Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero: Seize the day and place as little faith as possible in the hours to come. Horace’s most famous line comes at the end of Ode 1.11, an address to a girl called Leuconoe. He warns her against trying to read the future; for no man can know his fate, and to make plans is hopeless because any day could be our last. So instead we must seize the day, make the most of the present moment. Keep pouring the wine, for even as we speak our short time on earth is flying past.
Leuconoe, do not ask, it is wrong to know, what fate the gods grant us,
whether your fate or mine, don’t waste your time on Babylonian,
futile, calculations. How much better to suffer what happens,
whether Jupiter gives us more winters or this is the last one,
one debilitating the Tyrrhenian Sea on opposing cliffs.
Be wise, and mix the wine, since time is short: limit that far-reaching hope.
The envious moment is flying now, now, while we’re speaking:
Seize the day, place in the hours that come as little faith as you can.
Translation by David West (2008)
Horace’s philosophy is called Epicureanism, the philosophy that we must accept our fortune and and its unpredictability. It was a very popular philosophy and he expounds Epicurean ideas in lots of his odes, usually quite seriously. He is very preoccupied with man’s fate and the finality of death. In this ode he uses nature as a metaphor for life, where the storm represents life’s vicissitudes. The storm can also be read as a metaphor for the dangers and discomforts that threaten the philosopher’s inner tranquility. His conversation with Leuconoe is a safe haven; with wine and company it is an attractive contrast to the wild outdoors, and so emphasises the need to snatch such moments and enjoy their shelter from life’s storms.
So why in my title have I put this ode with Andrew Marvell’s To his coy mistress? The similarity between the two has been noted by the scholar Anderson, and it is I think pretty valid. As Horace senses time flying past even as they speak, so Marvell says:
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity