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Introduction

This eBook contains two classics of Stoic literature by Seneca, perhaps itsgreatest advocate in the first century of the Common Era.

Lucius Annaeus Seneca (often known simply as Seneca, or Seneca the Younger)(c. 4 BC – AD 65) was a Roman Stoic philosopher, statesman, dramatist, and inone work humorist, of the Silver Age of Latin literature. He was tutor and lateradvisor to emperor Nero, who later executed him for complicity in a conspiracyto assassinate him. He was likely innocent of the crime.

He was born in Cordoba, Spain, the second son of Helvia and Marcus (Lucius)Annaeus Seneca, a wealthy rhetorician known as Seneca the Elder. Seneca'solder brother, Gallio, was proconsul at Achaia (where he encountered the apostlePaul about AD 53). Seneca was uncle to the poet Lucan, by his younger brother,Annaeus Mela.

A sickly child, he was taken to Rome by an aunt for schooling. He was trained inrhetoric, and studied neo-Pythagorean and, principally, Stoic philosophy.

Under his father's and aunt's guidance, he established a successful career as anadvocate. Around 37 AD conflict with the emperor Caligula nearly cost him hislife, who only spared him because he believed the sickly Seneca would not livelong anyhow. In 41 AD, Messalina, wife of the emperor Claudius, persuadedClaudius to have him banished to Corsica on a charge of adultery with JuliaLivilla. He spent his exile in philosophical and natural study, and wrote theConsolations.

In 49 AD, Claudius' new wife, Agrippina, had him recalled to Rome to tutor herson, L. Domitius, who was to become the emperor Nero. On Claudius' murder in54 AD, Agrippina secured the recognition of Nero as emperor over Claudius' son,Britannicus.

For the first five years, the quinquennium Neronis, Nero ruled wisely under theinfluence of Seneca and the praetorian prefect, Sextus Afranius Burrus. But,before long, Seneca and Burrus had lost their influence over Nero and his reignbecame tyrannical. With the death of Burrus in 62, Seneca retired and devotedhis time to more study and writing.

In 65 AD Seneca was accused of being involved in a plot to murder Nero, thePisonian conspiracy. Without a trial, he was ordered by Nero to commit suicide.

Tacitus gives an account of the suicide of Seneca and his wife, Pompeia Paulina,who chose to follow her husband in death.Seneca's works include a satire, a meteorological essay, philosophical essays,124 letters dealing with moral issues, and ten tragedies. Seneca's brand of Stoicphilosophy emphasized ethics. His plays strongly influenced Renaissance tragicdrama, especially the literature of Elizabethan England.

Included in this eBook are two of his works, On the Shortness of Life and On theHappy Life.

He wrote the moral essay De Brevitate Vitae - "On the Shortness of Life" - to hisfriend Paulinus. The philosopher brings up many Stoic principles on the nature oftime, namely that men waste much of it in meaningless pursuits. According tothe essay, nature gives man enough time to do what is really important and theindividual must allot it properly. In general, time can be best used in the study ofphilosophy, according to Seneca.

“On the Happy Life” (De Vita Beata) was a moral essay written to his brotherGallio. In a few words Seneca explains that the pursuit of happiness is thepursuit of the 'reason', which for him meant not only using logic, but alsounderstanding the processes of nature.

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The editor

On the Shortness of LifeOn the Shortness of LifeOn the Shortness of LifeOn the Shortness of LifeLucius Annaeus Seneca

Chapter IChapter IChapter IChapter I

The majority of mortals, Paulinus, complain

bitterly of the spitefulness of Nature, because weare born for a brief span of life, because even thisspace that has been granted to us rushes by sospeedily and so swiftly that all save a very few findlife at an end just when they are getting ready tolive. Nor is it merely the common herd and theunthinking crowd that bemoan what is, as men deemit, an universal ill; the same feeling has calledforth complaint also from men who were famous. Itwas this that made the greatest of physiciansexclaim that "life is short, art is long;" it was thisthat led Aristotle, while expostulating withNature, to enter an indictment most unbecoming toa wise man—that, in point of age, she has shown suchfavour to animals that they drag out five or tenlifetimes, but that a much shorter limit is fixed forman, though he is born for so many and such great

achievements. It is not that we have a short space oftime, but that we waste much of it. Life is longenough, and it has been given in sufficientlygenerous measure to allow the accomplishment ofthe very greatest things if the whole of it is wellinvested. But when it is squandered in luxury andcarelessness, when it is devoted to no good end,forced at last by the ultimate necessity we perceivethat it has passed away before we were aware thatit was passing. So it is—the life we receive is notshort, but we make it so, nor do we have any lackof it, but are wasteful of it. Just as great andprincely wealth is scattered in a moment when itcomes into the hands of a bad owner, while wealthhowever limited, if it is entrusted to a goodguardian, increases by use, so our life is amply longfor him who orders it properly.

Chapter IIChapter IIChapter IIChapter II

Why do we complain of Nature? She has shown

herself kindly; life, if you know how to use it, islong. But one man is possessed by an avarice that isinsatiable, another by a toilsome devotion to tasksthat are useless; one man is besotted with wine,another is paralyzed by sloth; one man is exhaustedby an ambition that always hangs upon the decisionof others, another, driven on by the greed of thetrader, is led over all lands and all seas by the hopeof gain; some are tormented by a passion for warand are always either bent upon inflicting dangerupon others or concerned about their own; somethere are who are worn out by voluntaryservitude in a thankless attendance upon the great;many are kept busy either in the pursuit of othermen's fortune or in complaining of their own; many,following no fixed aim, shifting and inconstant anddissatisfied, are plunged by their fickleness intoplans that are ever new; some have no fixedprinciple by which to direct their course, but Fatetakes them unawares while they loll and yawn—sosurely does it happen that I cannot doubt thetruth of that utterance which the greatest of

poets delivered with all the seeming of an oracle:"The part of life we really live is small. For all therest of existence is not life, but merely time. Vicesbeset us and surround us on every side, and they donot permit us to rise anew and lift up our eyes forthe discernment of truth, but they keep us downwhen once they have overwhelmed us and we arechained to lust. Their victims are never allowed toreturn to their true selves; if ever they chance tofind some release, like the waters of the deep seawhich continue to heave even after the storm ispast, they are tossed about, and no rest from theirlusts abides. Think you that I am speaking of thewretches whose evils are admitted? Look at thosewhose prosperity men flock to behold; they aresmothered by their blessings. To how many areriches a burden! From how many do eloquence andthe daily straining to display their powers drawforth blood! How many are pale from constantpleasures! To how many does the throng of clientsthat crowd about them leave no freedom! In short,run through the list of all these men from thelowest to the highest—this man desires an advocate,this one answers the call, that one is on trial, thatone defends him, that one gives sentence; no oneasserts his claim to himself, everyone is wasted forthe sake of another. Ask about the men whose namesare known by heart, and you will see that these are

the marks that distinguish them: A cultivates B andB cultivates C; no one is his own master. And thencertain men show the most senseless indignation—they complain of the insolence of their superiors,because they were too busy to see them when theywished an audience! But can anyone have thehardihood to complain of the pride of another whenhe himself has no time to attend to himself? Afterall, no matter who you are, the great man doessometimes look toward you even if his face isinsolent, he does sometimes condescend to listen toyour words, he permits you to appear at his side;but you never deign to look upon yourself, to giveear to yourself. There is no reason, therefore, tocount anyone in debt for such services, seeing that,when you performed them, you had no wish foranother's company, but could not endure your own.

