Leisure

I. . . . . why do they with great unanimity recommend vices to us? even though we attempt nothing else that would do us good, yet retirement in itself will be beneficial to us: we shall be better men when taken singly—and if so, what an advantage it will be to retire into the society of the best of men, and to choose some example by which we may guide our lives! This cannot be done without leisure: with leisure we can carry out that which we have once for all decided to be best, when there is no one to interfere with us and with the help of the mob pervert our as yet feeble judgment: with leisure only can life, which we distract by aiming at the most incompatible objects, flow on in a single gentle stream. Indeed, the worst of our various ills is that we change our very vices, and so we have not even the advantage of dealing with a well-known form of evil: we take pleasure first in one and then in another, and are, besides, troubled by the fact that our opinions are not only wrong, but lightly formed; we toss as it were on waves, and clutch at one thing after another: we let go what we just now sought for, and strive to recover what we have let go. We oscillate between desire and remorse, for we depend entirely upon the opinions of others, and it is that which many people praise and seek after, not that which deserves to be praised and sought after, which we consider to be best. Nor do we take any heed of whether our road be good or bad in itself, but we value it by the number of footprints upon it, among which there are none of any who have returned. You will say to me, “Seneca, what are you doing? do you desert your party? I am sure that our Stoic philosophers say we must be in motion up to the very end of our life, we will never cease to labour for the general good; to help individual people, and when stricken in years to afford assistance even to our enemies. We are the sect that gives no discharge for any number of years’ service, and in the words of the most eloquent of poets:—

I. . . . . why do they all agree in recommending vices to us? Even if we try nothing else that would benefit us, withdrawing from public life will itself do us good. We shall be better men on our own. If so, how much more we would gain by withdrawing into the company of the best men! We could choose someone whose example would guide our lives. We cannot do this without leisure. With leisure, we can follow the course we have decided, once and for all, is best. No one can interfere and, with the crowd’s help, corrupt our still-weak judgment. Only with leisure can life flow in a single, gentle stream. As things stand, we pull life apart by pursuing goals that cannot possibly fit together. Indeed, the worst of our many troubles is that we keep changing even our vices. So we lack even the advantage of facing a familiar evil. We take pleasure first in one vice, then in another. We also suffer because our opinions are not only wrong but formed without much thought. We are tossed about as though on waves, grabbing at one thing after another. We let go of what we were just seeking, then struggle to recover what we have let go. We swing between desire and regret because we depend entirely on other people’s opinions. We think whatever many people praise and pursue is best, rather than whatever deserves praise and pursuit. Nor do we consider whether our road is good or bad in itself. Instead, we judge the road by the number of footprints on it, none of them left by anyone returning. You will say to me, “Seneca, what are you doing? Are you abandoning your own school? Surely our Stoic philosophers say we must stay active until the very end of our lives. We will never stop working for the common good or helping individuals. Even in old age, we will offer help to our enemies. We belong to the school that grants no discharge, however many years we have served. And in the words of the most eloquent of poets:

We are they who are so far from indulging in any leisure until we die, that if circumstances permit it, we do not allow ourselves to be at leisure even when we are dying. Why do you preach the maxims of Epicurus in the very headquarters of Zeno? nay, if you are ashamed of your party, why do you not go openly altogether over to the enemy rather than betray your own side?” I will answer this question straightway: What more can you wish than that I should imitate my leaders? What then follows? I shall go whither they lead me, not whither they send me.

We are people who deny ourselves leisure until we die. If circumstances allow, we deny ourselves leisure even while dying. Why do you preach the teachings of Epicurus in Zeno’s own headquarters? If you are ashamed of your side, why not openly join the enemy instead of betraying your own side?” I will answer that question at once: What more could you want than for me to follow my leaders’ example? What follows, then? I will go where my leaders lead me, not where they send me.

II. Now I will prove to you that I am not deserting the tenets of the Stoics: for they themselves have not deserted them: and yet I should be able to plead a very good excuse even if I did follow, not their precepts, but their examples. I shall divide what I am about to say into two parts: first, that a man may from the very beginning of his life give himself up entirely to the contemplation of truth; secondly, that a man when he has already completed his term of service, has the best of rights, that of his shattered health, to do this, and that he may then apply his mind to other studies after the manner of the Vestal virgins, who allot different duties to different years, first learn how to perform the sacred rites, and when they have learned them teach others.

