Lucius Annaeus Seneca→Lucilius Junior|c. 65 AD|Seneca the Younger|From Southern Italy (regional)|To Sicily (regional)|AI-assisted
[1] In the letter where you grieved over the death of the philosopher Metronax, as though he both could have and should have lived longer, I found myself missing that sense of fairness of yours which never fails you in any person or any affair, but is lacking in the one matter in which it is lacking in everyone: I have found many who are fair toward men, none who are fair toward the gods. Every day we scold Fate: "Why was that man snatched away in the midst of his course? Why is this other not snatched away? Why does he drag out an old age burdensome both to himself and to others?"
[2] Tell me, I beg you, which do you judge to be fairer: that you should obey Nature, or that Nature should obey you? And what difference does it make how quickly you leave a place from which you must depart in any case? We must take care not to live long, but to live enough; for to live long you need Fate, but to live enough you need the mind. A life is long if it is full; and it becomes full when the mind has restored to itself its own good and has transferred to itself the mastery over itself.
[3] What good do those eighty years do him, spent in inertia? That man has not lived but lingered in life; nor did he die late, but slowly. "He lived eighty years." It matters from what day you count his death. "But the other passed away in his prime." [4] Yet he discharged the duties of a good citizen, a good friend, a good son; in no part did he fall short. Though his span of years may be incomplete, his life is complete. "He lived eighty years." No, he existed for eighty years, unless perhaps you say he "lived" in the way that trees are said to live. I beg you, Lucilius, let us see to it that, as with precious things, our life should not be wide-spread but weighty; let us measure it by its action, not by its time. Do you wish to know what difference there is between this vigorous man, the despiser of Fortune, who has served out all the campaigns of human life and been carried up to its highest good, and that other, through whom many years have merely passed? The one exists even after death; the other perishes before death.
[5] Let us therefore praise, and place among the number of the fortunate, the man for whom however small a portion of time fell has been well invested. For he saw the true light; he was not one among the many; he both lived and flourished. At times he enjoyed clear skies; at times, as it happens, the brilliance of a strong star flashed out through the clouds. Why do you ask how long he lived? He lives: he has leapt across to posterity and committed himself to memory.
[6] And yet I would not for that reason refuse to have more years added to me; still, I will say that nothing was lacking to a happy life even if its span is cut short; for I have not fitted myself to that day which greedy hope had promised me as my last, but I have looked upon every day as though it were the last. Why do you ask me when I was born, or whether I am still counted among the younger men? I have what is mine. [7] Just as a man can be perfect in a smaller bodily frame, so too can a life be perfect in a smaller measure of time. Age is among external things. How long I shall exist is not in my power; that, for as long as I do exist, I truly exist, is mine. Require this of me: that I not measure out an inglorious span of years as though through darkness, but that I live my life, not merely be carried past it.
[8] Do you ask what is the fullest span of life? To live until wisdom. He who has reached it has touched not the most distant goal, but the greatest. Let such a man boast boldly indeed, and give thanks to the gods, and to himself among them, and credit to Nature the fact that he existed. For he will rightly claim the credit: he has given her back a better life than he received. He has set up the model of a good man; he has shown of what kind and how great a good man is. Had he added anything, it would have been like what went before. [9] And after all, how long are we to live? We have enjoyed the knowledge of all things: we know from what beginnings Nature raises herself up, how she orders the world, through what turns she calls back the year, how she has enclosed all things that will ever exist anywhere and made herself the end of herself; we know that the stars travel by their own impulse, that nothing stands still except the earth, and that all the rest race on with continuous swiftness; we know how the moon passes the sun, why the slower leaves the swifter behind it, how she receives her light or loses it, what cause brings on the night, what brings back the day. Thither one must go, where you may look upon these things more closely.
[10] "And it is not by this hope," says that wise man, "that I go forth more bravely, because I judge that the path lies open for me to my own gods. I have indeed deserved to be admitted, and I have already been among them, and I have sent my mind there to them, and they had sent theirs to me. But suppose that I am removed out of the way and that after death nothing of the man remains: I have a mind equally great, even if I depart with no place to pass on to." He did not live as many years as he could have. [11] Even a book of few verses can be praiseworthy and useful: you know how ponderous the Annals of Tanusius are, and what they are called. This is the long life of certain men, and it resembles the Annals of Tanusius.
