Practice deprivation. Seneca, Epistles 2.18.5-7
Seneca
advises Lucilius to practice deprivation. If you can go without
something, making do happily in its absence, then you have nothing to
fear from it—and can enjoy its occasional presence with less
anxiety about the future or nostalgia for the past.
Ceterum
adeo mihi placet temptare animi tui firmitatem ut e praecepto
magnorum virorum tibi quoque praecipiam: interponas aliquot dies
quibus contentus minimo ac vilissimo cibo, dura atque horrida veste,
dicas tibi hoc est quod
timebatur? In ipsa
securitate animus ad difficilia se praeparet et contra iniurias
fortunae inter beneficia firmetur. Miles in media pace decurrit, sine
ullo hoste vallum iacit, et supervacuo labore lassatur ut sufficere
necessario possit; quem in ipsa re trepidare nolueris, ante rem
exerceas. Hoc secuti sunt qui omnibus mensibus paupertatem imitati
prope ad inopiam accesserunt, ne umquam expavescerent quod saepe
didicissent.
Non
est nunc quod existimes me dicere Timoneas cenas et pauperum cellas
et quidquid aliud est per quod luxuria divitiarum taedio ludit:
grabattus ille verus sit et sagum et panis durus ac sordidus. Hoc
triduo et quatriduo fer, interdum pluribus diebus, ut non lusus sit
sed experimentum: tunc, mihi crede, Lucili, exultabis dipondio satur
et intelleges ad securitatem non opus esse fortuna; hoc enim quod
necessitati sat est dabit et irata.
Such
pleasure do I find in trying the vigor of your mind that I shall pass
on to you here a test taken from the teachings of great men. Spend a
few days making do with minimal food, of the coarsest kind, clad in
garb so rough it chafes, and say to yourself, "This is what
everyone fears?" Let your mind prepare itself for hard things in
the midst of security, fortifying itself against fortune's attacks
while it enjoys her blessings. A real soldier rucks in peacetime,
fortifies camps though no enemy approach, and wearies himself with
useless work so that he may be enough when actual challenges appear.
If you want a person to remain steadfast in action, you should put
him through his paces before it goes down. This is the habit
cultivated by those in times past who practiced deprivation,
pretending to be poor in all seasons almost to the point of ruin, so
that they might never fear something they had learned constantly from
long experience.
Don't
think I mean to endorse Timon's approach to dinner (†), or spending
time in paupers' shacks, or whatever other games luxury invents to
alleviate its boredom with wealth. Instead of all that pretense, make
your bed an actual plank, spread it with a bit of rough wool, and eat
hard bread, made from the bran. Carry this custom for three or four
days, sometimes more, so that it becomes an experience instead of a
game. Trust me, Lucilius! You will then find two pennies enough to
overflow your cup with joy, and you will understand that real
security has no need of fortune's good graces. She will give enough
for our needs even when she turns savagely against us.
---
(†)
Timon of Athens was famous for hating people, something he learned to
do when a stroke of ill luck deprived him first of his fortune, then
of his friends (who were no true friends, Seneca would say, since
they valued Timon only when he was prosperous). Plutarch, who dates
Timon's life to the era of the Peloponnesian War (431-404 BCE),
recalls a dinner the misanthrope shared with Apemantus. When the
latter remarked that theirs was a fine party, Timon responded, "It
would be, if you weren't here" (Vita Antonii
70). Perhaps Seneca has this anecdote in mind, as it was the custom for rich Romans to dine in company, surrounded by friends, family, clients, and guests.