Letter 20On Practising What You Preach

The letter, part by part

Ten parts, following the website’s sections. Each has a short explanation and its key line. Open “Read this part in full” for the complete text. Tap a dotted word for its meaning.

1. Part 1

   Prove your words by your deeds

   Seneca is glad that Lucilius wants, at last, to be his own master, and hopes to pull him out of the flood of busy life. He asks one thing: let wisdom sink in deep. Measure your progress not by what you say or write, but by a steadier heart and fewer cravings.

   Prove your words by your deeds.

   Verba rebus proba.

   Not talk
   speeches, writings

   A stout heart
   steadier courage

   Fewer wants
   shrinking desire

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   If you are in good health and if you think yourself worthy of becoming at last your own master, I am glad. For the credit will be mine, if I can drag you from the floods in which you are being buffeted without hope of emerging. This, however, my dear Lucilius, I ask and beg of you, on your part, that you let wisdom sink into your soul, and test your progress, not by mere speech or writings, but by stoutness of heart and decrease of desire. Prove your words by your deeds.

2. Part 2

   Philosophy teaches doing, not talking

   Speech-makers chase the applause of a crowd, and clever talkers keep idle young men entertained. Philosophy is different. It asks you to live by your own rules, so that your life matches your words and your inner life matches everything you do. That match, says Seneca, is the highest duty and the surest sign of wisdom.

   Philosophy teaches us to act, not to speak.

   Facere docet philosophia, non dicere.

   Words, deeds and mind: one colour

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   Far different is the purpose of those who are speech-making and trying to win the approbation of a throng of hearers, far different that of those who allure the ears of young men and idlers by many-sided or fluent argumentation; philosophy teaches us to act, not to speak; it exacts of every man that he should live according to his own standards, that his life should not be out of harmony with his words, and that, further, his inner life should be of one hue and not out of harmony with all his activities.

   This, I say, is the highest duty and the highest proof of wisdom,—that deed and word should be in accord, that a man should be equal to himself under all conditions, and always the same.

3. Part 3

   The same path, if not the same pace

   Can anyone really live up to this? Very few, Seneca admits, but some do. A wise man won’t always keep the same pace, but he keeps to the same path. So check yourself. Fine clothes but a shabby house? Lavish on yourself but mean to your family? Plain dinners but a grand new building? Pick one rule and shape your whole life by it.

   I do not say that the philosopher can always keep the same pace. But he can always travel the same path.

   Nec hoc dico, sapientem uno semper iturum gradu, sed una via.

   One path, whatever the pace

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   “But,” you reply, “who can maintain this standard?” Very few, to be sure; but there are some. It is indeed a hard undertaking, and I do not say that the philosopher can always keep the same pace. But he can always travel the same path.

   Observe yourself, then, and see whether your dress and your house are inconsistent, whether you treat yourself lavishly and your family meanly, whether you eat frugal dinners and yet build luxurious houses. You should lay hold, once for all, upon a single norm to live by, and should regulate your whole life according to this norm. Some men restrict themselves at home, but strut with swelling port before the public; such discordance is a fault, and it indicates a wavering mind which cannot yet keep its balance.

4. Part 4

   Why we contradict ourselves

   Where does all this wobbling come from? Nobody settles what he wants. Or if he does, he doesn’t stick to it: he jumps the track, then slides back into the very habits he had sworn off.

   No man resolves upon what he wishes, and, even if he has done so, he does not persist in it, but jumps the track.

   Nemo proponit sibi quid velit, nec si proposuit perseverat in eo, sed transilit.

   We never settle what we want

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   And I can tell you, further, whence arise this unsteadiness and disagreement of action and purpose; it is because no man resolves upon what he wishes, and, even if he has done so, he does not persist in it, but jumps the track; not only does he change, but he returns and slips back to the conduct which he has abandoned and abjured.

5. Part 5

   Wisdom: always wanting the same things

   Skipping the old textbook definitions, Seneca gives his own: wisdom is always wanting the same things and always refusing the same things. No need to add that what you want must be right, because only what is right keeps pleasing you for good. Most people know what they want only in the moment, so their lives drift like a game. Keep going as you’ve begun.