[12] Do you judge a man more fortunate who is killed on the final day of the games than one killed in the middle? Do you think anyone is so foolishly greedy for life that he would rather have his throat cut in the spoliarium [the chamber where dead and dying gladiators were stripped] than in the arena? By no greater interval does one of us precede the other. Death passes through all; he who kills follows after the one he killed. What we agonize over so anxiously is a very small thing. And what does it matter, after all, how long you avoid what you cannot escape? Farewell.
While reading the letter in which you were lamenting the death of the philosopher Metronax as if he might have, and indeed ought to have, lived longer, I missed the spirit of fairness which abounds in all your discussions concerning men and things, but is lacking when you approach one single subject,—as is indeed the case with us all. In other words, I have noticed many who deal fairly with their fellow-men, but none who deals fairly with the gods. We rail every day at Fate, saying “Why has A. been carried off in the very middle of his career? Why is not B. carried off instead? Why should he prolong his old age, which is a burden to himself as well as to others?”
But tell me, pray, do you consider it fairer that you should obey Nature, or that Nature should obey you? And what difference does it make how soon you depart from a place which you must depart from sooner or later? We should strive, not to live long, but to live rightly; for to achieve long life you have need of Fate only, but for right living you need the soul. A life is really long if it is a full life; but fulness is not attained until the soul has rendered to itself its proper Good, that is, until it has assumed control over itself. What benefit does this older man derive from the eighty years he has spent in idleness? A person like him has not lived; he has merely tarried awhile in life. Nor has he died late in life; he has simply been a long time dying. He has lived eighty years, has he? That depends upon the date from which you reckon his death! Your other friend, however, departed in the bloom of his manhood. But he had fulfilled all the duties of a good citizen, a good friend, a good son; in no respect had he fallen short. His age may have been incomplete, but his life was complete. The other man has lived eighty years, has he? Nay, he has existed eighty years, unless perchance you mean by “he has lived” what we mean when we say that a tree “lives.”
Pray, let us see to it, my dear Lucilius, that our lives, like jewels of great price, be noteworthy not because of their width but because of their weight. Let us measure them by their performance, not by their duration. Would you know wherein lies the difference between this hardy man who, despising Fortune, has served through every campaign of life and has attained to life’s Supreme Good, and that other person over whose head many years have passed? The former exists even after his death; the latter has died even before he was dead.
We should therefore praise, and number in the company of the blest, that man who has invested well the portion of time, however little, that has been allotted to him; for such a one has seen the true light. He has not been one of the common herd. He has not been one of the common herd. He has not only lived, but flourished. Sometimes he enjoyed fair skies; sometimes, as often happens, it was only through the clouds that there flashed to him the radiance of the mighty star. Why do you ask: “How long did he live?” He still lives! At one bound he has passed over into posterity and has consigned himself to the guardianship of memory.
And yet I would not on that account decline for myself a few additional years; although, if my life’s space be shortened, I shall not say that I have lacked aught that is essential to a happy life. For I have not planned to live up to the very last day that my greedy hopes had promised me; nay, I have looked upon every day as if it were my last. Why ask the date of my birth, or whether I am still enrolled on the register of the younger men? What I have is my own. Just as one of small stature can be a perfect man, so a life of small compass can be a perfect life. Age ranks among the external things. How long I am to exist is not mine to decide, but how long I shall go on existing in my present way is in my own control. This is the only thing you have the right to require of me,—that I shall cease to measure out an inglorious age as it were in darkness, and devote myself to living instead of being carried along past life.
And what, you ask, is the fullest span of life? It is living until you possess wisdom. He who has attained wisdom has reached, not the furthermost, but the most important, goal. Such a one may indeed exult boldly and give thanks to the gods—aye, and to himself also—and he may count himself Nature’s creditor for having lived. He will indeed have the right to do so, for he has paid her back a better life than he has received. He has set up the pattern of a good man, showing the quality and the greatness of a good man. Had another year been added, it would merely have been like the past.
