Lucius Annaeus Seneca→Lucilius Junior|c. 64 AD|Seneca the Younger|From Southern Italy (regional)|To Sicily (regional)|AI-assisted
[1] What could I not be persuaded into, when I was once persuaded to go to sea? I set sail with the water sluggish and calm. The sky, to be sure, was heavy with dirty clouds, the kind that almost always break out into either rain or wind; but I thought that the few miles from your Parthenope [Naples] all the way to Puteoli might be stolen, however doubtful and threatening the sky. And so, to escape the more quickly, I steered straight out across the open sea toward Nesis, meaning to cut across all the bays. [2] When I had now gone so far that it made no difference to me whether I went on or turned back, first that very smoothness which had seduced me disappeared. It was not yet a storm, but already the sea was heaving, and the swell came thicker and thicker. I began to ask the helmsman to put me ashore on some beach. He kept saying the coast was rough and harborless, and that in a storm there was nothing he feared so much as land. [3] But I was being tossed too badly for the thought of danger to occur to me; for a sluggish nausea that found no outlet was torturing me, the kind that stirs the bile but does not discharge it. So I pressed the helmsman and forced him, willing or not, to make for shore. As soon as we touched its neighborhood, I do not wait for any of Virgil's instructions to be carried out,
nor for
the prow to be turned seaward
or
the anchor to be cast from the bow;
mindful of my own craft, an old devotee of cold water, I throw myself into the sea, as befits a cold-plunge bather, dressed in my woolen cloak. [4] What do you suppose I endured while I crawled over the rocks, while I sought a path, while I made one? I understood that sailors fear the land not without reason. The things I bore are incredible, seeing that I could not even bear myself. Be assured of this: it was not because Ulysses was born to so angry a sea that he was shipwrecked everywhere; he was simply prone to seasickness. And I too, wherever I have to sail, shall arrive in the twentieth year.
[5] As soon as I had settled my stomach—which, as you know, does not escape its nausea along with the sea—and had revived my body with an anointing, I began to reflect with myself on how great a forgetfulness of our own faults pursues us, even of the bodily ones, which keep reminding us of themselves, not to mention those which lie all the more hidden the greater they are. [6] A slight little twinge deceives a man; but when it has grown and a true fever has blazed up, it wrings a confession even out of a hard man, one inured to suffering. The feet ache, the joints feel little stabs: still we dissemble, and say either that we have twisted an ankle or have strained ourselves in some exercise. While the disease is doubtful and just beginning, its name is in question; but once it has begun to strain like ankle-straps and has twisted both feet out of shape, one must admit it is gout.
[7] The opposite happens with those diseases by which the mind is afflicted: the worse a man's condition, the less he feels it. There is no reason for you to wonder at this, dearest Lucilius; for the man who sleeps lightly both perceives images in his rest and sometimes, while sleeping, is aware that he is asleep: a heavy stupor blots out even dreams and plunges the mind so deep that it has no awareness of itself. [8] Why does no one confess his own faults? Because he is still in their midst: to recount a dream belongs to the man who is awake, and to confess one's faults is a sign of soundness. Let us awaken, then, so that we may be able to convict ourselves of our errors. But philosophy alone will rouse us, philosophy alone will shake off our heavy sleep: dedicate yourself wholly to her. You are worthy of her, she is worthy of you: go into each other's embrace. Refuse yourself to all other things—boldly, openly; there is no reason for you to philosophize as a mere petitioner [on borrowed time]. [9] If you were sick, you would have set aside the care of your estate, your business in the forum would have slipped from you, and you would not think any man so important that you would go down to plead his case during a remission of your illness; you would devote your whole mind to one thing, freeing yourself from the disease as soon as possible. What then? Will you not do the same even now? Dismiss all hindrances and make yourself free for a sound mind: no one reaches it while occupied. Philosophy exercises her own sovereignty; she grants time, she does not receive it; she is no leftover affair; she is the regular business, she is the mistress, she is present and she commands. [10] When a certain state promised Alexander part of its lands and half of all its possessions, he said: 'I came into Asia with this purpose: not that I should accept what you might have given, but that you should hold what I might have left behind.' Philosophy says the same to all other concerns: 'I am not going to accept this time as whatever may be left over for you; rather, you will have what I myself reject.' [11] Turn your whole mind in this direction, sit beside her, cultivate her: a vast interval will open between you and the rest; you will far outstrip all mortals, and the gods will not far outstrip you. You ask what the difference between you and them will be? They will last longer. But, by Hercules, it is the mark of a great artist to have enclosed the whole in a small compass: as much lies open to the wise man in his own span as to a god in all eternity. There is one respect in which the wise man surpasses a god: a god feels no fear by the gift of nature, the wise man by his own [achievement]. [12] Here, look, is a great thing: to have the frailty of a man and the security of a god. The power of philosophy to beat back every onslaught of chance is beyond belief. No weapon lodges in her body; she is fortified, solid; some blows she wears out and, as though they were light missiles, eludes them with a loose fold of her robe, while others she shatters and flings back upon the very man who hurled them. Farewell.
