An old man bundled up against a cool spring, Seneca answers a sharp question from Lucilius: if it’s a good thing to bear pain bravely, should we actually pray for pain? His answer is clear and freeing. We don’t wish for hardship; we wish for the strength to meet it well. Along the way he warns against a life so comfortable it becomes “a flat calm,” and he insists that the image of virtue is honored “not with incense or garlands, but with sweat and blood.”
A note for readers: a few lines in this letter reflect ancient Roman views that admired choosing death for honor’s sake, including the death of Cato. The heart of the letter is courage in illness and hardship, and living without fear. If you or someone you love is struggling, please reach out — in the US, call or text 988 (Suicide and Crisis Lifeline); help is available in most countries.
From Seneca to Lucilius
If I may start with a commonplace remark, spring is slowly revealing itself; but although it’s turning toward summer, when you’d expect hot weather, it has stayed rather cool, and you can’t be sure of it yet. It often slides back into winter. Do you want to know how uncertain it still is? I don’t yet trust myself to a bath that’s completely cold; even now I take the chill off it. You may say this is no way to show endurance of heat or cold. Very true, dear Lucilius; but at my age a person is finally content with the natural chill of his own body. I can barely thaw out in the middle of summer. So I spend most of my time bundled up.
Thanking Old Age
And I thank old age for keeping me tied to my bed. Why shouldn’t I thank it for that? What I ought not to want to do, I no longer have the ability to do. Most of my conversation is with books. Whenever your letters arrive, I imagine I’m with you, and I feel as if I’m about to speak my answer rather than write it. So let’s look into this problem of yours together, as if we were talking with each other.
Should We Pray for Pain?
You ask me whether every good is desirable. You say: “If it’s a good to be brave under torture, to go to the stake with a stout heart, to bear illness patiently, it follows that these things are desirable. But I don’t see that any of them is worth praying for. At any rate, I’ve never yet heard of anyone who paid a vow of thanks because he’d been cut to pieces by the rod, or twisted out of shape by gout, or stretched taller on the rack.”
My dear Lucilius, you have to make a distinction here; then you’ll see that there is something in these cases worth desiring. I’d prefer to be free from torture; but if the time comes when it must be endured, I’ll wish to bear it with bravery, honor, and courage. Of course I’d prefer that war not happen; but if it does, I’ll wish to bear nobly the wounds, the hunger, and everything else war demands. Nor am I so mad as to want illness; but if I must be ill, I’ll wish to do nothing that shows a lack of self-control, and nothing weak. So the conclusion isn’t that hardships are desirable, but that virtue is desirable, because it lets us endure hardships patiently.
Every Good Is Desirable
Some of our school think that, of all these qualities, steady endurance isn’t something to desire, though it isn’t to be rejected either, because we should pray only for the good that is pure, peaceful, and beyond the reach of trouble. Personally, I don’t agree with them. Why? First, because nothing can be good without also being desirable. Second, because if virtue is desirable, and nothing good is without virtue, then everything good is desirable. And finally, because brave endurance even under torture is desirable.
Here I ask you: isn’t bravery desirable? Yet bravery scorns and challenges danger. The most beautiful and admirable part of bravery is that it doesn’t shrink from the stake, goes forward to meet wounds, and sometimes doesn’t even dodge the spear, but meets it chest first. If bravery is desirable, so is patient endurance of torture, because that’s part of bravery. Just sort these things out, as I’ve suggested, and nothing will lead you astray. It isn’t mere endurance of torture that is desirable, but brave endurance. So I desire that “brave” endurance, and that is virtue.
Praying for a Life of Honor
“But,” you say, “who ever wished such a thing for himself?” Some prayers are open and explicit, when the requests are made one by one; other prayers are indirect, when they include many requests under one heading. For example, I pray for a life of honor. Now a life of honor includes many kinds of conduct. It may include the chest in which Regulus was shut up, or Cato’s final wound, or the exile of Rutilius, or the cup of poison that carried Socrates from prison to heaven. So in praying for a life of honor, I’ve also prayed for the things without which, on some occasions, life can’t be honorable.
O three and four times blessed were the ones
who under Troy’s high walls, before their fathers’ eyes,
met their fortunate end!
What does it matter whether you offer this prayer for someone, or admit it was desirable in the past? Decius gave his life for the state: he spurred his horse into the middle of the enemy, seeking death. The second Decius, matching his father’s courage and repeating the words that had become sacred and familiar, charged into the thickest of the fighting, anxious only that his sacrifice would bring a sign of victory, and counting a noble death as something to be desired. Do you doubt, then, whether it is best to die with glory, in the middle of some brave deed?
The Whole Council of Virtues
When someone endures torture bravely, he is using all the virtues. Endurance may be the only one in view and most obvious; but bravery is there too, and endurance, patience, and long-suffering are its branches. Foresight is there as well, because no plan can be undertaken without it; it’s foresight that advises us to bear as bravely as possible the things we can’t avoid. Steadfastness is there too, which can’t be dislodged from its post, and which no force can wrench from its purpose. The whole inseparable company of virtues is present. Every honorable act is the work of one single virtue, but it’s done by the judgment of the whole council. And what all the virtues approve, even if it seems to be the work of one alone, is desirable.
