Amongst all paths to serenity, the one delineated by Seneca is the most straightforward. It rests on a single principle that can be applied to all problems and circumstances that we encounter in life.
Seneca’s path to serenity has been proven effective through twenty centuries of experience. In contrast to the recipes given by Marcus Aurelius (121-180 AD) and Epictetus (55-135 AD), Seneca’s path can be summarised in one word: flexibility.
Nowadays, most people regard themselves as flexible, but is it really true? Does their flexibility correspond to Seneca’s idea as presented in his Letters to Lucilius? Surely not.
Seneca was not referring to the willingness to eat fish and chips instead of hamburger, or take the early flight when later flights are fully booked. His conception of flexibility is wider and deeper.
In the 36th Letter to Lucilius, Seneca underlines the fleeting nature of life and exhorts us to practice virtue. It has led me to conclude that most problems pale when we accept the fact that, one day, we will pass away, just like every other human being.
The philosophical mind looks at the present and the future at the same time. In doing so, it strengthens its resolve to enjoy each day to the maximum.
Seneca’s call for mental flexibility
Stoicism calls for mental flexibility, for the ability to weigh the pros and cons of each situation, and automatically gravitate to the best alternative. Cleanthes (330-230 BC) personified the idea of flexibility because he was willing to take a succession of menial jobs to fund his philosophical quest.
Seneca’s meaning of flexibility encompasses the willingness to relocate, change professions, change friends, accept failure and setbacks as a normal part of life, and cope with dire illness if need be. His concept of flexibility was as radical as one can imagine nowadays.
In the 67th Letter to Lucilius, Seneca explains how to lead a happy life, but it does not tell us, for instance, how to cope with debilitating illness. Instead of complaining about poor health, should we declare ourselves happy that, due to our illness, we can devote more time to reading or music?
Seneca enumerates many setbacks that confront individuals in the course of their existence: War, physical injuries, material privations or accidents of all sorts. What to do in those cases?
The fool will waste his energy crying and complaining. His goal is to elicit compassion from other people, and obtain help and comfort. The problem is that, even if he succeeds, he will remain anxious about the future. His supporters might change their mind, or his problems might grow worse over time.
Seneca explains that the path to serenity consists of patience and flexibility. The Stoic regards problems as the price we pay to be alive. No problems, explains Seneca, means death.
Seneca: Demetrius’ metaphor of the dead sea
In the 67th Letter to Lucilius, Seneca is quoting Demetrius, a philosopher who had compared a smooth life to a “dead sea.” I find the idea of a totally smooth life unrealistic anyway, but the point made by Seneca is that, even if it was possible, it would prevent us from developing our intellectual and physical skills.
Seneca was referring to Demetrius, a contemporary of his, more closely associated with the Cynics than with the Stoics. Curiously enough, Demetrius also endured exile under the rule of Nero, just as Seneca had done.
Flexibility entails the automatic capability to see the hidden benefits that go hand in hand with seemingly dire situations. In the 81st Letter to Lucilius, Seneca encourages readers to count their blessings and express gratitude at every opportunity.
Our problems, no matter how severe, are insignificant when we compare them with the certainty of our future death. I view this idea as one of the most crucial teachings of Stoicism, but it is hard to integrate it in our thinking patterns.
Seneca’s quote of Metrodorus (331-287 BC) is particularly revealing of this aspect of mental flexibility. Metrodorus had written that only philosophers are able to love. Seneca does not mean romantic love, but the appreciation of life in general.
We need to acquire the capability to assess problems calmly and accurately, so that we learn to love virtually every situation and obstacle. The idea that “only philosophers can love” refers to the mental flexibility to find beneficial aspects in failure and setbacks.
Seneca’s insights and Giorgio Vasari
Giorgio Vasari (1511-1573) is my favourite example of high flexibility. He conducted his affairs and career in a manner that Seneca would have found admirable. Not because Vasari was a great painter or architect, but for his ability to exploit his skills with remarkable adaptability.
Early in life, Vasari relocated from his natal town Arezzo to Florence, where at age fourteen, he became an apprentice to Andrea del Sarto. In his twenties, he travelled twice to Rome to expand his artistic education.
Eventually, Vasari began to land his own commissions for frescos in Florentine and Roman churches. Those frescos aren’t bad, but they are not remarkable. Vasari performed works that are well designed and executed, but not exceptional.
Upon reaching his late thirties, Vasari was conscious of his limitations. He had met personally many of the greatest artists of his time, Michelangelo (1475-1564) for example, but could not compete with them in terms of originality and technique.
Stoicism, as taught by Seneca in particular, teaches us to go along with the flow, accepting facts and risks, and making the best of them. Vasari did exactly that.
Since he could not expect to achieve remarkable success as a painter, he turned his efforts to writing and composed his “Lives of the Artists,” a collection of biographies of famous Italian painters, sculptors and architects of his time.
Vasari published the “Lives of the Artists” first in 1550, and later he expanded the text in 1568. The book became the most widely read set of artist biographies in the world and put Vasari on the map.
Seneca had never displayed in his own life the extraordinary flexibility that we find in Vasari. Seneca would have been truly in awe to witness Vasari’s evolution from painter to writer, and later, to architect. Thanks to the prestige acquired by his book, Vasari landed the commission to build the Uffizi building and its connecting corridor in Florence.
Is the Uffizi a great building? I pity the clerks that laboured daily in the offices on the ground floor and first floor because of the limited access to sunlight.
The arches on the ground floor are pleasant enough, but if I compare them to the library in Venice, I get the impression that Vasari had not innovated much. Like in his paintings, he did a fine job, exploiting his skills with flexibility, but is this not the key to serenity and happiness according to Stoicism?
If you are interested in putting rational ideas into practice, I recommend my books “The Philosophy of Builders” and “The 10 Principles of Rational Living.”
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