And yet how long are we to keep living? We have had the joy of learning the truth about the universe. We know from what beginnings Nature arises; how she orders the course of the heavens; by what successive changes she summons back the year; how she has brought to an end all things that ever have been, and has established herself as the only end of her own being. We know that the stars move by their own motion, and that nothing except the earth stands still, while all the other bodies run on with uninterrupted swiftness. We know how the moon outstrips the sun; why it is that the slower leaves the swifter behind; in what manner she receives her light, or loses it again; what brings on the night, and what brings back the day. To that place you must go where you are to have a closer view of all these things. “And yet,” says the wise man, “I do not depart more valiantly because of this hope—because I judge the path lies clear before me to my own gods. I have indeed earned admission to their presence, and in fact have already been in their company; I have sent my soul to them as they had previously sent theirs to me. But suppose that I am utterly annihilated, and that after death nothing mortal remains; I have no less courage, even if, when I depart, my course leads—nowhere.”
“But,” you say, “he has not lived as many years as he might have lived.” There are books which contain very few lines, admirable and useful in spite of their size; and there are also the Annals of Tanusius,—you know how bulky the book is, and what men say of it. This is the case with the long life of certain persons,—a state which resembles the Annals of Tanusius! Do you regard as more fortunate the fighter who is slain on the last day of the games than one who goes to his death in the middle of the festivities? Do you believe that anyone is so foolishly covetous of life that he would rather have his throat cut in the dressing-room than in the amphitheatre? It is by no longer an interval than this that we precede one another. Death visits each and all; the slayer soon follows the slain. It is an insignificant trifle, after all, that people discuss with so much concern. And anyhow, what does it matter for how long a time you avoid that which you cannot escape? Farewell.
[1] In epistula qua de morte Metronactis philosophi querebaris, tamquam et potuisset diutius vivere et debuisset, aequitatem tuam desideravi, quae tibi in omni persona, in omni negotio superest, in una re deest, in qua omnibus: multos inveni aequos adversus homines, adversus deos neminem. Obiurgamus cotidie fatum: 'quare ille in medio cursu raptus est? quare ille non rapitur? quare senectutem et sibi et aliis gravem extendit?' [2] Utrum, obsecro te, aequius iudicas, te naturae an tibi parere naturam? quid autem interest quam cito exeas unde utique exeundum est? Non ut diu vivamus curandum est, sed ut satis; nam ut diu vivas fato opus est, ut satis, animo. Longa est vita si plena est; impletur autem cum animus sibi bonum suum reddidit et ad se potestatem sui transtulit. [3] Quid illum octoginta anni iuvant per inertiam exacti? non vixit iste sed in vita moratus est, nec sero mortuus est, sed diu. 'Octoginta annis vixit.' Interest mortem eius ex quo die numeres. 'At ille obiit viridis.' [4] Sed officia boni civis, boni amici, boni filii executus est; in nulla parte cessavit; licet aetas eius inperfecta sit, vita perfecta est. 'Octoginta annis vixit.' Immo octoginta annis fuit, nisi forte sic vixisse eum dicis quomodo dicuntur arbores vivere. Obsecro te, Lucili, hoc agamus ut quemadmodum pretiosa rerum sic vita nostra non multum pateat sed multum pendeat; actu illam metiamur, non tempore. Vis scire quid inter hunc intersit vegetum contemptoremque fortunae functum omnibus vitae humanae stipendiis atque in summum bonum eius evectum et illum cui multi anni transmissi sunt? alter post mortem quoque est, alter ante mortem perit. [5] Laudemus itaque et in numero felicium reponamus eum cui quantulumcumque temporis contigit bene conlocatum est. Vidit enim veram lucem; non fuit unus e multis; et vixit et viguit. Aliquando sereno usus est, aliquando, ut solet, validi sideris fulgor per nubila emicuit. Quid quaeris quamdiu vixerit? vivit: ad posteros usque transiluit et se in memoriam dedit. [6] Nec ideo mihi plures annos accedere recusaverim; nihil tamen mihi ad beatam vitam defuisse dicam si spatium eius inciditur; non enim ad eum diem me aptavi quem ultimum mihi spes avida promiserat, sed nullum non tamquam ultimum