This is the first chapter of Seneca’s discourse On Tranquility. It is an excerpt from Stoic Tranquility, a plain English version of the discourse, published by The Stoic Gym. https://amzn.to/337K6Mn

Key ideas 

1. There are three types of vices: very obvious ones, not so very obvious ones, and the ones that crop up from time to time 

2. The third kind of vice—the one that crops up from time to time —is the most troublesome of all. It is difficult to guard against because it is not always present, and we cannot always be on guard. Because we are not always on guard, vices of this type make us waver. 

3. While such vices don’t pose any immediate threat, they pose a challenge to us. They create a mental disturbance. There is also the danger that the more we give in to them, the more we would get used to them, out of habit. 

Annaeus Serenus, a young prefect in Nero’s guard, opens the dialog seeking Seneca’s advice on tranquility. Here Serenus starts by describing his state of mind and explains why he needs Seneca’s advice. In the coming issues we will see Seneca’s prescriptions for tranquility. 

Three types of vices 

SERENUS: Seneca, when I examine myself, some of my vices seem so visible to me that I can reach out and touch them. Others are less visible. They hide in a corner and are more difficult to spot. Then there is another category of vice—it is not always present but surfaces from time to time. It is like a guerilla fighter who attacks whenever there is an opportunity. This enemy will neither let you stand on guard as in war nor let you rest as in peace. 

Why shouldn’t I tell you the truth as I would a physician? This is the position I find myself in: I am not completely set free of my vices that I fear and hate; I am not quite controlled by them either. My state of mind may not be the worst possible, but it is particularly sulky and dissatisfied. I am neither ill nor well. 

You don’t have to tell me that all virtues are weak at the beginning but become stronger and solid as time goes by. I am well aware that virtues that are practiced for the sake of outward show, status, reputation, eloquence, and other such things that depend on other people’s judgments become stronger as time goes by. Those that give us true strength—and those that are designed to give such an appearance—may have to wait several years before we gradually adapt to them. 

Habits make everything acceptable 

But what I am concerned about is this: because habits bring stability to most things, they will attach my faults more firmly to me. Lengthy dealings with bad (like lengthy dealings with good) can cause us to love them. What is this mental weakness that does not strongly incline towards either right or wrong but halts between the two? This I can show you one at a time, rather than all at once. I will tell you what happens to me. You find the name for the disease. 

My mind wavers 

I am totally devoted to being frugal. I don’t care for ornamental beds or clothes brought out from a chest or freshly pressed and made glossy through a thousand folds. I prefer something homey and inexpensive that requires no care to maintain or to wear. 

I don’t want my food to be prepared by a bunch of servants so it can be watched and admired, ordered days in advance, or served up by many people. I prefer something easy to find that is in ample supply, something one can find in any part of the world, something that’s not expensive and will not strain anyone’s body or resources or return by the way it entered. 

For my servant, I like a young house-bred one without training or polish and for silverware, my country-bred father’s heavy plate with no maker’s stamp. For my table, I prefer one that does not have dappled spots or a variety of markings [indicating their expensiveness] or known to Rome for having passed through the hands of many stylish owners, but one that is there to be used, that does not make any guest stare at it in endless pleasure or burning envy. 

While I am well-satisfied with all this, I remember the clothes of schoolboys dressed in great care and splendor; of servants decked out in gold and of a whole troop of glittering attendants. I think of the houses where even the floor one walks on is precious and valuables lie in every corner, where the roofs shine brilliantly, and the whole country attends and accompanies an inheritance on the road to ruin. 

What shall I say of waters, transparent to the bottom, and flowing around the guests even as they dine? Or about the banquets that are worthy of the theatre in which they take place? 

Coming as I do from a long time of dedication to thrift, I find myself surrounded by the most brilliant luxury. It echoes around me on every side and dazzles me. It is easier for me to raise my mind to it than my eyes. When I come back after seeing this, I am not a worse man, but a sadder one. I can no longer proudly walk through my worthless possessions. I feel a silent pain, and doubt arises about whether that life is not the better and I wonder if that way of life is better than mine. 

When things don’t go well, I want to withdraw from everything 

None of this changes my principles and yet they disturb me. At one time, I would follow the principles of our school and plunge into public life. I would attain office and become counsel, not for the trappings of the office but to be of service to my friends, relatives, fellow citizens and, in fact, to everyone in the world. Without hesitation, I follow Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus [Stoic philosophers], ready and determined. All of them encouraged us to take part in public life, even though they themselves did not. 

And then, when something disturbs my mind which is not used to receiving shocks, whenever something disgraceful happens as it does in everyone’s life, whenever something does not progress easily, when trivial things take up a lot of time, I go back to my life of leisure as quickly as tired cattle go home. I wish to spend my life within the walls of my house. 

I say, “Let no one steal me of a single day unless they are willing to compensate me for it. Let my mind be self-contained and improve itself. Let it not take part in other people’s affairs and let it do nothing that depends on the approval of others. Let me enjoy the tranquility undisturbed by public or private troubles.” 

When things go well, I want to be a part of everything 

But whenever my mind is roused by reading some brave words, or spurred into action by some noble example, I want to rush into the forum, lend my voice to someone, lend my support to another and help him, even though I may not succeed and put down the pride of some lawyer who is puffed with pride, even though he doesn’t deserve his success. 

I waver between simplicity and showiness 

But I think, by God, in philosophical matters, it is better to see things as they are and speak to them on their own account. As for words, we should simply trust our speech to guide us. 

"Why do you want to compose something that will last a long time? Don’t you do this so posterity may talk of you? Yet you were born to die, and a quiet death is the least miserable. Write something in a simple style just to pass the time. Do this for your own purpose, and not for publication. You don’t need to work hard when you don’t look beyond the present." 

Again, great thoughts elevate my mind. It becomes ostentatious in the way it uses words. As it gets more ambitious, it desires to express them in speech that matches the dignity of the topic. Then I forget my mild and moderate determination and soar to greater heights, using a language that is not my own. 

My good intentions are feeble 

I don’t want to continue with examples. This feebleness of my good intentions follows me in all things. I am concerned that, little by little, I am brought down by it. I am worried that I may be hanging like a man about to fall. My situation is perhaps more serious than I realize. After all, we take a kindly view of our private concerns. This biased view clouds our judgment. 

I believe that many people would have attained wisdom if they had not believed that they had already attained it; if they had not deliberately failed to recognize some of their inner failings, and, if they had not passed by their other failings with eyes wide shut. We have no reason to believe that other people’s flattery is more destructive to us than our own. Who dares to tell the truth to oneself? Who—even when surrounded by a group of flattering sycophants —not their own greatest flatterer? 

So, I beg you. If you have any remedy by which you can cure my mental disturbance, consider me worthy of being in-debted to you for my peace of mind. I am well aware that these mental disturbances I suffer are not dangerous, and they don’t threaten me with any serious disorder. Let me explain what I complain of with an analogy: I am not suffering from a storm but seasickness. 

Take this malady away from me, whatever it may be. Help the one who is in distress with land in sight. 

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