II. Now I will prove to you that I am not abandoning the Stoics’ principles. For the Stoics themselves have not abandoned those principles. Yet even if I followed their examples rather than their teachings, I could offer a very good excuse. I will divide my argument into two parts. First, a man may devote himself entirely to contemplating truth from the very beginning of his life. Second, once a man has completed his term of service, his ruined health gives him the strongest right to do so. He may then turn his mind to other studies, just as the Vestal virgins assign different duties to different years. They first learn to perform the sacred rites, and once they have learned, they teach others.

III. I will show that this is approved of by the Stoics also, not that I have laid any commandment upon myself to do nothing contrary to the teaching of Zeno and Chrysippus, but because the matter itself allows me to follow the precepts of those men; for if one always follows the precepts of one man, one ceases to be a debater and becomes a partizan. Would that all things were already known, that truth were unveiled and recognized, and that none of our doctrines required modification! but as it is we have to seek for truth in the company of the very men who teach it. The two sects of Epicureans and Stoics differ widely in most respects, and on this point among the rest, nevertheless, each of them consigns us to leisure, although by a different road. Epicurus says, “The wise man will not take part in politics, except upon some special occasion;” Zeno says, “The wise man will take part in politics, unless prevented by some special circumstance.” The one makes it his aim in life to seek for leisure, the other seeks it only when he has reasons for so doing: but this word “reasons” has a wide signification. If the state is so rotten as to be past helping, if evil has entire dominion over it, the wise man will not labour in vain or waste his strength in unprofitable efforts. Should he be deficient in influence or bodily strength, if the state refuse to submit to his guidance, if his health stand in the way, then he will not attempt a journey for which he is unfit, just as he would not put to sea in a worn-out ship, or enlist in the army if he were an invalid. Consequently, one who has not yet suffered either in health or fortune has the right, before encountering any storms, to establish himself in safety, and thenceforth to devote himself to honourable industry and inviolate leisure, and the service of those virtues which can be practised even by those who pass the quietest of lives. The duty of a man is to be useful to his fellow-men; if possible, to be useful to many of them; failing this, to be useful to a few; failing this, to be useful to his neighbours, and, failing them, to himself: for when he helps others, he advances the general interests of mankind. Just as he who makes himself a worse man does harm not only to himself but to all those to whom he might have done good if he had made himself a better one, so he who deserves well of himself does good to others by the very fact that he is preparing what will be of service to them.

III. I will show that the Stoics also approve of this. Not that I have bound myself never to go against the teachings of Zeno and Chrysippus. Rather, the subject itself allows me to follow their principles. For anyone who always follows one man's teachings stops debating and becomes a partisan. If only everything were already known, truth lay revealed and recognized, and none of our teachings needed revision! But as things stand, we must seek truth alongside the very men who teach it. The Epicureans and Stoics differ widely on most matters, including this one. Nevertheless, both schools direct us toward leisure, though by different paths. Epicurus says, “The wise man will not take part in politics, except on some special occasion.” Zeno says, “The wise man will take part in politics, unless some special circumstance prevents him.” One makes seeking leisure his aim in life. The other seeks leisure only when he has reasons to do so. But the word “reasons” covers a great deal. If the state is too corrupt to save, if evil rules it completely, the wise man will not work in vain. He will not waste his strength on useless efforts. He may lack influence or physical strength. The state may refuse his guidance, or his health may stand in his way. Under these conditions, he will not attempt a journey he is unfit to make. Just so, he would not put to sea in a worn-out ship or enlist in the army when ill. Consequently, someone whose health and fortunes remain unharmed has the right to find safety before facing any storms. From then on, he may devote himself to honorable work and undisturbed leisure. He may serve the virtues that can be practiced even by those who lead the quietest lives. A person's duty is to be useful to others, to many if possible. Failing that, he should be useful to a few, then to his neighbors, and finally to himself. For when he helps others, he advances the common interests of humanity. Just as someone who makes himself worse harms himself, he also harms everyone he might have helped by becoming better. So someone who does good for himself also benefits others, simply by preparing himself to be useful to them.

