Well, so much for that idea!
I once experienced something similar. Long ago, I had a chance to spend a week in an Italian Renaissance villa—the Villa Saraceno, designed by the famous architect Andrea Palladio (1508–1580)—with ten or twelve friends. But I had recently experienced the breakup of a promising relationship and was still feeling the sting of grief. Despite that, since it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to stay in a Palladian villa (and cost almost nothing), I decided to go on the trip, which was unforgettable. But when I was alone in my room, I sometimes broke down into tears, because of the grief and disappointment that had followed me there.
When Seneca was writing his letters to Lucilius, he changed locations frequently, traveling here or there to one of his country retreats. In one funny letter, he even found himself staying above a noisy gym and bathhouse in Rome. In amusing detail, he described the sounds of people grunting during their workouts, which drifted up from below to his apartment. I mention this to stress that Seneca was no stranger to travel, nor did he disapprove of it. Seneca felt that everyone needs periods of relaxation to release the mind. He also felt that getting out of Rome with its smoky, polluted air was a good idea, if not a medical necessity.2
If Seneca thought travel was fine, though, why did he write so much about how our inner troubles follow us wherever we go—a theme that comes up repeatedly in his writings?
Since Seneca was a Stoic, his attention was focused on how to realistically improve our inner character. Because of that, he opposed the idea that someone could improve his or her mental state, at least in a lasting way, by simply going on a trip. Whatever problems we suffer from internally, they do follow us: “The fault is not in one’s circumstances but in the mind itself. . . . His malady follows him.”3 What is to be gained by “getting away from it all,” he asks, since our worries will follow us everywhere we go? But to drive the point home, he notes bluntly: “If you want to escape your troubles, you don’t need to be somewhere else: you need to be someone else.”4
Seneca had a specific kind of personality in mind when writing about how people can misuse travel. These are the kinds of people who will use any possible diversion to avoid facing their inner lives—and to avoid whatever it is they need “to work on,” as we say today. It’s common psychological knowledge that some people stay busy or distracted all the time to fend off feelings of emptiness, loneliness, or depression. Since we live in a consumer society, emphasis is placed on owning external things, participating in external activities, and achieving external accomplishments. By contrast, taking a deep look inside ourselves and then feeling a sense of emptiness, rather than discovering a well-developed and happy personality, could be quite uncomfortable. The Stoic view is not that external things are unimportant, but that true happiness and peace of mind originates from within. So those who fail to develop their inner character are unlikely to be truly happy.
In the same way that “distracted” or “preoccupied” people rush around and misuse the gift of time (chapter 2), the preoccupied also misuse the gift of travel to avoid developing their inner selves. As Seneca notes somewhat pointedly, “If you’re always choosing remote spots to chase after leisure, you’ll find sources of distraction everywhere.”5
In the end, he wonders, if each person is trying to flee himself, what is the point of fleeing if there is no escape?
HAVING A REAL DESTINATION
The mind cannot become stable unless it stops wandering.
—Seneca, Letters 69.1
For Seneca, having a real destination is of supreme importance. When you have a real destination, you also have focus, consistency, and a goal you’re moving closer to. The opposite of having a destination involves a lack of focus, inconsistency, and mere wandering. When you have a real destination, you actually know what you’re living for. But that’s not true for someone who’s wandering or just reacting to whatever happens next.
We can see how having a real destination perfectly ties in with the idea of Stoicism being “a path” (explored in chapter 1), because a path exists to take you somewhere. The way that Seneca repeatedly contrasts the idea of having a real destination with the idea of just wandering cannot be due to chance. Instead, it’s a brilliant and intentional metaphor to explain his overall understanding of Stoicism and the importance of focus and consistency in making progress.
Just how important this was for Seneca is confirmed by the fact that it comes up at the very beginning of his second letter to Lucilius. In other words, Seneca brings up the topic of focus and “not wandering” at the earliest possible opportunity:
LETTER 2
From Seneca to Lucilius, greetings
Based on your letter and what I’m hearing, I’m becoming very hopeful about you. You are not rushing around or letting frequent changes of place disturb you. That kind of restlessness is the sign of an unhealthy mind. In my view, the first proof of a stable mind is its ability to stay in one place and enjoy its own company.6
Seneca then suddenly changes the subject to talk about selecting and reading the right books, to discuss how “not wandering” is vital in reading also: “If you wish to take in something that will settle reliably in your mind,” he says, “you must dwell with a few chosen thinkers and be nourished by their works. Someone who is everywhere is nowhere. Those who travel constantly end up with many acquaintances, but no real friends.”7
In this way, Seneca shows how both traveling and reading can be harmed by wandering, by not having a real destination. Of course, having access to a research library of thousands of books might be useful. But in terms of becoming a wise human being, deeply absorbing the thoughts of a few solid and proven authors is essential. As Seneca advises, “Study not in order to know more, but to know better.”8
In both reading and travel, you need some focus and a destination. You don’t want to wander to and fro. As he says, people who travel constantly have many acquaintances but no real friends, which is not an exaggeration. For example, I’ve known and entertained digital nomads, people who constantly travel the world, working from their laptops. And while it works well for some (especially couples), the inability to form lasting friendships while always on the move—and the loneliness that it breeds—is a problem for many.
“Those who follow a path,” Seneca writes, “have a destination, but wandering is limitless.”9 While travel is fine, the desire to travel constantly is a sign of “disquiet” or “an unsteady spirit.”10 “As you progress,” Seneca tells Lucilius, “take pains above all to be consistent with yourself,” because “a change of purpose shows that the mind is drifting at sea, appearing here and there, as if blown around by the wind.”11 (See figure 3.)
For example, if I’m working on a project with mental focus, I can go on the Internet, look up a piece of information on the web, and get back to work immediately. But if I don’t have that kind of focus, I can easily surf the web, then Facebook, and then YouTube, wandering around for hours. Doing that now and then is certainly harmless, but doing it daily, as a form of procrastination, might indicate that something is wrong. When people procrastinate, it’s often a sign that they find their work to be unfulfilling. In that case, it might make sense to think about finding some more exciting work, if possible.
A Student of Stoicism
A Typical non-Stoic
Is traveling with a destination
Is wandering without a path
Is focused and consistent