aspexi. Quid me interrogas quando natus sim, an inter iuniores adhuc censear? habeo meum. [7] Quemadmodum in minore corporis habitu potest homo esse perfectus, sic et in minore temporis modo potest vita esse perfecta. Aetas inter externa est. Quamdiu sim alienum est: quamdiu ero, <vere> ut sim, meum est. Hoc a me exige, ne velut per tenebras aevum ignobile emetiar, ut agam vitam, non ut praetervehar. [8] Quaeris quod sit amplissimum vitae spatium? usque ad sapientiam vivere; qui ad illam pervenit attigit non longissimum finem, sed maximum. Ille vero glorietur audacter et dis agat gratias interque eos sibi, et rerum naturae inputet quod fuit. Merito enim inputabit: meliorem illi vitam reddidit quam accepit. Exemplar boni viri posuit, qualis quantusque esset ostendit; si quid adiecisset, fuisset simile praeterito. [9] Et tamen quousque vivimus? Omnium rerum cognitione fruiti sumus: scimus a quibus principiis natura se attollat, quemadmodum ordinet mundum, per quas annum vices revocet, quemadmodum omnia quae usquam erunt cluserit et se ipsam finem sui fecerit; scimus sidera impetu suo vadere, praeter terram nihil stare, cetera continua velocitate decurrere; scimus quemadmodum solem luna praetereat, quare tardior velociorem post se relinquat, quomodo lumen accipiat aut perdat, quae causa inducat noctem, quae reducat diem: illuc eundum est ubi ista propius aspicias. [10] 'Nec hac spe' inquit sapiens ille 'fortius exeo, quod patere mihi ad deos meos iter iudico. Merui quidem admitti et iam inter illos fui animumque illo meum misi et ad me illi suum miserant. Sed tolli me de medio puta et post mortem nihil ex homine restare: aeque magnum animum habeo, etiam si nusquam transiturus excedo.' Non tam multis vixit annis quam potuit. [11] Et paucorum versuum liber est et quidem laudandus atque utilis: annales Tanusii scis quam ponderosi sint et quid vocentur. Hoc est vita quorundam longa, et quod Tanusii sequitur annales. [12] Numquid feliciorem iudicas eum qui summo die muneris quam eum qui medio occiditur? numquid aliquem tam stulte cupidum esse vitae putas ut iugulari in spoliario quam in harena malit? Non maiore spatio alter alterum praecedimus. Mors per omnis it; qui occidit consequitur occisum. Minimum est de quo sollicitissime agitur. Quid autem ad rem pertinet quam diu vites quod evitare non possis? Vale.
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[1] In the letter where you grieved over the death of the philosopher Metronax, as though he both could have and should have lived longer, I found myself missing that sense of fairness of yours which never fails you in any person or any affair, but is lacking in the one matter in which it is lacking in everyone: I have found many who are fair toward men, none who are fair toward the gods. Every day we scold Fate: "Why was that man snatched away in the midst of his course? Why is this other not snatched away? Why does he drag out an old age burdensome both to himself and to others?"
[2] Tell me, I beg you, which do you judge to be fairer: that you should obey Nature, or that Nature should obey you? And what difference does it make how quickly you leave a place from which you must depart in any case? We must take care not to live long, but to live enough; for to live long you need Fate, but to live enough you need the mind. A life is long if it is full; and it becomes full when the mind has restored to itself its own good and has transferred to itself the mastery over itself.
[3] What good do those eighty years do him, spent in inertia? That man has not lived but lingered in life; nor did he die late, but slowly. "He lived eighty years." It matters from what day you count his death. "But the other passed away in his prime." [4] Yet he discharged the duties of a good citizen, a good friend, a good son; in no part did he fall short. Though his span of years may be incomplete, his life is complete. "He lived eighty years." No, he existed for eighty years, unless perhaps you say he "lived" in the way that trees are said to live. I beg you, Lucilius, let us see to it that, as with precious things, our life should not be wide-spread but weighty; let us measure it by its action, not by its time. Do you wish to know what difference there is between this vigorous man, the despiser of Fortune, who has served out all the campaigns of human life and been carried up to its highest good, and that other, through whom many years have merely passed? The one exists even after death; the other perishes before death.