IV. Let us grasp the fact that there are two republics, one vast and truly “public,” which contains alike gods and men, in which we do not take account of this or that nook of land, but make the boundaries of our state reach as far as the rays of the sun: and another to which we have been assigned by the accident of birth. This may be that of the Athenians or Carthaginians, or of any other city which does not belong to all men but to some especial ones. Some men serve both of these states, the greater and the lesser, at the same time; some serve only the lesser, some only the greater. We can serve the greater commonwealth even when we are at leisure; indeed I am not sure that we cannot serve it better when we are at leisure to inquire into what virtue is, and whether it be one or many: whether it be nature or art that makes men good: whether that which contains the earth and sea and all that in them is be one, or whether God has placed therein many bodies of the same species: whether that out of which all things are made be continuous and solid, or containing interstices and alternate empty and full spaces: whether God idly looks on at His handiwork, or directs its course: whether He is without and around the world, or whether He pervades its entire surface: whether the world be immortal, or doomed to decay and belonging to the class of things which are born only for a time? What service does he who meditates upon these questions render to God? He prevents these His great works having no one to witness them.

IV. Let us recognize that there are two republics. One is vast and truly “public,” embracing both gods and humans. In this republic, we do not limit ourselves to one small patch of land or another. Instead, we extend our state's boundaries as far as the sun's rays reach. The other republic is the one assigned to us by the accident of birth. This may be the republic of the Athenians or Carthaginians, or of any other city. Such a republic belongs not to everyone, but to a particular group. Some people serve both states, the greater and the lesser, at the same time. Some serve only the lesser, and some only the greater. We can serve the greater commonwealth even in our leisure. Indeed, I wonder whether we might serve it better when leisure allows us to explore such questions. What is virtue, and is there one virtue or more than one? Does nature or training make people good? Is the universe containing the earth, the sea, and everything in them a single whole? Or has God placed many bodies of the same kind within it? Is the material from which everything is made continuous and solid? Or does that material have gaps, with empty and filled spaces alternating? Does God watch his handiwork without acting, or does he direct its course? Is he outside and around the world, or does he extend throughout its entire surface? Is the world immortal, or is it destined to decay, like things born to exist only for a time? What service does someone who reflects on these questions offer God? That person ensures that God's great works do not go unwitnessed.

V. We have a habit of saying that the highest good is to live according to nature: now nature has produced us for both purposes, for contemplation and for action. Let us now prove what we said before: nay, who will not think this proved if he bethinks himself how great a passion he has for discovering the unknown? how vehemently his curiosity is roused by every kind of romantic tale. Some men make long voyages and undergo the toils of journeying to distant lands for no reward except that of discovering something hidden and remote. This is what draws people to public shows, and causes them to pry into everything that is closed, to puzzle out everything that is secret, to clear up points of antiquity, and to listen to tales of the customs of savage nations. Nature has bestowed upon us an inquiring disposition, and being well aware of her own skill and beauty, has produced us to be spectators of her vast works, because she would lose all the fruits of her labour if she were to exhibit such vast and noble works of such complex construction, so bright and beautiful in so many ways, to solitude alone. That you may be sure that she wishes to be gazed upon, not merely looked at, see what a place she has assigned to us: she has placed us in the middle of herself and given us a prospect all around. She has not only set man erect upon his feet, but also with a view to making it easy for him to watch the heavens, she has raised his head on high and connected it with a pliant neck, in order that he might follow the course of the stars from their rising to their setting, and move his face round with the whole heaven. Moreover, by carrying six constellations across the sky by day, and six by night, she displays every part of herself in such a manner that by what she brings before man’s eyes she renders him eager to see the rest also. For we have not beheld all things, nor yet the true extent of them, but our eyesight does but open to itself the right path for research, and lay the foundation, from which our speculations may pass from what is obvious to what is less known, and find out something more ancient than the world itself, from whence those stars came forth: inquire what was the condition of the universe before each of its elements were separated from the general mass: on what principle its confused and blended parts were divided: who assigned their places to things, whether it was by their own nature that what was heavy sunk downwards, and what was light flew upwards, or whether besides the stress and weight of bodies some higher power gave laws to each of them: whether that greatest proof that the spirit of man is divine be true, the theory, namely, that some parts and as it were sparks of the stars have fallen down upon earth and stuck there in a foreign substance. Our thought bursts through the battlements of heaven, and is not satisfied with knowing only what is shown to us: “I investigate,” it says, “that which lies without the world, whether it be a bottomless abyss, or whether it also is confined within boundaries of its own: what the appearance of the things outside may be, whether they be shapeless and vague, extending equally in every direction, or whether they also are arranged in a certain kind of order: whether they are connected with this world of ours, or are widely separated from it and welter about in empty space: whether they consist of distinct atoms, of which everything that is and that is to be, is made, or whether their substance is uninterrupted and all of it capable of change: whether the elements are naturally opposed to one another, or whether they are not at variance, but work towards the same end by different means.” Since man was born for such speculations as these, consider how short a time he has been given for them, even supposing that he makes good his claims to the whole of it, allows no part of it to be wrested from him through good nature, or to slip away from him through carelessness; though he watches over all his hours with most miserly care, though he live to the extreme confines of human existence, and though misfortune take nothing away from what Nature bestowed upon him, even then man is too mortal for the comprehension of immortality. I live according to Nature, therefore, if I give myself entirely up to her, and if I admire and reverence her. Nature, however, intended me to do both, to practise both contemplation and action: and I do both, because even contemplation is not devoid of action.

