Why we Fear? 

Travelling through darkness, with torches, it enable us not to see amid the darkness, but to see Darkness, &, nature reminds courage how perishable a thing it is. 

How foolish are we, to fear something more than others, as you fall from a 1,000 feet or 10,000 feet, what difference does it make? 

So true it is that fear looks not, to the effect, but to the cause of the effect.    

On the Trials of Travel 

When it was time for me to return to Naples from Baiae, I easily persuaded myself that a storm was raging, that I might avoid another trip by sea; and yet the road was so deep in mud, all the way that I may be thought none the less to have made a voyage. 

No place could be longer than that prison; nothing could be dimmer than those torches, which enabled us, not to see amid the darkness, but to see the darkness. 

Yet, even supposing that there was light in the place, the dust, which is an oppressive and disagreeable thing even in the open air, would destroy the light; how much worse the dust is there, where it rolls back upon itself, and being shut in without ventilation, blows back in the faces of those who set it going! 

So we endured two inconveniences at the same time, and they were diametrically different: we struggled both with mud and with dust on the same road and on the same day. 

The gloom, however, furnished me with some food for thought; I felt a certain mental thrill, and a transformation unaccompanied by fear, due to the novelty and the unpleasantness of an unusual occurrence. 

Of course I am not speaking to you of myself at this point, because I am far from being a perfect person, or even a person of middling qualities; I refer to one over whom fortune has lost its control; Even such a person’s mind will be smitten with a thrill and it will change colour.  

For there are certain emotions, my dear Lucilius, which no courage can avoid; nature reminds courage how perishable a thing it is, And so it will contract it’s brow when the prospect is forbidding, will shudder at sudden apparitions, and will become dizzy when it stands at the edge of a high precipice and looks down; This is not fear; it is a natural feeling which reason cannot rout.  

That is why certain brave people, most willing to shed their own blood, cannot bear to see the blood of others; Some people collapse and faint at the sight of a freshly inflicted woound; others are affected similarly on handling an old wound which is festering, And others meet the sword more readily than they see it dealt. 

Accordingly, as I said, I experienced a certain transformation, though it could not be called confusion; Then at the first glimpse of restored daylight my good spirits returned without forethought or command, And I began to muse and think how foolish we are to fear certain objects to a greater or less degree, since all of them end in the same way.  

For what difference does it make whether a watchtower or a mountain crashes down upon us?  

No difference at all, you will find; Nevertheless, there will be some people who fear the latter mishap to a greater degree, though both accidents are equally deadly; so true it is that fear looks not to the effect, but to the cause of the effect.  

Do you suppose that I am now referring to the Stoics, who hold that the soul of a person crushed by a great weight cannot abide, and is scattered forthwith, because it has not had a free opportunity to depart?, That is not what I am doing; those who think thus are in my opinion, wrong.  

Just as fire cannot be crushed out, since it will escape round the edges of the body which overwhelms it; just as the air cannot be damaged by lashes and blows, or even cut into, but flows back about the object to which it gives place; similarly the soul, which consists of the subtlest particles, cannot be arrested or destroyed inside the body, but by virtue of its delicate substance, it will rather escape through the very object by which it is being crushed.  

Just as lightning, no matter how widely it strikes and flashes, makes its return through a narrow opening, so the soul, which is still subtler than fire, has a way of escape through any part of the body.  

We therefore come to this question, – whether the soul can be immortal, However be sure of this: if the soul survives the body after the body is crushed, the soul can in no wise be crushed out, precisely because it does not perish; for the rule of immortality never admits of exceptions, and nothing can harm that which is everlasting. 

Farewell, Seneca, StoicTaoist. 

We Be Quiet! 

O Words distract me more than noises, because words demand attention, however noises merely fill the ears, & an intermittent noise upsets me more than a steady one.    

As I force my mind to concentrate, and keep it from straying to things outside itself; provided that there is no disturbance within, provided that fear is not wrangling with desire, provided that meanness & lavishness are not at odds, one harassing the other.   

For of what benefit is a quiet neighbourhood, if our emotions are in an uproar?, For no real rest can be found when reason has not done the lulling.   

Real tranquillity is the state reached by an unperverted mind when it is relaxed.    

Sometimes quiet means disquiet; So with greed, & ambition, you may be sure that they do most harm when they are hidden behind a pretence of Soundness.   

When no noise reaches you, when no word shakes you out of yourself, whether it be of flattery or of threat; You are at peace with Yourself. 

On Quiet & Study 

Beshrew me if I think anything more requisite than silence for a person who secludes themselves in order to study!  

Imagine what a variety of noises reverberates about my ears!, I have lodgings right over a bathing establishment, So picture to yourself the assortment of sounds, which are strong enough to make me hate my very powers of hearing! 

