[Stoicism] - Dịch Seneca (78): Bàn về cách để dũng cảm đối mặt và chiến thắng bệnh tật!

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 78

Lý do mà người thiếu kinh nghiệm chưa qua rèn luyện cực kỳ khó khăn với những vấn đề của cơ thể là vì họ chưa quen với việc trấn an bản thân bằng cách tập trung vào tâm trí; họ để bản thân bị chi phối bởi những cơn đau của cơ thể. Vậy nên người thông thái tách biệt tâm trí và cơ thể, hướng nhiều hơn sự tập trung của họ đến thứ quan trọng hơn, thiêng liêng cao quý hơn, và chỉ quan tâm vừa đủ tới phần còn lại, phần yếu đuối hay than vãn.

Có lẽ chính điều này rồi sẽ có ngày trở thành kỷ niệm đáng nhớ trong ký ức (trích thơ Virgil)

Cũng giống như việc một đội quân thường dữ tợn hơn với đối thủ hèn yếu rút lui tán loạn, những cuộc tấn công của bệnh tật hay vận mệnh sẽ trở nên nặng nề hơn với những người từ bỏ và quay lưng lại phía chúng. "Nhưng đó là một nỗi đau đớn khó có thể chịu đựng nổi". Vậy thì sao? Chẳng lẽ ta chỉ có sức mạnh đủ để đối phó với những thứ nhẹ nhàng hay sao?

Bạn thực sự nghĩ việc rèn luyện sự tự kiểm soát khi ốm đau không phải là một nhiệm vụ? Bạn sẽ cho mọi người thấy rằng đau ốm có thể bị chế ngự và đánh bại, hay ít nhất là có thể chịu đựng. Tin tôi đi: dũng cảm có thể được thể hiện ngay trên giường bệnh. Không chỉ có vũ khí và những trận chiến mới là bằng chứng cho một tâm trí vững vàng, thứ vượt trên và không để cho nỗi sợ chế ngự nó: một con người dũng cảm có thể cho thấy phẩm cách của mình ngay trong bộ đồ bệnh nhân. Bạn có nhiệm vụ chống chọi với cơn bệnh của mình! Chỉ cần không để nó chế ngự, và không bao giờ đầu hàng trước nó, thì bạn đã là một ví dụ sáng ngời rồi. Ồ, điều đó xứng đáng được ngợi ca đến thế nào, nếu mọi người có thể quan sát ta chiến thắng những đau đớn tột cùng này! Vậy thì hãy là người quan sát của chính mình, và cứ tự hào với bản thân mình đi.

Một ngày với người có học thức có thể dài hơn cả cuộc đời của những kẻ ngờ nghệch vô tâm