Chapter IIIChapter IIIChapter IIIChapter III

Though all the brilliant intellects of the ages

were to concentrate upon this one theme, nevercould they adequately express their wonder at thisdense darkness of the human mind. Men do notsuffer anyone to seize their estates, and they rushto stones and arms if there is even the slightestdispute about the limit of their lands, yet theyallow others to trespass upon their life—nay, theythemselves even lead in those who will eventuallypossess it. No one is to be found who is willing todistribute his money, yet among how many does eachone of us distribute his life! In guarding theirfortune men are often closefisted, yet, when itcomes to the matter of wasting time, in the case ofthe one thing in which it is right to be miserly,they show themselves most prodigal. And so I shouldlike to lay hold upon someone from the company ofolder men and say: "I see that you have reached thefarthest limit of human life, you are pressing hardupon your hundredth year, or are even beyond it;come now, recall your life and make a reckoning.Consider how much of your time was taken up witha moneylender, how much with a mistress, how

much with a patron, how much with a client, howmuch in wrangling with your wife, how much inpunishing your slaves, how much in rushing aboutthe city on social duties. Add the diseases which wehave caused by our own acts, add, too, the timethat has lain idle and unused; you will see that youhave fewer years to your credit than you count.Look back in memory and consider when you everhad a fixed plan, how few days have passed as youhad intended, when you were ever at your owndisposal, when your face ever wore its naturalexpression, when your mind was ever unperturbed,what work you have achieved in so long a life, howmany have robbed you of life when you were notaware of what you were losing, how much wastaken up in useless sorrow, in foolish joy, in greedydesire, in the allurements of society, how little ofyourself was left to you; you will perceive thatyou are dying before your season!" What, then, isthe reason of this? You live as if you were destinedto live forever, no thought of your frailty everenters your head, of how much time has alreadygone by you take no heed. You squander time as ifyou drew from a full and abundant supply, thoughall the while that day which you bestow on someperson or thing is perhaps your last. You have allthe fears of mortals and all the desires ofimmortals. You will hear many men saying: "After

my fiftieth year I shall retire into leisure, mysixtieth year shall release me from public duties."And what guarantee, pray, have you that your lifewill last longer? Who will suffer your course tobe just as you plan it? Are you not ashamed toreserve for yourself only the remnant of life, andto set apart for wisdom only that time whichcannot be devoted to any business? How late it is tobegin to live just when we must cease to live! Whatfoolish forgetfulness of mortality to postponewholesome plans to the fiftieth and sixtieth year,and to intend to begin life at a point to which fewhave attained!

The Death of Seneca, 17th Century print

Chapter IVChapter IVChapter IVChapter IV

You will see that the most powerful and highly

placed men let drop remarks in which they long forleisure, acclaim it, and prefer it to all theirblessings. They desire at times, if it could be withsafety, to descend from their high pinnacle; for,though nothing from without should assail orshatter, Fortune of its very self comes crashingdown.

The deified Augustus, to whom the gods vouchsafedmore than to any other man, did not cease to prayfor rest and to seek release from public affairs; allhis conversation ever reverted to this subject—hishope of leisure. This was the sweet, even if vain,consolation with which he would gladden hislabours—that he would one day live for himself. Ina letter addressed to the senate, in which he hadpromised that his rest would not be devoid ofdignity nor inconsistent with his former glory, Ifind these words: "But these matters can be shownbetter by deeds than by promises. Nevertheless, sincethe joyful reality is still far distant, my desire forthat time most earnestly prayed for has led me to

forestall some of its delight by the pleasure ofwords." So desirable a thing did leisure seem that heanticipated it in thought because he could notattain it in reality. He who saw everythingdepending upon himself alone, who determined thefortune of individuals and of nations, thought mosthappily of that future day on which he should layaside his greatness. He had discovered how muchsweat those blessings that shone throughout alllands drew forth, how many secret worries theyconcealed. Forced to pit arms first against hiscountrymen, then against his colleagues, and lastlyagainst his relatives, he shed blood on land and sea.

Through Macedonia, Sicily, Egypt, Syria, and Asia,and almost all countries he followed the path ofbattle, and when his troops were weary of sheddingRoman blood, he turned them to foreign wars.While he was pacifying the Alpine regions, andsubduing the enemies planted in the midst of apeaceful empire, while he was extending its boundseven beyond the Rhine and the Euphrates and theDanube, in Rome itself the swords of Murena,Caepio, Lepidus, Egnatius, and others were beingwhetted to slay him. Not yet had he escaped theirplots, when his daughter and all the noble youthswho were bound to her by adultery as by a sacredoath, oft alarmed his failing years—and there was

Paulus, and a second time the need to fear a womanin league with an Antony. When be had cut awaythese ulcers together with the limbs themselves,others would grow in their place; just as in a bodythat was overburdened with blood, there wasalways a rupture somewhere. And so he longed forleisure, in the hope and thought of which he foundrelief for his labours. This was the prayer of onewho was able to answer the prayers of mankind.

Chapter VChapter VChapter VChapter V

Marcus Cicero, long flung among men like

Catiline and Clodius and Pompey and Crassus, someopen enemies, others doubtful friends, as he is tossedto and fro along with the state and seeks to keep itfrom destruction, to be at last swept away, unableas he was to be restful in prosperity or patient inadversity—how many times does he curse that veryconsulship of his, which he had lauded without end,though not without reason! How tearful thewords he uses in a letter written to Atticus, whenPompey the elder had been conquered, and the sonwas still trying to restore his shattered arms inSpain! "Do you ask," he said, "what I am doing here? Iam lingering in my Tusculan villa half a prisoner."He then proceeds to other statements, in which hebewails his former life and complains of the presentand despairs of the future. Cicero said that he was"half a prisoner." But, in very truth, never will thewise man resort to so lowly a term, never will hebe half a prisoner—he who always possesses anundiminished and stable liberty, being free and hisown master and towering over all others. For whatcan possibly be above him who is above Fortune?

Chapter VI

When Livius Drusus, a bold and energetic man,

had with the support of a huge crowd drawn fromall Italy proposed new laws and the evil measures ofthe Gracchi, seeing no way out for his policy,which he could neither carry through nor abandonwhen once started on, he is said to have complainedbitterly against the life of unrest he had had fromthe cradle, and to have exclaimed that he was theonly person who had never had a holiday even as aboy. For, while he was still a ward and wearing thedress of a boy, he had had the courage to commendto the favour of a jury those who were accused,and to make his influence felt in the law-courts, sopowerfully, indeed, that it is very well known thatin certain trials he forced a favourable verdict. Towhat lengths was not such premature ambitiondestined to go? One might have known that suchprecocious hardihood would result in greatpersonal and public misfortune. And so it was toolate for him to complain that he had never had aholiday when from boyhood he had been a trouble-maker and a nuisance in the forum. It is a questionwhether he died by his own hand; for he fell from a

sudden wound received in his groin, some doubtingwhether his death was voluntary, no one, whetherit was timely.

It would be superfluous to mention more who,though others deemed them the happiest of men,have expressed their loathing for every act of theiryears, and with their own lips have given truetestimony against themselves; but by thesecomplaints they changed neither themselves norothers. For when they have vented their feelings inwords, they fall back into their usual round.Heaven knows! such lives as yours, though theyshould pass the limit of a thousand years, willshrink into the merest span; your vices willswallow up any amount of time. The space you have,which reason can prolong, although it naturallyhurries away, of necessity escapes from you quickly;for you do not seize it, you neither hold it back,nor impose delay upon the swiftest thing in theworld, but you allow it to slip away as if it weresomething superfluous and that could be replaced.

Chapter VIIChapter VIIChapter VIIChapter VII

But among the worst I count also those who

have time for nothing but wine and lust; for nonehave more shameful engrossments. The others, evenif they are possessed by the empty dream of glory,nevertheless go astray in a seemly manner; thoughyou should cite to me the men who are avaricious,the men who are wrathful, whether busied withunjust hatreds or with unjust wars, these all sin inmore manly fashion. But those who are plunged intothe pleasures of the belly and into lust bear a stainthat is dishonourable. Search into the hours of allthese people, see how much time they give toaccounts, how much to laying snares, how much tofearing them, how much to paying court, how muchto being courted, how much is taken up in giving orreceiving bail, how much by banquets—for eventhese have now become a matter of business—, andyou will see how their interests, whether you callthem evil or good, do not allow them time tobreathe.

