When you imagine some pleasure, beware
that it does not carry you away, like other imaginations. Wait a while, and
give yourself pause.
Next remember two things: how long you
will enjoy the pleasure, and also how long you will afterwards repent and
revile yourself. And set on the other side the joy and self-satisfaction you
will feel if you refrain.
And if the moment seems come to realize
it, take heed that you be not overcome by the winning sweetness and attraction
of it; set in the other scale the thought how much better is the consciousness
of having vanquished it.
—Epictetus,
The Handbook, Chapter 34 (tr
Matheson)
Impressions
and feelings can be tricky things. For the Stoic, it is not the pleasure or the
pain itself that is good or bad to us, but rather our estimation and use of
pleasure or pain that become the measure of their value for our living.
I can
relate very immediately to Epictetus’ suggestions. I hardly think that any
pleasure has done me any good at all if I have allowed myself to be immediately
swept away by it. If it isn’t worth pausing, and considering it rightly, I am
acting in the haste of blind surrender.
Now the
way to estimate a pleasure can be to simply weigh the benefit and the cost. How
much of myself am I giving, and what am I truly receiving? Caveat emptor. Most every life-defining mistake I have made arose
from failing to rightly balance the credits and debits. Whether it be sex,
money, drugs and alcohol, power, or fame, that first tingle of desire seems to
offer so much. What it so often cost me was my own integrity, responsibility, freedom,
and sense of respect. Some of those foolish decisions, made off the cuff and
with hardly a thought, have come back to haunt me hundreds of times over.
I will
often consider which sort of contentment will be deep and lasting. Will it be
the pleasure of gratification, which is a thoughtless and careless abandonment,
or the joy of right action, which proceeds from reflection and responsibility?
Note how
often it is only the image and appearance, and not the deeper reality, that
appeals to us, and it only takes the time and effort of judgment to see through
the illusion. A pretty smile can seem so much more powerful than a loving soul,
a sweet promise so much more convincing than genuine trust. I need only look
beneath the mask. I have come to know many people in this life who are masters
of illusion, but it hardly takes magical powers to see through the disguise. Do
the deeds match the words? Do those promises sound too good to be true? Is the
appeal to your character and sense of right, or to your gratification and sense
of might?
When
confronted with a pleasure, I try to take that time, and I try to consider the
right balance of my own living, such that I am wary of paying too much later
for a pittance right now. The right rewards of life are clear to us if we only
keep focused on a love of what is true and good.
My old
chums, Marillion, can come to my aid once again. In their song "The Uninvited Guest", they warn us that
some of our rash decisions come with too high a price. Once I’ve let the
temptation over my threshold, it is often to hard to force it back out:
I was there when you said insincere
"I love you's"
To a woman who wasn't your wife
And I fronted you the money
That you ran away and blew
On the biggest regret of your life
Written in 9/2002
Image: Johannes Vermeer, Woman Holding a Balance (1664)
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