Seneca, Moral Letters 14.2

Let us, however, in so far as we can, avoid discomforts as well as dangers, and withdraw to safe ground, by thinking continually how we may repel all objects of fear. If I am not mistaken, there are three main classes of these: we fear want, we fear sickness, and we fear the troubles which result from the violence of the stronger.

 

And of all these, that which shakes us most is the dread which hangs over us from our neighbor’s ascendancy; for it is accompanied by great outcry and uproar. 

 

But the natural evils which I have mentioned—want and sickness—steal upon us silently with no shock of terror to the eye or to the ear. 

 

The other kind of evil comes, so to speak, in the form of a huge parade. Surrounding it is a retinue of swords and fire and chains and a mob of beasts to be let loose upon the disemboweled entrails of men.

 

It may sound obvious, but I would be wise to keep my distance from situations where I can get myself into trouble. That rule must not be so apparent, however, given how often I have rushed headlong into foolish entanglements and destructive attachments. It seemed like it would be gratifying at the time, and perhaps I even felt brave in taking on the challenge, only to find that I had unwittingly engineered my own downfall. 

 

The distance is not about a physical separation, and it does not ask me to run away from the world, or to cast aside any connections with others. No, the distance is more about placing a good dose of vigilance between myself and my circumstances. 

 

The danger is in thinking that I can control events, only to find that I have now allowed the events to take control of me. It is most prudent for me to take control of myself, and then all else can be borne with dignity. 

 

It is my own judgment that can permit me to come to terms with my fears, and so I should ask myself what I fear, and why I have come to fear it. Then the understanding begins to diminish the power of the fear, revealing how I can take responsibility for my own reactions, and where I can find the strength to keep the danger at arm’s length. 

 

Seneca here distinguishes between three sorts of situations that trouble us: the worry that we will be denied the fulfillment of our desires, the worry that we will suffer from the weakness and corruption of the flesh, and the worry that we will be overcome by the brute force of those who would abuse and exploit us. 

 

I suppose he is quite right, since a day won’t pass where I am not anxious about these unpleasant prospects. 

 

I long for something, but what if I fail to acquire it? I want to remain whole, but why must the threat of pain and death always be breathing down my neck? I have gathered a little something for myself, but why must I be hounded by so many tyrants, each one of them quite glad to crush me under his heel and rip away whatever I hold dear? 

 

While all three are disturbing in their own ways, the third really does take the cake for filling me with the greatest dread. The fear leaves me shaking like nothing else, the expectation of the agony cuts the deepest, the base injustice of it offends me to the core. The threat is so vivid, the loss so complete, the humiliation so public. 

 

I can struggle through poverty and disease in hiding, curled up in a hole, though there is no such escape when the man who combines greed with power decides to have his way. He feels the need to put on a dramatic show, finding pleasure in the shock and intimidation that accompany his dominance. There must always be noise, boasting, and the most ferocious violence. 

 

When we see the self-righteous despots and inquisitors coming around the bend, is it any wonder that all our instincts scream at us to head for the hills? 

Written in 6/2012