Finally, everybody agrees that no one pursuit canbe successfully followed by a man who is busied

with many things—eloquence cannot, nor theliberal studies—since the mind, when its interestsare divided, takes in nothing very deeply, butrejects everything that is, as it were, crammed intoit. There is nothing the busy man is less busied withthan living: there is nothing that is harder tolearn. Of the other arts there are many teacherseverywhere; some of them we have seen that mereboys have mastered so thoroughly that they couldeven play the master. It takes the whole of life tolearn how to live, and—what will perhaps make youwonder more—it takes the whole of life to learnhow to die. Many very great men, having laid asideall their encumbrances, having renounced riches,business, and pleasures, have made it their one aim upto the very end of life to know how to live; yet thegreater number of them have departed from lifeconfessing that they did not yet know—still less dothose others know. Believe me, it takes a great manand one who has risen far above human weaknessesnot to allow any of his time to be filched from him,and it follows that the life of such a man is verylong because he has devoted wholly to himselfwhatever time he has had. None of it lay neglectedand idle; none of it was under the control ofanother, for, guarding it most grudgingly, hefound nothing that was worthy to be taken inexchange for his time. And so that man had time

enough, but those who have been robbed of much oftheir life by the public, have necessarily had toolittle of it.

And there is no reason for you to suppose that thesepeople are not sometimes aware of their loss. Indeed,you will hear many of those who are burdened bygreat prosperity cry out at times in the midst oftheir throngs of clients, or their pleadings incourt, or their other glorious miseries: "I have nochance to live." Of course you have no chance! Allthose who summon you to themselves, turn youaway from your own self. Of how many days hasthat defendant robbed you? Of how many thatcandidate? Of how many that old woman weariedwith burying her heirs? Of how many that man whois shamming sickness for the purpose of exciting thegreed of the legacy-hunters? Of how many thatvery powerful friend who has you and your like onthe list, not of his friends, but of his retinue? Checkoff, I say, and review the days of your life; you willsee that very few, and those the refuse. have beenleft for you. That man who had prayed for thefasces, when he attains them, desires to lay themaside and says over and over: "When will this yearbe over!" That man gives games, and, after settinggreat value on gaining the chance to give them,now says: "When shall I be rid of them?" That

advocate is lionized throughout the whole forum,and fills all the place with a great crowd thatstretches farther than he can be heard, yet he says:"When will vacation time come?" Everyone hurrieshis life on and suffers from a yearning for thefuture and a weariness of the present. But he whobestows all of his time on his own needs, who plansout every day as if it were his last, neither longsfor nor fears the morrow. For what new pleasure isthere that any hour can now bring? They are allknown, all have been enjoyed to the full. MistressFortune may deal out the rest as she likes; his lifehas already found safety. Something may be added toit, but nothing taken from it, and he will take anyaddition as the man who is satisfied and filled takesthe food which he does not desire and yet can hold.And so there is no reason for you to think that anyman has lived long because he has grey hairs orwrinkles; he has not lived long—he has existedlong. For what if you should think that that manhad had a long voyage who had been caught by afierce storm as soon as he left harbour, and, swepthither and thither by a succession of winds thatraged from different quarters, had been driven in acircle around the same course? Not much voyagingdid he have, but much tossing about.

Chapter VIII

I am often filled with wonder when I see some men

demanding the time of others and those from whomthey ask it most indulgent. Both of them fix theireyes on the object of the request for time, neitherof them on the time itself; just as if what is askedwere nothing, what is given, nothing. Men triflewith the most precious thing in the world; butthey are blind to it because it is an incorporealthing, because it does not come beneath the sight ofthe eyes, and for this reason it is counted a verycheap thing—nay, of almost no value at all. Men setvery great store by pensions and doles, and forthese they hire out their labour or service oreffort. But no one sets a value on time; all use itlavishly as if it cost nothing. But see how thesesame people clasp the knees of physicians if they fallill and the danger of death draws nearer, see howready they are, if threatened with capitalpunishment, to spend all their possessions in orderto live! So great is the inconsistency of theirfeelings. But if each one could have the number ofhis future years set before him as is possible in thecase of the years that have passed, how alarmed

those would be who saw only a few remaining, howsparing of them would they be! And yet it is easy todispense an amount that is assured, no matter howsmall it may be; but that must be guarded morecarefully which will fail you know not when.

Yet there is no reason for you to suppose that thesepeople do not know how precious a thing time is;for to those whom they love most devotedly theyhave a habit of saying that they are ready to givethem a part of their own years. And they do give it,without realizing it; but the result of their givingis that they themselves suffer loss without addingto the years of their dear ones. But the very thingthey do not know is whether they are sufferingloss; therefore, the removal of something that islost without being noticed they find is bearable.Yet no one will bring back the years, no one willbestow you once more on yourself. Life will followthe path it started upon, and will neither reversenor check its course; it will make no noise, it willnot remind you of its swiftness. Silent it will glideon; it will not prolong itself at the command of aking, or at the applause of the populace. Just as itwas started on its first day, so it will run;nowhere will it turn aside, nowhere will it delay.And what will be the result? You have beenengrossed, life hastens by; meanwhile death will be

at hand, for which, willy nilly, you must findleisure.

Chapter IX

Can anything be sillier than the point of view of

certain people—I mean those who boast of theirforesight? They keep themselves very busily engagedin order that they may be able to live better; theyspend life in making ready to live! They form theirpurposes with a view to the distant future; yetpostponement is the greatest waste of life; itdeprives them of each day as it comes, it snatchesfrom them the present by promising somethinghereafter. The greatest hindrance to living isexpectancy, which depends upon the morrow andwastes to-day. You dispose of that which lies in thehands of Fortune, you let go that which lies inyour own. Whither do you look? At what goal doyou aim? All things that are still to come lie inuncertainty; live straightway! See how thegreatest of bards cries out, and, as if inspired withdivine utterance, sings the saving strain:

The fairest day in hapless mortals' lifeIs ever first to flee.

"Why do you delay," says he, "Why are you idle?Unless you seize the day, it flees." Even though youseize it, it still will flee; therefore you must viewith time's swiftness in the speed of using it, and, asfrom a torrent that rushes by and will not alwaysflow, you must drink quickly. And, too, theutterance of the bard is most admirably worded tocast censure upon infinite delay, in that he says,not "the fairest age," but "the fairest day." Why, towhatever length your greed inclines, do youstretch before yourself months and years in longarray, unconcerned and slow though time flies sofast? The poet speaks to you about the day, andabout this very day that is flying. Is there, then,any doubt that for hapless mortals, that is, for menwho are engrossed, the fairest day is ever the firstto flee? Old age surprises them while their mindsare still childish, and they come to it unpreparedand unarmed, for they have made no provision forit; they have stumbled upon it suddenly andunexpectedly, they did not notice that it wasdrawing nearer day by day. Even as conversation orreading or deep meditation on some subject beguilesthe traveller, and he finds that he has reached theend of his journey before he was aware that he wasapproaching it, just so with this unceasing and mostswift journey of life, which we make at the same

pace whether waking or sleeping; those who areengrossed become aware of it only at the end.

Bust of Seneca, Antiquities Collection,Altes Museum, Berlin

Chapter X

Should I choose to divide my subject into heads

with their separate proofs, many arguments willoccur to me by which I could prove that busy menfind life very short. But Fabianus, who was none ofyour lecture-room philosophers of to-day, but oneof the genuine and old-fashioned kind, used to saythat we must fight against the passions with mainforce, not with artifice, and that the battle-linemust be turned by a bold attack, not by inflictingpinpricks; that sophistry is not serviceable, for thepassions must be, not nipped, but crushed. Yet, inorder that the victims of them nay be censured,each for his own particular fault, I say that theymust be instructed, not merely wept over.