[5] Let us therefore praise, and place among the number of the fortunate, the man for whom however small a portion of time fell has been well invested. For he saw the true light; he was not one among the many; he both lived and flourished. At times he enjoyed clear skies; at times, as it happens, the brilliance of a strong star flashed out through the clouds. Why do you ask how long he lived? He lives: he has leapt across to posterity and committed himself to memory.
[6] And yet I would not for that reason refuse to have more years added to me; still, I will say that nothing was lacking to a happy life even if its span is cut short; for I have not fitted myself to that day which greedy hope had promised me as my last, but I have looked upon every day as though it were the last. Why do you ask me when I was born, or whether I am still counted among the younger men? I have what is mine. [7] Just as a man can be perfect in a smaller bodily frame, so too can a life be perfect in a smaller measure of time. Age is among external things. How long I shall exist is not in my power; that, for as long as I do exist, I truly exist, is mine. Require this of me: that I not measure out an inglorious span of years as though through darkness, but that I live my life, not merely be carried past it.
[8] Do you ask what is the fullest span of life? To live until wisdom. He who has reached it has touched not the most distant goal, but the greatest. Let such a man boast boldly indeed, and give thanks to the gods, and to himself among them, and credit to Nature the fact that he existed. For he will rightly claim the credit: he has given her back a better life than he received. He has set up the model of a good man; he has shown of what kind and how great a good man is. Had he added anything, it would have been like what went before. [9] And after all, how long are we to live? We have enjoyed the knowledge of all things: we know from what beginnings Nature raises herself up, how she orders the world, through what turns she calls back the year, how she has enclosed all things that will ever exist anywhere and made herself the end of herself; we know that the stars travel by their own impulse, that nothing stands still except the earth, and that all the rest race on with continuous swiftness; we know how the moon passes the sun, why the slower leaves the swifter behind it, how she receives her light or loses it, what cause brings on the night, what brings back the day. Thither one must go, where you may look upon these things more closely.
[10] "And it is not by this hope," says that wise man, "that I go forth more bravely, because I judge that the path lies open for me to my own gods. I have indeed deserved to be admitted, and I have already been among them, and I have sent my mind there to them, and they had sent theirs to me. But suppose that I am removed out of the way and that after death nothing of the man remains: I have a mind equally great, even if I depart with no place to pass on to." He did not live as many years as he could have. [11] Even a book of few verses can be praiseworthy and useful: you know how ponderous the Annals of Tanusius are, and what they are called. This is the long life of certain men, and it resembles the Annals of Tanusius.
[12] Do you judge a man more fortunate who is killed on the final day of the games than one killed in the middle? Do you think anyone is so foolishly greedy for life that he would rather have his throat cut in the spoliarium [the chamber where dead and dying gladiators were stripped] than in the arena? By no greater interval does one of us precede the other. Death passes through all; he who kills follows after the one he killed. What we agonize over so anxiously is a very small thing. And what does it matter, after all, how long you avoid what you cannot escape? 