[Stoicism] - Dịch Seneca (53): Tại sao những căn bệnh của tâm trí lại khó chữa, và đôi dòng về sức mạnh của Triết!

Lời tựa:   
               
Như đã giới thiệu trong series, Seneca thực sự là nguồn cảm hứng Stoicism của mình. Đọc Seneca không chỉ là về triết học mà còn là một trải nghiệm nghệ thuật, khi những bài học, triết lý quan trọng được phản ánh qua những hình ảnh quen thuộc, bình dị và đời thường, thể hiện cái tinh tế trong quan sát của một thiên tài với sự từng trải của cuộc đời. 
                                     
Với hy vọng giới thiệu Stoicism đến với các bạn trẻ Việt Nam, xin gửi tới các bạn bản dịch những bức thư quan trọng nhất trong cuốn "Moral Letters to Lucilius", tác phẩm đã làm nên tên tuổi của Seneca và là một trong bộ ba cuốn sách nền tảng của Stoicism.     
                                                   
Do không phải anh dịch thuật, nên bản dịch này hoàn toàn tập trung vào việc truyền tải thông điệp và hy vọng có thể giúp bạn cảm thấy dễ dàng hơn trong việc tiếp cận với bản tiếng Anh, để có thể thấy cái hay cái đẹp trong việc sử dụng ngôn từ của Seneca (dù thực ra bản tiếng Anh cũng chỉ là một bản dịch). Một anh bạn người Ý của mình đã chia sẻ Seneca được đưa vào chương trình giảng dạy tại Ý như một bậc thầy về việc sử dụng ngôn từ. Vì vậy, xin cam đoan tất cả những gì khiến bạn cảm thấy trúc trắc từ bản dịch là bởi khả năng hạn chế của mình, và rất mong nhận được đóng góp của các cao nhân để bản dịch được hoàn thiện hơn. 

Bức thư số 53

Mũi tàu phải hướng ra biển

Thả neo từ phía đầu tàu

Thật khó có thể tưởng tượng được sự khổ cực của tôi, chỉ vì tôi đã không thể chịu đựng được bản thân mình! 

From Seneca to Lucilius
Greetings
1 What can I not be talked into? Th is time I was persuaded to take a trip by boat! Th e sea was calm when I set out. To be sure, the sky was heavy with mottled clouds, the kind that usually resolve themselves into rain or squalls; but I thought the mileage was so short from your town of Parthenope to Puteoli that I could get away with making the trip, even in uncertain and threatening weather.* So I tried to get done with it quickly by heading through the deep water directly toward the isle of Nesis, intending a shortcut past all the inlets.

2 Th e moment I got to where it made no diff erence whether I went on or turned back, the calm surface that had enticed me was no more. It was not yet a storm but sloping seas, with the waves ever more frequent. I began asking the helmsman to let me off somewhere on shore; he said, though, that the coastline was rugged and without anchorage, and that in a storm the land was the very thing he feared the most. 3 But I was in too bad a way to have any use for danger. I had that persistent seasickness that brings on nausea but does not relieve it by vomiting. So I forced the issue with the helmsman and required him to head for shore whether he wanted to or not. As we drew near I did not wait for any of the instructions in Virgil to be carried out, for them to “turn the bow seaward” or “cast the anchor from the bow.”* Remembering my abilities (for I have long been a swimmer), I threw myself into the sea as a cold-water enthusiast should, wearing my mantle. 4 Just imagine how I suff ered as I staggered forward through the breakers, seeking a way, forcing a way. I understood then that sailors have reason to fear the land. It is unbelievable how much I endured just because I could not endure myself! Let me tell you, the reason Ulysses had shipwrecks everywhere was not so much that he was born to an angry sea; no, he was just prone to seasickness. I too will take twenty years to get wherever I am going if I have to get there by ship! 

5 As soon as I had settled my stomach—for you know it takes longer to escape from seasickness than from the sea—and as soon as I had applied some oil to refresh my body, I began to refl ect on how easily we forget our imperfections. We forget even our obvious bodily defects, which give us constant reminders; but still more do we forget those that do not show on the outside—and the worse they are, the less we can see them. 6 A slight fever can deceive a person, but when it increases and becomes a genuine illness, even the toughest and most enduring are forced to admit it. Th ere’s pain in the feet, a prickling sensation in the joints; we pretend it isn’t there, saying we’ve twisted an ankle or worn ourselves out by some exertion. As long as there is doubt, as long as the disease is in its early stages, we invent some specious name for it; but when it begins to cramp up the lower leg and cause distortion in both feet, we have no choice but to admit that it is arthritis. 7 It is the opposite with those infi rmities that aff ect the mind.* With these, the worse one is affl icted, the less he is aware of it. Th ere’s nothing surprising in that, dear Lucilius. When one is just barely asleep, one has impressions in accordance with that state of rest and is sometimes even conscious of being asleep; deep sleep, though, blots out even our dreams, drowning the mind so deep that it has no awareness of itself at all. 8 Why do people not admit their faults? Because they are still in the midst of them. Dreams are told by those who are awake; admitting to one’s faults is a sign of health. 

Let us wake up, then, so that we will be able to recognize our mistakes. But philosophy is the only thing that will awaken us; the only thing that will rouse us from our deep sleep. Devote yourself entirely to philosophy. You are worthy of it, and it of you: embrace one another. Refuse every other claim on you, boldly and openly: there is no reason you need to do philosophy only in your spare time. 9 If you were ill, you would take a break from your responsibilities at home. Your career concerns would drop away; no one’s defense case would be so important to you that you would go back down to the Forum while still anticipating a relapse. All your eff orts would be devoted to freeing yourself from disease as soon as possible. What about it, then? Will you not do the same thing now? Get rid of everything that stands in your way; make time for excellence of mind. No one gets there while occupied with business.

Philosophy asserts its power. It grants us time; it does not merely accept what we give to it. Philosophy is a full-time job, not a hobby; it is our supervisor, and orders us to appear.° 10 Alexander once said to a town that promised him part of its arable land and half of all its production, “My purpose in coming to Asia was not to receive any gifts you might give, but to allow you to keep anything that I might leave.”* Philosophy says the same thing, but in every situation. “I am not going to accept just the time you have left over; rather, you will have what I reject.”

11 Turn your entire mind to philosophy. Sit by philosophy and serve it, and you will be much above other people. Mortals will all be far behind you, and the gods not far ahead. Would you like to know what diff erence there will be between you and the gods? Th ey will have a longer time of existence. But to encompass a complete whole in a miniature work of art—that is indeed the sign of a great craftsman. For the wise, a lifetime is as spacious as all of time is for God.* Indeed, there is a way the sage surpasses God. It is by gift of nature that God is without fear; the sage gives that same gift to himself. 12 Here indeed is a great achievement: to retain our human weakness and yet have the tranquility of God.

It is amazing what power there is in philosophy to beat back all the assaults of chance. No weapon lodges in its fl esh; its defenses cannot be penetrated. When fortune’s darts come in, it either ducks and lets them pass by, or stands its ground and lets them bounce back against the assailant.

Farewell.

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