Seneca, On Peace of Mind 11.4

For by looking forward to everything that can happen as though it would happen to him, he takes the sting out of all evils, which can make no difference to those who expect it and are prepared to meet it. Evil only comes hard upon those who have lived without giving it a thought and whose attention has been exclusively directed to happiness.

Disease, captivity, disaster, conflagration, are none of them unexpected: I always knew with what disorderly company Nature had associated me.

The dead have often been wailed for in my neighborhood. The torch and taper have often been borne past my door before the bier of one who has died before his time. The crash of falling buildings has often resounded by my side. Night has snatched away many of those with whom I have become intimate in the forum, the Senate-house, and in society, and has sundered the hands which were joined in friendship.

People like to argue about nature vs nurture, as if who we are is made by either what we were born with or what others do to us. It is a false dichotomy to begin with, as both will equally influence us.

It is also beside the point, since such conditions are only material causes. Our own free choices, informed by our own judgments, are the efficient causes.

In a similar manner, people like to argue whether the glass is half full or half empty. They say that some people expect the best, and that other people expect the worst, and that our initial attitudes will determine how we interpret things.

They are quite right in one sense. The glass is, of course, just a glass, and it so happens to have within it some water. Whether that glass, however, contains more than I want or less than I want depends on my estimation. If it is filled to the half, it filled to the half; anything else speaks to my own desires.

They are quite wrong in another sense. Is it not possible to simply say that being filled to the half is neither better nor worse? Can I not be indifferent to the glass and to the water? It is what it is, and I am what I am. It is a mistake to confuse the two.

So it also is when folks try to tell me that Stoics are too negative, and they always expect the worst. No, a Stoic is open to expecting anything at all, and he won’t call it “worse” or “better” until he has had the chance to make something of it.

Does he accept that he could, like Job, lose all his property, and his health, and his loved ones, within a single moment? Yes, he does, but not because he is a pessimist. He knows that it may come, and so he is prepared for it to come.

Does he accept that he could, like Job once again, win back all of his property, and his health, and his loved ones, within a single moment? Yes, he does, but not because he is an optimist. He knows that it may come, and so he is prepared for it to come.

“Good” or “bad” are not determined by the scope of our conditions, and that is the root of our misunderstanding. Expect neither good nor bad, because the conditions are in themselves never good or bad; we are either good or bad.

I am quite ready, of course, to be open to the possibility of wealth and fame. My problem is that I crave such things because I think they will make me happy. I am not at all ready to be open to the possibility of poverty and disrepute. My problem is that I avoid such things because I think they will make me unhappy.

It never seems to occur to me that it has nothing to do with what I was born with, or what has happened to me. It never seems to occur to me that the only thing “full” or “empty” is the quality of my own soul.

With apologies to Roy Batty, I have seen things you wouldn’t believe. Some have lifted me up to the highest highs, and some have dragged me down to the lowest lows. I am learning to become accustomed to them all, knowing that I should expect them all. They should neither elevate me nor lower me, since they do not make me.

Seneca speaks here of what we consider to be the lows, I suspect, because we fear them so very much. There is no need to fear what we know must be.

Written in 11/2011

IMAGE: John Martin, The Seventh Plague (1823)