NewPhilosopher On grief“All nine? It’ll cost you.”
keep, are regarded by others with bit-
ter jealousy, and are more of a menace
than an advantage to those who are
bedecked and encumbered by them.
They are slippery and uncertain; one
never can enjoy them in comfort; for,
even setting aside anxiety about the
future, the present management of
great prosperity is an uneasy task. If
we are to believe some profound seek-
ers after truth, life is all torment: we
are flung, as it were, into this deep and
rough sea, whose tides ebb and flow, at
one time raising us aloft by sudden ac-
cessions of fortune, at another bring-
ing down low by still greater losses,
and for ever tossing us about, never
letting us rest on firm ground. We
roll and plunge upon the waves, and
sometimes strike against one another,
sometimes are ship-wrecked, always
are in terror. For those who sail upon
this stormy sea, exposed as it is to eve-
ry gale, there is no harbour save death.
Do not, then, grudge your brother his
rest: he has at last become free, safe,
and immortal: he leaves surviving him
Caesar and all his family, yourself, and
his and your brothers. He left For-
tune before she had ceased to regard
him with favour, while she stood still
by him, offering him gifts with a full
hand. He now ranges free and joyous
through the boundless heavens; he has
left this poor and low-lying region,
and has soared upwards to that place,
whatever it may he, which receives in
its happy bosom the souls which have
been set free from the chains of mat-
ter: he now roams there at liberty, and
enjoys with the keenest delight all the
blessings of Nature. You are mistaken!
Your brother has not lost the light of
day, but has obtained a more endur-
ing light: whither he has gone, we all
alike must go: why then do we weep
for his fate? He has not left us, but has
gone on before us. Believe me, there
is great happiness in a happy death.
We cannot be sure of anything even
for one whole day: since the truth is so
dark and hard to come at, who can tell
whether death came to your brother
out of malice or out of kindness?From Of Consolation to Poly-
bius, by Seneca, translated by Aubrey
Stewart (1900).