In the early days, however, there were few baths, and they were not fitted out with any display. For why should men elaborately fit out that which, costs a penny only, and was invented for use, not merely for delight?
The bathers of those days did not have water poured over them, nor did it always run fresh as if from a hot spring; and they did not believe that it mattered at all how perfectly pure was the water into which they were to leave their dirt.
Ye gods, what a pleasure it is to enter that dark bath, covered with a common sort of roof, knowing that therein your hero Cato, as aedile, or Fabius Maximus, or one of the Cornelii, has warmed the water with his own hands!
For this also used to be the duty of the noblest aediles—to enter these places to which the populace resorted, and to demand that they be cleaned and warmed to a heat required by considerations of use and health, not the heat that men have recently made fashionable, as great as a conflagration—so much so, indeed, that a slave condemned for some criminal offence now ought to bebathed alive!
It seems to me that nowadays there is no difference between “the bath is on fire,” and “the bath is warm."
The bathers of those days did not have water poured over them, nor did it always run fresh as if from a hot spring; and they did not believe that it mattered at all how perfectly pure was the water into which they were to leave their dirt.
Ye gods, what a pleasure it is to enter that dark bath, covered with a common sort of roof, knowing that therein your hero Cato, as aedile, or Fabius Maximus, or one of the Cornelii, has warmed the water with his own hands!
For this also used to be the duty of the noblest aediles—to enter these places to which the populace resorted, and to demand that they be cleaned and warmed to a heat required by considerations of use and health, not the heat that men have recently made fashionable, as great as a conflagration—so much so, indeed, that a slave condemned for some criminal offence now ought to bebathed alive!
It seems to me that nowadays there is no difference between “the bath is on fire,” and “the bath is warm."
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 86
As much as this whole letter may come across as an extended grievance, I find it encouraging to learn how the people of any time or place are tempted by extravagance. Whether in ancient Rome or in modern New York, to recognize our weaknesses can point us back to our strengths.
We are all, of course, drawn to the pleasures of the flesh, but on an even deeper level, we desperately crave being significant, and we come to believe that putting on an elaborate show is the quickest way to making our mark. If we pretend on the outside, other people will surely think us worthy on the inside, and so a pursuit of vanity takes the place of building any genuine character.
We collect the trinkets and the trophies, acting as if our lives must be a continual performance, such that a bath is no longer about getting clean, or our work is no longer about being of service, or our friendships are no longer about offering love. How can it be used to promote the image? How can it increase our prestige? How can it make us feel more important?
If I only choose to look honestly, I can find the pretensions in the most ridiculous of places. How many of us remember drinking water from what we used to call bubblers? I would keep track of which ones actually ran cold, something I considered a special treat.
Yet somewhere during the 1990’s, bottled water became all the rage, to the point where the designer labels we carried around with us were an expression of our cultural identity, a statement about the smartest style and the most progressive politics wrapped up in a tidy package.
Was it cleaner, or healthier, or better for the planet? I don’t rightly know, but I do know how much money we spent for those accessories, how much new trash it produced, and how people would insist they could taste the purity, even after a mischievous friend of mine had secretly replaced the contents with regular tap water. Is it technically a lie if we have convinced ourselves of the falsehood?
Every generation has its own varieties. I suspect a good man will drink or bathe with whatever water he has at hand, without getting too worried about its pedigree.
As much as this whole letter may come across as an extended grievance, I find it encouraging to learn how the people of any time or place are tempted by extravagance. Whether in ancient Rome or in modern New York, to recognize our weaknesses can point us back to our strengths.
We are all, of course, drawn to the pleasures of the flesh, but on an even deeper level, we desperately crave being significant, and we come to believe that putting on an elaborate show is the quickest way to making our mark. If we pretend on the outside, other people will surely think us worthy on the inside, and so a pursuit of vanity takes the place of building any genuine character.
We collect the trinkets and the trophies, acting as if our lives must be a continual performance, such that a bath is no longer about getting clean, or our work is no longer about being of service, or our friendships are no longer about offering love. How can it be used to promote the image? How can it increase our prestige? How can it make us feel more important?
If I only choose to look honestly, I can find the pretensions in the most ridiculous of places. How many of us remember drinking water from what we used to call bubblers? I would keep track of which ones actually ran cold, something I considered a special treat.
Yet somewhere during the 1990’s, bottled water became all the rage, to the point where the designer labels we carried around with us were an expression of our cultural identity, a statement about the smartest style and the most progressive politics wrapped up in a tidy package.
Was it cleaner, or healthier, or better for the planet? I don’t rightly know, but I do know how much money we spent for those accessories, how much new trash it produced, and how people would insist they could taste the purity, even after a mischievous friend of mine had secretly replaced the contents with regular tap water. Is it technically a lie if we have convinced ourselves of the falsehood?
Every generation has its own varieties. I suspect a good man will drink or bathe with whatever water he has at hand, without getting too worried about its pedigree.
—Reflection written in 1/2014
IMAGE: Edmond Paulin, Cross-section of the Baths of Diocletian (1880)
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