Life is divided into three periods—that which hasbeen, that which is, that which will be. Of these thepresent time is short, the future is doubtful, thepast is certain. For the last is the one over whichFortune has lost control, is the one which cannotbe brought back under any man's power. But menwho are engrossed lose this; for they have no timeto look back upon the past, and even if they should

have, it is not pleasant to recall something theymust view with regret. They are, therefore,unwilling to direct their thoughts backward toill-spent hours, and those whose vices becomeobvious if they review the past, even the vices whichwere disguised under some allurement of momentarypleasure, do not have the courage to revert tothose hours. No one willingly turns his thoughtback to the past, unless all his acts have beensubmitted to the censorship of his conscience, whichis never deceived; he who has ambitiously coveted,proudly scorned, recklessly conquered,treacherously betrayed, greedily seized, orlavishly squandered, must needs fear his ownmemory. And yet this is the part of our time that issacred and set apart, put beyond the reach of allhuman mishaps, and removed from the dominion ofFortune, the part which is disquieted by no want,by no fear, by no attacks of disease; this can neitherbe troubled nor be snatched away—it is aneverlasting and unanxious possession. The presentoffers only one day at a time, and each by minutes;but all the days of past time will appear when youbid them, they will suffer you to behold them andkeep them at your will—a thing which those whoare engrossed have no time to do. The mind that isuntroubled and tranquil has the power to roaminto all the parts of its life; but the minds of the

engrossed, just as if weighted by a yoke, cannotturn and look behind. And so their life vanishesinto an abyss; and as it does no good, no matter howmuch water you pour into a vessel, if there is nobottom to receive and hold it, so with time—itmakes no difference how much is given; if there isnothing for it to settle upon, it passes out throughthe chinks and holes of the mind. Present time isvery brief, so brief, indeed, that to some there seemsto be none; for it is always in motion, it ever flowsand hurries on; it ceases to be before it has come,and can no more brook delay than the firmament orthe stars, whose ever unresting movement neverlets them abide in the same track. The engrossed,therefore, are concerned with present time alone,and it is so brief that it cannot be grasped, and eventhis is filched away from them, distracted as theyare among many things.

Chapter XI

In a word, do you want to know how they do not

"live long"? See how eager they are to live long!Decrepit old men beg in their prayers for theaddition of a few more years; they pretend thatthey are younger than they are; they comfortthemselves with a falsehood, and are as pleased todeceive themselves as if they deceived Fate at thesame time. But when at last some infirmity hasreminded them of their mortality, in what terrordo they die, feeling that they are being dragged outof life, and not merely leaving it. They cry outthat they have been fools, because they have notreally lived, and that they will live henceforth inleisure if only they escape from this illness; then atlast they reflect how uselessly they have strivenfor things which they did not enjoy, and how alltheir toil has gone for nothing. But for thosewhose life is passed remote from all business, whyshould it not be ample? None of it is assigned toanother, none of it is scattered in this directionand that, none of it is committed to Fortune, noneof it perishes from neglect, none is subtracted bywasteful giving, none of it is unused; the whole of

it, so to speak, yields income. And so, however smallthe amount of it, it is abundantly sufficient, andtherefore, whenever his last day shall come, thewise man will not hesitate to go to meet deathwith steady step.

Chapter XIIChapter XIIChapter XIIChapter XII

Perhaps you ask whom I would call "the

engrossed "? There is no reason for you to supposethat I mean only those whom the dogs that have atlength been let in drive out from the law-court,those whom you see either gloriously crushed intheir own crowd of followers, or scornfully insomeone else's, those whom social duties call forthfrom their own homes to bump them against someoneelse's doors, or whom the praetor's hammer keepsbusy in seeking gain that is disreputable and thatwill one day fester. Even the leisure of some men isengrossed; in their villa or on their couch, in themidst of solitude, although they have withdrawnfrom all others, they are themselves the source oftheir own worry; we should say that these areliving, not in leisure, but in busy idleness. Wouldyou say that that man is at leisure who arrangeswith finical care his Corinthian bronzes, that themania of a few makes costly, and spends the greaterpart of each day upon rusty bits of copper? Who sitsin a public wrestling-place (for, to our shame I welabour with vices that are not even Roman)watching the wrangling of lads? Who sorts out the

herds of his pack-mules into pairs of the same ageand colour? Who feeds all the newest athletes?Tell me, would you say that those men are atleisure who pass many hours at the barber's whilethey are being stripped of whatever grew out thenight before? while a solemn debate is held overeach separate hair? while either disarranged locksare restored to their place or thinning ones drawnfrom this side and that toward the forehead? Howangry they get if the barber has been a bit toocareless, just as if he were shearing a real man! Howthey flare up if any of their mane is lopped off, ifany of it lies out of order, if it does not all fallinto its proper ringlets! Who of these would notrather have the state disordered than his hair?Who is not more concerned to have his head trimrather than safe? Who would not rather be wellbarbered than upright? Would you say that theseare at leisure who are occupied with the comb andthe mirror? And what of those who are engaged incomposing, hearing, and learning songs, while theytwist the voice, whose best and simplest movementNature designed to be straightforward, into themeanderings of some indolent tune, who are alwayssnapping their fingers as they beat time to some songthey have in their head, who are overheardhumming a tune when they have been summoned toserious, often even melancholy, matters? These have

not leisure, but idle occupation. And theirbanquets, Heaven knows! I cannot reckon amongtheir unoccupied hours, since I see how anxiouslythey set out their silver plate, how diligently theytie up the tunics of their pretty slave-boys, howbreathlessly they watch to see in what style thewild boar issues from the hands of the cook, withwhat speed at a given signal smooth-faced boyshurry to perform their duties, with what skill thebirds are carved into portions all according torule, how carefully unhappy little lads wipe up thespittle of drunkards. By such means they seek thereputation of being fastidious and elegant, and tosuch an extent do their evils follow them into allthe privacies of life that they can neither eat nordrink without ostentation. And I would not countthese among the leisured class either—the men whohave themselves borne hither and thither in asedan-chair and a litter, and are punctual at thehours for their rides as if it were unlawful to omitthem, who are reminded by someone else when theymust bathe, when they must swim, when they mustdine; so enfeebled are they by the excessive lassitudeof a pampered mind that they cannot find out bythemselves whether they are hungry! I hear thatone of these pampered people—provided that you cancall it pampering to unlearn the habits of humanlife—when he had been lifted by hands from the

bath and placed in his sedan-chair, saidquestioningly: "Am I now seated?" Do you thinkthat this man, who does not know whether he issitting, knows whether he is alive, whether he sees,whether he is at leisure? I find it hard to saywhether I pity him more if he really did not know,or if he pretended not to know this. They reallyare subject to forgetfulness of many things, butthey also pretend forgetfulness of many. Some vicesdelight them as being proofs of their prosperity; itseems the part of a man who is very lowly anddespicable to know what he is doing. After thisimagine that the mimes fabricate many things tomake a mock of luxury! In very truth, they passover more than they invent, and such a multitudeof unbelievable vices has come forth in this age, soclever in this one direction, that by now we cancharge the mimes with neglect. To think that thereis anyone who is so lost in luxury that he takesanother's word as to whether he is sitting down!This man, then, is not at leisure, you must apply tohim a different term—he is sick, nay, he is dead; thatman is at leisure, who has also a perception of hisleisure. But this other who is half alive, who, inorder that he may know the postures of his ownbody, needs someone to tell him—how can he be themaster of any of his time?