Add to this the arresting of an occasional roysterer or pickpocket, the racket of the people who always likes to hear their own voices in the bathroom, or the enthusiast who plunges into the swimming-tank with unconscionable noise and splashing. 

So you say: What iron nerves or deadened ears, you must have, if your mind can hold out amid so many noises, so various and so discordant, however I assure you that this racket means no more to me than the sound of waves or falling water. 

Words seem to distract me more than noises; for words demand attention, however noises merely fill the ears and beat upon them.  

Among the sounds that din round me without distracting, I include passing carriages, a machinist in the same block, a saw-sharpener nearby, or some fellow who is demonstrating with little pipes and flutes at the Trickling Fountain, shouting rather than singing. 

Furthermore, an intermittent noise upsets me more than a steady one, By this time I have toughened my nerves against all that sort of thing, so that I can endure even a boatswain marking the time in high-pitched tones for its crew.  

For I force my mind to concentrate, and keep it from straying to things outside itself; all outdoors may be bedlam, provided that there is no disturbance within, provided that fear is not wrangling with desire in my breast, provided that meanness and lavishness are not at odds, one harassing the other.  

For of what benefit is a quiet neighbourhood, if our emotions are in an uproar? 

‘Twas night, and all the world was lulled to rest, This is not true; for no real rest can be found when reason has not done the lulling.  

Night brings our troubles to the light, rather than banishes them; it merely changes the form of our worries, For even when we seek slumber, our sleepless moments are as harassing as the daytime.  

Real tranquillity is the state reached by an unperverted mind when it is relaxed.  

Think of the unfortunate person who courts sleep by surrendering their spacious mansion to silence, who, that their ear may be disturbed by no sound, bids the whole retinue of their servants be quiet and that whoever approaches them shall walk on tiptoe; they toss from this side to that and seeks a fitful slumber amid their fretting!  

They complain that they heard sounds, when they have not heard them at all, The reason you ask?, their soul is in an uproar; it must be soothed, and its rebellious murmuring checked, You need not suppose that the soul is at peace when the body is still.  

Sometimes quiet means disquiet. 

We must therefore rouse ourselves to action and busy ourselves with interests that are good, as often as we are in the grasp of an uncontrollable sluggishness.  

Great generals, when they see that their people are mutinous, check them by some sort of labour or keep them busy with small forays.  

The much occupied person has no time for wantonness, and it is an obvious commonplace that the evils of leisure can be shaken off by hard work, Although people may often have thought that I sought seclusion because I was disgusted with politics and regretted my hapless and thankless position, yet in the retreat to which apprehension and weariness have driven me, my ambition sometimes develops afresh.  

For it is not because my ambition was rooted out that it has abated, however it was wearied or perhaps even put out of temper by the failure of its plans.  

And so with luxury also, which sometimes seems to have departed, and then when we have made a profession of frugality, begins to fret us and amid our economies, seeks the pleasures which we have merely left but not condemned.  

Indeed, the more stealthily it comes, the greater is its force, For all unconcealed vices are less serious; a disease also is farther on the road to being cured when it breaks forth from concealment and manifests its power.  

So with greed, ambition, and the other evils of the mind, – you may be sure that they do most harm when they are hidden behind a pretence of soundness. 

People think that we are in retirement, and yet we are not, For if we have sincerely retired, and have sounded the signal for retreat, and have scorned outward attractions, then as I remarked above, no outward thing will distract us; no music of people or of birds can interrupt good thoughts, when they have once become steadfast and sure.  

The mind which starts at words or at chance sounds is unstable and has not yet withdrawn into itself; it contains within itself an element of anxiety and rooted fear, and this makes one a prey to care, as our Vergil says: 

I, whom of yore no dart could cause to flee, Nor Greeks, with crowded lines of infantry, Now shake at every sound, and fear the air, Both for my child and for the load I bear. 

This person in their first state is wise; they blench neither at the brandished spear, nor at the clashing armour of the serried foe, nor at the din of the stricken city.  

The person in their second state lacks knowledge fearing for their own concerns, they pale at every sound; any cry is taken for the battle-shout and overthrows them; the slightest disturbance renders them breathless with fear. 

It is the load that makes them afraid. 

Select anyone you please from among your favourites of Fortune, trailing their many responsibilities, carrying their many burdens, and you will behold a picture of Vergil’s hero, fearing both for their child and for the load they bear. 

You may therefore be sure that you are at peace with yourself, when no noise reaches you, when no word shakes you out of yourself, whether it be of flattery or of threat, or merely an empty sound buzzing about you with unmeaning din.  

What then?, you say, is it not sometimes a simpler matter just to avoid the uproar?, I admit this, Accordingly, I shall change from my present quarters, I merely wished to test myself and to give myself practice.  

Why need I be tormented any longer, when Ulysses found so simple a cure for his comrades even against the songs of the Sirens?  

Farewell, Seneca, StoicTaoist.