Study wisdom

How can we stop fretting, as we say around here?
Sometimes it feels like worry is embedded in us like a gene, a species trait. I wonder if one day, when humanity has pushed the boundaries of technology even further, we’ll manage to deactivate this low-grade anxiety, this tension that lives within each of us, to varying degrees. And then I think, if that ever happened, surely something else would end up going wrong within us.
But these are only hypotheses. Daydreams. Time will tell.

In the meantime, here I am writing these lines in the year 2025 of our era, and many of us live with some form, mild or intense, of anxiety. And back when Seneca was writing his Letters to Lucilius, 1,962 years ago—around 62 or 64 AD, while living in Rome, people were already grappling with the same worries.

It’s one of those letters that I want to share with you here.
Its title is On philosophy, the guide of life. A telling title, one that reminds us of a deep truth: it is impossible to imagine a happy life, or even a bearable one—without at least a little wisdom.

As elsewhere in this program, I’ve chosen to slightly modernize the original text to make it more readable for you, without betraying its spirit.

“It is clear to you, I am sure, Lucilius, that no man can live a happy life, or even a supportable life, without the study of wisdom; you know also that a happy life is reached when our wisdom is brought to completion, but that life is at least endurable even when our wisdom is only begun. This idea, however, clear though it is, must be strengthened and implanted more deeply by daily reflection; it is more important for you to keep the resolutions you have already made than to go on and make noble ones. You must persevere, must develop new strength by continuous study, until that which is only a good inclination becomes a good settled purpose.

Hence you no longer need to come to me with much talk and protestations; I know that you have made great progress. I understand the feelings which prompt your words; they are not feigned or specious words. Nevertheless I shall tell you what I think, – that at present I have hopes for you, but not yet perfect trust. And I wish that you would adopt the same attitude towards yourself; there is no reason why you should put confidence in yourself too quickly and readily. Examine yourself; scrutinize and observe yourself in divers ways; but mark, before all else, whether it is in philosophy or merely in life itself that you have made progress.

Philosophy is no trick to catch the public; it is not devised for show. It is a matter, not of words, but of facts. It is not pursued in order that the day may yield some amusement before it is spent, or that our leisure may be relieved of a tedium that irks us.
It moulds and constructs the soul;
it orders our life,
guides our conduct,
shows us what we should do and
what we should leave undone; it sits at the helm and directs our course as we waver amid uncertainties. Without it, no one can live fearlessly or in peace of mind. Countless things that happen every hour call for advice; and such advice is to be sought in philosophy.

Perhaps someone will say:
"How can philosophy help me, if Fate exists? Of what avail is philosophy, if God rules the universe? Of what avail is it, if Chance governs everything? For not only is it impossible to change things that are determined, but it is also impossible to plan beforehand against what is undetermined; either God has forestalled my plans, and decided what I am to do, or else Fortune gives no free play to my plans."

Whether the truth, Lucilius, lies in one or in all of these views, we must be philosophers; whether Fate binds us down by an inexorable law, or whether God as arbiter of the universe has arranged everything, or whether Chance drives and tosses human affairs without method, philosophy ought to be our defense. She will encourage us to obey God cheerfully, but Fortune defiantly; she will teach us to follow God and endure Chance.

But it is not my purpose now to be led into a discussion as to what is within our own control, – if foreknowledge is supreme, or if a chain of fated events drags us along in its clutches, or if the sudden and the unexpected play the tyrant over us; I return now to my warning and my exhortation, that you should not allow the impulse of your spirit to weaken and grow cold. Hold fast to it and establish it firmly, in order that what is now impulse may become a habit of the mind.

If I know you well, you have already been trying to find out, from the very beginning of my letter, what little contribution it brings to you. Sift the letter, and you will find it. You need not wonder at any genius of mine; for as yet I am lavish only with other men's property.
– But why did I say "other men"?
Whatever is well said by anyone is mine.
– This also is a saying of Epicurus: "If you live according to nature, you will never be poor; if you live according to opinion, you will never be rich."

Nature's wants are slight; the demands of opinion are boundless. Suppose that the property of many millionaires is heaped up in your possession. Assume that fortune carries you far beyond the limits of a private income, decks you with gold, clothes you in purple, and brings you to such a degree of luxury and wealth that you can bury the earth under your marble floors; that you may not only possess, but tread upon, riches. Add statues, paintings, and whatever any art has devised for the satisfaction of luxury; you will only learn from such things to crave still greater.

Natural desires are limited; but those which spring from false opinion can have no stopping-point. The false has no limits. When you are travelling on a road, there must be an end; but when astray, your wanderings are limitless. Recall your steps, therefore, from idle things, and when you would know whether that which you seek is based upon a natural or upon a misleading desire, consider whether it can stop at any definite point. If you find, after having travelled far, that there is a more distant goal always in view, you may be sure that this condition is contrary to nature. Farewell.”

This marks the end of the excerpt.
It comes from the sixth letter of the Letters to Lucilius.
The reading isn’t always easy, even in its modernized form, the text retains its density. But it’s precisely this depth that gives it its value. Like so many writings passed down through the centuries, it remains a rare and precious guide.