   What is wisdom? Always desiring the same things, and always refusing the same things.

   Quid est sapientia? Semper idem velle atque idem nolle.

   Want and refuse the same things, always

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   Therefore, to omit the ancient definitions of wisdom and to include the whole manner of human life, I can be satisfied with the following: “What is wisdom? Always desiring the same things, and always refusing the same things.” You may be excused from adding the little proviso,—that what you wish, should be right; since no man can always be satisfied with the same thing, unless it is right.

   For this reason men do not know what they wish, except at the actual moment of wishing; no man ever decided once and for all to desire or to refuse. Judgment varies from day to day, and changes to the opposite, making many a man pass his life in a kind of game. Press on, therefore, as you have begun; perhaps you will be led to perfection, or to a point which you alone understand is still short of perfection.

6. Part 6

   What poverty reveals

   Lucilius worries about his big household if he gives up his income. Seneca says the crowd will feed itself once he stops feeding it. Better still, poverty sorts your friends: the true ones stay, and those who only wanted something from you leave. Imagine a day when no one lies to flatter you.

   Poverty will keep for you your true and tried friends.

   Illa veros certosque amicos retinebit.

   Poverty shows who loves you

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   “But what,” you say, “will become of my crowded household without a household income?” If you stop supporting that crowd, it will support itself; or perhaps you will learn by the bounty of poverty what you cannot learn by your own bounty. Poverty will keep for you your true and tried friends; you will be rid of the men who were not seeking you for yourself, but for something which you have.

   Is it not true, however, that you should love poverty, if only for this single reason,—that it will show you those by whom you are loved? O when will that time come, when no one shall tell lies to compliment you!

7. Part 7

   Be content with yourself

   So aim every thought and effort at one goal: being content with yourself and with the good things that come from within. Leave every other wish to God. Bring yourself down to a simple life that no one can throw you out of. Seneca adds that this letter’s usual small gift will help with exactly that.

   Bring yourself down to humble conditions, from which you cannot be ejected.

   Redige te ad parva ex quibus cadere non possis.

   Read this part in full

   Accordingly, let your thoughts, your efforts, your desires, help to make you content with your own self and with the goods that spring from yourself; and commit all your other prayers to God’s keeping! What happiness could come closer home to you? Bring yourself down to humble conditions, from which you cannot be ejected; and in order that you may do so with greater alacrity, the contribution contained in this letter shall refer to that subject; I shall bestow it upon you forthwith.

8. Part 8

   Words backed by a cot and rags

   The gift comes, once again, from Epicurus: your words carry more weight if you sleep on a cot and wear rags, because then you prove them as well as say them. Seneca feels this with his friend Demetrius, who sleeps without even a cloak or a rug. He doesn’t just teach the truth; he is a witness to it.

   He is not only a teacher of the truth, but a witness to the truth.

   Non praeceptor veri sed testis est.

   Your words weigh more from a cot

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   Although you may look askance, Epicurus will once again be glad to settle my indebtedness: “Believe me, your words will be more imposing if you sleep on a cot and wear rags. For in that case you will not be merely saying them; you will be demonstrating their truth.”

   I, at any rate, listen in a different spirit to the utterances of our friend Demetrius, after I have seen him reclining without even a cloak to cover him, and, more than this, without rugs to lie upon. He is not only a teacher of the truth, but a witness to the truth.

9. Part 9

   Rich amid riches, or poor amid them?

   Can’t a man despise wealth while it sits in his pocket? Of course. It takes a great soul to be surrounded by riches, smile, and barely feel they are his. An objector asks how such a man would cope with sudden poverty; Seneca turns it round: would Epicurus’s poor man cope with sudden wealth? Either way, judge the mind, and check that the simple life is chosen, not forced.

   He is truly great who is poor amidst riches.

   Magnus ille qui in divitiis pauper est.