V. We often say that the highest good is to live according to nature. Now nature has made us for both contemplation and action. Let us prove what we said earlier. Indeed, who would not consider it proven after reflecting on his own passion for discovering the unknown? Think how strongly every kind of tale of adventure arouses his curiosity. Some men make long voyages and endure difficult journeys to distant lands. Their only reward is discovering something hidden and remote. This desire draws people to public shows. It makes them pry into everything closed, solve every mystery, investigate the distant past, and hear about uncivilized nations’ customs. Nature has given us curious minds. Well aware of her own skill and beauty, she has made us spectators of her vast works. Otherwise, she would lose all the rewards of her labor. She would be displaying her vast, magnificent works, so intricate, bright, and beautiful in so many ways, to emptiness alone. To see that she wants us to study her, not merely glance at her, consider where she has placed us. She has set us in her midst and given us a view in every direction. She has not only made man stand upright. To help him watch the heavens, she has also raised his head and given him a flexible neck. He can therefore follow the stars from their rising to their setting, turning his face with the whole sky. Moreover, she carries six constellations across the sky by day and six by night. In this way she displays every part of herself. What she brings before our eyes makes us eager to see the rest. For we have not seen everything, nor have we seen the true extent of things. Our sight merely opens the right path for inquiry and lays a foundation for thought. From that foundation, our thinking can move from the obvious to the less familiar. We can discover something older than the world itself, the source from which those stars emerged. We can ask what the universe was like before its elements separated from the common mass. We can ask what principle divided its confused and mingled parts, and who assigned everything its place. Did heavy things sink and light things rise by their own nature? Or, beyond the pressure and weight of bodies, did some higher power give each thing its laws? We can also ask whether the greatest evidence of the human spirit’s divine nature is true. This is the theory that parts of the stars, like sparks, fell to earth and lodged in an alien substance. Our thought bursts through the walls of heaven. It is not content to know only what we are shown. “I investigate,” it says, “what lies beyond the world. Is it a bottomless abyss, or does it too have boundaries of its own? What do the things outside look like? Are they shapeless and undefined, extending equally in every direction, or do they too have some kind of order? Are they connected with our world? Or are they far removed from it, tossing about in empty space? Do they consist of separate atoms, from which everything that exists or will exist is made? Or is their substance continuous and entirely capable of change? Are the elements naturally opposed to one another? Or are they in harmony, working toward the same end by different means?” Since man was born to explore such questions, consider how little time he has been given for them. Suppose he secures every moment as his own. Suppose he lets no time be taken through kindness or slip away through carelessness. Though he guards every hour as jealously as a miser, though he lives to the utmost limit of human life, his time remains short. Even if misfortune takes away nothing that Nature has given him, man is still too mortal to comprehend immortality. I therefore live according to Nature if I give myself entirely to her, and admire and revere her. Yet Nature intended me to do both, to practice both contemplation and action. And I do both, because even contemplation involves action.