From Seneca to Lucilius
Greetings
1 So you are troubled with frequent sinus infections and with the
bouts of fever that go with them when they are chronic and long
lasting. I am sorry to hear it, and all the more as I have experienced
this sort of illness.* At fi rst I thought little of it; being young, I
was able to put up with hardships and stubborn in dealing with ill
health. Eventually I succumbed, and became so emaciated that my
entire being seemed to be dripping out through my sinuses. 2 More
than once I entertained an impulse to end my life; but my father was
elderly, and that held me back. For although I thought that I could
die bravely, I also thought that he, who was so kind to me, could not
bravely bear the loss. So I commanded myself to live; for there are
times when just continuing to live is a courageous action.
3 I will tell you what consoled me then. But fi rst I will say this:
the thoughts that comforted me had medicinal powers. Honorable
consolations are curative: what raises up the mind also benefi ts the
body. It was my studies that saved me; it was philosophy that I had to
thank when I rose from my bed and when I regained my strength. I
owe it my life, and life is the least of what I owe to it. 4 Friends contributed
greatly to my recovery: they encouraged me, sat up nights,
talked to me, and so brought me comfort. O most excellent Lucilius,
nothing strengthens an invalid as much as caring friends; nothing
does as much to take away his thoughts of death, his fear. I felt that
as long as they remained alive, I was not really dying. I mean, I kept
thinking that I would live on, not among them but through them.
It seemed to me I was not yielding up my spirit so much as passing
it on.
Th ese things gave me the will to help myself and to endure every torment. Without them it is a most wretched case: you have given
over the intention to die but have no wish to live. 5 Th erefore commit
yourself to these remedies. Th e doctor will instruct you how far to
walk, how long to exercise; he’ll tell you not to indulge in idleness,
which is the tendency when one lacks energy. He’ll have you read
aloud, exercising your breathing, since it is the passage and receptacle
of the breath that is aff ected; and will bid you go out in a boat so
that the gentle rocking will stimulate your digestive system. He’ll
advise you what foods to consume, when to order wine for the sake
of strength, and when to skip the wine so as not to irritate your cough
and make it worse. Th e advice I give is a remedy not for this illness
only but for your whole life. It is this: despise death. Once we escape
that fear, nothing is ever sad.
6 Every illness involves three affl ictions: fear of death, pain of
body, interruption of life’s pleasures. About death I’ve said enough.
Th ere’s just one thing I have to add: it is the fi nish line, not for disease
but for our nature. In many cases disease delays death, and looking
ready to die has actually saved a person’s life.* Th e reason you will die
is not that you are sick but that you are alive. Th at fact will remain
even after you get well; your recovery is an escape from sickness but
not an escape from death.
7 Let’s turn now to the affl iction that specifi cally characterizes
illness. Illness includes periods of great pain, but these are made
endurable by intermissions. For when pain is at its most extreme, it
comes to an end. No one can experience terrible pain for very long:
nature in its great love for us has designed us in such a way as to
make pain either endurable or brief.* 8 Th e greatest pains belong
to the slenderest parts of the body: the tendons, the fi nger joints,
and all the other narrow parts feel the sharpest pangs as the malady
is compacted into a tight space. But these parts also become numb
quickly, the pain itself obliterating their sensation of pain. Th is may
be because the native breath* is blocked in its fl ow and deteriorates,
losing its invigorating and stimulating force; or it may be that contaminated
fl uid, having lost its means of drainage, creates pressure on
itself and destroys sensation in the areas where it collects. 9 Hence
gout, arthritis, and all painful conditions of the tendons and spine are
intermittent when sensation is impaired at the pain site. With all of
these, the onset is excruciating; then the attack is mitigated by the passage of time, until numbness brings an end to pain. Aches of the
teeth, eyes, and ears are extremely acute just because they arise in a
tiny area of the body—in fact, the same can be said of headaches—
but when they are especially severe, one lapses into a stupor and then
into sleep. 10 So we have this to console us when the pain is immense:
if the sensation is excessive, it must end in lack of sensation.
Th e reason untrained persons are so troubled by bodily discomfort
is that they have not been accustomed to content themselves
with the mind; their dealings have largely been with the body. Hence
the great and intelligent man abstracts mind from body, having much
to do with the better, divine part of himself and only as much as
necessary with the frail, complaining part.
11 “But it is annoying to be deprived of the pleasures one is
used to—to abstain from food, and to be thirsty and hungry.” Th ese
things are hard to bear when one fi rst begins to abstain; later, the
longing subsides as the springs of our desire slacken and fail. Th e
appetite then becomes peevish, and the food one previously desired
is hateful. Th ere is no bitterness in being deprived of what you no
longer want.
12 Moreover, there is no pain that does not cease periodically or
at least decrease. Furthermore, one can take precautions and forestall
its onset with medications. For every sort of pain gives some advance
notice, especially those that occur on a regular basis. Coping with
illness is tolerable if you scorn the worst threats illness can make.
13 Don’t make your own suff erings harder to bear by burdening
yourself with complaints. Pain is a trivial matter when not augmented
by belief. In fact, if you begin to encourage yourself, saying, “It’s nothing,
or at least it isn’t much; let’s put up with it until it is over,” then
as long as you think of it as trivial you will make it so. Every thing
depends on belief. It is not only ambition, self-indulgence, and avarice
that look to opinion; we feel pain by it as well. Each person is as
wretched as he believes himself to be.
14 We should eliminate complaints about past suff erings, I believe,
and such talk as this: “Nobody ever had it worse! Such torture—
it was terrible! Nobody believed I would recover. My family
was in despair over me; the doctors had all given up! Men broken on
the rack are not as tormented as I was!” Even if those things are true,
they are over now. What is the use in reliving past suff erings, being miserable now because you were miserable then? Besides, people
always embellish their troubles, deceiving even themselves. Anyway,
what is bitter to endure is pleasant when endurance is done. One
naturally rejoices over troubles that are at an end.
Th ere are two things, then, that one ought to cut back: fear of
future troubles and memory of those that are past. One concerns
me no longer, the other not yet. 15 When a person is in the midst of
diffi culties, let him say,
Perhaps this too will someday bring us pleasure
in memory.*
Let him contend against them° with all his might: if he yields, he
will be beaten; if he exerts himself against his pain, he will defeat it.
As it is, most people pull the building down on top of themselves
when they ought to be holding it up. When something is leaning
against you, hanging over you, crushing you with its weight, and you
begin to back away from it, it topples toward you and lands all the
more heavily on your head; but if you stand fi rm, you will be able to
push it back.
16 Boxers take many blows to the face and to the entire body; yet
in their desire for glory they endure the pain, not only in competition
but also in order to compete. Even their training infl icts pain. Let
victory be our aim too in every contest. For us too there is a prize:
not the garland, not the palm, not some trumpet heralding the announcement
of our names, but excellence, fi rmness of mind, and the
peace that is gained from then on once we make conquest of fortune
in any trial of strength.
17 “I feel great pain.” What of it? If you bear it like a woman, do
you feel it less? Just as enemies wreak more destruction in a rout, so
does every stroke of misfortune fall more heavily on those who give
up and turn their backs on it. “But it is a heavy load.” What of it? Do
we have our strength only for carrying light burdens?
Would you prefer your illness to be lengthy, or brief and intense?
If lengthy, it gives some respite, some room to relax; it gives you
plenty of time, for when there is a crisis° there is necessarily also a
remission. A brief and acute illness has one of two outcomes: either
it will come to an end, or it will bring the end. What diff erence does it make whether the disease is gone or I am? Either way, the pain
is over.
18 It will also be benefi cial to depart mentally from the pain
and turn your mind toward other thoughts.* Th ink of honorable
deeds, brave deeds you have performed; refl ect on what is good in
your character. Let your memory range over everything you have
most admired. Th en bring to mind some great example of courage
and victory over pain: the man who persevered in reading a book
as he underwent surgery for varicose veins; the one who did not
stop laughing while the torturers, angered by his defi ance, tried out
every implement of their cruelty on him. If pain has been defeated
by laughter, can it not be defeated by reason? 19 Name anything you
like: sinus infections, constant coughing so violent it brings up parts
of your insides; fever that scalds you to the core; thirst; limbs twisted
the wrong way by deformation of the joints; none of them are as bad
as the fl ame—the rack—the branding iron—the force exerted on
already aggravated wounds to make them deeper and more severe.
Yet even among those there was one who did not groan. More than
that: he did not even ask for mercy. More than that: he did not answer.
More than that: he laughed, and he meant it! After that, don’t
you want to laugh down this pain you feel?
20 “But illness prevents me from doing anything at all. It keeps
me from meeting my responsibilities.” Your body is impeded by it;
your mind, however, is not. Ill health slows the legs of a runner; it
weighs down the hands of a carpenter or tailor; but if your regular
work is with your mind, you will continue to teach and exhort, to
listen and learn, to inquire and refl ect.
“And beyond that?” Do you think exercising self-control when
you are sick is doing nothing? You will be showing everyone that
illness can be defeated, or at least endured. 21 Believe me: there is a
place for courage even on the sickbed. It is not only arms and battles
that give evidence of a bold spirit unconquered by alarms: a brave
man shows his quality even among the bedclothes. You have your
task: wrestle well with illness! If it exercises no compulsion, no force
of persuasion on you, then you off er a shining example. If only people
observed us in sickness, how much material there would be for glory
to celebrate! Be your own observer; celebrate yourself.