You can persuade me into almost anything now, for I was recently persuaded to travel by water. We cast off when the sea was lazily smooth; the sky, to be sure, was heavy with nasty clouds, such as usually break into rain or squalls. Still, I thought that the few miles between Puteoli and your dear Parthenope might be run off in quick time, despite the uncertain and lowering sky. So, in order to get away more quickly, I made straight out to sea for Nesis, with the purpose of cutting across all the inlets. But when we were so far out that it made little difference to me whether I returned or kept on, the calm weather, which had enticed me, came to naught. The storm had not yet begun, but the ground-swell was on, and the waves kept steadily coming faster. I began to ask the pilot to put me ashore somewhere; he replied that the coast was rough and a bad place to land, and that in a storm he feared a lee shore more than anything else. But I was suffering too grievously to think of the danger, since a sluggish seasickness which brought no relief was racking me, the sort that upsets the liver without clearing it. Therefore I laid down the law to my pilot, forcing him to make for the shore, willy-nilly. When we drew near, I did not wait for things to be done in accordance with Vergil’s orders, until
Prow faced seawards
or
Anchor plunged from bow;
I remembered my profession as a veteran devotee of cold water, and, clad as I was in my cloak, let myself down into the sea, just as a cold-water bather should. What do you think my feelings were, scrambling over the rocks, searching out the path, or making one for myself? I understood that sailors have good reason to fear the land. It is hard to believe what I endured when I could not endure myself; you may be sure that the reason why Ulysses was shipwrecked on every possible occasion was not so much because the sea-god was angry with him from his birth; he was simply subject to seasickness. And in the future I also, if I must go anywhere by sea, shall only reach my destination in the twentieth year.
When I finally calmed my stomach (for you know that one does not escape seasickness by escaping from the sea) and refreshed my body with a rubdown, I began to reflect how completely we forget or ignore our failings, even those that affect the body, which are continually reminding us of their existence,—not to mention those which are more serious in proportion as they are more hidden. A slight ague deceives us; but when it has increased and a genuine fever has begun to burn, it forces even a hardy man, who can endure much suffering, to admit that he is ill. There is pain in the foot, and a tingling sensation in the joints; but we still hide the complaint and announce that we have sprained a joint, or else are tired from over-exercise. Then the ailment, uncertain at first, must be given a name; and when it begins to swell the ankles also, and has made both our feet “right” feet, we are bound to confess that we have the gout. The opposite holds true of diseases of the soul; the worse one is, the less one perceives it. You need not be surprised, my beloved Lucilius. For he whose sleep is light pursues visions during slumber, and sometimes, though asleep, is conscious that he is asleep; but sound slumber annihilates our very dreams and sinks the spirit down so deep that it has no perception of self. Why will no man confess his faults? Because he is still in their grasp; only he who is awake can recount his dream, and similarly a confession of sin is a proof of sound mind.
Let us, therefore, rouse ourselves, that we may be able to correct our mistakes. Philosophy, however, is the only power that can stir us, the only power that can shake off our deep slumber. Devote yourself wholly to philosophy. You are worthy of her; she is worthy of you; greet one another with a loving embrace. Say farewell to all other interests with courage and frankness. Do not study philosophy merely during your spare time.