VI. “But,” say you, “it makes a difference whether you adopt the contemplative life for the sake of your own pleasure, demanding nothing from it save unbroken contemplation without any result: for such a life is a sweet one and has attractions of its own.” To this I answer you: It makes just as much difference in what spirit you lead the life of a public man, whether you are never at rest, and never set apart any time during which you may turn your eyes away from the things of earth to those of Heaven. It is by no means desirable that one should merely strive to accumulate property without any love of virtue, or do nothing but hard work without any cultivation of the intellect, for these things ought to be combined and blended together; and, similarly, virtue placed in leisure without action is but an incomplete and feeble good thing, because she never displays what she has learned. Who can deny that she ought to test her progress in actual work, and not merely think what ought to be done, but also sometimes use her hands as well as her head, and bring her conceptions into actual being? But if the wise man be quite willing to act thus, if it be the things to be done, not the man to do them that are wanting, will you not then allow him to live to himself? What is the wise man’s purpose in devoting himself to leisure? He knows that in leisure as well as in action he will accomplish something by which he will be of service to posterity. Our school at any rate declares that Zeno and Chrysippus have done greater things than they would have done had they been in command of armies, or filled high offices, or passed laws: which latter indeed they did pass, though not for one single state, but for the whole human race. How then can it be unbecoming to a good man to enjoy a leisure such as this, by whose means he gives laws to ages to come, and addresses himself not to a few persons but to all men of all nations, both now and hereafter? To sum up the matter, I ask you whether Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and Zeno lived in accordance with their doctrine? I am sure that you will answer that they lived in the manner in which they taught that men ought to live: yet no one of them governed a state. “They had not,” you reply, “the amount of property or social position which as a rule enables people to take part in public affairs.” Yet for all that they did not live an idle life: they found the means of making their retirement more useful to mankind than the perspirings and runnings to and fro of other men: wherefore these persons are thought to have done great things, in spite of their having done nothing of a public character.

VI. “But,” you say, “your purpose in choosing a contemplative life matters. You may choose it for your own pleasure, asking only for uninterrupted contemplation that produces nothing. Such a life is pleasant and has attractions of its own.” My answer is this: Your attitude matters just as much when you lead a public life. Are you never at rest? Do you never set aside time to turn your eyes from earthly things to heavenly ones? Simply striving to gain wealth without any love of virtue is certainly not desirable. Nor is constant hard work without developing the mind. Work and intellectual growth should be combined and blended together. Similarly, virtue in a life of leisure without action is an incomplete and feeble good. Such virtue never shows what it has learned. Who can deny that virtue should test its progress through practical work? Virtue should not merely consider what ought to be done. Sometimes it should use its hands as well as its head and turn its ideas into reality. But suppose the wise man is entirely willing to act. Suppose what is missing is work to do, not someone to do it. Will you not then allow him to live a private life? What is the wise man’s purpose in devoting himself to leisure? He knows that leisure, like action, will let him accomplish something that benefits future generations. Our school, at least, declares that Zeno and Chrysippus achieved more than they would have by commanding armies. They also achieved more than they would have by holding high office or passing laws. Indeed, they did pass laws, though not for a single state, but for the whole human race. How, then, can such leisure be unworthy of a good man? Through such leisure, he gives laws to future ages. He addresses not a few people, but all people of all nations, both now and in the future. To sum up, I ask whether Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and Zeno lived according to their teachings. I am sure you will answer that they lived as they taught people ought to live. Yet none of them governed a state. “They lacked,” you reply, “the wealth or social standing that usually allows people to take part in public affairs.” Yet even so, they did not lead idle lives. They found ways to make their retirement more useful to humanity than other men’s sweating and rushing about. So these men are considered to have achieved great things, despite having done nothing in public life.

VII. Morever, there are three kinds of life, and it is a stock question which of the three is the best: the first is devoted to pleasure, the second to contemplation, the third to action. First, let us lay aside all disputatiousness and bitterness of feeling, which, as we have stated, causes those whose paths in life are different to hate one another beyond all hope of reconciliation, and let us see whether all these three do not come to the same thing, although under different names: for neither he who decides for pleasure is without contemplation, nor is he who gives himself up to contemplation without pleasure: nor yet is he, whose life is devoted to action, without contemplation. “It makes,” you say, “all the difference in the world, whether a thing is one’s main object in life, or whether it be merely an appendage to some other object.” I admit that the difference is considerable, nevertheless the one does not exist apart from the other: the one man cannot live in contemplation without action, nor can the other act without contemplation: and even the third, of whom we all agree in having a bad opinion, does not approve of passive pleasure, but of that which he establishes for himself by means of reason: even this pleasure-seeking sect itself, therefore, practises action also. Of course it does, since Epicurus himself says that at times he would abandon pleasure and actually seek for pain, if he became likely to be surfeited with pleasure, or if he thought that by enduring a slight pain he might avoid a greater one. With what purpose do I state this? To prove that all men are fond of contemplation. Some make it the object of their lives: to us it is an anchorage, but not a harbour.

