But I have been haranguing against Baiae long enough; although I never could harangue often enough against vice.
Vice, Lucilius, is what I wish you to proceed against, without limit and without end. For it has neither limit nor end. If any vice rend your heart, cast it away from you; and if you cannot be rid of it in any other way, pluck out your heart also.
Above all, drive pleasures from your sight. Hate them beyond all other things, for they are like the bandits whom the Egyptians call "lovers," who embrace us only to garrote us. Farewell.
Vice, Lucilius, is what I wish you to proceed against, without limit and without end. For it has neither limit nor end. If any vice rend your heart, cast it away from you; and if you cannot be rid of it in any other way, pluck out your heart also.
Above all, drive pleasures from your sight. Hate them beyond all other things, for they are like the bandits whom the Egyptians call "lovers," who embrace us only to garrote us. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 51
As I reflect on seeking the best environment, I must always remember how no person, place, or thing is ever responsible for making me as I am—I am rather the one who makes myself, by how I choose to employ such circumstances. The company I keep will either encourage or discourage me to become a decent man, so let me pick it wisely.
Baiae, in and of itself, is not really the problem for Lucilius, just as Las Vegas, in and of itself, is not really the problem for me. What is fabulous for one man can just as easily be an occasion of sin for another, depending on their respective inner workings.
If, however, Lucilius and I are thoughtful enough to discern our own strengths and weaknesses, we will surely know why certain enticements do not mix well with our particular dispositions. How much easier it would be for Lucilius to grow fat in a villa, or for me to die alone in a cheap motel, if we foolishly tempted fate.
Life is already giving me all the hardships I need, thank you very much, so I should not deliberately make it any harder on myself. Even as I will bear whatever I must, please don’t ask me to prefer the heavier load.
Perhaps it is just a consequence of growing older, or maybe I am finally learning about my limitations, but I find that I now have far less patience for those grasping people in hectic places. Though I do not wish to deny them their amusements, I will not permit their anxiety to intrude on my own peace of mind. I am happy to make my excuses and go my own way.
I once met a fellow who described his lengthy journey from a life of hustle and bustle in the inner city to a life of solitude in the mountains, and I figured he was just running away. I no longer make that assumption; it is quite possible he was onto something.
Only a few years in the country, where I can actually see the stars at night and the occasional rumble of a distant freight train is the only distraction, have already done a world of good for both my sanity and my blood pressure. No, it hasn’t saved me, but it certainly hasn’t hurt either.
As I reflect on seeking the best environment, I must always remember how no person, place, or thing is ever responsible for making me as I am—I am rather the one who makes myself, by how I choose to employ such circumstances. The company I keep will either encourage or discourage me to become a decent man, so let me pick it wisely.
Baiae, in and of itself, is not really the problem for Lucilius, just as Las Vegas, in and of itself, is not really the problem for me. What is fabulous for one man can just as easily be an occasion of sin for another, depending on their respective inner workings.
If, however, Lucilius and I are thoughtful enough to discern our own strengths and weaknesses, we will surely know why certain enticements do not mix well with our particular dispositions. How much easier it would be for Lucilius to grow fat in a villa, or for me to die alone in a cheap motel, if we foolishly tempted fate.
Life is already giving me all the hardships I need, thank you very much, so I should not deliberately make it any harder on myself. Even as I will bear whatever I must, please don’t ask me to prefer the heavier load.
Perhaps it is just a consequence of growing older, or maybe I am finally learning about my limitations, but I find that I now have far less patience for those grasping people in hectic places. Though I do not wish to deny them their amusements, I will not permit their anxiety to intrude on my own peace of mind. I am happy to make my excuses and go my own way.
I once met a fellow who described his lengthy journey from a life of hustle and bustle in the inner city to a life of solitude in the mountains, and I figured he was just running away. I no longer make that assumption; it is quite possible he was onto something.
Only a few years in the country, where I can actually see the stars at night and the occasional rumble of a distant freight train is the only distraction, have already done a world of good for both my sanity and my blood pressure. No, it hasn’t saved me, but it certainly hasn’t hurt either.
—Reflection written in 4/2013
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