leisure; everything else is to be neglected in order that we may attend to philosophy, for no amount of time is long enough for it, even though our lives be prolonged from boyhood to the uttermost bounds of time allotted to man. It makes little difference whether you leave philosophy out altogether or study it intermittently; for it does not stay as it was when you dropped it, but, because its continuity has been broken, it goes back to the position in which it was at the beginning, like things which fly apart when they are stretched taut. We must resist the affairs which occupy our time; they must not be untangled, but rather put out of the way. Indeed, there is no time that is unsuitable for helpful studies; and yet many a man fails to study amid the very circumstances which make study necessary. He says: “Something will happen to hinder me.” No, not in the case of the man whose spirit, no matter what his business may be, is happy and alert. It is those who are still short of perfection whose happiness can be broken off; the joy of a wise man, on the other hand, is a woven fabric, rent by no chance happening and by no change of fortune; at all times and in all places he is at peace. For his joy depends on nothing external and looks for no boon from man or fortune. His happiness is something within himself; it would depart from his soul if it entered in from the outside; it is born there. Sometimes an external happening reminds him of his mortality, but it is a light blow, and merely grazes the surface of his skin. Some trouble, I repeat, may touch him like a breath of wind, but that Supreme Good of his is unshaken. This is what I mean: there are external disadvantages, like pimples and boils that break out upon a body which is normally strong and sound; but there is no deep-seated malady. The difference, I say, between a man of perfect wisdom and another who is progressing in wisdom is the same as the difference between a healthy man and one who is convalescing from a severe and lingering illness, for whom “health” means only a lighter attack of his disease. If the latter does not take heed, there is an immediate relapse and a return to the same old trouble; but the wise man cannot slip back, or slip into any more illness at all. For health of body is a temporary matter which the physician cannot guarantee, even though he has restored it; nay, he is often roused from his bed to visit the same patient who summoned him before. The mind, however, once healed, is healed for good and all.
I shall tell you what I mean by health: if the mind is content with its own self; if it has confidence in itself; if it understands that all those things for which men pray, all the benefits which are bestowed and sought for, are of no importance in relation to a life of happiness; under such conditions it is sound. For anything that can be added to is imperfect; anything that can suffer loss is not lasting; but let the man whose happiness is to be lasting, rejoice in what is truly his own. Now all that which the crowd gapes after, ebbs and flows. Fortune gives us nothing which we can really own. But even these gifts of Fortune please us when reason has tempered and blended them to our taste; for it is reason which makes acceptable to us even external goods that are disagreeable to use if we absorb them too greedily. Attalus used to employ the following simile: “Did you ever see a dog snapping with wide-open jaws at bits of bread or meat which his master tosses to him? Whatever he catches, he straightway swallows whole, and always opens his jaws in the hope of something more. So it is with ourselves; we stand expectant, and whatever Fortune has thrown to us we forthwith bolt, without any real pleasure, and then stand alert and frantic for something else to snatch.” But it is not so with the wise man; he is satisfied. Even if something falls to him, he merely accepts it carelessly and lays it aside. The happiness that he enjoys is supremely great, is lasting, is his own. Assume that a man has good intentions, and has made progress, but is still far from the heights; the result is a series of ups and downs; he is now raised to heaven, now brought down to earth. For those who lack experience and training, there is no limit to the downhill course; such a one falls into the Chaos of Epicurus,—empty and boundless. There is still a third class of men,—those who toy with wisdom; they have not indeed touched it, but yet are in sight of it, and have it, so to speak, within striking distance. They are not dashed about, nor do they drift back either; they are not on dry land, but are already in port.
Therefore, considering the great difference between those on the heights and those in the depths, and seeing that even those in the middle are pursued by an ebb and flow peculiar to their state and pursued also by an enormous risk of returning to their degenerate ways, we should not give ourselves up to matters which occupy our time. They should be shut out; if they once gain an entrance, they will bring in still others to take their places. Let us resist them in their early stages. It is better that they shall never begin than that they shall be made to cease. Farewell.
