in its encampments than in luxury.
I am tortured, but courageously;
it is well. I am slain, but courageously; it is well.” Listen to Epicu-
rus; he will say also “It is pleasant.”* I, however, will never call such
204 a stern and honorable deed by so soft a name. 16 I am burned, but
undefeated: why should this not be desirable? Not because the fire
letters on ethics
burns me but because it does not defeat me.
Nothing is more excellent than virtue; nothing more beautiful.
Whatever is done at its command is not only good but desirable
as well.
Farewell.
Letter 68
From Seneca to Lucilius
Greetings
1 I support your plan: hide yourself away in leisure, but also hide the
very fact that you are at leisure. Realize that in this you will be fol-
lowing the example of the Stoics, even if not their instructions. But
you will be following their instructions too, for you will be justified
in your own eyes, and really in anyone’s. 2 When we enjoin service to
the state, we do not mean to just any state, nor that one must serve
at all times or without ending.* Besides, we assign to the wise man a
state worthy of him, that is, the whole world. Thus he is not outside
the state even if he does retire. Indeed, it may be that in abandoning
this one little corner he is moving into a greater and more spacious
realm—that he is taking up a seat in heaven, and realizes now what
a lowly position he held when he used to mount to the tribunal or
preside from the curule chair.* Bank this away in your mind: the
sage is never more active than when things divine and human come
into his view.
3 I now return to my earlier exhortation, that you not let anyone
know about your leisure. Don’t put up a sign saying “Philosophy and
Quiet.” Give your plan some other name: call it ill health or weakness
or laziness. Boasting of one’s leisure is just an idle form of ambition.
4 There are animals that keep from being found by disguising their
tracks right around their lairs; you should do the same. Otherwise
there will be those who will hunt you down. Many people pass by
what is in full view but ferret out anything that is hidden away. To 205
seal an entry is to challenge the thief. What is in plain sight seems
letter 68
to be of little value: leave it out in the open, and the burglar passes
it by. That’s the way of people generally—that is, of anyone who is
ignorant: when something is secreted away, they want to break into it.
5 The best course, then, is not to boast of one’s leisure. And to be too
secluded, staying completely out of view, is itself a form of boasting.
One person hides out at Tarentum; another buries himself away in
Naples; another goes for many years without crossing the threshold
of his own house. Anyone who makes his leisure somehow legendary
is merely summoning an audience for it.
6 When you retire, your object should not be for people to talk
about you but for you to talk to yourself. And what will you say? Just
what people are all too ready to say about others: the harsh assess-
ment. Get used to speaking the truth, and to hearing it. Concentrate
on those points where you feel you are weakest. 7 Each person knows
his own bodily deficiencies. That’s why one person lightens his di-
gestion by vomiting, another supports it by frequent meals; another
drains and cleanses his body by periods of fasting; and those who
are troubled by gout abstain either from wine or from hot baths.
People who are careless in other matters attend very closely to their
own besetting problem. In the same way, there are diseased areas in
our minds: these are what we must cure. 8 What am I doing in my
leisure? I am tending to my wound. If I were to show you a swollen
foot, a discolored hand, hamstrings so tight my legs could not un-
bend, you would allow me to lie in one place and coddle my infirmity.
This is a greater ill, and one I cannot show to you: the infection, the
abscess, is in my very heart.
No, don’t praise me. Don’t say, “What a great man! He has de-
spised all things—has condemned the madness of human life and
made his escape!” I have condemned nothing except myself. 9 Nor
will you derive any benefit by coming to me for instruction. If you
expect to find help here, you are mistaken. An invalid lives here, not
a doctor. Better you should say, after you leave me, “I used to think
that fellow was fortunate and a learned man; I was ready to listen
to him with eager ears, but I was disappointed. I have seen nothing,
heard nothing I would want to have. There’s no reason for me to go
206 back.” If this is how you feel, if this is what you say, then you have
gained something. I’d rather have your forgiveness for my leisure
letters on ethics
than your envy.
10 “So, Seneca,” you say, “are you recommending leisure to me?
Are you lowering yourself to Epicurean maxims?”* I am indeed rec-
ommending leisure, but a leisure that will allow you to do greater and
fairer deeds than what you leave behind. Knocking on the doors of
the high and mighty, drawing up alphabetical lists of elderly persons
without heirs, wielding great power in the forum—all such power is
brief, invidious, and if truth be told, sordid. 11 One man will be far
ahead of me in political influence, another in military service and
the prestige that it confers, a third in the extent of his patronage. I
cannot equal them; their influence is greater than mine—but I don’t
mind being beaten by everyone: it’s worth it, as long as I am the vic-
tor over fortune.
12 If only you had decided on this course of action a long time
ago! If only we were not debating about happiness with death already
in sight! Yet late as we are, we are now making no delay; for where
once we had reason to teach us that many things are unnecessary or
even harmful to us, we now have experience.
13 So let us be like travelers late in their departure: let’s add the
spur, and so make up the time by greater speed. This time of life lends
itself to such studies: its froth has subsided, and faults that the fervor
of youth could not subdue succumb now to fatigue. Before long, they
will be extinguished.
14 “And when will lessons learned at the point of departure be of
any use to you?” you say. “And for what?” For this: that I may depart a
better man. You need not believe that any time of life is better suited
for excellence of mind than when one has disciplined oneself through
many trials and many lingering regrets, when one has tamed the
emotions and come at last to what is healthful. This is the moment
for achieving this good. He who comes to wisdom when old comes
so many years the wiser.
Farewell.