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It would be tedious to mention all the different

men who have spent the whole of their life overchess or ball or the practice of baking their bodiesin the sun. They are not unoccupied whose pleasuresare made a busy occupation. For instance, no onewill have any doubt that those are laborioustriflers who spend their time on useless literaryproblems, of whom even among the Romans there isnow a great number. It was once a foible confinedto the Greeks to inquire into what number ofrowers Ulysses had, whether the Iliad or theOdyssey was written first, whether moreover theybelong to the same author, and various othermatters of this stamp, which, if you keep them toyourself, in no way pleasure your secret soul, and,if you publish them, make you seem more of a borethan a scholar. But now this vain passion forlearning useless things has assailed the Romans also.In the last few days I heard someone telling whowas the first Roman general to do this or that;Duilius was the first who won a naval battle,Curius Dentatus was the first who had elephantsled in his triumph. Still, these matters, even if they

add nothing to real glory, are neverthelessconcerned with signal services to the state; therewill be no profit in such knowledge, nevertheless itwins our attention by reason of the attractivenessof an empty subject. We may excuse also those whoinquire into this—who first induced the Romans togo on board ship. It was Claudius, and this was thevery reason he was surnamed Caudex, because amongthe ancients a structure formed by joiningtogether several boards was called a caudex,whence also the Tables of the Law are calledcodices, and, in the ancient fashion, boats thatcarry provisions up the Tiber are even to-daycalled codicariae. Doubtless this too may have somepoint—the fact that Valerius Corvinus was thefirst to conquer Messana, and was the first of thefamily of the Valerii to bear the surname Messanabecause be had transferred the name of theconquered city to himself, and was later calledMessala after the gradual corruption of the namein the popular speech. Perhaps you will permitsomeone to be interested also in this—the fact thatLucius Sulla was the first to exhibit loosed lions inthe Circus, though at other times they wereexhibited in chains, and that javelin-throwers weresent by King Bocchus to despatch them? And,doubtless, this too may find some excuse—but doesit serve any useful purpose to know that Pompey

was the first to exhibit the slaughter of eighteenelephants in the Circus, pitting criminals againstthem in a mimic battle? He, a leader of the state andone who, according to report, was conspicuousamong the leaders of old for the kindness of hisheart, thought it a notable kind of spectacle tokill human beings after a new fashion. Do they fightto the death? That is not enough! Are they torn topieces? That is not enough! Let them be crushed byanimals of monstrous bulk! Better would it be thatthese things pass into oblivion lest hereafter someall-powerful man should learn them and be jealousof an act that was nowise human. O, what blindnessdoes great prosperity cast upon our minds! When hewas casting so many troops of wretched humanbeings to wild beasts born under a different sky,when he was proclaiming war between creatures soill matched, when he was shedding so much bloodbefore the eyes of the Roman people, who itself wassoon to be forced to shed more. he then believedthat he was beyond the power of Nature. But laterthis same man, betrayed by Alexandrine treachery,offered himself to the dagger of the vilest slave,and then at last discovered what an empty boast hissurname was.

But to return to the point from which I havedigressed, and to show that some people bestow

useless pains upon these same matters—the man Imentioned related that Metellus, when hetriumphed after his victory over the Carthaginiansin Sicily, was the only one of all the Romans whohad caused a hundred and twenty capturedelephants to be led before his car; that Sulla wasthe last of the Roman's who extended the pomerium,which in old times it was customary to extendafter the acquisition of Italian but never ofprovincial, territory. Is it more profitable to knowthis than that Mount Aventine, according to him,is outside the pomerium for one of two reasons,either because that was the place to which theplebeians had seceded, or because the birds had notbeen favourable when Remus took his auspices onthat spot—and, in turn, countless other reportsthat are either crammed with falsehood or are ofthe same sort? For though you grant that they tellthese things in good faith, though they pledgethemselves for the truth of what they write, stillwhose mistakes will be made fewer by such stories?Whose passions will they restrain? Whom will theymake more brave, whom more just, whom morenoble-minded? My friend Fabianus used to say thatat times he was doubtful whether it was not betternot to apply oneself than to become entangled inthese.

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Of all men, they alone are at leisure who take

time for philosophy, they alone really live; forthey are not content to be good guardians of theirown lifetime only. They annex every age to theirown; all the years that have gone ore them are anaddition to their store. Unless we are mostungrateful, all those men, glorious fashioners ofholy thoughts, were born for us; for us they haveprepared a way of life. By other men's labours weare led to the sight of things most beautiful thathave been wrested from darkness and brought intolight; from no age are we shut out, we have accessto all ages, and if it is our wish, by greatness ofmind, to pass beyond the narrow limits of humanweakness, there is a great stretch of time throughwhich we may roam. We may argue with Socrates,we may doubt with Carneades, find peace withEpicurus, overcome human nature with the Stoics,exceed it with the Cynics. Since Nature allows usto enter into fellowship with every age, whyshould we not turn from this paltry and fleetingspan of time and surrender ourselves with all our

soul to the past, which is boundless, which iseternal, which we share with our betters?

Those who rush about in the performance of socialduties, who give themselves and others no rest,when they have fully indulged their madness, whenthey have every day crossed everybody's threshold,and have left no open door unvisited, when theyhave carried around their venal greeting to housesthat are very far apart—out of a city so huge andtorn by such varied desires, how few will they beable to see? How many will there be who eitherfrom sleep or self-indulgence or rudeness will keepthem out! How many who, when they have torturedthem with long waiting, will rush by, pretendingto be in a hurry! How many will avoid passing outthrough a hall that is crowded with clients, andwill make their escape through some concealeddoor as if it were not more discourteous to deceivethan to exclude. How many, still half asleep andsluggish from last night's debauch, scarcely liftingtheir lips in the midst of a most insolent yawn,manage to bestow on yonder poor wretches, whobreak their own slumber in order to wait on thatof another, the right name only after it has beenwhispered to them a thousand times!

But we may fairly say that they alone are engagedin the true duties of life who shall wish to haveZeno, Pythagoras, Democritus, and all the otherhigh priests of liberal studies, and Aristotle andTheophrastus, as their most intimate friends everyday. No one of these will be "not at home," no one ofthese will fail to have his visitor leave more happyand more devoted to himself than when he came, noone of these will allow anyone to leave him withempty hands; all mortals can meet with them bynight or by day.

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No one of these will force you to die, but all

will teach you how to die; no one of these willwear out your years, but each will add his ownyears to yours; conversations with no one of thesewill bring you peril, the friendship of none willendanger your life, the courting of none will taxyour purse. From them you will take whatever youwish; it will be no fault of theirs if you do notdraw the utmost that you can desire. Whathappiness, what a fair old age awaits him who hasoffered himself as a client to these! He will havefriends from whom he may seek counsel on mattersgreat and small, whom he may consult every dayabout himself, from whom he may hear truthwithout insult, praise without flattery, and afterwhose likeness he may fashion himself.

We are wont to say that it was not in our powerto choose the parents who fell to our lot, thatthey have been given to men by chance; yet we maybe the sons of whomsoever we will. Householdsthere are of noblest intellects; choose the one intowhich you wish to be adopted; you will inherit not

merely their name, but even their property, whichthere will be no need to guard in a mean orniggardly spirit; the more persons you share itwith, the greater it will become. These will open toyou the path to immortality, and will raise you toa height from which no one is cast down. This is theonly way of prolonging mortality—nay, of turningit into immortality. Honours, monuments, all thatambition has commanded by decrees or reared inworks of stone, quickly sink to ruin; there isnothing that the lapse of time does not tear downand remove. But the works which philosophy hasconsecrated cannot be harmed; no age will destroythem, no age reduce them; the following and eachsucceeding age will but increase the reverence forthem, since envy works upon what is close at hand,and things that are far off we are more free toadmire. The life of the philosopher, therefore, haswide range, and he is not confined by the samebounds that shut others in. He alone is freed fromthe limitations of the human race; all ages serve himas if a god. Has some time passed by? This he embracesby recollection. Is time present? This he uses. Is itstill to come? This he anticipates. He makes his lifelong by combining all times into one.

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But those who forget the past, neglect the

present, and fear for the future have a life that isvery brief and troubled; when they have reachedthe end of it, the poor wretches perceive too latethat for such a long while they have been busied indoing nothing. Nor because they sometimes invokedeath, have you any reason to think it any proofthat they find life long. In their folly they areharassed by shifting emotions which rush them intothe very things they dread; they often pray fordeath because they fear it. And, too, you have noreason to think that this is any proof that they areliving a long time—the fact that the day oftenseems to them long, the fact that they complainthat the hours pass slowly until the time set fordinner arrives; for, whenever their engrossmentsfail them, they are restless because they are leftwith nothing to do, and they do not know how todispose of their leisure or to drag out the time. Andso they strive for something else to occupy them,and all the intervening time is irksome; exactly asthey do when a gladiatorial exhibition is beenannounced, or when they are waiting for the

appointed time of some other show or amusement,they want to skip over the days that lie between.All postponement of something they hope for seemslong to them. Yet the time which they enjoy isshort and swift, and it is made much shorter bytheir own fault; for they flee from one pleasure toanother and cannot remain fixed in one desire.Their days are not long to them, but hateful; yet,on the other hand, how scanty seem the nightswhich they spend in the arms of a harlot or in wine!It is this also that accounts for the madness ofpoets in fostering human frailties by the tales inwhich they represent that Jupiter under theenticement of the pleasures of a lover doubled thelength of the night. For what is it but to inflameour vices to inscribe the name of the gods as theirsponsors, and to present the excused indulgence ofdivinity as an example to our own weakness? Canthe nights which they pay for so dearly fail to seemall too short to these men? They lose the day inexpectation of the night, and the night in fear ofthe dawn.