If you were ill, you would stop caring for your personal concerns, and forget your business duties; you would not think highly enough of any client to take active charge of his case during a slight abatement of your sufferings. You would try your hardest to be rid of the illness as soon as possible. What, then? Shall you not do the same thing now? Throw aside all hindrances and give up your time to getting a sound mind; for no man can attain it if he is engrossed in other matters. Philosophy wields her own authority; she appoints her own time and does not allow it to be appointed for her. She is not a thing to be followed at odd times, but a subject for daily practice; she is mistress, and she commands our attendance. Alexander, when a certain state promised him a part of its territory and half its entire property, replied: “I invaded Asia with the intention, not of accepting what you might give, but of allowing you to keep what I might leave.” Philosophy likewise keeps saying to all occupations: “I do not intend to accept the time which you have left over, but I shall allow you to keep what I myself shall leave.”
Turn to her, therefore, with all your soul, sit at her feet, cherish her; a great distance will then begin to separate you from other men. You will be far ahead of all mortals, and even the gods will not be far ahead of you. Do you ask what will be the difference between yourself and the gods? They will live longer. But, by my faith, it is the sign of a great artist to have confined a full likeness to the limits of a miniature. The wise man’s life spreads out to him over as large a surface as does all eternity to a god. There is one point in which the sage has an advantage over the god; for a god is freed from terrors by the bounty of nature, the wise man by his own bounty. What a wonderful privilege, to have the weaknesses of a man and the serenity of a god! The power of philosophy to blunt the blows of chance is beyond belief. No missile can settle in her body; she is well-protected and impenetrable. She spoils the force of some missiles and wards them off with the loose folds of her gown, as if they had no power to harm; others she dashes aside, and hurls them back with such force that they recoil upon the sender. Farewell.
[1] Quid non potest mihi persuaderi, cui persuasum est ut navigarem? Solvi mari languido; erat sine dubio caelum grave sordidis nubibus, quae fere aut in aquam aut in ventum resolvuntur, sed putavi tam pauca milia a Parthenope tua usque Puteolos subripi posse, quamvis dubio et impendente caelo. Itaque quo celerius evaderem, protinus per altum ad Nesida derexi praecisurus omnes sinus. [2] Cum iam eo processissem ut mea nihil interesset utrum irem an redirem, primum aequalitas illa quae me corruperat periit; nondum erat tempestas, sed iam inclinatio maris ac subinde crebrior fluctus. Coepi gubernatorem rogare ut me in aliquo litore exponeret: aiebat ille aspera esse et importuosa nec quicquam se aeque in tempestate timere quam terram. [3] Peius autem vexabar quam ut mihi periculum succurreret; nausia enim me segnis haec et sine exitu torquebat, quae bilem movet nec effundit. Institi itaque gubernatori et illum, vellet nollet, coegi, peteret litus. Cuius ut viciniam attigimus, non exspecto ut quicquam ex praeceptis Vergilii fiat,
aut
memor artificii mei vetus frigidae cultor mitto me in mare, quomodo psychrolutam decet, gausapatus. [4] Quae putas me passum dum per aspera erepo, dum viam quaero, dum facio? Intellexi non immerito nautis terram timeri. Incredibilia sunt quae tulerim, cum me ferre non possem: illud scito, Ulixem non fuisse tam irato mari natum ut ubique naufragia faceret: nausiator erat. Et ego quocumque navigare debuero vicensimo anno perveniam.
[5] Ut primum stomachum, quem scis non cum mari nausiam effugere, collegi, ut corpus unctione recreavi, hoc coepi mecum cogitare, quanta nos vitiorum nostrorum sequeretur oblivio, etiam corporalium, quae subinde admonent sui, nedum illorum quae eo magis latent quo maiora sunt. [6] Levis aliquem motiuncula decipit; sed cum crevit et vera febris exarsit, etiam duro et perpessicio confessionem exprimit. Pedes dolent, articuli punctiunculas sentiunt: adhuc dissimulamus et aut talum extorsisse dicimus nos aut in exercitatione aliqua laborasse. Dubio et incipiente morbo quaeritur nomen, qui ubi ut talaria coepit intendere et utrosque distortos pedes fecit, necesse est podagram fateri.
