Letter 67: On ill-health and endurance of suffering
If I may begin with a commonplace remark, spring is gradually disclosing itself; but though it is rounding into summer, when you would expect hot weather, it has kept rather cool, and one cannot yet be sure of it. For it often slides back into winter weather. Do you wish to know how uncertain it still is? I do not yet trust myself to a bath which is absolutely cold; even at this time I break its chill.
You may say that this is no way to show the endurance either of heat or of cold; very true, dear Lucilius, but at my time of life one is at length contented with the natural chill of the body. I can scarcely thaw out in the middle of summer. Accordingly, I spend most of the time bundled up; and I thank old age for keeping me fastened to my bed.
Why should I not thank old age on this account? That which I ought not to wish to do, I lack the ability to do. Most of my converse is with books. Whenever your letters arrive, I imagine that I am with you, and I have the feeling that I am about to speak my answer, instead of writing it. Therefore, let us together investigate the nature of this problem of yours, just as if we were conversing with one another.
If I may begin with a commonplace remark, spring is gradually disclosing itself; but though it is rounding into summer, when you would expect hot weather, it has kept rather cool, and one cannot yet be sure of it. For it often slides back into winter weather. Do you wish to know how uncertain it still is? I do not yet trust myself to a bath which is absolutely cold; even at this time I break its chill.
You may say that this is no way to show the endurance either of heat or of cold; very true, dear Lucilius, but at my time of life one is at length contented with the natural chill of the body. I can scarcely thaw out in the middle of summer. Accordingly, I spend most of the time bundled up; and I thank old age for keeping me fastened to my bed.
Why should I not thank old age on this account? That which I ought not to wish to do, I lack the ability to do. Most of my converse is with books. Whenever your letters arrive, I imagine that I am with you, and I have the feeling that I am about to speak my answer, instead of writing it. Therefore, let us together investigate the nature of this problem of yours, just as if we were conversing with one another.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 67
I lag well behind Seneca in years, though I can already feel age creeping up on me. The vitality of my twenties and thirties is in the rear-view mirror, and they now tell me I have a problem with the old ticker. This means I can no longer race about as I once did, or manage without sleep, or consume ridiculous amounts of questionable food and drink.
I smile as I write those words, because I used to tease my elders when they complained of aches and pains, and they wisely reminded me how I would soon be next. It doesn’t all have to be about doom and gloom, however, since there is a blessing wrapped up in the curse, as I increasingly find is true of all circumstances. Seneca hits the nail on the head: a vice is hardly so tempting when I now lack the vigor to chase after it.
I would like to proudly give my conscience the sole credit for dragging me out of the gutter, but I must sheepishly admit that the fading of the flesh also gave the spirit a solid push. I suppose this as it should be, and I am grateful for the opportunity. I now tend to prefer my club soda without the whiskey, a loyal friend over a pretty face, and Johann Sebastian Bach instead of Iron Maiden.
The old saying that youth is wasted on the young is perhaps only half a truth, for the things I once desired have slowly but surely changed, along with my constitution. Why would I even want to behave like an ass? What I once considered to be “manliness” now makes me shudder, and I no longer give so much weight to strutting about or proving my mettle; I would much rather be patient and kind than tough and clever.
In the past, bravery was about putting on a show, and endurance was about sticking it to the other guy. If you had tried to explain to me what it meant to practice the classical virtue of “constancy”, I would have looked at you funny, and yet a serene state of inner commitment, regardless of the trappings, has become one of my greatest treasures.
I lag well behind Seneca in years, though I can already feel age creeping up on me. The vitality of my twenties and thirties is in the rear-view mirror, and they now tell me I have a problem with the old ticker. This means I can no longer race about as I once did, or manage without sleep, or consume ridiculous amounts of questionable food and drink.
I smile as I write those words, because I used to tease my elders when they complained of aches and pains, and they wisely reminded me how I would soon be next. It doesn’t all have to be about doom and gloom, however, since there is a blessing wrapped up in the curse, as I increasingly find is true of all circumstances. Seneca hits the nail on the head: a vice is hardly so tempting when I now lack the vigor to chase after it.
I would like to proudly give my conscience the sole credit for dragging me out of the gutter, but I must sheepishly admit that the fading of the flesh also gave the spirit a solid push. I suppose this as it should be, and I am grateful for the opportunity. I now tend to prefer my club soda without the whiskey, a loyal friend over a pretty face, and Johann Sebastian Bach instead of Iron Maiden.
The old saying that youth is wasted on the young is perhaps only half a truth, for the things I once desired have slowly but surely changed, along with my constitution. Why would I even want to behave like an ass? What I once considered to be “manliness” now makes me shudder, and I no longer give so much weight to strutting about or proving my mettle; I would much rather be patient and kind than tough and clever.
In the past, bravery was about putting on a show, and endurance was about sticking it to the other guy. If you had tried to explain to me what it meant to practice the classical virtue of “constancy”, I would have looked at you funny, and yet a serene state of inner commitment, regardless of the trappings, has become one of my greatest treasures.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Godfrey Kneller, Scholar in His Study (c. 1668)
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