Seneca, On Peace of Mind 12.3

You would pity some of them when you see them running as if their house was on fire. They actually jostle all whom they meet, and hurry along themselves and others with them, though all the while they are going to salute someone who will not return their greeting, or to attend the funeral of someone whom they did not know.

They are going to hear the verdict on one who often goes to the law, or to see the wedding of one who often gets married.

They will follow a man's litter, and in some places will even carry it. Afterwards returning home, weary with idleness, they swear that they themselves do not know why they went out, or where they have been, and on the following day they will wander through the same round again.

Surely no one follows, or carries, another man’s litter anymore? Isn’t that all from a past and barbaric age?

No, not really. The accidents change, while the act remains much the same.

Have you ever been the boss? Then you know how tempting it is to let others bear you along, to pamper you, to wait upon you hand and foot.

Have you ever been at the whim of the boss, which is far more likely? Then you know how tempting it is to flatter him, to coddle him, to do all of his dirty work for him.

I still laugh out loud when I return to this text, not to mock it, but as a nervous response to its timeless truth. I’m not even worried about casting blame on anyone else, since I find it ridiculous enough to see myself fall for the bait.

Did he notice me vigorously nodding my head and wildly applauding his brilliance while he gave his speech? Oh, how I wish he had!

A man has died, and I utter words of honor about him in public, even though I never paid any attention to him in private while he was still alive. Can everyone else see how mournful I am?

I hover about the courtrooms and the halls of power, and I feel important rubbing shoulders with those who are involved in making momentous decisions. Men are carried up and cast down in an instant, while I gaze at the reflection of my own glory.

I know that another person is nothing but a disposable commodity to him, and yet I raise my glass to praise everlasting love as he poses for the photographs with his new bride. The previous one had clearly not been invited to the festivities.

Now why would I ever think to do such things? Only because I am being a sycophant and a fraud. This, they say, is how I can win, and I willingly submit to all of that nonsense.

At the end of the day, I will wonder why I am so tired, even as it does not occur to me that it isn’t my body that is worn out by all my constant business. It is my soul that is drained, sucked dry of any integrity or conviction.

I may even mumble something about not even being sure why I bother, or reflect for a moment about a simpler and more peaceful life, but the fact that I will get up the next morning to do it once more is proof enough that I was just mouthing the words.

If my house is on fire, might it not be better to actually try putting out the flames, instead of running around in circles and pulling my hair out? 

Written in 12/2011