[7] Contra evenit in his morbis quibus afficiuntur animi: quo quis peius se habet, minus sentit. Non est quod mireris, Lucili carissime; nam qui leviter dormit, et species secundum quietem capit et aliquando dormire se dormiens cogitat: gravis sopor etiam somnia exstinguit animumque altius mergit quam ut in ullo intellectu sui sit. [8] Quare vitia sua nemo confitetur? quia etiam nunc in illis est: somnium narrare vigilantis est, et vitia sua confiteri sanitatis indicium est. Expergiscamur ergo, ut errores nostros coarguere possimus. Sola autem nos philosophia excitabit, sola somnum excutiet gravem: illi te totum dedica. Dignus illa es, illa digna te est: ite in complexum alter alterius. Omnibus aliis rebus te nega, fortiter, aperte; non est quod precario philosopheris. [9] Si aeger esses, curam intermisisses rei familiaris et forensia tibi negotia excidissent nec quemquam tanti putares cui advocatus in remissione descenderes; toto animo id ageres ut quam primum morbo liberareris. Quid ergo? non et nunc idem facies? omnia impedimenta dimitte et vaca bonae menti: nemo ad illam pervenit occupatus. Exercet philosophia regnum suum; dat tempus, non accipit; non est res subsiciva; ordinaria est, domina est, adest et iubet. [10] Alexander cuidam civitati partem agrorum et dimidium rerum omnium promittenti 'eo' inquit 'proposito in Asiam veni, ut non id acciperem quod dedissetis, sed ut id haberetis quod reliquissem'. Idem philosophia rebus omnibus: 'non sum hoc tempus acceptura quod vobis superfuerit, sed id vos habebitis quod ipsa reiecero'. [11] Totam huc converte mentem, huic asside, hanc cole: ingens intervallum inter te et ceteros fiet; omnes mortales multo antecedes, non multo te dii antecedent. Quaeris quid inter te et illos interfuturum sit? diutius erunt. At mehercules magni artificis est clusisse totum in exiguo; tantum sapienti sua quantum deo omnis aetas patet. Est aliquid quo sapiens antecedat deum: ille naturae beneficio non timet, suo sapiens. [12] Ecce res magna, habere imbecillitatem hominis, securitatem dei. Incredibilis philosophiae vis est ad omnem fortuitam vim retundendam. Nullum telum in corpore eius sedet; munita est, solida; quaedam defetigat et velut levia tela laxo sinu eludit, quaedam discutit et in eum usque qui miserat respuit. Vale.
◆
[1] What could I not be persuaded into, when I was once persuaded to go to sea? I set sail with the water sluggish and calm. The sky, to be sure, was heavy with dirty clouds, the kind that almost always break out into either rain or wind; but I thought that the few miles from your Parthenope [Naples] all the way to Puteoli might be stolen, however doubtful and threatening the sky. And so, to escape the more quickly, I steered straight out across the open sea toward Nesis, meaning to cut across all the bays. [2] When I had now gone so far that it made no difference to me whether I went on or turned back, first that very smoothness which had seduced me disappeared. It was not yet a storm, but already the sea was heaving, and the swell came thicker and thicker. I began to ask the helmsman to put me ashore on some beach. He kept saying the coast was rough and harborless, and that in a storm there was nothing he feared so much as land. [3] But I was being tossed too badly for the thought of danger to occur to me; for a sluggish nausea that found no outlet was torturing me, the kind that stirs the bile but does not discharge it. So I pressed the helmsman and forced him, willing or not, to make for shore. As soon as we touched its neighborhood, I do not wait for any of Virgil's instructions to be carried out,
nor for
the prow to be turned seaward
or
the anchor to be cast from the bow;
mindful of my own craft, an old devotee of cold water, I throw myself into the sea, as befits a cold-plunge bather, dressed in my woolen cloak. [4] What do you suppose I endured while I crawled over the rocks, while I sought a path, while I made one? I understood that sailors fear the land not without reason. The things I bore are incredible, seeing that I could not even bear myself. Be assured of this: it was not because Ulysses was born to so angry a sea that he was shipwrecked everywhere; he was simply prone to seasickness. And I too, wherever I have to sail, shall arrive in the twentieth year.
