Therefore, Lucilius, act as befits your own serenity of mind, and cease to put a wrong interpretation on the gifts of Fortune. Fortune has taken away, but Fortune has given.
Let us greedily enjoy our friends, because we do not know how long this privilege will be ours. Let us think how often we shall leave them when we go upon distant journeys, and how often we shall fail to see them when we tarry together in the same place; we shall thus understand that we have lost too much of their time while they were alive.
But will you tolerate men who are most careless of their friends, and then mourn them most abjectly, and do not love anyone unless they have lost him? The reason why they lament too unrestrainedly at such times is that they are afraid lest men doubt whether they really have loved; all too late they seek for proofs of their emotions.
If we have other friends, we surely deserve ill at their hands and think ill of them, if they are of so little account that they fail to console us for the loss of one. If, on the other hand, we have no other friends, we have injured ourselves more than Fortune has injured us; since Fortune has robbed us of one friend, but we have robbed ourselves of every friend whom we have failed to make.
Again, he who has been unable to love more than one, has had none too much love even for that one. If a man who has lost his one and only tunic through robbery chooses to bewail his plight rather than look about him for some way to escape the cold, or for something with which to cover his shoulders, would you not think him an utter fool?
Let us greedily enjoy our friends, because we do not know how long this privilege will be ours. Let us think how often we shall leave them when we go upon distant journeys, and how often we shall fail to see them when we tarry together in the same place; we shall thus understand that we have lost too much of their time while they were alive.
But will you tolerate men who are most careless of their friends, and then mourn them most abjectly, and do not love anyone unless they have lost him? The reason why they lament too unrestrainedly at such times is that they are afraid lest men doubt whether they really have loved; all too late they seek for proofs of their emotions.
If we have other friends, we surely deserve ill at their hands and think ill of them, if they are of so little account that they fail to console us for the loss of one. If, on the other hand, we have no other friends, we have injured ourselves more than Fortune has injured us; since Fortune has robbed us of one friend, but we have robbed ourselves of every friend whom we have failed to make.
Again, he who has been unable to love more than one, has had none too much love even for that one. If a man who has lost his one and only tunic through robbery chooses to bewail his plight rather than look about him for some way to escape the cold, or for something with which to cover his shoulders, would you not think him an utter fool?
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 63
For something to be taken away, it must first be given, and so the passing is thereby a very part of the presence. If I perceive the loss only as a denial of what I desire, I am failing to recognize how every act of Fortune offers yet another opportunity to act with character. Nothing can be denied if everything is truly appreciated.
Which of us has not wished that we had rightly treasured what is now departed? Indeed, whenever I do find myself feeling this way, I also know that it is once again time to do some serious moral housekeeping, because my remorse is a surefire sign that I was negligent in loving while it remained within my power.
I understand more and more why the Stoic is so insistent on living each moment to the absolute fullest, for the now is the only guarantee. While I know that Horace was more inspired by the Epicureans than by the Stoics, this hardly makes his injunction to “Seize the Day!” any less true for all of us. The good man knows that he must never hesitate to love and to be loved.
Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.
Observe, in contrast, the fellow who neglects his supposed friends while they are still alive, and then puts on an elaborate show of mourning and homage once they are gone. I may be tempted to call him a scoundrel, but his need to play at a part for the sake of his image is sadly a mark of his weakness.
He is afraid to give anything of himself, and instead chooses to go through the motions after the fact. And have I not also hidden myself away when I am afraid to risk myself for the sake of a real commitment? I reveal my own inconstancy if I cling to spurious company, or if I consider myself to be safer by choosing no comrades at all.
Friends should surely be chosen wisely, though that is never an excuse to hold myself back from sharing love. As Marcus Aurelius always reminds me, if man is a rational animal, he is also made to be social animal, and a rejection of greater fellowship is a rejection of my very nature.
A loss will cause pain, and yet that should be transformed into a motivation to continue loving. Would not my absent friend wish me to pass on all that we had, the bond that was true, good, and beautiful?
For something to be taken away, it must first be given, and so the passing is thereby a very part of the presence. If I perceive the loss only as a denial of what I desire, I am failing to recognize how every act of Fortune offers yet another opportunity to act with character. Nothing can be denied if everything is truly appreciated.
Which of us has not wished that we had rightly treasured what is now departed? Indeed, whenever I do find myself feeling this way, I also know that it is once again time to do some serious moral housekeeping, because my remorse is a surefire sign that I was negligent in loving while it remained within my power.
I understand more and more why the Stoic is so insistent on living each moment to the absolute fullest, for the now is the only guarantee. While I know that Horace was more inspired by the Epicureans than by the Stoics, this hardly makes his injunction to “Seize the Day!” any less true for all of us. The good man knows that he must never hesitate to love and to be loved.
Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.
Observe, in contrast, the fellow who neglects his supposed friends while they are still alive, and then puts on an elaborate show of mourning and homage once they are gone. I may be tempted to call him a scoundrel, but his need to play at a part for the sake of his image is sadly a mark of his weakness.
He is afraid to give anything of himself, and instead chooses to go through the motions after the fact. And have I not also hidden myself away when I am afraid to risk myself for the sake of a real commitment? I reveal my own inconstancy if I cling to spurious company, or if I consider myself to be safer by choosing no comrades at all.
Friends should surely be chosen wisely, though that is never an excuse to hold myself back from sharing love. As Marcus Aurelius always reminds me, if man is a rational animal, he is also made to be social animal, and a rejection of greater fellowship is a rejection of my very nature.
A loss will cause pain, and yet that should be transformed into a motivation to continue loving. Would not my absent friend wish me to pass on all that we had, the bond that was true, good, and beautiful?
—Reflection written in 6/2013
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