Plain
Seneca — The Senator

These people really do lose awareness of many things. But they also pretend to be unaware of even more. They actually enjoy their failings because they think being helpless proves how wealthy they are. They believe that knowing what you're doing is beneath them — something only poor, worthless people do. After seeing this, do you think playwrights have to make up stories when they mock the rich? Not at all. They actually leave out more than they invent. Our age has become so creative at producing incredible vices that playwrights can't keep up — there are too many real examples to mock.

On the Shortness of Life, Section 12 53 of 87
Human Nature What Matters Most
Seneca — The Senator Original

Such people do really become unconscious of much, but they behave as though they were unconscious of much more: they delight in some failings because they consider them to be proofs of happiness: it seems the part of an utterly low and contemptible man to know what he is doing. After this, do you suppose that playwrights draw largely upon their imaginations in their burlesques upon luxury: by Hercules, they omit more than they invent; in this age, inventive in this alone, such a number of incredible vices have been produced, that already you are able to reproach the playwrights with omitting to notice them.

On the Shortness of Life, Section 12 53 of 87
Seneca — The Senator

I once heard one of these pampered people — though we shouldn't really call it luxury when someone has forgotten how to be human — being carried from his bath and placed in his chair. He asked, "Am I sitting down yet?" Can you imagine? A man who doesn't know if he's sitting — do you think he knows if he's alive? If he can see? If he has any free time? I honestly can't tell what's worse: if he really didn't know, or if he was just pretending.

On the Shortness of Life, Section 12 52 of 87
Human Nature What Matters Most
Seneca — The Senator Original

I have heard one of these luxurious folk—if indeed, we ought to give the name of luxury to unlearning the life and habits of a man—when he was carried in men's arms out of the bath and placed in his chair, say inquiringly, "Am I seated?" Do you suppose that such a man as this, who did not know when he was seated, could know whether he was alive, whether he could see, whether he was at leisure? I can hardly say whether I pity him more if he really did not know or if he pretended not to know this.

On the Shortness of Life, Section 12 52 of 87
‹ Previous Next ›

Ancient philosophy, in plain English.

About · Support