What? Do you think the only desirable things are the ones that come to us amid pleasure and ease, the ones we hang garlands on our doors to welcome? Some goods have a stern face. Some prayers are offered by a crowd not of people celebrating but of people bowing down in reverence and worship.
Sweat and Blood
Don’t you think this is how Regulus prayed that he might reach Carthage? Put on a hero’s courage, and step away for a little while from the opinions of ordinary people. Form a true picture of the image of virtue, a thing of surpassing beauty and grandeur. This image is not to be worshiped with incense or garlands, but with sweat and blood.
Look at Marcus Cato in his last hour, laying his spotless hands on that sacred breast, unwilling to outlive Rome’s freedom. What would you say to him: “I hope everything goes as you wish,” and “I’m sorry,” or “Good fortune in your undertaking”?
Not Tranquility, Just a Flat Calm
This brings to mind our friend Demetrius, who calls an easy life, untroubled by Fortune’s attacks, a “Dead Sea.” If you have nothing to stir you up and rouse you to action, nothing to test your resolve with its threats and hostility, if you lie back in undisturbed comfort, that isn’t tranquility; it’s just a flat calm.
The Stoic Attalus used to say: “I’d rather Fortune kept me in her camp than in the lap of luxury. If I’m tortured but bear it bravely, all is well; if I die, but die bravely, that’s well too.” Listen to Epicurus: he’ll tell you it’s actually pleasant. I myself will never use a soft word for something so honorable and stern. If I go to the stake, I’ll go unbeaten.
Why shouldn’t I count this as desirable? Not because the fire burns me, but because it doesn’t conquer me. Nothing is better or more beautiful than virtue; whatever we do at her command is both good and desirable.
Farewell.
Breaking It Down: A Modern Take on Letter 67
Letter 67 answers a question many people quietly wonder about: if hardship builds character, should we want it? Seneca’s answer is no. We should want the courage to face hardship when it comes. Writing as an old man who can barely get warm, he shows what that looks like in ordinary life: gratitude for limits, conversation with books, and a mind still eager to think. His examples come from Roman history, where dying for honor or for the state was admired, and a few of them, like Cato’s death, reflect ancient views we don’t share; what we can keep is his deeper point that courage, patience, and steadiness are worth more than an easy life.
1. Make peace with aging
Seneca jokes about warming his bath and staying bundled up. “What I ought not to want to do, I no longer have the ability to do.” He finds a quiet gift in his limits instead of resenting them.
2. Friends in books and letters
Most of his conversation is with books, and Lucilius’s letters make him feel his friend is in the room. Reading and writing can keep us connected even when our bodies keep us home.
3. Don’t wish for hardship; wish for courage
“I’ll wish to bear it with bravery, honor, and courage.” Seneca would prefer no war, no illness, no pain. But if they come, he wants to meet them well.
4. Virtue is what we want
“So the conclusion isn’t that hardships are desirable, but that virtue is desirable, because it lets us endure hardships patiently.” This is the key line of the letter. It frees us from glorifying suffering.
5. It’s the bravery, not the pain
“It isn’t mere endurance of torture that is desirable, but brave endurance.” Suffering isn’t noble in itself. How we meet it can be.
6. Pray for an honorable life
“I pray for a life of honor.” When we sign up for integrity, we sign up for its costs too: the unpopular stand, the lost opportunity, the hard conversation.
7. Foresight helps us bear the unavoidable
“It’s foresight that advises us to bear as bravely as possible the things we can’t avoid.” Thinking ahead about hard things isn’t gloomy. It’s preparation.
8. The virtues work together
Courage, patience, foresight, and steadfastness show up together, like a council. A good act is rarely the work of one quality alone.
9. Some goods have a stern face
“Some goods have a stern face.” Not every good thing feels good. Caring for a sick parent or keeping a hard promise rarely comes with garlands.
10. Virtue is honored with effort
“This image is not to be worshiped with incense or garlands, but with sweat and blood.” Admiring goodness isn’t enough. It asks for work.
11. Comfort isn’t the same as peace
“If you lie back in undisturbed comfort, that isn’t tranquility; it’s just a flat calm.” A life with no challenge can go stagnant. Real peace is the kind that holds when tested.
12. Unbeaten, not untouched
Seneca doesn’t call pain pleasant, as Epicurus did. He says the fire burns, but “it doesn’t conquer me.” Many patients facing serious illness show exactly this: they hurt, and they are still themselves.
Key Takeaways from Letter 67
- Accept your limits with grace. Even old age has gifts.
- Stay connected. Books and letters keep friends close.
- Don’t wish for hardship. Wish for courage when it comes.
- Want virtue, not suffering. Pain isn’t the point.
- Meet pain bravely. That’s what makes endurance good.
- Choose a life of honor. Accept its costs too.
- Prepare for the unavoidable. Foresight steadies us.
- Let the virtues work together. Courage needs patience and wisdom.
- Recognize stern goods. Some good things feel hard.
- Honor goodness with effort. Not just admiration.
- Don’t settle for a flat calm. Challenge keeps the soul alive.
- Stay unbeaten. Pain may touch you without conquering you.
“So the conclusion isn’t that hardships are desirable, but that virtue is desirable, because it lets us endure hardships patiently.”
— Seneca, Letter 67
Next up: Letter 68 — On Wisdom and Retirement