[5] As soon as I had settled my stomach—which, as you know, does not escape its nausea along with the sea—and had revived my body with an anointing, I began to reflect with myself on how great a forgetfulness of our own faults pursues us, even of the bodily ones, which keep reminding us of themselves, not to mention those which lie all the more hidden the greater they are. [6] A slight little twinge deceives a man; but when it has grown and a true fever has blazed up, it wrings a confession even out of a hard man, one inured to suffering. The feet ache, the joints feel little stabs: still we dissemble, and say either that we have twisted an ankle or have strained ourselves in some exercise. While the disease is doubtful and just beginning, its name is in question; but once it has begun to strain like ankle-straps and has twisted both feet out of shape, one must admit it is gout.
[7] The opposite happens with those diseases by which the mind is afflicted: the worse a man's condition, the less he feels it. There is no reason for you to wonder at this, dearest Lucilius; for the man who sleeps lightly both perceives images in his rest and sometimes, while sleeping, is aware that he is asleep: a heavy stupor blots out even dreams and plunges the mind so deep that it has no awareness of itself. [8] Why does no one confess his own faults? Because he is still in their midst: to recount a dream belongs to the man who is awake, and to confess one's faults is a sign of soundness. Let us awaken, then, so that we may be able to convict ourselves of our errors. But philosophy alone will rouse us, philosophy alone will shake off our heavy sleep: dedicate yourself wholly to her. You are worthy of her, she is worthy of you: go into each other's embrace. Refuse yourself to all other things—boldly, openly; there is no reason for you to philosophize as a mere petitioner [on borrowed time]. [9] If you were sick, you would have set aside the care of your estate, your business in the forum would have slipped from you, and you would not think any man so important that you would go down to plead his case during a remission of your illness; you would devote your whole mind to one thing, freeing yourself from the disease as soon as possible. What then? Will you not do the same even now? Dismiss all hindrances and make yourself free for a sound mind: no one reaches it while occupied. Philosophy exercises her own sovereignty; she grants time, she does not receive it; she is no leftover affair; she is the regular business, she is the mistress, she is present and she commands. [10] When a certain state promised Alexander part of its lands and half of all its possessions, he said: 'I came into Asia with this purpose: not that I should accept what you might have given, but that you should hold what I might have left behind.' Philosophy says the same to all other concerns: 'I am not going to accept this time as whatever may be left over for you; rather, you will have what I myself reject.' [11] Turn your whole mind in this direction, sit beside her, cultivate her: a vast interval will open between you and the rest; you will far outstrip all mortals, and the gods will not far outstrip you. You ask what the difference between you and them will be? They will last longer. But, by Hercules, it is the mark of a great artist to have enclosed the whole in a small compass: as much lies open to the wise man in his own span as to a god in all eternity. There is one respect in which the wise man surpasses a god: a god feels no fear by the gift of nature, the wise man by his own [achievement]. [12] Here, look, is a great thing: to have the frailty of a man and the security of a god. The power of philosophy to beat back every onslaught of chance is beyond belief. No weapon lodges in her body; she is fortified, solid; some blows she wears out and, as though they were light missiles, eludes them with a loose fold of her robe, while others she shatters and flings back upon the very man who hurled them. 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] Quid non potest mihi persuaderi, cui persuasum est ut navigarem? Solvi mari languido; erat sine dubio caelum grave sordidis nubibus, quae fere aut in aquam aut in ventum resolvuntur, sed putavi tam pauca milia a Parthenope tua usque Puteolos subripi posse, quamvis dubio et impendente caelo. Itaque quo celerius evaderem, protinus per altum ad Nesida derexi praecisurus omnes sinus. [2] Cum iam eo processissem ut mea nihil interesset utrum irem an redirem, primum aequalitas illa quae me corruperat periit; nondum erat tempestas, sed iam inclinatio maris ac subinde crebrior fluctus. Coepi gubernatorem rogare ut me in aliquo litore exponeret: aiebat ille aspera esse et importuosa nec quicquam se aeque in tempestate timere quam terram. [3] Peius autem vexabar quam ut mihi periculum succurreret; nausia enim me segnis haec et sine exitu torquebat, quae bilem movet nec effundit. Institi itaque gubernatori et illum, vellet nollet, coegi, peteret litus. Cuius ut viciniam attigimus, non exspecto ut quicquam ex praeceptis Vergilii fiat,
aut
memor artificii mei vetus frigidae cultor mitto me in mare, quomodo psychrolutam decet, gausapatus. [4] Quae putas me passum dum per aspera erepo, dum viam quaero, dum facio? Intellexi non immerito nautis terram timeri. Incredibilia sunt quae tulerim, cum me ferre non possem: illud scito, Ulixem non fuisse tam irato mari natum ut ubique naufragia faceret: nausiator erat. Et ego quocumque navigare debuero vicensimo anno perveniam.
