. . . Let our mind do the same thing:
when, following its bodily senses it has by means of them sent itself forth
into the things of the outward world, let it remain still their master and its
own.
By this means we shall obtain a
strength and an ability which are united and allied together, and shall derive
from it that reason which never halts between two opinions, nor is dull in
forming its perceptions, beliefs, or convictions.
Such a mind, when it has ranged itself
in order, made its various parts agree together, and, if I may so express
myself, harmonized them, has attained to the highest good, for it has nothing
evil or hazardous remaining, nothing to shake it or make it stumble.
It will do everything under the
guidance of its own will, and nothing unexpected will befall it, but whatever
may be done by it will turn out well, and that, too, readily and easily, without
the doer having recourse to any underhand devices. For slow and hesitating
action are the signs of discord and want of settled purpose.
You may, then, boldly declare that the
highest good is singleness of mind: for where agreement and unity are, there also
must the virtues be. It is the vices that are at war one with another.
—Seneca
the Younger, On the happy life,
Chapter 8 (tr Stewart)
As a
child, I was often frightened and confused by how hectic, aggressive, and
confrontational the world was. I also began to see rather quickly how often
people liked to deceive, and that I would need some way to make sense of all
that smoke and mirrors.
In
kindergarten, one fellow dealt with it all by simply never speaking. Another
screamed and cried every day. A third learned to push first, and ask questions
later. I attempted something a little different. When I felt alone, uncertain,
or hurt by others, I would imagine my “home base”, those few dozen square feet
of space where I always felt safe. I usually visualized it as my small bedroom,
surrounded by my favorite toys and books, or the family parlor back in Austria,
surrounded by the people who comforted me. I saw it as that which was reliable,
what I could always return to after I struggled through everything out here
that was so unreliable.
The home
base grew from the image of a location to a state of mind, a way of thinking
about whatever felt threatening. However much I felt surrounded and blocked in,
I could still remember that there was that bit of me that couldn’t be hurt or
conquered. I recognized this instinct as a something Stoic only many years
later, by which time I had also learned that my own happiness or misery rose
and fell with how much or how little I depended on my unassailable home.
The home
base always had two constant features. First, I was in charge, and nothing
could enter that was not invited. Second, there was no place for discord or conflict
within its bounds. The whole moral physics, so to speak, of the place was
grounded in a love of unity and balance. Now while many people in the world
assured me there would have to be winners and losers in the war of achievement,
I knew I need not apply this to myself.
Just as there
can never be good relations between people who fight with one another, so no
man can be virtuous if he fights with himself. The virtuous man certainly doesn’t
need to isolate himself from the world, because as long as he has his
principles and his unity of purpose to guide him, he can throw himself into the
world unafraid. His impregnable fortress is never far, because he carries it
within himself.
Written in 11/2004
Image: Antonio Gai, Allegory of Harmony and Peace (mid 18th c.)
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