[1] Quod quaeris a me liquebat mihi - sic rem edidiceram - per se; sed diu non retemptavi memoriam meam, itaque non facile me sequitur. Quod evenit libris situ cohaerentibus, hoc evenisse mihi sentio: explicandus est animus et quaecumque apud illum deposita sunt subinde excuti debent, ut parata sint quotiens usus exegerit. Ergo hoc in praesentia differamus; multum enim operae, multum diligentiae poscit. Cum primum longiorem eodem loco speravero moram, tunc istud in manus sumam. [2] Quaedam enim sunt quae possis et in cisio scribere, quaedam lectum et otium et secretum desiderant. Nihilominus his quoque occupatis diebus agatur aliquid et quidem totis. Numquam enim non succedent occupationes novae: serimus illas, itaque ex una exeunt plures. Deinde ipsi nobis dilationem damus: 'cum hoc peregero, toto animo incumbam' et 'si hanc rem molestam composuero, studio me dabo'. [3] Non cum vacaveris philosophandum est, sed ut philosopheris vacandum est; omnia alia neglegenda ut huic assideamus, cui nullum tempus satis magnum est, etiam si a pueritia usque ad longissimos humani aevi terminos vita producitur. Non multum refert utrum omittas philosophiam an intermittas; non enim ubi interrupta est manet, sed eorum more quae intenta dissiliunt usque ad initia sua recurrit, quod a continuatione discessit. Resistendum est occupationibus, nec explicandae sed summovendae sunt. Tempus quidem nullum est parum idoneum studio salutari; atqui multi inter illa non student propter quae studendum est. [4] 'Incidet aliquid quod impediat.' Non quidem eum cuius animus in omni negotio laetus atque alacer est: imperfectis adhuc interscinditur laetitia, sapientis vero contexitur gaudium, nulla causa rumpitur, nulla fortuna; semper et ubique tranquillus est. Non enim ex alieno pendet nec favorem fortunae aut hominis exspectat. Domestica illi felicitas est; exiret ex animo si intraret: ibi nascitur. [5] Aliquando extrinsecus quo admoneatur mortalitatis intervenit, sed id leve et quod summam cutem stringat. Aliquo, inquam, incommodo afflatur; maximum autem illud bonum fixum est. Ita dico, extrinsecus aliqua sunt incommoda, velut in corpore interdum robusto solidoque eruptiones quaedam pustularum et ulcuscula, nullum in alto malum est. [6] Hoc, inquam, interest inter consummatae sapientiae virum et alium procedentis quod inter sanum et ex morbo gravi ac diutino emergentem, cui sanitatis loco est levior accessio: hic nisi attendit, subinde gravatur et in eadem revolvitur, sapiens recidere non potest, ne incidere quidem amplius. Corpori enim ad tempus bona valetudo est, quam medicus, etiam si reddidit, non praestat - saepe ad eundem qui advocaverat excitatur: <animus> semel in totum sanatur. [7] Dicam quomodo intellegas sanum: si se ipse contentus est, si confidit sibi, si scit omnia vota mortalium, omnia beneficia quae dantur petunturque, nullum in beata vita habere momentum. Nam cui aliquid accedere potest, id imperfectum est; cui aliquid abscedere potest, id imperpetuum est: cuius perpetua futura laetitia est, is suo gaudeat. Omnia autem quibus vulgus inhiat ultro citroque fluunt: nihil dat fortuna mancipio. Sed haec quoque fortuita tunc delectant cum illa ratio temperavit ac miscuit haec est quae etiam externa commendet, quorum avidis usus ingratus est. [8] Solebat Attalus hac imagine uti: 'vidisti aliquando canem missa a domino frusta panis aut carnis aperto ore captantem? quidquid excepit protinus integrum devorat et semper ad spem venturi hiat. Idem evenit nobis: quidquid exspectantibus fortuna proiecit, id sine ulla voluptate demittimus statim, ad rapinam alterius erecti et attoniti.' Hoc sapienti non evenit: plenus est; etiam si quid obvenit, secure excipit ac reponit; laetitia fruitur maxima, continua, sua. [9] Habet aliquis bonam voluntatem, habet profectum, sed cui multum desit a summo: hic deprimitur alternis et extollitur ac modo in caelum allevatur, modo defertur ad terram. Imperitis ac rudibus nullus praecipitationis finis est; in Epicureum illud chaos decidunt, inane sine termino. [10] Est adhuc genus tertium eorum qui sapientiae alludunt, quam non quidem contigerunt, in conspectu tamen et, ut ita dicam, sub ictu habent: hi non concutiuntur, ne defluunt quidem; nondum in sicco, iam in portu sunt. [11] Ergo cum tam magna sint inter summos imosque discrimina, cum medios quoque sequatur fluctus suus, sequatur ingens periculum ad deteriora redeundi, non debemus occupationibus indulgere. Excludendae sunt: si semel intraverint, in locum suum alias substituent. Principiis illarum obstemus: melius non incipient quam desinent. Vale.
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The matter you ask me about was once clear to me on its own account, so well had I once learned it; but it is a long time since I have put my memory to the test on it, and so it does not readily come back to me. I sense that what happens to books when they cling together from neglect has happened to me: the mind must be unrolled, and whatever has been stored away in it must be shaken out from time to time, so that it stands ready whenever use demands it. For the present, then, let us put this off; it calls for much labor, much diligence. The first moment I can hope for a longer stay in one place, I will take it in hand.
