Lucius Annaeus Seneca→Lucilius Junior|c. 64 AD|Seneca the Younger|From Rome|To Sicily|AI-assisted
When it was time for me to return to Naples from Baiae, I easily persuaded
myself that a storm was raging, that I might avoid another trip by sea;
and yet the road was so deep in mud, all the way, that I may be thought
none the less to have made a voyage. On that day I had to endure
the full fate of an athlete; the enointing with which we began was followed
by the sand- sprinkle in the Naples tunnel. No place could be longer
than that prison; nothing could be dimmer than those torches, which enabled
us, not to see amid the darkness, but to see the darkness. But, even
supposing that there was light in the place, the dust, which is an oppressive
and disagreeable thing even in the open air, would destroy the light; how
much worse the dust is there, where it rolls back upon itself, and, being
shut in without ventilation, blows back in the faces of those who set it
going! So we endured two inconveniences at the same time, and they were
diametrically different: we struggled both with mud and with dust on the
same road and on the same day.
The gloom, however, furnished me with some
food for thought; I felt a certain mental thrill, and a transformation
unaccompanied by fear, due to the novelty and the unpleasantness of an
unusual occurrence. Of course I am not speaking to you of myself
at this point, because I am far from being a perfect person, or even a
man of middling qualities; I refer to one over whom fortune has lost her
control. Even such a man's mind will be smitten with a thrill and
<Ep1-383>
he will change colour. For there are ceratin emotions, my dear
Lucilius, which no courage can avoid; nature reminds courage how perishible
a thing it is. And so he will contract his brow when the prospect
is forbidding, will shudder at sudden apparitions, and will become dizzy
when he stands at the edge of a high precipice and looks down. This
is not fear; it is a natural feeling which reason cannot rout. That
is why certain brave men, most willing to shed their own blood, cannot
bear to see the blood of others. Some persons collapse and faint at the
sight of a freshly inflicted wound; others are affected similarly on handling
or viewing an old wound which is festering. And others meet the sword-stroke
more readily than they see it dealt.
Accordingly, as I said, I experienced a certain
transformation, though it could not be called confusion. Then at
the first glimpse of restored daylight my good spirits returned without
forethought or command. And I began to muse and think how foolish
we are to fear certain objects to a greater or less degree, since all of
them end in the same way. For what difference does it make whether
a watchtower or a mountain crashes down upon us? No difference at
all, you will find. Nevertheless, there will be some men who fear
the latter mishap to a greater degree, though both accidents are equally
deadly; so true it is that fear looks not to the effect, but to the cause
of the effect. Do you suppose that I am now referring to the Stoics,
who hold that the soul of a man crushed by a great weight cannot abide,
and is scattered forthwith, because it has not had a free opportunity to
depart? That is not what I am doing; those who think thus are, in
my opinion, wrong. Just as fire cannot be crushed out, since it
<Ep1-385>
[1] Cum a Bais deberem Neapolim repetere, facile credidi tempestatem esse, ne iterum navem experirer; et tantum luti tota via fuit ut possim videri nihilominus navigasse. Totum athletarum fatum mihi illo die perpetiendum fuit: a ceromate nos haphe excepit in crypta Neapolitana. [2] Nihil illo carcere longius, nihil illis facibus obscurius, quae nobis praestant non ut per tenebras videamus, sed ut ipsas. Ceterum etiam si locus haberet lucem, pulvis auferret, in aperto quoque res gravis et molesta: quid illic, ubi in se volutatur et, cum sine ullo spiramento sit inclusus, in ipsos a quibus excitatus est recidit? Duo incommoda inter sc contraria simul pertulimus: eadem via, eodem die et luto et pulvere laboravimus.