Chapter XVIIChapter XVIIChapter XVIIChapter XVII

The very pleasures of such men are uneasy anddisquieted by alarms of various sorts, and at thevery moment of rejoicing the anxious thoughtcomes over them: How long will these things last?"This feeling has led kings to weep over the powerthey possessed, and they have not so much delightedin the greatness of their fortune, as they haveviewed with terror the end to which it must sometime come. When the King of Persia, in all theinsolence of his pride, spread his army over the vastplains and could not grasp its number but simply itsmeasure, he shed copious tears because inside of ahundred years not a man of such a mighty armywould be alive. But he who wept was to bring uponthem their fate, was to give some to their doom onthe sea, some on the land, some in battle, some inflight, and within a short time was to destroy allthose for whose hundredth year he had such fear.And why is it that even their joys are uneasy fromfear? Because they do not rest on stable causes, butare perturbed as groundlessly as they are born. Butof what sort do you think those times are whicheven by their own confession are wretched, sinceeven the joys by which they are exalted and liftedabove mankind are by no means pure? All the

greatest blessings are a source of anxiety, and at notime is fortune less wisely trusted than when it isbest; to maintain prosperity there is need of otherprosperity, and in behalf of the prayers that haveturned out well we must make still other prayers.For everything that comes to us from chance isunstable, and the higher it rises, the more liable itis to fall. Moreover, what is doomed to perishbrings pleasure to no one; very wretched,therefore, and not merely short, must the life ofthose be who work hard to gain what they mustwork harder to keep. By great toil they attainwhat they wish, and with anxiety hold what theyhave attained; meanwhile they take no account oftime that will never more return. Newengrossments take the place of the old, hope leadsto new hope, ambition to new ambition. They do notseek an end of their wretchedness, but change thecause. Have we been tormented by our own publichonours? Those of others take more of our time.Have we ceased to labour as candidates? We beginto canvass for others. Have we got rid of thetroubles of a prosecutor? We find those of a judge.Has a man ceased to be a judge? He becomes presidentof a court. Has he become infirm in managing theproperty of others at a salary? He is perplexed bycaring for his own wealth. Have the barracks setMarius free? The consulship keeps him busy. Does

Quintius hasten to get to the end of hisdictatorship? He will be called back to it from theplough. Scipio will go against the Carthaginiansbefore he is ripe for so great an undertaking;victorious over Hannibal, victorious overAntiochus, the glory of his own consulship, thesurety for his brother's, did he not stand in his ownway, he would be set beside Jove; but the discord ofcivilians will vex their preserver, and, when as ayoung man he had scorned honours that rivalledthose of the gods, at length, when he is old, hisambition will lake delight in stubborn exile.Reasons for anxiety will never be lacking, whetherborn of prosperity or of wretchedness; life pusheson in a succession of engrossments. We shall alwayspray for leisure, but never enjoy it.

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And so, my dearest Paulinus, tear yourself away

from the crowd, and, too much storm-tossed forthe time you have lived, at length withdraw into apeaceful harbour. Think of how many waves youhave encountered, how many storms, on the onehand, you have sustained in private life, how many,on the other, you have brought upon yourself inpublic life; long enough has your virtue beendisplayed in laborious and unceasing proofs—tryhow it will behave in leisure. The greater part ofyour life, certainly the better part of it, has beengiven to the state; take now some part of your timefor yourself as well. And I do not summon you toslothful or idle inaction, or to drown all yournative energy in slumbers and the pleasures thatare dear to the crowd. That is not to rest; youwill find far greater works than all those youhave hitherto performed so energetically, tooccupy you in the midst of your release andretirement. You, I know, manage the accounts ofthe whole world as honestly as you would astranger's, as carefully as you would your own, asconscientiously as you would the state's. You win

love in an office in which it is difficult to avoidhatred; but nevertheless believe me, it is better tohave knowledge of the ledger of one's own life thanof the corn-market. Recall that keen mind ofyours, which is most competent to cope with thegreatest subjects, from a service that is indeedhonourable but hardly adapted to the happy life,and reflect that in all your training in the liberalstudies, extending from your earliest years, youwere not aiming at this—that it might be safe toentrust many thousand pecks of corn to yourcharge; you gave hope of something greater andmore lofty. There will be no lack of men of testedworth and painstaking industry. But plodding oxenare much more suited to carrying heavy loads thanthoroughbred horses, and who ever hampers thefleetness of such high-born creatures with a heavypack? Reflect, besides, how much worry you have insubjecting yourself to such a great burden; yourdealings are with the belly of man. A hungry peopleneither listens to reason, nor is appeased by justice,nor is bent by any entreaty. Very recently withinthose few day's after Gaius Caesar died—stillgrieving most deeply (if the dead have any feeling)because he knew that the Roman people were aliveand had enough food left for at any rate seven oreight days while he was building his bridges of boatsand playing with the resources of the empire, we

were threatened with the worst evil that canbefall men even during a siege—the lack ofprovisions; his imitation of a mad and foreign andmisproud king was very nearly at the cost of thecity's destruction and famine and the generalrevolution that follows famine. What then musthave been the feeling of those who had charge ofthe corn-market, and had to face stones, the sword,fire—and a Caligula? By the greatest subterfugethey concealed the great evil that lurked in thevitals of the state—with good reason, you may besure. For certain maladies must be treated whilethe patient is kept in ignorance; knowledge of theirdisease has caused the death of many.

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Do you retire to these quieter, safer, greater

things! Think you that it is just the same whetheryou are concerned in having corn from overseapoured into the granaries, unhurt either by thedishonesty or the neglect of those who transportit, in seeing that it does not become heated andspoiled by collecting moisture and tallies in weightand measure, or whether you enter upon thesesacred and lofty studies with the purpose ofdiscovering what substance, what pleasure, whatmode of life, what shape God has; what fate awaitsyour soul; where Nature lays us to rest When weare freed from the body; what the principle is thatupholds all the heaviest matter in the centre ofthis world, suspends the light on high, carries fireto the topmost part, summons the stars to theirproper changes—and ether matters, in turn, full ofmighty wonders? You really must leave the groundand turn your mind's eye upon these things! Nowwhile the blood is hot, we must enter with briskstep upon the better course. In this kind of lifethere awaits much that is good to know—the loveand practice of the virtues, forgetfulness of the

passions, knowledge of living and dying, and a life ofdeep repose.

The condition of all who are engrossed iswretched, but most wretched is the condition ofthose who labour at engrossments that are noteven their own, who regulate their sleep by that ofanother, their walk by the pace of another, whoare under orders in case of the freest things in theworld—loving and hating. If these wish to knowhow short their life is, let them reflect how smalla part of it is their own.

On the Happy LifeBy Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Chapter I

You and I will agree, I think, that outward

things are sought for the satisfaction of the body,that the body is cherished out of regard for thesoul, and that in the soul there are certain partswhich minister to us, enabling us to move and tosustain life, bestowed upon us just for the sake ofthe primary part of us. In this primary part there issomething irrational, and something rational. Theformer obeys the latter, while the latter is theonly thing that is not referred back to another,but rather refers all things to itself. For thedivine reason also is set in supreme command overall things, and is itself subject to none; and eventhis reason which we possess is the same, because it isderived from the divine reason.

Chapter II

Now if we are agreed on this point, it is natural

that we shall be agreed on the following also –namely, that the happy life depends upon this andthis alone: our attainment of perfect reason. For itis naught but this that keeps the soul from beingbowed down, that stands its ground againstFortune; whatever the condition of their affairsmay be, it keeps men untroubled. And that alone is agood which is never subject to impairment. Thatman, I declare, is happy whom nothing makes lessstrong than he is; he keeps to the heights, leaningupon none but himself; for one who sustains himselfby any prop may fall. If the case is otherwise, thenthings which do not pertain to us will begin tohave great influence over us. But who desiresFortune to have the upper hand, or what sensibleman prides himself upon that which is not his own?