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] In epistula qua de morte Metronactis philosophi querebaris, tamquam et potuisset diutius vivere et debuisset, aequitatem tuam desideravi, quae tibi in omni persona, in omni negotio superest, in una re deest, in qua omnibus: multos inveni aequos adversus homines, adversus deos neminem. Obiurgamus cotidie fatum: 'quare ille in medio cursu raptus est? quare ille non rapitur? quare senectutem et sibi et aliis gravem extendit?' [2] Utrum, obsecro te, aequius iudicas, te naturae an tibi parere naturam? quid autem interest quam cito exeas unde utique exeundum est? Non ut diu vivamus curandum est, sed ut satis; nam ut diu vivas fato opus est, ut satis, animo. Longa est vita si plena est; impletur autem cum animus sibi bonum suum reddidit et ad se potestatem sui transtulit. [3] Quid illum octoginta anni iuvant per inertiam exacti? non vixit iste sed in vita moratus est, nec sero mortuus est, sed diu. 'Octoginta annis vixit.' Interest mortem eius ex quo die numeres. 'At ille obiit viridis.' [4] Sed officia boni civis, boni amici, boni filii executus est; in nulla parte cessavit; licet aetas eius inperfecta sit, vita perfecta est. 'Octoginta annis vixit.' Immo octoginta annis fuit, nisi forte sic vixisse eum dicis quomodo dicuntur arbores vivere. Obsecro te, Lucili, hoc agamus ut quemadmodum pretiosa rerum sic vita nostra non multum pateat sed multum pendeat; actu illam metiamur, non tempore. Vis scire quid inter hunc intersit vegetum contemptoremque fortunae functum omnibus vitae humanae stipendiis atque in summum bonum eius evectum et illum cui multi anni transmissi sunt? alter post mortem quoque est, alter ante mortem perit. [5] Laudemus itaque et in numero felicium reponamus eum cui quantulumcumque temporis contigit bene conlocatum est. Vidit enim veram lucem; non fuit unus e multis; et vixit et viguit. Aliquando sereno usus est, aliquando, ut solet, validi sideris fulgor per nubila emicuit. Quid quaeris quamdiu vixerit? vivit: ad posteros usque transiluit et se in memoriam dedit. [6] Nec ideo mihi plures annos accedere recusaverim; nihil tamen mihi ad beatam vitam defuisse dicam si spatium eius inciditur; non enim ad eum diem me aptavi quem ultimum mihi spes avida promiserat, sed nullum non tamquam ultimum aspexi. Quid me interrogas quando natus sim, an inter iuniores adhuc censear? habeo meum. [7] Quemadmodum in minore corporis habitu potest homo esse perfectus, sic et in minore temporis modo potest vita esse perfecta. Aetas inter externa est. Quamdiu sim alienum est: quamdiu ero, <vere> ut sim, meum est. Hoc a me exige, ne velut per tenebras aevum ignobile emetiar, ut agam vitam, non ut praetervehar. [8] Quaeris quod sit amplissimum vitae spatium? usque ad sapientiam vivere; qui ad illam pervenit attigit non longissimum finem, sed maximum. Ille vero glorietur audacter et dis agat gratias interque eos sibi, et rerum naturae inputet quod fuit. Merito enim inputabit: meliorem illi vitam reddidit quam accepit. Exemplar boni viri posuit, qualis quantusque esset ostendit; si quid adiecisset, fuisset simile praeterito. [9] Et tamen quousque vivimus? Omnium rerum cognitione fruiti sumus: scimus a quibus principiis natura se attollat, quemadmodum ordinet mundum, per quas annum vices revocet, quemadmodum omnia quae usquam erunt cluserit et se ipsam finem sui fecerit; scimus sidera impetu suo vadere, praeter terram nihil stare, cetera continua velocitate decurrere; scimus quemadmodum solem luna praetereat, quare tardior velociorem post se relinquat, quomodo lumen accipiat aut perdat, quae causa inducat noctem, quae reducat diem: illuc eundum est ubi ista propius aspicias. [10] 'Nec hac spe' inquit sapiens ille 'fortius exeo, quod patere mihi ad deos meos iter iudico. Merui quidem admitti et iam inter illos fui animumque illo meum misi et ad me illi suum miserant. Sed tolli me de medio puta et post mortem nihil ex homine restare: aeque magnum animum habeo, etiam si nusquam transiturus excedo.' Non tam multis vixit annis quam potuit. [11] Et paucorum versuum liber est et quidem laudandus atque utilis: annales Tanusii scis quam ponderosi sint et quid vocentur. Hoc est vita quorundam longa, et quod Tanusii sequitur annales. [12] Numquid feliciorem iudicas eum qui summo die muneris quam eum qui medio occiditur? numquid aliquem tam stulte cupidum esse vitae putas ut iugulari in spoliario quam in harena malit? Non maiore spatio alter alterum praecedimus. Mors per omnis it; qui occidit consequitur occisum. Minimum est de quo sollicitissime agitur. Quid autem ad rem pertinet quam diu vites quod evitare non possis? Vale.