If, therefore, any one of those dogs
who yelp at philosophy were to say, as they are wont to do, "Why, then, do
you talk so much more bravely than you live? Why do you check your words in the
presence of your superiors, and consider money to be a necessary implement? Why
are you disturbed when you sustain losses, and weep on hearing of the death of
your wife or your friend? Why do you pay regard to common rumor, and feel
annoyed by calumnious gossip?
“ Why is your estate more elaborately
kept than its natural use requires? Why do you not dine according to your own
maxims? Why is your furniture smarter than it need be? Why do you drink wine
that is older than yourself? Why are your grounds laid out? Why do you plant trees
that afford nothing except shade? Why does your wife wear in her ears the price
of a rich man's house? Why are your children at school dressed in costly
clothes? Why is it a science to wait upon you at table? Why is your silver
plate not set down anyhow or at random, but skillfully disposed in regular
order, with a superintendent to preside over the carving of the food?"
Add to this, if you like, the questions,
"Why do you own property beyond the seas? Why do you own more than you
know of? It is a shame for you not to know your slaves by sight, for you must
be very neglectful of them if you only own a few, or very extravagant if you
have too many for your memory to retain." . . .
—Seneca
the Younger, On the happy life,
Chapter 17 (tr Stewart)
That a
man will not live up to an ideal does not reflect poorly on the ideal, but upon
the man. As a being of judgment and choice, he can, and he will, fail, and the
reality of such failure makes the dignity of the goal all the more important.
Yet
notice how often we attack the person who points to the true and the good,
instead of considering the value of the true and the good itself. We seem to
like killing the messenger.
This is,
of course, the material fallacy of ad
hominem, of critiquing the arguer, not the argument, and it is so tempting
because it diverts from the question at hand, while also allowing us a perverse
sense of personal superiority. It is a favorite weapon of someone who believes
that an argument is about winning a conflict, not about discovering a truth.
Seneca
has been explaining why our happiness can never be about what happens to us,
but derives from how well we live, and that it is virtue, and not merely
pleasure, that defines the good life. Happiness comes from the inside, not from
the outside. Instead of debating the merits of these claims, the critic wishes
to draw attention to Seneca’s continued concern with external things.
Let us,
for the sake of argument, assume that these claims are true. I believe a good
Stoic, or any good philosopher, must respond with a certain degree of humility
and gratitude. Yes, I don’t always live up to the standards I aspire to, and
thank you, I’m glad you’ve reminded me of all the work I still need to do. Rome
was not built in a day, and a man will only better himself by gradually
rebuilding his habits. A certain sense of good humor can’t hurt, either:
perhaps we can help one another improve together?
I try to
look over these twenty character flaws with as much honesty and humility as I
can muster, and I find myself quite regularly guilty of four of them. Anyone
who knows me will recognize exactly which ones they are. That the remaining sixteen
are largely off of my radar is due less to my credit than the fact that I have never
really been wealthy or influential. That I can recognize my failings, and know
what I must do to correct them, is already progress.
Written in 3/2002
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