Late summer, AD 64. The colony of Lugdunum, modern Lyon, burned to the ground in a single night. Seneca's friend Liberalis, who loved the city, was shattered by the news.
Seneca wrote to him in Letter 91. His argument was blunt: Liberalis was undone not by the fire itself but by the fact he had never once imagined it. Fortune, Seneca told him, has the same jurisdiction over empires as over emperors.
Across dozens of letters, 91, 63, and 24 among them, Seneca built what later readers named premeditatio malorum: rehearsing loss, illness, exile, and death in specific mental detail before they arrive.
It is not pessimism. It is a drill. Letter 24 tells Lucilius to picture the worst outcome of a pending lawsuit in full color, then notice that it is survivable. Practiced daily, Seneca argued, fortune loses its one real weapon: surprise.