VII. There are also three kinds of life, and people often debate which is best. The first is devoted to pleasure, the second to contemplation, and the third to action. First, let us put aside all hostility and eagerness to argue. As we have said, these feelings make people with different ways of life hate one another beyond any hope of reconciliation. Let us see whether these three ways of life all amount to the same thing, despite their different names. The person who chooses pleasure also contemplates, and the person devoted to contemplation also experiences pleasure. The person devoted to action also contemplates. “It makes all the difference in the world,” you say, “whether something is your main goal in life or merely supports another goal.” I admit the difference is considerable. Nevertheless, one does not exist without the other. One person cannot live in contemplation without action, and another cannot act without contemplation. Even the third, the pleasure-seeker, whom we all judge unfavorably, does not approve of passive pleasure. Instead, he approves of pleasure he secures for himself through reason. So even the school devoted to pleasure also practices action. Of course it does. Epicurus himself says he would sometimes give up pleasure and actually seek pain if pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. He would also do so if he thought enduring a little pain might help him avoid greater pain. Why do I say all this? To show that all people are fond of contemplation. Some make contemplation their purpose in life. For us, contemplation is a place to anchor, but not a harbor.

VIII. Add to this that, according to the doctrine of Chrysippus, a man may live at leisure: I do not say that he ought to endure leisure, but that he ought to choose it. Our Stoics say that the wise man would not take part in the government of any state. What difference does it make by what path the wise man arrives at leisure, whether it be because the state is wanting to him, or he is wanting to the state? If the state is to be wanting to all wise men (and it always will be found wanting by refined thinkers), I ask you, to what state should the wise man betake himself; to that of the Athenians, in which Socrates is condemned to death, and from which Aristotle goes into exile lest he should be condemned to death? where virtues are borne down by jealousy? You will tell me that no wise man would join such a state. Shall then the wise man go to the commonwealth of the Carthaginians, where faction never ceases to rage, and liberty is the foe of all the best men, where justice and goodness are held of no account, where enemies are treated with inhuman cruelty and natives are treated like enemies: he will flee from this state also. If I were to discuss each one separately, I should not be able to find one which the wise man could endure, or which could endure the wise man. Now if such a state as we have dreamed of cannot be found on earth, it follows that leisure is necessary for every one, because the one thing which might be preferred to leisure is nowhere to be found. If any one says that to sail is the best of things, and then says that we ought not to sail in a sea in which shipwrecks were common occurrences, and where sudden storms often arise which drive the pilot back from his course, I should imagine that this man, while speaking in praise of sailing, was really forbidding me to unmoor my ship . . . .

VIII. Add to this that, according to Chrysippus, a man may live at leisure. I do not mean that he ought to put up with leisure, but that he ought to choose it. Our Stoics say that the wise man would not take part in governing any state. What difference does it make how the wise man comes to a life of leisure? Perhaps the state fails him, or perhaps he fails the state. If the state fails all wise men, what state, I ask you, should the wise man turn to? And thinkers with sound judgment will always find the state lacking. Should he turn to Athens, where Socrates is condemned to death? Aristotle leaves Athens to avoid being condemned to death, and virtue there is crushed by envy. You will tell me that no wise man would join such a state. Should the wise man then turn to the commonwealth of the Carthaginians? There, political factions never stop fighting, and liberty is the enemy of all the best men. Justice and goodness count for nothing. Enemies are treated with inhuman cruelty, and citizens are treated like enemies. He will flee this state too. If I examined each state separately, I could not find one the wise man could tolerate. Nor could I find one that could tolerate the wise man. Now, if the state we have imagined cannot be found on earth, leisure is necessary for everyone. For the one thing that might be preferable to leisure is nowhere to be found. Suppose someone says that sailing is the best of all things. Then he says we should not sail on a sea where shipwrecks are common. Nor should we sail where sudden storms often drive the pilot off course. I would think that, while praising sailing, he was really forbidding me to untie my ship . . . .