Chapter III

What is the happy life? It is peace of mind, and

lasting tranquillity. This will be yours if youpossess greatness of soul; it will be yours if youpossess the steadfastness that resolutely clings to agood judgment just reached. How does a man reachthis condition? By gaining a complete view of truth,by maintaining, in all that he does, order, measure,fitness, and a will that is inoffensive and kindly,that is intent upon reason and never departstherefrom, that commands at the same time love andadmiration. In short, to give you the principle inbrief compass, the wise man's soul ought to be suchas would be proper for a god.

Chapter IV

What more can one desire who possesses all

honourable things? For if dishonourable things cancontribute to the best estate, then there will bethe possibility of a happy life under conditions

which do not include an honourable life. And whatis more base or foolish than to connect the good ofa rational soul with things irrational?

Chapter V

Yet there are certain philosophers who hold

that the Supreme Good admits of increase because itis hardly complete when the gifts of fortune areadverse.[3] Even Antipater, one of the great leadersof this school, admits that he ascribes someinfluence to externals, though only a very slightinfluence. You see, however, what absurdity lies innot being content with the daylight unless it isincreased by a tiny fire. What importance can aspark have in the midst of this clear sunlight?

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If you are not contented with only that which is

honourable, it must follow that you desire inaddition either the kind of quiet which the Greekscall “undisturbedness," or else pleasure. But the

former may be attained in any case. For the mind isfree from disturbance when it is fully free tocontemplate the universe, and nothing distracts itfrom the contemplation of nature. The second,pleasure, is simply the good of cattle. We are butadding the irrational to the rational, thedishonourable to the honourable. A pleasantphysical sensation affects this life of ours;

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Why, therefore, do you hesitate to say that

all is well with a man just because all is well withhis appetite? And do you rate, I will not say amongheroes, but among men, the person whose SupremeGood is a matter of flavours and colours andsounds? Nay, let him withdraw from the ranks ofthis, the noblest class of living beings, second onlyto the gods; let him herd with the dumb brutes – ananimal whose delight is in fodder!

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The irrational part of the soul is twofold:[6]

the one part is spirited, ambitious, uncontrolled; itsseat is in the passions; the other is lowly, sluggish,and devoted to pleasure. Philosophers haveneglected the former, which, though unbridled, isyet better, and is certainly more courageous andmore worthy of a man, and have regarded thelatter, which is nerveless and ignoble, asindispensable to the happy life.

Chapter IX

They have ordered reason to serve this latter; theyhave made the Supreme Good of the noblest livingbeing an abject and mean affair, and a monstroushybrid, too, composed of various members whichharmonize but ill.

For as our Vergil, describing Scylla, says:

Above, a human face and maiden's breast,A beauteous breast, – below, a monster huge

Of bulk and shapeless, with a dolphin's tailJoined to a wolf-like belly.

And yet to this Scylla are tacked on the forms ofwild animals, dreadful and swift; but from whatmonstrous shapes have these wiseacres compoundedwisdom!

Chapter X

Man's primary art is virtue itself; there is

joined to this the useless and fleeting flesh, fittedonly for the reception of food, as Posidoniusremarks. This divine virtue ends in foulness, and tothe higher parts, which are worshipful andheavenly, there is fastened a sluggish and flabbyanimal. As for the second desideratum, – quiet, –although it would indeed not of itself be of anybenefit to the soul, yet it would relieve the soul ofhindrances; pleasure, on the contrary, actuallydestroys the soul and softens all its vigour. Whatelements so inharmonious as these can be foundunited? To that which is most vigorous is joinedthat which is most sluggish, to that which isaustere that which is far from serious, to that

which is most holy that which is unrestrained evento the point of impurity.

Chapter XI

"What, then," comes the retort, "if good

health, rest, and freedom from pain are not likelyto hinder virtue, shall you not seek all these?" Ofcourse I shall seek them, but not because they aregoods, – I shall seek them because they areaccording to nature and because they will beacquired through the exercise of good judgment onmy part. What, then, will be good in them? Thisalone, – that it is a good thing to choose them. Forwhen I don suitable attire, or walk as I should, ordine as I ought to dine, it is not my dinner, or mywalk, or my dress that are goods, but thedeliberate choice which I show in regard to them,as I observe, in each thing I do, a mean thatconforms with reason.

Chapter XII

Let me also add that the choice of neat clothing

is a fitting object of a man's efforts; for man is bynature a neat and well-groomed animal. Hence thechoice of neat attire, and not neat attire in itself,is a good; since the good is not in the thingselected, but in the quality of the selection. Ouractions are honourable, but not the actual thingswhich we do.

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And you may assume that what I have said about

dress applies also to the body. For nature hassurrounded our soul with the body as with a sortof garment; the body is its cloak. But who has everreckoned the value of clothes by the wardrobewhich contained them? The scabbard does not makethe sword good or bad. Therefore, with regard tothe body I shall return the same answer to you, –that, if I have the choice, I shall choose health andstrength, but that the good involved will be my

judgment regarding these things, and not thethings themselves.

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Another retort is: "Granted that the wise man is

happy; nevertheless, he does not attain the SupremeGood which we have defined, unless the means alsowhich nature provides for its attainment are at hiscall. So, while one who possesses virtue cannot beunhappy, yet one cannot be perfectly happy if onelacks such natural gifts as health, or soundness oflimb."

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But in saying this, you grant the alternative

which seems the more difficult to believe, – thatthe man who is in the midst of unremitting andextreme pain is not wretched, nay, is even happy;and you deny that which is much less serious, –that he is completely happy. And yet, if virtue cankeep a man from being wretched, it will be an easier

task for it to render him completely happy. For thedifference between happiness and complete happinessis less than that between wretchedness andhappiness. Can it be possible that a thing which is sopowerful as to snatch a man from disaster, andplace him among the happy, cannot also accomplishwhat remains, and render him supremely happy? Doesits strength fail at the very top of the climb?

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There are in life things which are advantageous

and disadvantageous, – both beyond our control. Ifa good man, in spite of being weighed down by allkinds of disadvantages, is not wretched, how is henot supremely happy, no matter if he does lackcertain advantages? For as he is not weighted downto wretchedness by his burden of disadvantages, sohe is not withdrawn from supreme happinessthrough lack of any advantages; nay, he is just assupremely happy without the advantages as he isfree from wretchedness though under the load ofhis disadvantages. Otherwise, if his good can beimpaired, it can be snatched from him altogether.

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A short space above, I remarked that a tiny fire

does not add to the sun's light. For by reason of thesun's brightness any light that shines apart fromthe sunlight is blotted out. "But," one may say,"there are certain objects that stand in the wayeven of the sunlight." The sun, however, isunimpaired even in the midst of obstacles, and,though an object may intervene and cut off ourview thereof, the sun sticks to his work and goes onhis course. Whenever he shines forth from amid theclouds, he is no smaller, nor less punctual either,than when he is free from clouds; since it makes agreat deal of difference whether there is merelysomething in the way of his light or somethingwhich interferes with his shining.

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Similarly, obstacles take nothing away from

virtue; it is no smaller, but merely shines with lessbrilliancy. In our eyes, it may perhaps be less visible

and less luminous than before; but as regards itselfit is the same and, like the sun when he is eclipsed, isstill, though in secret, putting forth its strength.Disasters, therefore, and losses, and wrongs, haveonly the same power over virtue that a cloud hasover the sun.

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We meet with one person who maintains that a

wise man who has met with bodily misfortune isneither wretched nor happy. But he also is in error,for he is putting the results of chance upon a paritywith the virtues, and is attributing only the sameinfluence to things that are honourable as tothings that are devoid of honour. But what is moredetestable and more unworthy than to putcontemptible things in the same class with thingsworthy of reverence! For reverence is due tojustice, duty, loyalty, bravery, and prudence; onthe contrary, those attributes are worthless withwhich the most worthless men are often blessed infuller measure, – such as a sturdy leg, strongshoulders, good teeth, and healthy and solidmuscles.