[3] Aliquid tamen mihi illa obscuritas quod cogitarem dedit: sensi quendam ictum animi et sine metu mutationem quam insolitae rei novitas simul ac foeditas fecerat. Non de me nunc tecum loquor, qui multum ab homine tolerabili, nedum a perfecto absum, sed de illo in quem fortuna ius perdidit: huius quoque ferietur animus, mutabitur color. [4] Quaedam enim, mi Lucili, nulla effugere virtus potest; admonet illam natura mortalitatis suae. Itaque et vultum adducet ad tristia et inhorrescet ad subita et caligabit, si vastam altitudinem in crepidine eius constitutus despexerit: non est hoc timor, sed naturalis affectio inexpugnabilis rationi. [5] Itaque fortes quidam et paratissimi fundere suum sanguinem alienum videre non possunt; quidam ad vulneris novi, quidam ad veteris et purulenti tractationem inspectionemque succidunt ac linquuntur animo; alii gladium facilius recipiunt quam vident. [6] Sensi ergo, ut dicebam, quandam non quidem perturbationem, sed mutationem: rursus ad primum conspectum redditae lucis alacritas rediit incogitata et iniussa. Illud deinde mecum loqui coepi, quam inepte quaedam magis aut minus timeremus, cum omnium idem finis esset. Quid enim interest utrum supra aliquem vigilarium ruat an mons? nihil invenies. Erunt tamen qui hanc ruinam magis timeant, quamvis utraque mortifera aeque sit; adeo non effectu, sed efficientia timor spectat.
[7] Nunc me putas de Stoicis dicere, qui existimant animam hominis magno pondere extriti permanere non posse et statim spargi, quia non fuerit illi exitus liber? Ego vero non facio: qui hoc dicunt videntur mihi errare. [8] Quemadmodum flamma non potest opprimi - nam circa id diffugit quo urgetur -, quemadmodum aer verbere atque ictu non laeditur, ne scinditur quidem, sed circa id cui cessit refunditur, sic animus, qui ex tenuissimo constat, deprehendi non potest nec intra corpus effligi, sed beneficio subtilitatis suae per ipsa quibus premitur erumpit. Quomodo fulmini, etiam cum latissime percussit ac fulsit, per exiguum foramen est reditus, sic animo, qui adhuc tenuior est igne, per omne corpus fuga est. [9] Itaque de illo quaerendum est, an possit immortalis esse. Hoc quidem certum habe: si superstes est corpori, opteri illum nullo genere posse, [propter quod non perit] quoniam nulla immortalitas cum exceptione est, nec quicquam noxium aeterno est. Vale.
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When it was time for me to return to Naples from Baiae, I easily persuaded myself that a storm was raging, that I might avoid another trip by sea; and yet the road was so deep in mud, all the way, that I may be thought none the less to have made a voyage. On that day I had to endure the full fate of an athlete; the enointing with which we began was followed by the sand- sprinkle in the Naples tunnel. No place could be longer than that prison; nothing could be dimmer than those torches, which enabled us, not to see amid the darkness, but to see the darkness. But, even supposing that there was light in the place, the dust, which is an oppressive and disagreeable thing even in the open air, would destroy the light; how much worse the dust is there, where it rolls back upon itself, and, being shut in without ventilation, blows back in the faces of those who set it going! So we endured two inconveniences at the same time, and they were diametrically different: we struggled both with mud and with dust on the same road and on the same day. The gloom, however, furnished me with some food for thought; I felt a certain mental thrill, and a transformation unaccompanied by fear, due to the novelty and the unpleasantness of an unusual occurrence. Of course I am not speaking to you of myself at this point, because I am far from being a perfect person, or even a man of middling qualities; I refer to one over whom fortune has lost her control. Even such a man's mind will be smitten with a thrill and <Ep1-383>