   Poor in the midst of riches

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   “May not a man, however, despise wealth when it lies in his very pocket?” Of course; he also is great-souled, who sees riches heaped up round him and, after wondering long and deeply because they have come into his possession, smiles, and hears rather than feels that they are his. It means much not to be spoiled by intimacy with riches; and he is truly great who is poor amidst riches.

   “Yes, but I do not know,” you say, “how the man you speak of will endure poverty, if he falls into it suddenly.” Nor do I, Epicurus, know whether the poor man you speak of will despise riches, should he suddenly fall into them; accordingly, in the case of both, it is the mind that must be appraised, and we must investigate whether your man is pleased with his poverty, and whether my man is displeased with his riches. Otherwise, the cot-bed and the rags are slight proof of his good intentions, if it has not been made clear that the person concerned endures these trials not from necessity but from preference.

10. Part 10

    Rehearse it because it’s easy, not because it’s nobler

    Don’t rush into poverty as if it were the better life. Practise for it, because it is easy to bear, and after long rehearsal even pleasant, since it frees you from worry. So set aside a few days of pretend poverty to prepare for the real thing. We are soaked in luxury, and the soul needs waking up: nature asks for very little. No one is born rich.

    No man is born rich. Every man, when he first sees light, is commanded to be content with milk and rags.

    Nemo nascitur dives.

    No one is born rich

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    It is the mark, however, of a noble spirit not to precipitate oneself into such things on the ground that they are better, but to practise for them on the ground that they are thus easy to endure. And they are easy to endure, Lucilius; when, however, you come to them after long rehearsal, they are even pleasant; for they contain a sense of freedom from care,—and without this nothing is pleasant.

    I hold it essential, therefore, to do as I have told you in a letter that great men have often done: to reserve a few days in which we may prepare ourselves for real poverty by means of fancied poverty. There is all the more reason for doing this, because we have been steeped in luxury and regard all duties as hard and onerous. Rather let the soul be roused from its sleep and be prodded, and let it be reminded that nature has prescribed very little for us.

    No man is born rich. Every man, when he first sees light, is commanded to be content with milk and rags. Such is our beginning, and yet kingdoms are all too small for us! Farewell.

The modern take

The website breaks Letter 20 into 12 lessons for today. I’ve grouped them into four themes; each lesson is summarised in plain words.

Read the website’s own translation and full breakdown

Words

Harder words and names from the letter, in the order they appear.

Lucilius

Gaius Lucilius, Seneca’s younger friend and a Roman official. All 124 letters are addressed to him.

stoutness of heart

Courage; a firm, steady spirit.

approbation

Approval; here, the applause of an audience.

of one hue

All one colour: the same through and through, with no hidden side.

swelling port

A puffed-up bearing. “Port” is an old word for the way you carry yourself.

discordance

Lack of harmony; things that don’t fit together.

abjured

Solemnly renounced; sworn off.

proviso

A condition or exception added to a statement.

household

A rich Roman household was a crowd of slaves, freedmen and hangers-on, all fed by the master.

bounty

Generosity, or a gift handed out. Seneca plays on both senses.

alacrity

Eagerness; brisk readiness.

contribution

Seneca’s running joke: his early letters each end with a small “payment” for Lucilius, usually a saying of Epicurus.

Epicurus

Greek philosopher (341–270 BC), founder of a rival school. Seneca borrows his sayings anyway.

cot

A narrow, cheap camp bed (Latin grabattus): the bed of the poor.

Demetrius

Demetrius the Cynic, a philosopher living in Rome and a friend of Seneca, famous for owning almost nothing.

askance

With suspicion or disapproval; sideways.

settle my indebtedness

Pay my debt: the daily saying Seneca jokingly owes Lucilius. Epicurus pays it for him.

great-souled

Noble-minded; big enough in spirit to rise above wealth (Latin ingentis animi).

precipitate oneself

To throw oneself headlong. “Such things” here means a life of chosen poverty.

fancied poverty

Imagined, practice poverty: a few days of living on very little, by choice.

onerous

Burdensome; heavy to bear.

kingdoms are all too small

An echo of the saying about Alexander the Great, for whom even a whole kingdom was not enough.