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Again, if the wise man whose body is a trial to

him shall be regarded as neither wretched norhappy, but shall be left in a sort of half-wayposition, his life also will be neither desirable norundesirable. But what is so foolish as to say thatthe wise man's life is not desirable? And what is sofar beyond the bounds of credence as the opinionthat any life is neither desirable nor undesirable?Again, if bodily ills do not make a man wretched,they consequently allow him to be happy. Forthings which have no power to change his conditionfor the worse, have not the power, either, todisturb that condition when it is at its best.

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"But," someone will say, "we know what is cold

and what is hot; a lukewarm temperature liesbetween. Similarly, A is happy, and B is wretched,and C is neither happy nor wretched." I wish toexamine this figure, which is brought into play

against us. If I add to your lukewarm water alarger quantity of cold water, the result will becold water. But if I pour in a larger quantity ofhot water, the water will finally become hot. Inthe case, however, of your man who is neitherwretched nor happy, no matter how much I add tohis troubles, he will not be unhappy, according toyour argument; hence your figure offers noanalogy.

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Again, suppose that I set before you a man who is

neither miserable nor happy. I add blindness to hismisfortunes; he is not rendered unhappy. I cripplehim; he is not rendered unhappy. I add afflictionswhich are unceasing and severe; he is not renderedunhappy. Therefore, one whose life is not changedto misery by all these ills is not dragged by them,either, from his life of happiness.

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Then if, as you say, the wise man cannot fall fromhappiness to wretchedness, he cannot fall into non-

happiness. For how, if one has begun to slip, can onestop at any particular place? That which preventshim from rolling to the bottom, keeps him at thesummit. Why, you urge, may not a happy life possiblybe destroyed? It cannot even be disjointed; and forthat reason virtue is itself of itself sufficient forthe happy life.

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"But," it is said, "is not the wise man happier if

he has lived longer and has been distracted by nopain, than one who has always been compelled tograpple with evil fortune?" Answer me now, – is heany better or more honourable? If he is not, then heis not happier either. In order to live more happily,he must live more rightly; if he cannot do that,then he cannot live more happily either. Virtuecannot be strained tighter, and therefore neithercan the happy life, which depends on virtue. Forvirtue is so great a good that it is not affected bysuch insignificant assaults upon it as shortness oflife, pain, and the various bodily vexations. For

pleasure does not deserve that. virtue should evenglance at it.

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Now what is the chief thing in virtue? It is the

quality of not needing a single day beyond thepresent, and of not reckoning up the days that areours; in the slightest possible moment of time virtuecompletes an eternity of good. These goods seem tous incredible and transcending man's nature; for wemeasure its grandeur by the standard of our ownweakness, and we call our vices by the name ofvirtue. Furthermore, does it not seem just asincredible that any man in the midst of extremesuffering should say, "I am happy"? And yet thisutterance was heard in the very factory ofpleasure, when Epicurus said: "To-day and one otherday have been the happiest of all!" although in theone case he was tortured by strangury, and in theother by the incurable pain of an ulceratedstomach.

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Why, then, should those goods which virtue

bestows be incredible in the sight of us, whocultivate virtue, when they are found even in thosewho acknowledge pleasure as their mistress? Thesealso, ignoble and base-minded as they are, declarethat even in the midst of excessive pain andmisfortune the wise man will be neither wretchednor happy. And yet this also is incredible, – nay,still more incredible, than the other case. For I donot understand how, if virtue falls from herheights, she can help being hurled all the way tothe bottom. She either must preserve one inhappiness, or, if driven from this position, she willnot prevent us from becoming unhappy. If virtueonly stands her ground, she cannot be driven fromthe field; she must either conquer or be conquered.

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But some say: "Only to the immortal gods is given

virtue and the happy life; we can attain but the

shadow, as it were, and semblance of such goods astheirs. We approach them, but we never reachthem." Reason, however, is a common attribute ofboth gods and men; in the gods it is alreadyperfected, in us it is capable of being perfected.

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But it is our vices that bring us to despair; for

the second class of rational being, man, is of aninferior order, – a guardian, as it were, who is toounstable to hold fast to what is best, his judgmentstill wavering and uncertain. He may require thefaculties of sight and hearing, good health, a bodilyexterior that is not loathsome, and, besides,greater length of days conjoined with anunimpaired constitution.

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Though by means of reason he can lead a life

which will not bring regrets, yet there resides inthis imperfect creature, man, a certain power that

makes for badness, because he possesses a mind whichis easily moved to perversity. Suppose, however, thebadness which is in full view, and has previouslybeen stirred to activity, to be removed; the man isstill not a good man, but he is being moulded togoodness. One, however, in whom there is lackingany quality that makes for goodness, is bad.

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But He in whose body virtue dwells, and spirit

E'er present is equal to the gods; mindful of hisorigin, he strives to return thither. No man doeswrong in attempting to regain the heights fromwhich he once came down. And why should you notbelieve that something of divinity exists in one whois a part of God? All this universe which encompassesus is one, and it is God; we are associates of God; weare his members. Our soul has capabilities, and iscarried thither, if vices do not hold it down. Justas it is the nature of our bodies to stand erect andlook upward to the sky, so the soul, which mayreach out as far as it will, was framed by nature tothis end, that it should desire equality with the

gods. And if it makes use of its powers and stretchesupward into its proper region it is by no alien paththat it struggles toward the heights.

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It would be a great task to journey heavenwards;

the soul but returns thither. When once it hasfound the road, it boldly marches on, scornful ofall things. It casts, no backward glance at wealth;gold and silver – things which are fully worthy ofthe gloom in which they once lay – it values not bythe sheen which smites the eyes of the ignorant, butby the mire of ancient days, whence our greed firstdetached and dug them out.

The soul, I affirm, knows that riches are storedelsewhere than in men's heaped-up treasure-houses;that it is the soul, and not the strong-box, whichshould be filled.

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It is the soul that men may set in dominion over

all things, and may install as owner of the universe,so that it may limit its riches only by theboundaries of East and West, and, like the gods, maypossess all things; and that it may, with its ownvast resources, look down from on high upon thewealthy, no one of whom rejoices as much in hisown wealth as he resents the wealth of another.

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When the soul has transported itself to this

lofty height, it regards the body also, since it is aburden which must be borne, not as a thing to love,but as a thing to oversee; nor is it subservient tothat over which it is set in mastery. For no man isfree who is a slave to his body. Indeed, omitting allthe other masters which are brought into being byexcessive care for the body, the sway which thebody itself exercises is captious and fastidious.

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Forth from this body the soul issues, now with

unruffled spirit, now with exultation, and, whenonce it has gone forth, asks not what shall be theend of the deserted day. No; just as we do not takethought for the clippings of the hair and the beard,even so that divine soul, when it is about to issueforth from the mortal man, regards the destinationof its earthly vessel – whether it be consumed byfire, or shut in by a stone, or buried in the earth,or torn by wild beasts – as being of no moreconcern to itself than is the afterbirth to a childjust born. And whether this body shall be cast outand plucked to pieces by birds, or devoured whenthrown to the sea-dogs as prey, how does thatconcern him who is nothing?

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Nay even when it is among the living, the soul

fears nothing that may happen to the body afterdeath; for though such things may have been

threats, they were not enough to terrify the soulprevious to the moment of death. It says; "I am notfrightened by the executioner's hook, nor by therevolting mutilation of the corpse which is exposedto the scorn of those who would witness thespectacle. I ask no man to perform the last rites forme; I entrust my remains to none. Nature has madeprovision that none shall go unburied. Time willlay away one whom cruelty has cast forth." Thosewere eloquent words which Maecenas uttered:

I want no tomb; for Nature doth provideFor outcast bodies burial.

You would imagine that this was the saying of aman of strict principles. He was indeed a man ofnoble and robust native gifts, but in prosperity heimpaired these gifts by laxness.

Farewell.