[5] Ut primum stomachum, quem scis non cum mari nausiam effugere, collegi, ut corpus unctione recreavi, hoc coepi mecum cogitare, quanta nos vitiorum nostrorum sequeretur oblivio, etiam corporalium, quae subinde admonent sui, nedum illorum quae eo magis latent quo maiora sunt. [6] Levis aliquem motiuncula decipit; sed cum crevit et vera febris exarsit, etiam duro et perpessicio confessionem exprimit. Pedes dolent, articuli punctiunculas sentiunt: adhuc dissimulamus et aut talum extorsisse dicimus nos aut in exercitatione aliqua laborasse. Dubio et incipiente morbo quaeritur nomen, qui ubi ut talaria coepit intendere et utrosque distortos pedes fecit, necesse est podagram fateri.
[7] Contra evenit in his morbis quibus afficiuntur animi: quo quis peius se habet, minus sentit. Non est quod mireris, Lucili carissime; nam qui leviter dormit, et species secundum quietem capit et aliquando dormire se dormiens cogitat: gravis sopor etiam somnia exstinguit animumque altius mergit quam ut in ullo intellectu sui sit. [8] Quare vitia sua nemo confitetur? quia etiam nunc in illis est: somnium narrare vigilantis est, et vitia sua confiteri sanitatis indicium est. Expergiscamur ergo, ut errores nostros coarguere possimus. Sola autem nos philosophia excitabit, sola somnum excutiet gravem: illi te totum dedica. Dignus illa es, illa digna te est: ite in complexum alter alterius. Omnibus aliis rebus te nega, fortiter, aperte; non est quod precario philosopheris. [9] Si aeger esses, curam intermisisses rei familiaris et forensia tibi negotia excidissent nec quemquam tanti putares cui advocatus in remissione descenderes; toto animo id ageres ut quam primum morbo liberareris. Quid ergo? non et nunc idem facies? omnia impedimenta dimitte et vaca bonae menti: nemo ad illam pervenit occupatus. Exercet philosophia regnum suum; dat tempus, non accipit; non est res subsiciva; ordinaria est, domina est, adest et iubet. [10] Alexander cuidam civitati partem agrorum et dimidium rerum omnium promittenti 'eo' inquit 'proposito in Asiam veni, ut non id acciperem quod dedissetis, sed ut id haberetis quod reliquissem'. Idem philosophia rebus omnibus: 'non sum hoc tempus acceptura quod vobis superfuerit, sed id vos habebitis quod ipsa reiecero'. [11] Totam huc converte mentem, huic asside, hanc cole: ingens intervallum inter te et ceteros fiet; omnes mortales multo antecedes, non multo te dii antecedent. Quaeris quid inter te et illos interfuturum sit? diutius erunt. At mehercules magni artificis est clusisse totum in exiguo; tantum sapienti sua quantum deo omnis aetas patet. Est aliquid quo sapiens antecedat deum: ille naturae beneficio non timet, suo sapiens. [12] Ecce res magna, habere imbecillitatem hominis, securitatem dei. Incredibilis philosophiae vis est ad omnem fortuitam vim retundendam. Nullum telum in corpore eius sedet; munita est, solida; quaedam defetigat et velut levia tela laxo sinu eludit, quaedam discutit et in eum usque qui miserat respuit. Vale.