he will change colour. For there are ceratin emotions, my dear Lucilius, which no courage can avoid; nature reminds courage how perishible a thing it is. And so he will contract his brow when the prospect is forbidding, will shudder at sudden apparitions, and will become dizzy when he stands at the edge of a high precipice and looks down. This is not fear; it is a natural feeling which reason cannot rout. That is why certain brave men, most willing to shed their own blood, cannot bear to see the blood of others. Some persons collapse and faint at the sight of a freshly inflicted wound; others are affected similarly on handling or viewing an old wound which is festering. And others meet the sword-stroke more readily than they see it dealt. Accordingly, as I said, I experienced a certain transformation, though it could not be called confusion. Then at the first glimpse of restored daylight my good spirits returned without forethought or command. And I began to muse and think how foolish we are to fear certain objects to a greater or less degree, since all of them end in the same way. For what difference does it make whether a watchtower or a mountain crashes down upon us? No difference at all, you will find. Nevertheless, there will be some men who fear the latter mishap to a greater degree, though both accidents are equally deadly; so true it is that fear looks not to the effect, but to the cause of the effect. Do you suppose that I am now referring to the Stoics, who hold that the soul of a man crushed by a great weight cannot abide, and is scattered forthwith, because it has not had a free opportunity to depart? That is not what I am doing; those who think thus are, in my opinion, wrong. Just as fire cannot be crushed out, since it <Ep1-385>
Latin / Greek Original
[1] Cum a Bais deberem Neapolim repetere, facile credidi tempestatem esse, ne iterum navem experirer; et tantum luti tota via fuit ut possim videri nihilominus navigasse. Totum athletarum fatum mihi illo die perpetiendum fuit: a ceromate nos haphe excepit in crypta Neapolitana. [2] Nihil illo carcere longius, nihil illis facibus obscurius, quae nobis praestant non ut per tenebras videamus, sed ut ipsas. Ceterum etiam si locus haberet lucem, pulvis auferret, in aperto quoque res gravis et molesta: quid illic, ubi in se volutatur et, cum sine ullo spiramento sit inclusus, in ipsos a quibus excitatus est recidit? Duo incommoda inter sc contraria simul pertulimus: eadem via, eodem die et luto et pulvere laboravimus.
[3] Aliquid tamen mihi illa obscuritas quod cogitarem dedit: sensi quendam ictum animi et sine metu mutationem quam insolitae rei novitas simul ac foeditas fecerat. Non de me nunc tecum loquor, qui multum ab homine tolerabili, nedum a perfecto absum, sed de illo in quem fortuna ius perdidit: huius quoque ferietur animus, mutabitur color. [4] Quaedam enim, mi Lucili, nulla effugere virtus potest; admonet illam natura mortalitatis suae. Itaque et vultum adducet ad tristia et inhorrescet ad subita et caligabit, si vastam altitudinem in crepidine eius constitutus despexerit: non est hoc timor, sed naturalis affectio inexpugnabilis rationi. [5] Itaque fortes quidam et paratissimi fundere suum sanguinem alienum videre non possunt; quidam ad vulneris novi, quidam ad veteris et purulenti tractationem inspectionemque succidunt ac linquuntur animo; alii gladium facilius recipiunt quam vident. [6] Sensi ergo, ut dicebam, quandam non quidem perturbationem, sed mutationem: rursus ad primum conspectum redditae lucis alacritas rediit incogitata et iniussa. Illud deinde mecum loqui coepi, quam inepte quaedam magis aut minus timeremus, cum omnium idem finis esset. Quid enim interest utrum supra aliquem vigilarium ruat an mons? nihil invenies. Erunt tamen qui hanc ruinam magis timeant, quamvis utraque mortifera aeque sit; adeo non effectu, sed efficientia timor spectat.
[7] Nunc me putas de Stoicis dicere, qui existimant animam hominis magno pondere extriti permanere non posse et statim spargi, quia non fuerit illi exitus liber? Ego vero non facio: qui hoc dicunt videntur mihi errare. [8] Quemadmodum flamma non potest opprimi - nam circa id diffugit quo urgetur -, quemadmodum aer verbere atque ictu non laeditur, ne scinditur quidem, sed circa id cui cessit refunditur, sic animus, qui ex tenuissimo constat, deprehendi non potest nec intra corpus effligi, sed beneficio subtilitatis suae per ipsa quibus premitur erumpit. Quomodo fulmini, etiam cum latissime percussit ac fulsit, per exiguum foramen est reditus, sic animo, qui adhuc tenuior est igne, per omne corpus fuga est. [9] Itaque de illo quaerendum est, an possit immortalis esse. Hoc quidem certum habe: si superstes est corpori, opteri illum nullo genere posse, [propter quod non perit] quoniam nulla immortalitas cum exceptione est, nec quicquam noxium aeterno est. Vale.