For there are some things you can write even sitting in a gig, and others that require a couch, leisure, and seclusion. Even so, on these busy days too let something be accomplished, and indeed on every one of them. For there will never fail to be new occupations: we sow them, and so from one many come forth. Then, too, we keep granting ourselves delay: 'when I have finished this off, I will apply myself with my whole mind,' and 'if I can settle this troublesome business, I will give myself to study.'
Philosophy is not to be pursued only once you have free time; rather, you must make free time in order to pursue philosophy. Everything else is to be set aside so that we may sit by her side - she for whom no span of time is great enough, even if a life is drawn out from boyhood to the very furthest bounds of human age. It makes little difference whether you abandon philosophy altogether or merely interrupt it; for it does not remain where it was broken off, but, like things that spring apart when they are stretched taut, it recoils all the way back to its beginnings, since it has departed from its continuity. We must resist our occupations; they are not to be untangled but cleared out of the way. No time at all is too unsuitable for the study that saves us; and yet many men, amid the very circumstances on account of which they ought to study, do not study.
'Something will come up to hinder me.' Not, surely, in the man whose mind is glad and eager in every undertaking. It is in those still imperfect that gladness is cut short; but the wise man's joy is woven into a single fabric, broken by no cause, by no turn of Fortune; always and everywhere he is tranquil. For he does not depend on what is another's, nor does he await the favor of Fortune or of any man. His happiness is his own household possession; it would go out of his soul if it had entered from outside - but there it is born.
Sometimes something does come in from outside to remind him of his mortality, but it is slight, and grazes only the surface of the skin. He is breathed upon, I say, by some inconvenience; but that greatest good of his stands fixed. So I say, there are certain inconveniences from outside, just as on a body otherwise robust and solid there may now and then break out certain pustules and little sores - yet there is no malady deep within.
This, I say, is the difference between a man of consummate wisdom and another who is still advancing: it is the difference between a man who is healthy and one who is emerging from a grave and lingering illness, for whom a milder bout of it passes for health. The latter, unless he takes care, is soon weighed down again and slides back into the same condition; but the wise man cannot relapse - cannot even fall ill again at all. For to the body good health belongs only for a time, and the physician, even when he has restored it, does not guarantee it - often he is summoned out to the very same person who called him before; the mind, once made whole, is healed completely and for good.
I will tell you how you may recognize the man who is healthy: if he is content with himself, if he has confidence in himself, if he knows that all the prayers of mortals, all the benefits that are given and sought after, carry no weight at all in the happy life. For whatever can have something added to it is imperfect; whatever can have something taken from it is not lasting: let the man whose joy is to be everlasting rejoice in what is his own. But all the things the crowd gapes after flow this way and that: Fortune gives nothing as a possession to keep. Yet even these gifts of Fortune delight us when reason has tempered and blended them - reason, which makes even external things agreeable, though to those who crave them their use is thankless.
Attalus [the Stoic philosopher, Seneca's teacher] used to make use of this image: 'Have you ever seen a dog snapping with open mouth at scraps of bread or meat tossed by his master? Whatever he catches he at once gulps down whole, and he always gapes in hope of what is to come. The same thing happens to us: whatever Fortune flings to us as we wait for it, we swallow down at once without any pleasure, on the alert and frantic to snatch the next.' This does not happen to the wise man: he is full; even if something comes his way, he accepts it without anxiety and lays it by; he enjoys a joy that is greatest, unbroken, his own.
There is a man who has good will, who has made progress, but who still falls far short of the summit: he is by turns pressed down and lifted up, now raised to the sky, now carried down to the ground. For the inexperienced and untrained there is no end to the plunge; they fall into that Epicurean chaos - the void without limit.
There is still a third kind, those who play at the edges of wisdom: they have not indeed reached it, yet they have it in sight and, so to speak, within striking distance. These men are not shaken, nor do they slip away; they are not yet on dry land, but already in harbor.
Therefore, since the distances between the highest and the lowest are so great, and since even those in the middle are followed by a swell of their own, and followed too by a vast danger of slipping back to worse, we ought not to indulge our occupations. They must be shut out: if once they have entered, they will put others in their own place. Let us oppose them at their beginnings: better that they not begin than that they should later cease. Farewell.
AI-assisted translation - This translation was produced with AI assistance and has not been peer-reviewed. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek below for scholarly use.