22 Moreover, there are two types of pleasure. Illness inhibits
bodily pleasures, but does not remove them entirely—in fact, if you
make an accurate assessment, it is a stimulus to pleasure. A drink
gives more enjoyment to one who is thirsty; food is more welcome
to one who is hungry; and everything that comes after a period of
privation is received with more delight. As for mental pleasures, no
doctor orders his patient to abstain from them. And these are greater
and more reliable pleasures. One who devotes himself to them with
good understanding no longer cares for all those things that tickle
the senses. 23 “Poor invalid!” Why? Because he does not strain his
wine through snow? Because he does not use chips of ice to freshen
his hefty schooners of strong drink? Because no one opens Campanian
oysters for him right at the table? Because at his meals there
is no hustle and bustle of chefs trundling braziers around with the
roasts still on them? For self-indulgence has now come up with this
device: the very kitchen comes out with the food, to make sure the
dishes are not just warm but hot enough to scald the toughest palate.
24 “Poor invalid!” He will eat only as much as he can digest. Th e wild
boar will not languish to one side as if it were a cheap meat banished
from the table; his platter will not be piled high with the breasts of
wildfowl because he cannot stand to see a bird served whole. What
misfortune has befallen you? You will dine like an invalid—which is
to say, in health and sanity.
25 But as for the liquid diet, the warm water, and all the other
things that seem intolerable to those fashionable characters (dissipated,
that is—sick in mind rather than in body), we will have
no diffi culty in enduring them once we stop being frightened by
death. And we will stop if we have learned the limits of goods and
evils. Th en at last will life no longer be tiresome to us, death no longer
alarming. 26 For boredom cannot take over one’s life when one
ponders such a variety of exalted and divine themes: it is when one’s
leisure is spent in idleness that one is overcome by self-loathing. Th e
mind that traverses all the universe will never weary of truth;* only
falsehood will be tedious.
27 Again, if death approaches and summons such a person—even
a death many years before his time—he has already reaped all the
benefi ts of a ripe old age. He has learned much of what there is to
know in the world. He knows that when one’s actions are honorable, they do not become more so by mere duration. But any life must appear
short to those who measure it by pleasures that are empty and
for that reason unlimited.*
28 Create yourself anew with these thoughts; and meanwhile,
save time for my letters. A day will come when we two will be reunited;
indeed, commingled. Short it may be, but we will make it
long by knowing how to use it. For as Posidonius says,
A single day gives more time to the educated than the longest of
lives for the untutored.*
In the meantime, latch on to this; hold fast to this: yield not to adversity;
trust not to prosperity; fi x your eyes on fortune’s privilege,
thinking that whatever can happen to you will indeed happen. What
has been long expected is easier when it comes.

Farewell.

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