Latin / Greek Original
[1] Quod quaeris a me liquebat mihi - sic rem edidiceram - per se; sed diu non retemptavi memoriam meam, itaque non facile me sequitur. Quod evenit libris situ cohaerentibus, hoc evenisse mihi sentio: explicandus est animus et quaecumque apud illum deposita sunt subinde excuti debent, ut parata sint quotiens usus exegerit. Ergo hoc in praesentia differamus; multum enim operae, multum diligentiae poscit. Cum primum longiorem eodem loco speravero moram, tunc istud in manus sumam. [2] Quaedam enim sunt quae possis et in cisio scribere, quaedam lectum et otium et secretum desiderant. Nihilominus his quoque occupatis diebus agatur aliquid et quidem totis. Numquam enim non succedent occupationes novae: serimus illas, itaque ex una exeunt plures. Deinde ipsi nobis dilationem damus: 'cum hoc peregero, toto animo incumbam' et 'si hanc rem molestam composuero, studio me dabo'. [3] Non cum vacaveris philosophandum est, sed ut philosopheris vacandum est; omnia alia neglegenda ut huic assideamus, cui nullum tempus satis magnum est, etiam si a pueritia usque ad longissimos humani aevi terminos vita producitur. Non multum refert utrum omittas philosophiam an intermittas; non enim ubi interrupta est manet, sed eorum more quae intenta dissiliunt usque ad initia sua recurrit, quod a continuatione discessit. Resistendum est occupationibus, nec explicandae sed summovendae sunt. Tempus quidem nullum est parum idoneum studio salutari; atqui multi inter illa non student propter quae studendum est. [4] 'Incidet aliquid quod impediat.' Non quidem eum cuius animus in omni negotio laetus atque alacer est: imperfectis adhuc interscinditur laetitia, sapientis vero contexitur gaudium, nulla causa rumpitur, nulla fortuna; semper et ubique tranquillus est. Non enim ex alieno pendet nec favorem fortunae aut hominis exspectat. Domestica illi felicitas est; exiret ex animo si intraret: ibi nascitur. [5] Aliquando extrinsecus quo admoneatur mortalitatis intervenit, sed id leve et quod summam cutem stringat. Aliquo, inquam, incommodo afflatur; maximum autem illud bonum fixum est. Ita dico, extrinsecus aliqua sunt incommoda, velut in corpore interdum robusto solidoque eruptiones quaedam pustularum et ulcuscula, nullum in alto malum est. [6] Hoc, inquam, interest inter consummatae sapientiae virum et alium procedentis quod inter sanum et ex morbo gravi ac diutino emergentem, cui sanitatis loco est levior accessio: hic nisi attendit, subinde gravatur et in eadem revolvitur, sapiens recidere non potest, ne incidere quidem amplius. Corpori enim ad tempus bona valetudo est, quam medicus, etiam si reddidit, non praestat - saepe ad eundem qui advocaverat excitatur: <animus> semel in totum sanatur. [7] Dicam quomodo intellegas sanum: si se ipse contentus est, si confidit sibi, si scit omnia vota mortalium, omnia beneficia quae dantur petunturque, nullum in beata vita habere momentum. Nam cui aliquid accedere potest, id imperfectum est; cui aliquid abscedere potest, id imperpetuum est: cuius perpetua futura laetitia est, is suo gaudeat. Omnia autem quibus vulgus inhiat ultro citroque fluunt: nihil dat fortuna mancipio. Sed haec quoque fortuita tunc delectant cum illa ratio temperavit ac miscuit haec est quae etiam externa commendet, quorum avidis usus ingratus est. [8] Solebat Attalus hac imagine uti: 'vidisti aliquando canem missa a domino frusta panis aut carnis aperto ore captantem? quidquid excepit protinus integrum devorat et semper ad spem venturi hiat. Idem evenit nobis: quidquid exspectantibus fortuna proiecit, id sine ulla voluptate demittimus statim, ad rapinam alterius erecti et attoniti.' Hoc sapienti non evenit: plenus est; etiam si quid obvenit, secure excipit ac reponit; laetitia fruitur maxima, continua, sua. [9] Habet aliquis bonam voluntatem, habet profectum, sed cui multum desit a summo: hic deprimitur alternis et extollitur ac modo in caelum allevatur, modo defertur ad terram. Imperitis ac rudibus nullus praecipitationis finis est; in Epicureum illud chaos decidunt, inane sine termino. [10] Est adhuc genus tertium eorum qui sapientiae alludunt, quam non quidem contigerunt, in conspectu tamen et, ut ita dicam, sub ictu habent: hi non concutiuntur, ne defluunt quidem; nondum in sicco, iam in portu sunt. [11] Ergo cum tam magna sint inter summos imosque discrimina, cum medios quoque sequatur fluctus suus, sequatur ingens periculum ad deteriora redeundi, non debemus occupationibus indulgere. Excludendae sunt: si semel intraverint, in locum suum alias substituent. Principiis illarum obstemus: melius non incipient quam desinent. Vale.